More pictures at http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnandhillian/sets/72157621715286095/
Monday
Writing a blog where there’s no likelihood of internet access is perhaps missing the point – but we’re supposed to be following in the footsteps of Cuthbert, and we already have the impression that it would have needed more than that to put him off.
So this then is the blog of the Northern Synod Pilgrimage, July 20-25 2009, following St Cuthbert’s Way. For me the true nature of the exercise was revealed when, in response to a question of mine, Dave admitted that the St Cuthbert’s Way is a recent invention, the brainchild of a Wooler citizen in the mid-90s who was looking for ways of capturing a passing tourist trade. So we are not pretending to follow where Cuthbert walked on any particular journey, but rather a finding our way across a tract of country that he will have known like the back of his hand.
So here we are, standing outside Melrose Tourist Information Office at 12 noon. Colin has travelled all the way from Teesside, and I’ve driven from Durham, and we’ve met up with Dave from Belford (for no reason that we’ve really fathomed) at Wooler Youth Hostel where we three will be spending the night; and now we’ve travelled on to Maxton, leaving two cars there, and driving on to Melrose to meet the rest of the party. We have a sense the logistics of this all are, perhaps, a little less than logical – and I think we’re already wishing that we knew a bit more about what we’re letting ourselves in for. 62 miles: yes, we know that. But what else?Bill and Sheila, and John and Gwen, all from Rothbury, are there waiting for us. We’re all keenly aware that Dave has a bit of a vested interest in this pilgrimage: his current PhD research focuses on people who walk the St Cuthbert’s Way, and he even dives inside the Information Centre to make sure that they have a good supply of his questionnaire forms to give out to innocent walkers. Presuming the answers we might give, Dave reminds that we are not simply off on a long walk, but on a pilgrimage. He doesn’t exactly spell out the difference – well, we are all members of churches in our Synod after all; but we know that there should be a measure of interiority about the whole exercise. And we have a brief prayer together to send us off on our way.
We need extra strength an encouragement for that first stretch – a long pull up out of Melrose, with glorious views if we think to look backwards down on to the town and the abbey, and down the length of the valley. Soon we are in the midst of Eildon Hills. The sun is shining and there is a light breeze – the best pilgrim weather. We meet a friendly walker who takes a group photo at the top of the pass: shame that it later turns out he must have pressed the wrong button, but never mind, we will all testify that we were here. And besides, we’ve had our certificates as walkers of the St Cuthbert’s Way stamped at the starting point.
As we move down from the hills into some woods, the clouds become more threatening, but the rain doesn’t come to much. Dave has a good source of information about the walk and reflections on it in the form of Mary Lowe’s book, and we’re beginning to savour the odd “Mary Lowe moment” which at least means we can rest that long. We learn about a doughty deaconess from the kirk at Bowden (though it was left to me to enquire of a friendly native how to pronounce the place) and pick up other bits of information that give an extra coating to this lovely landscape that we’re passing through. Above the Tweed we watch a buzzard hunting – and have a welcome stop as Diana (who has just missed us at St Boswells Newtown) hurries to catch up with us. How much easier things would have been for Cuthbert if he had a mobile phone to help him organise his journeys.
Later the rain sets in – not viciously, but strong enough as we follow the Tweed from St Boswells to remind us how the river has its being. There are herons all along the banks: clearly the fishing here is good. The path is not so straightforward now – the scope for allegorising is endless – and we begin to tire of the ups and downs on wooden staircases. Maxton church is a welcome sight, although its closed doors are hardly welcoming.
A brief run through of the Northumbrian Office in the drizzle – then it’s into cars and, for us, back to Wooler and the Youth Hostel, and for the Rothbury set the luxury of the Jedburgh Hotel.
Tuesday
Back to Maxton Church, where we’re joined by Henry and Olive, both from Hexham. We’re relieved that Henry seems as fit as he does, as it’s a top bunk we’ve reserved for him in our little Room 7 in the hostel.
We have bright sunny weather as we stride out in a southerly direction and soon join Dere Street, which Dave reminds us in a Mary Lowe moment was a Roman road certainly walked by Cuthbert himself. The road leads us past Lady Lilliard’s stone, commemorating the heroine of the Battle of Ancrum, and then down to Harestanes which we reach just before the rain sets in.
So it’s a welcome stop. Diana joins us again for our afternoon’s walking, which we know is a ten mile stretch.
