50ccPilgrim.uk

I stood in front of this medieval illustration today while reading a descriptive panel in Laon. (Well, reading-ish as the panel was in French so it was mostly guessing). I noticed the fella on the right has the same tailor as me, and the same black boots. The accompanying text described the identifying signs of a medieval pilgrim. Leaning on my walking staff I bent down to read about 'le bourdon qui aide â marcher'. Went I leant forward the leather bag on my back swung forward too, so I pushed it out of the way to read about 'la besace pour transporter ses effects.' My pilgrim's passport and floppy sun hat had fallen out of the bag, so I had to retrieve them before I could learn about the other two signs: 'la crédentiale qui est une sorte de passeport attestant sa qualité de pèlerin et non pas de vagabond,' and 'un large chapeau pour se protéger de la pluie ou du soleil.' On the way back to Rocinante I heard a little girl ask her mother a...

Reims, and the historic Cathedral Church of Notre-Dame, where the kings of France were crowned over the centuries. It's a national symbol.  It's also surprisingly like a version of the church in Laon but where there lights aren't working properly. There's the same towering arches, the same grand scale, the same Cistercian austerity (Laon was one of the models the builders at Reims used as inspiration). But the whole east end of the building is strangely dark and forbidding.  The reason is stained glass. Unlike Laon, every window at the east end is filled with it, and most of the pieces are extraordinary mastepieces. There's a huge rose window i the south transept showing the creation and fall. An amazing triptych of windows by Marc Chagall. And more, both modern and ancient. But the staining is heavy and the daylight becomes very obscured, so although each window is a marvel the total effect is to plunge the east of the church into gloom. I soaked in the...

Laon. What a revelation. I'll admit (Francophiles, please look away): I'd never even heard of Laon. But after a good night's sleep I was on the road early and ready to stop somewhere when the great medieval city with it's soaring cathedral rose up on the horizon, and I thought: don't pass this by. By 9am I was standing in the Cathedral nave. The architecture was very Cistercian, and therefore simple and beautiful. There was gentle ethereal music playing from a sound system. The stonework was bathed in early morning light. And no one else was there yet. I had the silence, the prayerfulness, the huge expansive stillness to myself. I sat in the old choir stalls (for the monastic choir) and prayed and kept silence. I don't know how long I was there but now it's nearly 11am local time, so it must have been a while. I had to tear myself away.  By far the most contemplative and prayerful space I've encountered since Canterbury. I hope there'll b...

This is a picture of me earlier today in Paradise. There aren't many photos of me or other people on this blog, and that's because of one of my travelling companions: autism. I was diagnosed with autism five years ago in my late forties, but it's a lifelong condition, so they were simply giving a name to something that's always been there. Strictly speaking, I was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder level 1 (ASD1), which used to be called Asperger's Syndrome until people realised that naming a condition after a Nazi doctor was a bit insensitive. Imagine if your doctor told you your achy back was slipped Hitler discs. In my case, ASD plays out in a variety of ways. I love being around people but find them confusing and unpredictable: autistic people just don't get the unwritten social rules. So social situations make me severely anxious, although medication helps with that. I'm a creature of routine. I have a range of special interests which I...

Arriving in Cambrai I parked Rocinante right outside Église Saint-Géry de Cambrai and went in to pray (the Cathedral would have been wonderful, but it's closed for renovations). There were a few people already there and one of them, a nun, warmly waved me over. Good Anglican that I am, I thought: 5pm, time for Evensong. I figured I could pray along somehow while they worshipped in French.  Some of you may already be ahead of me with this story. An elderly priest came in, put on his surplice and a purple stole, and for some strange reason came and sat behind us all. Then, after a bit, the nun got up and joined him. I could hear a whispered conversation going on. Then it dawned on me.  This was confession. I was third in the line. Not really feeling up to confessing all my faults in French, I slipped off elsewhere to say evening prayer, and then crept towards the door. At the last moment I looked back to see the priest still sat there, an enigmatic look on his face...

