Sitting in a cottage in Northumberland a week after my walk, with my leg immobilised, causes me to reflect on the highs and lows and lessons I (and maybe others) might profit from this 300 mile
pilgrimage.
"Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
Who have set their hearts on pilgrimage,
As they pass through the Valley of Baca
They make it a place of springs."
Psalm 84:5
1: Pilgrimage was and is a community activity. The isolation and aloneness were brilliant for worship, prayer and reflection. However life is to be shared, others are to be a witness to your life, be it breath-taking scenery, the wet drudgery of muddy fields or the deep relief of a pub that is open! The pain and discomfort of walking (valleys of Baca) were quickly forgotten in the beep of an SMS from family and friends saying, "well done" or, "you can do it"!
2: Our strength comes from God. The last 6 days were incredibly painful and as it turns out because of a stress fracture in my lower leg. Will power and grit had to give way to a doctor's authority
saying two weeks complete rest. I am not good at resting or waiting. I like doing. I find myself a reluctant student often sitting in God's classroom with Jesus underlining the text, "apart from me you can do nothing"!
3: We live so much of our lives in coffins of metal. The motor car has transformed all of our lives but not always for the good. We hear, see, smell and feel nothing of the world and the seasons unfolding
around us. We rush, we lose perspective on time and distance (just popping down to the shop 3 miles away is a two hour return walk!) and we remain blind to so much of God's incredible creation. 30% of this journey was on back roads and the road kill tachometer included owl, snake, badger, fox, rabbit, pheasant and sadly 4 roadside shrines to motorists.
4: British footpaths must rank the Eighth Wonder of the modern world. They cross and crisscross our tiny nation allowing walkers to roam free. The majority were well posted especially the more famous ones; The Viking Way, Pilgrim Way, Wayfarers Way etc. However I did find some in sad neglect, overgrown and almost lost. The other challenge is to engage in the battle with modern landowners, some of whom seem to delight in confusing the amateur orienteerer or by putting
obstructions in the way.
Ultimately we are all pilgrims in this world making our way towards home, a lasting city, a terminus point of rest. Along life's paths we do get lost and other dear pilgrims leave us and we feel that aloneness each day. But life is to be lived. God has purpose in each valley or mountain experience and we need to be good students always learning and always encouraging the faith steps of others.
Monday 15 September 2014
Monday 8 September 2014
Pilgrim Day 11 - 12
Pilgrim 11
Today I walked from Gainsborough to Goole, a distance of some 24 miles. The first part was on a back road but very straight, and it was obviously popular with the boy racers. You feel quite vulnerable as a walker when a hatchback blasts past you doing 60mph. I was glad to turn onto footpaths and crossed many corn fields with tall upright vegetation that concealed you as in a jungle. Wheat fields and hay meadows took the remains of the morning. Near a town called Laughton I plunged into deciduous woods, eerily quiet apart from the occasional
tweet or squawking of a pheasant. The advent of autumn announced with the arrival of many different types of fungi. Emerging from the woods I arrived at the high sided banks of the River Trent and was to follow its course for the next 6 miles. Signs of flooding were still in evidence, even sandbags along a few house walls. I guess the most prolific wildlife of the day were the jet black slugs, there were hundreds of the things and inspired this poem:
I contemplate the lowly slug with fearsome reputation.
Perhaps he is a gentlemen in Darwinian mutation?
His shiny suit is casual brown and sometimes darkest black,
No condescending baubles to wear upon his back.
Slug dines at finest places, in palaces and parks,
Eating what's before him, without critical remarks.
He does not rush, he will not hurry
An aristocrat who refuses worry.
His variety is endless, no food can bring a halt
Apart from one exception, the white stuff we call salt.
Gentlemen leave their calling cards, wherever they may dine
And so does Viscount Slug, his signature is "Slime".
The last few miles into this highly industrialised port town were sheer murder. The shin splint that began to develop a few days ago was in full vigour making every step a challenge. I virtually fell through the doors of my B&B.
