I waited for the train at Coventry;
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped
The city’s ancient legend into this:

So begins Tennyson’s iconic poem ‘Godiva’, a setting of the scene, along with a declaration of intent, to shape an ancient legend into something new. My recent trip to Coventry was very much with the same intention, to breathe authenticity into my own attempts to bring the legend to life, to walk in Lady Godiva’s footsteps for just a little while.

A visit to Coventry today presents a marked contrast to the experience depicted by Tennyson in this poem. The spires in question are those of Christ Church, St Michael’s and Holy Trinity and no trace of them can be seen from the modern station concourse, with its automated ticket machines and indoor environment.

Unsure of my direction, I made my way out into the daylight, and followed a pedestrianised boulevard lined with eateries into the heart of the city. It was a good fifteen-minute walk before I spied my first spire, that of the demolished Christ Church, and now operating as a microbrewery. Although the main buildings are long gone, the church tower and fragile spire remain, and soon the other two come into view, beyond the impressive facade of the ‘council house’, where Lady Godiva and her husband Earl Leofric stand solemnly side-by-side above the entrance.

I was staying in the medieval quarter of the city, a landscape unchanged by time, and yet in a devastating way changed forever by the horrors of war, the ruined cathedral bearing witness to the terrible bombing raids of 1940, when a great wave of incendiaries killed over 500 people and obliterated homes and factories. The Herbert Art Gallery and Museum gives a stark account of that night, and the Blitz Museum in the ruined cathedral reminds you of the deprivations of war. A new cathedral was built in the spirit of peace and reconciliation, and now it ‘holds hands’ with its ruined counterpart, as if somehow, they have both been through the wars together.

But I was on the hunt for Lady Godiva, the subject of my non-fiction book, which will be published by White Owl Books next year. Traces of the Benedictine Priory which she and Leofric founded lie a stone’s throw from the cathedrals. The partially excavated remains lie beneath the north side of Priory Row, a section of it now forming a rather-neglected garden. What must have been an interesting visitor centre remains closed due to funding issues, but at the height of the excavations (1998-2001) (Time Team did their bit) the excitement must have been palpable. Fragments of painted medieval glass were recovered, and one such fragment. bearing the face of a blonde woman, caused quite a stir. It now resides in the nearby Holy Trinity Church. Is this the face of Countess Godiva, a wealthy benefactress who may well have earned a special place in the great priory window? We’ll probably never know, but it is fun to speculate.

As I made my way through the city centre precinct, the closest I came to gazing into the face of my subject was when I found the lady’s statue, but she was elevated above mere mortals on her fine steed, and I found her expression oddly remote, as if she has become resigned to the perpetual scrutiny of her naked form. Perhaps she wearies of constant reinterpretations of her story.

I hope she won’t mind just one more!