Thankfully the rain eases, and most of the distance is walked in the dry – along the Teviot, over a splendid bridge across Oxnam Water, and then up to fine vista across to the Cheviots. There are larks singing as we cross a style, and a few mushrooms for Diana to take back to Belford for tea. The view down the valley focuses on Cessford Castle, allegedly built for maximum protection rather than comfort, which is believable as we pass the ruin in the corner of a field. This would have been a good place to stop, but there were at least couple of miles to go, which seem interminable for at least some of us. Finally we reach Moorbattle (not named after a battle apparently), where we pick up the cars left earlier in the day.Is pilgrimage then about this experience of near-total exhaustion? Certainly we are too tired, and now too wet, for that Northumbrian Office. How do our physical feelings relate to our physical well-being? And where does the post-pilgrim part of the day fit into it all?
Part of the joy of this pilgrimage lies in the conversations along the way: some I confess have been about “synod business”, but others far more wide-ranging. But it seems sad that at the end of the day we move off in separate directions – some to Jedburgh and others to Wooler. It would have been good for time to reflect or simply eat together at the end of the day.
Somehow back at Wooler we manage to shrug off the tiredness just in time to get served a bar-meal at the local hostelry. But what state will we be in tomorrow?
Wednesday
This is to be a day of two halves. We start by leaving one of our cars at Hethpool, having time today for a good breakfast at the Wooler hostel, before checking out). This proves tricky enough as we get behind a flock of sheep halfway up the hill – a perfect excuse for being at least 20 minutes late at Moorbattle. Sadly Gwen and Sheila are not walking with us, but are off after attention for their blisters.
We’re in a pretty suppressed mood when we finally meet up, as we have been driving through pretty heavy rain for the past half hour. But amazingly the rain stops just after we move away from the tree where we have had a brief morning reflection from Dave, and soon we are climbing up into the outlying range of the Cheviots. The sun even shines for part of the way, and before too long we are at the top of Wideopen Hill which the plaque assures us is not only the highest point on the route, but also the halfway point. So it’s downhill all the way now – well, sort of.Soon Yetholm is in sight. As usual it takes longer to do the final section than anticipated: we by-pass Town Yetholm and follow the river up to the bridge, then across the river and straight to the famous Border Inn. Gwen and Sheila have reserved a table for nine in a room of our own – and we are well served and looked after, even though keeping to the modest end of the menu.
Sheila joins us for the afternoon – allegedly another five miles or so, with a comparable amount of ups and downs – while Gwen drives off to do some “homework” about Kirk Newtown church. Our route follows that of the Pennine Way for the first mile or so – then we leave the metalled road and are soon climbing steadily up to the border ridge. The significant sign post provides an even-handed welcome which ever direction you might be going in. Soon we are down in the Eldon Valley, and another quite long slog along the tarmac road back to the Collingwood oaks at Hethpool. There’s a bit of excitement in rescuing a trapped sheep at the end of the valley road – and then the usual driving off after parked cars, and the unspoken questioning of whether this is really the best way of organising a pilgrimage…
Going home takes us in different directions tonight. The Jedbergh group are now moving to hotel in Wooler; but the Wooler group, but because of accommodation shortage we now have to move away from Wooler to Belford. Settling into the bunkhouse, and buying fish and chips on Dave’s home turf, remind us that real life goes on, whatever find thoughts we may have as we walk our pilgrim way. This is hardly luxury, but we do now have a television that not only gives us the news of what is going on in that real world, but also gives us a better idea of what the weather is, well, might be, going to be.
Thursday
Forecast looks good today – and we’re glad to welcome Gwen back to the walking party. The track leads us back into the hills, and the promise today of wild goats. Sure enough we see the first ones after only half an hour. Maybe they’re still on our minds as we make our way towards Yeavering Bel – at least we forget about the path we’re supposed to be taking, and just walk down the main track missing a vital turning. Well, it’s the first time we’ve been lost – and Henry and Dave between them soon get us back on route, ironically through a field that at first appears to be full of sheep, but soon reveals its fair share of wild goats as well among them.
No luxury of a pub lunch today. Instead we find ourselves high up on the tops at about midday, listening to the curlew’s call, and thinking that perhaps it is lunch time, when we find a party of about twenty catching up with us. Is this an authentic part of pilgrimage, sharing diverse experiences with other people? This group are from Bristol, and have flown up specially to Edinburgh – so our first thoughts are that their carbon footprint must be bigger than ours. But now they are here they are relying on buses and taxis: now, why didn’t we do it that way?
We are soon sitting in the shelter of a wall (Henry is able to give us a professional account of how it will have been built) enjoying our lunch.