Pilgrim day 12
The final push for York. Like The Fighting Temeraire, this barge left dock early under the cover of deep mist and made my way silently though the long grass on the banks of the Ouse. It was soaking wet those first few hours which was balm to my sore left leg. The sun steadily burnt off the mist to reveal a beautiful day and lush green
pastures alongside the river. I met four different herds of cows on the tow path who were in bullish mood!! They would either sit on the top of the bank or group themselves en masse at the exit stiles refusing to move. It would not be until the last few steps they would get skittish and bolt past me. I felt quite small and vulnerable.
After 7 or so miles along the river I turned North for York. The day was the hottest one so far but the terrain mostly the harvested fields of wheat and corn. I made good time and Heather's texting told me we would rendezvous at the same time. As it was she beat me, and had to wait and watch as her skinny (lost over half a stone) limping, bearded husband crossed the finishing line. What a joy to finish and in the arms of the wife you love.
Today I walked from Gainsborough to Goole, a distance of some 24 miles. The first part was on a back road but very straight, and it was obviously popular with the boy racers. You feel quite vulnerable as a walker when a hatchback blasts past you doing 60mph. I was glad to turn onto footpaths and crossed many corn fields with tall upright vegetation that concealed you as in a jungle. Wheat fields and hay meadows took the remains of the morning. Near a town called Laughton I plunged into deciduous woods, eerily quiet apart from the occasional
tweet or squawking of a pheasant. The advent of autumn announced with the arrival of many different types of fungi. Emerging from the woods I arrived at the high sided banks of the River Trent and was to follow its course for the next 6 miles. Signs of flooding were still in evidence, even sandbags along a few house walls. I guess the most prolific wildlife of the day were the jet black slugs, there were hundreds of the things and inspired this poem:
I contemplate the lowly slug with fearsome reputation.
Perhaps he is a gentlemen in Darwinian mutation?
His shiny suit is casual brown and sometimes darkest black,
No condescending baubles to wear upon his back.
Slug dines at finest places, in palaces and parks,
Eating what's before him, without critical remarks.
He does not rush, he will not hurry
An aristocrat who refuses worry.
His variety is endless, no food can bring a halt
Apart from one exception, the white stuff we call salt.
Gentlemen leave their calling cards, wherever they may dine
And so does Viscount Slug, his signature is "Slime".
The last few miles into this highly industrialised port town were sheer murder. The shin splint that began to develop a few days ago was in full vigour making every step a challenge. I virtually fell through the doors of my B&B.
Pilgrim day 12
The final push for York. Like The Fighting Temeraire, this barge left dock early under the cover of deep mist and made my way silently though the long grass on the banks of the Ouse. It was soaking wet those first few hours which was balm to my sore left leg. The sun steadily burnt off the mist to reveal a beautiful day and lush green
pastures alongside the river. I met four different herds of cows on the tow path who were in bullish mood!! They would either sit on the top of the bank or group themselves en masse at the exit stiles refusing to move. It would not be until the last few steps they would get skittish and bolt past me. I felt quite small and vulnerable.
After 7 or so miles along the river I turned North for York. The day was the hottest one so far but the terrain mostly the harvested fields of wheat and corn. I made good time and Heather's texting told me we would rendezvous at the same time. As it was she beat me, and had to wait and watch as her skinny (lost over half a stone) limping, bearded husband crossed the finishing line. What a joy to finish and in the arms of the wife you love.
Friday 5 September 2014
Pilgrim Days 8-10
Pilgrim Day 8
A surprisingly hard day because of rain and freshly
ploughed Rutland clay. It stuck to your feet in huge clumps slowing progress
and being impossible to shake off. I waddled along like a swan with webbed
feet. I am sure I had more weight on my feet than in the rucksack at times. Each
footpath led me over yet another ploughed field and the rain was relentless.
After 4 hours of this I decided to change route and keep to the lanes, slightly
longer but more pace. Inspector Morse could have easily followed these muddy
prints that went on for miles.
I headed for a village for a late lunch and prayed for a
pub. Like many a village pub on this walk it was "closed"!
Criss-crossing 3 counties in one day I realise how the
church tower is universally the first landmark spotted. Buildings built for the
worship of God now mainly in neglect their graveyards overgrown, even the names
on gravestones illegible. Musing on the news and the dark clouds of terror and
abuse I marvel at the local church. They
are beacons in the darkness, sign posts to the lost traveller, and communities
that centre truth and goodness in the heart of our towns...