After writing the previous (somewhat dispirited) post I prayed for a while then went into Béthune town square, clumsily ordered tea and a pastry using my fluent ignorance of French - at the Patisserie in the photo. It was time to take stock. I was tired, discouraged and homesick. Well, these things pass, given time. On the other hand, I'd already made it to France, Rocinante is in good health, and the sun was shining. I figured a few more miles down the road wouldn't hurt, and might pick me up a little. So I walked back to the bike, and on the way a young man driving past saw me, slowed down tooting his horn and leant out of the window. "Salam alaykum!" he shouted, grinning delightedly. I don't know whether he mistook my cassock for a thobe or just loved priests, but it was a greeting of peace and I welcomed it! From Béthune I rode the 80km or so to Cambrai along broad, straight roads passing through an extraordinary succession of beautiful villages an...

I'm sitting in the back of Église Saint-Vaast in Béthune, feeling a little lost and trying to find my bearings. Now that I'm over the Channel and driving through France I feel very alone. I don't speak French, so it's hard to know what's going on around me. Right now I feel more as though I'm travelling away  than travelling towards , and it's hard. I've spent the morning riding through the most beautiful countryside in glorious sunshine and thinking the whole time how much nicer it would seem if I were facing the other way ... The church helps. It's not as gaudily baroque as some French Catholic churches, so it's easier to feel at home. I've been able to pray and sit in quiet. Still feeling downbeat, but for weeks now I've been wrestling with nerves, anxiety, uncertainty, and now homesickness around this trip. I'm going to do again what I've done all the other times. Look that feeling in the eye, say 'thanks for l...

Home sweet home for tonight: my little tent (in a big tent pitch!) with Rocinante having a rest alongside.  I've had some fun picking places to stay. My first night was wild camping after I saw the irresistible road sign "Monk's Lane". The second campsite was reached by following a couple of lanes, some miles apart, but both called "Pilgrim's Way". I've been getting some way along the road each time then praying: any ideas Lord?  Today, just before rolling off the ferry, I opened the map and picked out a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, but in the right direction. Started heading that way and decided to keep going and see where I'd picked. When I finally came to a halt (at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, oddly) I prayed (Any ideas Lord?),  pulled out my phone to see if there was a decent campsite within an hour or so's ride. And discovered there was one just around the corner. So here I am in a lovely rural campsite, ha...

I realised that I've been sharing lots of photos of the inside and outside of churches and other buildings. Not so much human interest stuff ... and no people. I think that's my autism at play; I always feel awkward photographing people, even myself. Too much like looking them in the eye. But folks are interested in other stuff to do with this journey, so here's a nice photo of what it would look like if you were me, right now, sitting on Rocinante and heading south. Empty roads, wide open spaces, a little farmhouse, sun shining ... it's hard going, but we'll do our best to keep at it. ///legends.manned.entertain

Landed in Dunkirk and hour or so ago. Not Calais, as originally planned: decided to start further east on a bit of a whim. Very calm and enjoyable crossing - and, since I slept most of the way, really quick! Picked a random place 30km or so south of the port on my GPS and said, "Let's go that way." Rocinante, now in her mother country (she's a Peugeot) happily obliged. After 10km or so of riding through the most magnificent open country on tiny back roads (at one point I could see the crowded main road half a mile to my right - I had my road to myself) I decided to find a church, stop, pray, and get my bearings. So here I am in Église Saint-Martin in Looberghe. Since St Martin is also the patron saint of Leicester Cathedral, I felt just a little at home, as though St Martin were quietly saying, "Hi, good to have you here!" ///gleefully.reactivate.ritzy

The iconic white cliffs are slipping away behind us. I've left Dover and I'm no longer on British soil. I had a good chat with my camping neighbour this morning, Andy. Getting away from stressful situations for a few days in Kent. A really interesting fella who recommended an old movie called 'Diva' which is, it seems, also about some guy making a crazy trip around Europe on a moped. It also involves the mafia and drug runners, so not quite the pilgrimage I'm planning. But a movie! Chris Hemsworth take note: I smell Oscars here. In the queue for the ferry I got chatting with a guy driving his wife home to Germany before they both set off for South Africa. In a plane, he assured me, having worked out on his car's GPS that I had over 1600km to go (I think it's further, as I won't be taking the motorways his car would use). And now I'm watching the waters of the English Channel slip past beside the ship and enjoying a refreshing cuppa! ///co...