A couple more walkers pass us, and we able to watch them as they move across the moors over a mile ahead. Soon we are following them, and coming in sight of Wooler, our goal for the day. John has been using his GPS gadget to measure our journey each day. We’re used to discrepancies, but this looks like being greater than usual. As usual, it is the end of the day that proves the most tiring, and not only because of the state of the knees of some of us. The route leads us down to Wooler Common, but then up again through the wood and in a great arc above the town before finally getting down to house level. Surely Cuthbert would never have considered so absurd a route?It’s good to finish a day so early – and we are all invited to tea in the Ryecroft Hotel garden before moving off to the usual car-collecting, and for the Belford group a meal at the Bluebell Hotel before turning in.
Friday
The day was to turn out the wettest of the Pilgrimage – but the sun is shining as we meet up in Wooler, and stays with us for the first part of the way. We climb gently – in fact, to be truthful all today’s climbs will turn out that way – and then drop to the Weetwood Bridge, which is a listed monument which allegedly has been repaired with the aid of polystyrene. Those of us who’ve had to care for listed buildings wonder why we have never been allowed such latitude. Thoughts also turn to history: this is the bridge that led to the field of Flodden, the last occasion on which the English took Cuthbert’s banner with them into battle. As Mary Lowe comments, there were surely tears in heaven…
Sandwiches are eaten at a welcome stop by the Hetton Beck, in the area of Hetton Hall – home of the Northumbria Community. Then it’s another steady climb up into the Kyloe Hills, where we gather at Cuthbert’s Cave – a large overhang with long Cuthbert associations. Did he shelter here himself? Or did the monks carrying his disinterred body rest here on their long wandering journey? Pilgrims at least have an idea about their destination, but Cuthbert’s followers had no idea where they were headed. Maybe there is some extra discipline in that ignorance – which if not reflected on this pilgrimage, may well be experienced in a good deal of contemporary Christian experience and ministry.It’s a short step to the Mons Gaudium – the moment when we reach the ridge above the cave, and looking east see for the first time Lindisfarne spread before us. Such is the lie of the land that the view is less than spectacular – except for the three of us who choose to climb up to the cairn, where you can look back to the Cheviots (did we really come over those hills yesterday?) as well as down to the coast and the long line of Lindisfarne.
The last section of the afternoon turns out more demanding than we are ready for. Dave already has warned us that it will be damp walking through Kyloe Old Wood: this is the part of the Haggerston estate where the first Leylandii were raised. But it turns out to be more than damp as the heavens open, and we squelch our way along Dolly Gibson’s Lonnen and finally down the hill back to Fenwick.
Saturday
Fenwick is quite a different place this morning: cars parked everywhere, and anxious leaders moving from group to group checking that they have the right complement of walkers. We meet our taxi-driven Bristol friends for the last time. Rowena is able to walk with us today – and we are glad to hear that after all the anxiety of the past week which has prevented her being part of the pilgrimage, Alan is now progressing well. Here at Fenwick a Belford family join us too – and we will shortly be joined by Diana and another group of friends.
As we move off we become a self-contained group again. The sun is shining, and we cope well with missing a sign and having to walk a few hundred extra yards back along a metalled road to the field entrance that takes us down to the main line. There is a special crossing for the St Cuthbert’s way, which involves having to ring the signalman and tell him that you are wanting to cross. “A party of 13” Dave tells him, and then finds he has to answer “How many seconds do you need?” The answer “twenty” is presumably taken as a good enough guesstimate – it’s another ten minutes before a train thunders through.
All this time Holy Island is ahead or to the side. We’re soon at the causeway, where some of us can leave boots in the car. We meet up with our synod cameraman who is doing some filming for us in preparation for the launch of the Mission Fund – he does an interview with Dave about rural ministry before driving off to meet us later on the island. For the rest of us, it’s time to get the boots and shoes off and set off across the mud – most of us barefoot – for the last two miles of the pilgrimage.Today conditions are wet, and in places quite difficult. It’s hard to keep your balance, and the unevenness prevents any kind of rhythm or spring in the step. It’s a straggling band of pilgrims that finally reaches the Island where, as Mary Lowe points out, there is no real goal. We are here where Cuthbert certainly was – but there is no shrine to mark his memory, even if the URC alone among the churches and communities claims his name. Barry is at the end of the crossing to welcome us, with the essential water and towels to clean our feet; and then we all walk the short distance to the St Cuthbert’s Centre which, for this group of pilgrims at least, is certainly journey’s end.
Hospitality is one of the features of the ministry offered here, and we are grateful for it. Barry and Hazel have prepared sandwiches and baked cakes – and these and the short act of reflective worship that Barry leads make a fitting end to our six days of travelling together.Thank you Dave, and others who had a hand in preparations. And thank you, all my fellow pilgrims, who have been my companions on the way.