Those of another generation may lie forgotten, their
names erased, but not to God. They have walked their pilgrimage and fought
their fights and if we but stop and listen we hear God's encouragement to us to
seize the day. Whatever the churches
faults it has no equals in terms of the good it can do.
Pilgrim day 9
A beautiful day for walking and I left Grantham at quite
a trot looking forward to flat farmland and no more than a 24 mile walk. I soon
left the scaffolded tower of Grantham behind me and headed for the pretty
little village of Caythorpe. The Stone houses are beautiful and clearly this is
a land of Millers as you keep finding windmills in assorted disrepair and none
to date with sails on. At Brant Broughton I found a little garden of Eden
donated by the church to its community. I sat and ate my lunch and watched the
aerial display of numerous small tortoiseshell butterflies enjoying this
paradise.
From here to Lincoln the walk just got harder. It seemed every field
was freshly ploughed and twisted and tweaked my ankle like a pinball in an
amusement arcade. Got to Lincoln in time to see its canal, churches and castle.
Made the mistake of then walking to B&B another 3 miles out of town!
Pilgrim day 10
Leaving beautiful Lincoln felt sad, would have liked a day
to explore.
The morning was one of navigating waterways, canals,
ditches with high sided paths that tracked their course. It was sunshine all
morning and a few late season fishermen took their chance along the
canals. I managed a needed pint of
shandy in a beautiful village pub and then headed into a very different farm
scene. From arable to livestock, horses, bullocks and some very friendly sheep.
I climbed into this field to be greeted by a dog sheep. A black faced animal
than ran excitedly towards me. Then bleating to his mates he managed to gather
for me quite a following. Took a picture to remind me of the good shepherd that
loves his sheep. The last part of my journey took me around an old WW2
airfield. Wasn't difficult to imagine the Spitfire pilots waiting for that
phone to ring and taking to the skies once again.
Tuesday 2 September 2014
Pilgrim Days 5 - 7
Pilgrim day 5
Navigating Milton Keynes first thing was like doing the ups and downs of a crossword puzzle, 4 letters beginning with e? At 7:30am, the paths were deserted; a few early morning dog walkers, a jogger or two, but nowhere the office worker walking? I suspect, looking at the roads, that the motor car has conquered all. So it was an isolated pilgrim that traversed parks, saw beautiful lakes and made his way to the charming old village of Milton Keynes with its parish church. The horse chestnut trees are in abundance here and I reflect on how, with my dad and then my own sons, we collected bagfuls of these shiny treasures. The conker season with awl, string and a drop of vinegar produced champion nuts and nutters in the Miller family.
Crossing the M1 took 1.5 hours from the centre, hunting for the one footbridge, and it felt wonderful to escape into the flat Bedfordshire countryside. I spotted my first butterflies today as they braved the
strong wind to hold onto the occasional flash of autumn sunlight. I crossed ploughed farmland tucked up for winter, as I journeyed to Cranfield village. My ankle had by now flared up and so I kept mostly to the roads as I hobbled into Bedford. The city was busy and my radar was searching all things Bunyan. The Bunyan museum, though small, did not disappoint and an amiable curator took this willing pupil around each artefact. I sat in a mock cell and reflect the isolation, 12 years in prison for preaching in the open air. But what a heritage - Pilgrims Progress is the most widely printed book after the bible and I suspect Harry Potter. What Christians of influence came from around Bedford, and what dear Christians today originate from here, men and women I deeply love and respect.
Pilgrim Day 6
Bedford folk were enjoying their weekend lie in as I left and headed west to a village called Bromham. The path snaked its way across farmland and I was able to keep a good pace for most of the morning. Lunch was a sparse affair, a few Tesco sushi bites and a packet of crisps. I now headed for Wellingborough but finding a way in was like picking a lock, too many by-paths. The problem is signs, both their lack and then when you find one it points in an altogether different direction. I was quite frustrated navigating this city and then crossing the last 7 miles to Kettering. A kind farmer pointed me over his land and shook his head in pity to hear I had come so far. Today didn't feel like a Saturday - I missed my staple final football scores of the afternoon with my son Joseph. It was a good deep bath I sank under, reflecting 6 days gone and 160 miles covered.