Evensong at Canterbury Cathedral: what a joyous end to a wonderful day. The service was led by an old friend, Wendy Dalrymple, formerly of Loughborough but now Precentor at the Cathedral. We had wonderful singing by a girl's choir. We sang a great pilgrim hymn, Guide me O thou great Redeemer. And we were blessed with John Rutter's exquisite 'The Lord bless you and keep you.' I was ordained in 1996, when the Church in Wales (where I served) didn't ordain women yet, and the Church of England had only just done so. Girl choristers made national news in those days. Women bishop's could only be imagined in some far-flung future. And today, in Anglicanism's mother church, a superb woman priest led Evensong with a wonderful girl's choir and, among other things, prayed for Rose, the Bishop of Dover. And the amazing thing? That was totally unexceptional. No one batted an eyelid. Good times. I do like to think, though, that the ecclesiastical greats of...

Today, rather than pushing on straight over the Channel, I took a more restful day and just made the 15km trip to Canterbury. I thought it might be worth a couple of hours. I was way out. I arrived in Canterbury late morning, picked up a few essentials and enjoyed a cup of tea in a coffee shop, then sauntered over to the Cathedral for a little look. And, as it turns out, that was me for the next six hours. I'd never been to Canterbury Cathedral before, and perhaps you haven't either, especially as a pilgrim. So let me say this: if you plan a pilgrimage, whether to Canterbury, from Canterbury, or just passing anywhere near Canterbury, GO TO CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. You won't regret it for one second. I walked in the door of the visitor centre to buy a ticket and was immediately greeted by Torin, one of the staff, with the words, "Well, you look like a pilgrim!" (Perhaps it's the cassock and pilgrim staff?) From that moment on I was wrapped in hospitality. There wa...

I'm writing this 'evening reflection' halfway through the next day, for reasons that will become clear. The photo shows a pond in Epping Forest, where I stopped for a walk partway through the day. If you're having trouble making out the water, there isn't any - the hot weather has completely dried it out. I took this photo mid-morning. By early evening I was  this photo. I set off early yesterday (about 5am) refreshed but a little tired. I wanted to get past London before the traffic built up and, as I wrote in a previous post, I failed miserably. After I finally got over the Woolwich Ferry I was anxious and on edge from wrestling with the traffic and decided to push on out of London as quickly as possible - so missed the chance to see anything on the way. I chugged on down to Maidstone where I hoped to pick up a few supplies. It was baking hot and not great fun walking around the streets. My cassock attracted a lot of attention and some light-hearted mocking - I...

St Mary's Westwell - what a delight! I just stumbled across it, like everywhere else on this pilgrimage really, and decided to try the door.  It was open. It was obviously loved and well used. Tables and chairs were laid out for a coffee morning. The architecture was strange and charming: an odd row of pillars in front of a little enclosed horseshoe of choir stalls. A very attractive modern altar in what was clearly a very old building. A fantastic east window - a Jesse Tree. And pilgrims were expected. There was a little ink stamp at the back to add the church to the 'passports' many modern pilgrims carry. I stamped the inside cover of my Bible. A joyous place to say evening prayer, and to pray for the folks who worship here week by week.  ///unafraid.chefs.irrigated

