Up to the year 597 this Saxon capital, of practically all south-eastern England, was completely heathen, saving only the King’s Frankish wife Bertha and Bishop Luidhard, who had come over as her chaplain about the year 575, when the marriage with the heathen Ethelbert had taken place.  But in the year 597, that famous landmark in the Christianizing of Saxon England, Augustine, landed—­if Bede may be trusted for a topographical detail of this character—­on the island of Ebbsfleet, where Hengist and Horsa had previously found a haven for their vessels.  This is now part of the corner of Kent, called Thanet, and is an island no longer.  There Ethelbert, in that generous and broad-minded speech, familiar to all students of English history, while expressing himself as content with the gods of his forefathers (these included Thor, Woden, Freya, and the rest), yet would place no obstacles in the way of these missionaries of new and strange ideas.  He even provided them with quarters in Canterbury, and in the old church of St. Martin outside the city, where Queen Bertha had been in the habit of worshipping with her chaplain, Augustine and his monks began to preach and instruct all who cared to listen.  It seems unlikely that the influence of the queen and her good chaplain should have been entirely without results, and it is quite possible that Augustine found the ground prepared for the seed he diligently began to sow.  Bishop Luidhard, whose name should always be linked with that of St. Augustine, appears to have died soon after the arrival of Pope Gregory’s mission, and his remains were eventually placed in a golden chest in the church of Saints Peter and Paul, afterwards St. Augustine’s.

The zeal and enthusiasm of the band of missionaries began to bring in many converts.  Ethelbert himself consented to be baptized on June 2 in the year of Augustine’s landing, and the Saxons soon began to embrace the new faith in thousands, so that in a very few years the Christianizing of England had made such progress that Canterbury became the headquarters of the Christian Church in England, a position it has held without interruption ever since—­a period of over 1,300 years.  It took England nearly nine centuries to make up its mind to rid itself of the stultifying authority of the Bishop of Rome and to shake itself free from monasticism and the various forms of idolatrous worship which grew up in the sultry atmosphere of the Papal Church; but these great changes have been evolved, and still the ancient city of Canterbury, hallowed with so many memories of saintly lives, continues to be the metropolis of the Established Church of England.  And the imminence of further change carries with it no danger of any break in this long association of Canterbury with ecclesiastical control, for if in the slow grinding of the wheels of Time there should cease to be a State Church in this land, the organization of the churches holding to the Elizabethan form of worship will no doubt continue to be centred and focussed at Canterbury.