Pilgrim Day 7
The prison warders of my boots summoned the cowed prisoners of my toes, blisters, nails and ankles to their confinement once again. Their sentence was a shorter 23 miles to Oakham but detours added 3 more miles and they looked dazed and battered at their evening open doors. Leaving Kettering, I crossed mainly harvested wheat fields. Occasionally I came across the "land trawlers" bright green tractors ploughing, turning over the rich brown Rutland soil. Following them in their hundreds, sea gulls not diving for the small silver fry of our oceans, but juicy brown earthworms. Their actions mimic shoppers at the New Year sales barging and grabbing, then emerging with guttural shrieks.
My route led me along Eyebrook reservoir, a stunning piece of water where trout anglers flicked and retrieved their flies, and herons stalked along the shallow banks. I grabbed half an hour for lunch and
rested in the sun watching a nearby boat. The last 7 miles to Oakham took me mostly on farm tracks passing many cheery cyclists in their Lycra looking condescendingly at this hobbling scruffy hiker in need of a shave. The Admiral Hornblower is my resting place tonight.
Navigating Milton Keynes first thing was like doing the ups and downs of a crossword puzzle, 4 letters beginning with e? At 7:30am, the paths were deserted; a few early morning dog walkers, a jogger or two, but nowhere the office worker walking? I suspect, looking at the roads, that the motor car has conquered all. So it was an isolated pilgrim that traversed parks, saw beautiful lakes and made his way to the charming old village of Milton Keynes with its parish church. The horse chestnut trees are in abundance here and I reflect on how, with my dad and then my own sons, we collected bagfuls of these shiny treasures. The conker season with awl, string and a drop of vinegar produced champion nuts and nutters in the Miller family.
Crossing the M1 took 1.5 hours from the centre, hunting for the one footbridge, and it felt wonderful to escape into the flat Bedfordshire countryside. I spotted my first butterflies today as they braved the
strong wind to hold onto the occasional flash of autumn sunlight. I crossed ploughed farmland tucked up for winter, as I journeyed to Cranfield village. My ankle had by now flared up and so I kept mostly to the roads as I hobbled into Bedford. The city was busy and my radar was searching all things Bunyan. The Bunyan museum, though small, did not disappoint and an amiable curator took this willing pupil around each artefact. I sat in a mock cell and reflect the isolation, 12 years in prison for preaching in the open air. But what a heritage - Pilgrims Progress is the most widely printed book after the bible and I suspect Harry Potter. What Christians of influence came from around Bedford, and what dear Christians today originate from here, men and women I deeply love and respect.
Pilgrim Day 6
Bedford folk were enjoying their weekend lie in as I left and headed west to a village called Bromham. The path snaked its way across farmland and I was able to keep a good pace for most of the morning. Lunch was a sparse affair, a few Tesco sushi bites and a packet of crisps. I now headed for Wellingborough but finding a way in was like picking a lock, too many by-paths. The problem is signs, both their lack and then when you find one it points in an altogether different direction. I was quite frustrated navigating this city and then crossing the last 7 miles to Kettering. A kind farmer pointed me over his land and shook his head in pity to hear I had come so far. Today didn't feel like a Saturday - I missed my staple final football scores of the afternoon with my son Joseph. It was a good deep bath I sank under, reflecting 6 days gone and 160 miles covered.
Pilgrim Day 7
The prison warders of my boots summoned the cowed prisoners of my toes, blisters, nails and ankles to their confinement once again. Their sentence was a shorter 23 miles to Oakham but detours added 3 more miles and they looked dazed and battered at their evening open doors. Leaving Kettering, I crossed mainly harvested wheat fields. Occasionally I came across the "land trawlers" bright green tractors ploughing, turning over the rich brown Rutland soil. Following them in their hundreds, sea gulls not diving for the small silver fry of our oceans, but juicy brown earthworms. Their actions mimic shoppers at the New Year sales barging and grabbing, then emerging with guttural shrieks.
My route led me along Eyebrook reservoir, a stunning piece of water where trout anglers flicked and retrieved their flies, and herons stalked along the shallow banks. I grabbed half an hour for lunch and
rested in the sun watching a nearby boat. The last 7 miles to Oakham took me mostly on farm tracks passing many cheery cyclists in their Lycra looking condescendingly at this hobbling scruffy hiker in need of a shave. The Admiral Hornblower is my resting place tonight.