I realised I was tired after my early start and the adventures in London, so I headed off into the countryside and found this gorgeous little church: St Mary's in Fawkham. It's an old Saxon church, opened daily by a team of volunteers. Unfortunately today the rota must have got messed up, as it's still locked. But behind the church is this huge open space like a huge piece of parkland, with benches tucked away in the bushes. Perfect on a summer's day.  So I've prayed a little and slept a while on the cool green grass. Feeling very refreshed now and ready to roll on a little further.  ///rotate.treat.client

Having woken early, I thought it would be good to get on the road while traffic was non-existent. I knew at some point today I'd have to cross the east of London, and I thought it would be good to do that before things got too busy. It turns out that leaving my rural idyll at 5am and trusting my usually great GPS to pick a sensible route landed me on the North Circular in rush hour. So here's a hot tip: never, ever, ever make that drive on a 50cc scooter! By the time I realised what was happening it was too late to get off. It did encourage me to pray, though, which was the point of the pilgrimage! 😳  The photo is from the Woolwich ferry. ///itself.weds.stick

Well that was a colder night than I expected! Had to get up in the middle of the night to add layers, and then it was ok. I fell asleep around 8.30pm, so when I woke around 4am it didn't seem too bad ... and then I went out to find this! So this was my Chapel for morning prayer. Saying Psalms while the birds sang around me and the sun rose. And along came a line from Psalm 27: "One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple." A glorious start to the day!

  First day on the road. The photo is the view from my lodgings (a corner of a little single-track byway known locally as 'Monk's Lane' - seemed appropriate!) Setting off was more emotional than I'd expected. It's hard, saying goodbye to family and walking out of the door, knowing you might not be back for months. My dad and stepdad were both in the navy, and most of the kids I grew up with were navy kids, so I'd seen this from the other side. But we were always the ones being left in our familiar surroundings, with the rest of our family and friends. Today, I was the one leaving. The first part of the journey was pure delight: travelling through Leicestershire, Rutland and Northamptonshire by back roads in glorious sunshine. I had the world to myself most of the time. Cambridgeshire saw busier roads, more traffic, slightly more impatient drivers. Still some wonderful sights, but I was glad to find a quieter spot to camp for the night. I don't think things w...

Great St Mary's in Cambridge. I was a bit unsure when I came in to be greeted by the tacky gift shop, signs for tower tours etc. But entry to the church was free and the little prayer Chapel in the north aisle was charming and quiet. So while people wandered and took photos and enjoyed the architecture and sat quietly praying, I was able to enjoy praying the Jesus Prayer for a good while in relative peace. For a church with a lot of visitors, it felt like they got that right. ///mild.brick.listed

St John's Church, Little Gidding, tucked away at the end of a country lane in rural Cambridgeshire. I hadn't planned to stop here, but then I had no idea I'd be going anywhere near until I saw road signs for 'The Giddings' and began to wonder how close I might be. This tiny church has an amazing history: a lay Anglican religious community run by Nicholas Ferrar, connections with George Herbert and King Charles I, and one of T S Eliot's most famous poems. It's worth taking a minute to look over their very good website . Personally, I think I'd probably call the church austere rather than downright beautiful, but the grounds outside, clearly kept as a further space for prayer, are tranquil and magnificent, and easy place to dwell with God. ///baroness.fuses.notion

A brief stop to pray in St Mary the Virgin, Southwick. A gem of a church: open, clean and tidy, clearly prayed in, and clearly expecting others to enjoy praying here too. There were homemade stations of the cross which were charming.  To my joy, the lectern Bible was open at Song of Songs, so rarely read now but at the heart of Christian devotion and spiritually for many centuries. I read words of longing and desire and my soul was refreshed!  ///marble.breeze.players

Day one, 9.15am, and I'm on the road. It was a modest start: to the end of the road. Since this is a pilgrimage focusing on praying to God in the beautiful places, it felt good to begin with Morning Prayer in St Thomas Beckett, the church in my own village. It was good to enjoy the peace and stillness for a while; saying farewell this morning was a little tearful. And so, now, out to fire up Rocinante and really get going! ///punctual.stews.limit