Monday 1 September 2014
Pilgrim Days 1-4
Pilgrim day 1
Buzzing from Westpoint, I arrive at Winchester Cathedral around this huge edifice built for the glory of God despite Oliver Cromwell shelling it! A city with great Christian influence, Alfred the Great made Winchester his capital city. It was a few yards from here that I would preach at the Buttercross every week as a young man, and a few yards further, stands a converted cinema where hundreds now gather to continue to build a great city and church I dearly love.
I head North past the first meeting place of my school sweetheart, Heather. Heading up the Andover Road I pass Peter Symonds where a frightened 12 year old ran away from boarding school. I head to South Wonston then across fields to Whitchurch. The rain is unrelenting and I am soaked to the skin when I finally find a cosy pub. The problem with stopping is your body gets vocal. The feet mention blisters and the legs soon threaten
strike action. I get moving before they convince my brain.
British footpaths are a nightmare. They give you the first direction, a nudge in the right direction but then abandon you in every farmyard or road junction. My maps soon were soaked through, mushing together like left over rice. This meant that the last 5 miles I was walking blind with two huge blisters making every step painful. A very hospitable Travel Lodge receptionist on greeting this drowned walker, gave me a big towel, a warm welcome and a room.
Pilgrim day 2
It's raining, making it hard to get going. Newbury was an hour's walk on busy roads so I took time to grab a Latte and dry off in the centre. First words I heard were of a mother calling her daughter, "Grace come here," and felt we do need to plant a church in Newbury. The cross-country walk North was beautiful, with the constant shrill call of the buzzards.
Finding a way to cross the M4 was exasperating and wasted a good hour or more. It felt like leaving the Shire when I finally achieved it. My feet were very sore and the footpath now completely overgrown with brambles and nettles. A slip and twisted ankle later I carried on but more slowly, down to about 2.5 miles an hour. By now my water bottle was empty so I headed for a pub a mile off the track. It had closed down. Hope,deferred can make the heart sick. So a short-cut back across fields only to be stopped by a farmer in his 4x4. Explaining my mission he granted me continue but sadly not in his jeep. It took a long time to traverse these Berkshire hills and when I finally arrived at Abington I soaked in the bath for 30 minutes like some wallowing hippo. Sheer bliss.
Pilgrim Day 3
Welcome sunshine and an early start to get to Oxford for coffee. Sat on the steps of the Martyrs memorial and felt moved by the inscription, statues and thoughts of these great heroes of the faith. The statue of Thomas Cranmer (2 July 1489 – 21 March 1556) holding out a bible - the leader of the English Reformation and Archbishop of Canterbury during the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI and finally Mary I.
C S Lewis taught at Oxford and met nearby in a pub with the "Inklings", an Oxford writers' group which included Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien. Down a side street I found yet another inscription to John Wesley's first Methodist church meeting in Oxford!
From Oxford a long and beautiful cross-country walk to Ashendon, a really remote village. The paths criss cross farmland and are impossible to keep to as the farmers plough and plant so as to obscure any marked way. Often you have to drop onto country lanes but fast drivers make this a nerve-racking experience. Last 4 miles were the hardest of this pilgrimage yet. Ten hours walking, each step like walking on broken glass and my mind imagining a hot bath and bed.
Pilgrim Day 4
Probably the best walking day yet. The fields to Waddesdon were alive with swallows grabbing their last meals before their pilgrimage South. The hedgerows are full of food and colour. Purple blackberries,elderberries and sloe contrast with the vivid reds of the hips and Lords and Ladies.
Over this journey I had to cross 3 fields with young cows that would follow me, all skittish and playful with their snuffing and puffing making me more than a little nervous. For a good part of the walk I followed the North Buckingham Way which meant easier navigation. Beautiful little villages appear over hill tops, welcoming the traveller, and I do find it quite inspiring that most of these hamlets have Wesleyan Chapels or Baptist Churches. I think of Commission's 'Start, Re Start and Multiply'!
The hardest part of the navigation is the crossing of main roads and this was certainly the case today. Milton Keynes is just one series of crossings so it was with great relief I arrived at the Premier Inn and soaked my mangled feet in an antiseptic bath!!
Buzzing from Westpoint, I arrive at Winchester Cathedral around this huge edifice built for the glory of God despite Oliver Cromwell shelling it! A city with great Christian influence, Alfred the Great made Winchester his capital city. It was a few yards from here that I would preach at the Buttercross every week as a young man, and a few yards further, stands a converted cinema where hundreds now gather to continue to build a great city and church I dearly love.
I head North past the first meeting place of my school sweetheart, Heather. Heading up the Andover Road I pass Peter Symonds where a frightened 12 year old ran away from boarding school. I head to South Wonston then across fields to Whitchurch. The rain is unrelenting and I am soaked to the skin when I finally find a cosy pub. The problem with stopping is your body gets vocal. The feet mention blisters and the legs soon threaten
strike action. I get moving before they convince my brain.
British footpaths are a nightmare. They give you the first direction, a nudge in the right direction but then abandon you in every farmyard or road junction. My maps soon were soaked through, mushing together like left over rice. This meant that the last 5 miles I was walking blind with two huge blisters making every step painful. A very hospitable Travel Lodge receptionist on greeting this drowned walker, gave me a big towel, a warm welcome and a room.
Pilgrim day 2
It's raining, making it hard to get going. Newbury was an hour's walk on busy roads so I took time to grab a Latte and dry off in the centre. First words I heard were of a mother calling her daughter, "Grace come here," and felt we do need to plant a church in Newbury. The cross-country walk North was beautiful, with the constant shrill call of the buzzards.
Finding a way to cross the M4 was exasperating and wasted a good hour or more. It felt like leaving the Shire when I finally achieved it. My feet were very sore and the footpath now completely overgrown with brambles and nettles. A slip and twisted ankle later I carried on but more slowly, down to about 2.5 miles an hour. By now my water bottle was empty so I headed for a pub a mile off the track. It had closed down. Hope,deferred can make the heart sick. So a short-cut back across fields only to be stopped by a farmer in his 4x4. Explaining my mission he granted me continue but sadly not in his jeep. It took a long time to traverse these Berkshire hills and when I finally arrived at Abington I soaked in the bath for 30 minutes like some wallowing hippo. Sheer bliss.
Pilgrim Day 3
Welcome sunshine and an early start to get to Oxford for coffee. Sat on the steps of the Martyrs memorial and felt moved by the inscription, statues and thoughts of these great heroes of the faith. The statue of Thomas Cranmer (2 July 1489 – 21 March 1556) holding out a bible - the leader of the English Reformation and Archbishop of Canterbury during the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI and finally Mary I.
C S Lewis taught at Oxford and met nearby in a pub with the "Inklings", an Oxford writers' group which included Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien. Down a side street I found yet another inscription to John Wesley's first Methodist church meeting in Oxford!
From Oxford a long and beautiful cross-country walk to Ashendon, a really remote village. The paths criss cross farmland and are impossible to keep to as the farmers plough and plant so as to obscure any marked way. Often you have to drop onto country lanes but fast drivers make this a nerve-racking experience. Last 4 miles were the hardest of this pilgrimage yet. Ten hours walking, each step like walking on broken glass and my mind imagining a hot bath and bed.
Pilgrim Day 4
Probably the best walking day yet. The fields to Waddesdon were alive with swallows grabbing their last meals before their pilgrimage South. The hedgerows are full of food and colour. Purple blackberries,elderberries and sloe contrast with the vivid reds of the hips and Lords and Ladies.
Over this journey I had to cross 3 fields with young cows that would follow me, all skittish and playful with their snuffing and puffing making me more than a little nervous. For a good part of the walk I followed the North Buckingham Way which meant easier navigation. Beautiful little villages appear over hill tops, welcoming the traveller, and I do find it quite inspiring that most of these hamlets have Wesleyan Chapels or Baptist Churches. I think of Commission's 'Start, Re Start and Multiply'!
The hardest part of the navigation is the crossing of main roads and this was certainly the case today. Milton Keynes is just one series of crossings so it was with great relief I arrived at the Premier Inn and soaked my mangled feet in an antiseptic bath!!
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