Category Archives: walk

Bog, sweat and cheers

The Wall goes on, and on and on. In the rain there’s fewer walkers. However, there is Bob for company quite a bit of the time today as he moved the car on to keep up with me. There’s the occasional muddy patch but little true bog so far. A damp patch caused by a spring a Brunton Turret didn’t really count as bog as it was visible running water.
Even in wet weather there is plenty of sweat. There are up hill bits and occasional patches of blue sky later on; both possible contributors to sweat.
Today’s route went past St Oswald’s church once again. We stopped for our picnic lunch there. Then it was onto Chesters fort, which we visited once before with friends. This time we just had ice cream. I then did a further mile to Walwick, to even out the distance for today and tomorrow.
Our accommodation tonight is the new YHA The Sill. The walls in the bar area (the place for cheers, particularly after over 11 miles of walking, the longest so far) are decorated with some good poems about the local landscape, including one by Emily Dickinson. The Whinn Sill is the geological feature that Emperor Hadrian chose for the Northern frontier of the Roman empire.

From the sky to the earth
The presence of God

The Path along the Wall

Butterflies
I saw a Wall on the Wall,
A Peacock on the path at my feet
And in the speckly sunlit wood
Two Speckled Woods danced

I met some more wall walkers, coming from the West. This was the best day’s weather they had had each reported to me.
Over breakfast this morning my host told me she worked for a churches heritage project in Northumbria. She told me about a small church dedicated to St Oswald on the route. As we talked it confirmed in my mind the importance of the stories of the Northern Saints and how the gospel came to this part of England. It is just one other pieces in my post menopause spirituality.
About the time I became Chaplain I began to take an annual retreat to Holy Island. The URC have a project there and I stayed several times, once writing a service for a dead school boy on St Cuthbert’s island.
Going on retreat has been important to me for over 30 years. This was just one place I visited. It was there that I first understood that Aidan missionary and pastoral ministry combined and how the monks from Iona had been re-christianising the North, after Paulinus and Ethelburga.
So I decided to seek out further bits of this story and piece them together if I could in a way that might speak to people today, both those of the faith and those of other faiths or none, so they could see what part faith had and might play in the future.
One person in the story of the Northern Saints is Oswald who is remembered near here for the Battle of Heavenfield. Sandra and I stopped there to see St Oswald’s church, mentioned earlier. The current building replaced a much older one, but it is still a relatively simple structure surrounded by a neat grave yard, and a view all the way to Scotland.
Later, with the evening sun still two hours from setting, I did a short local walk, surprising some deer, hinds and fawns, that bounded across the fields ahead of me

As pants the hart
For cooling streams,
when heated in the chase:
So longs my soul
O God for thee
And thy refreshing grace.

Post menopause spirituality

When I was pregnant in 1993 I reflected and wrote a lot about that time, how it changed me and how I celebrated the whole experience. However, as I was walking today, I realised I’d not done that since before my menopause, which I went through a few years ago now. I decided to rectify that today.

I am very aware of the way in which body, mind and spirit co-operate to do this walk along the Hadrian’s Wall path. Of course this is not the first time I’ve realised that but it fits here because it is foundational.
Going through the menopause coincided with me doing the job of Chaplain, and of course I wasn’t the only woman at school doing so during this time. It reminded me, in RB, of the gospel story of the two women, one just entering puberty, one a mature woman who Jesus meets. In fact he’s on his way to me the younger one when he meets the older one. She interrupts the story with her touch. She reaches out to Jesus and he recognising her, reaches out to her. They meet in that moment.
There have been many meetings and many interruptions during these last 7 years and here are some of those things from my post menopause spirituality that contributed to my survival and are part of this walk.
1. the natural world is a wonder and something I enjoy and learn from all of the time. Today I loved the walk through wild flowers, I loved the blackberries and some small plums in the hedges. There were many insects: common darter, speckled wood, peacock, small tortoiseshell, red admiral are some I remember. I keep a mental note of what I see and sometimes record them. I speak to the things as I pass them: a snail at my feet, a Jay flying across my path. I have always done this.
2. technology is helpful as it means I can photograph the things I see in an instant and that helps recall as well as journalling and scrapbooking later. It also means I can look stuff up easily if I don’t recognise it. Making stuff out of small things is essential to my creativity.
3. walking is simple enough but I have a huge sense of achievement even over just two days. Tired but happy is a good description of how it feels. Alone but connected, both to other walkers and those I meet but also to others. Bob and Hannah aren’t here but they have done other walks with which I have been involved and in itself those experiences have got me here. Bob is also on the other end of the phone if problems arise. They do. He tells me of a short cut. I am grateful.
4. prayer happens, it is so much a part of me. Grace texts me from Kenya to ask for prayer for the election process. There is fear and peace is fragile. I turn other things over in prayer as I walk along, things that have happened earlier in the year, concern for friends and family, the world and what happens in it.
5. I stopped going to church regularly a while ago now, in common with many other people I know. But I still visit churches as I go along, when they are not busy. The quiet is valuable. But I have not yet left the church. It extends all around me. I am surprised at every turn. As the woman extends her hand to touch him, he reaches out to touch her. It’s like that.

In our touch and in our encounters
The affirmation of God

South Shields

There are angels in the north,
Arms held wide to welcome
The cross carriers and thorn bearers
Both the first and the last.

I met my first two wall walkers, an American couple, at St Peters Basin, a marina East of Newcastle City Centre. After that there as a small glut of them for a bit, they having left Wallsend a hour or two ago, about the same time I left the city centre.
The river was quiet, only gulls as a background, calling like they do. Here and there a bankside activity, a factory still in operation or a building site for a new development. There were plenty of ripe blackberries on this section of the route.
The rain started just before Wallsend. There a small detour off the track to the bath house that was uncovered more recently. The best thing at Segedunum is the viewing tower which looks out over the whole site and shows how it has changed in two thousand years.
I decided to go onto Arbeia, the Roman fort in South Shields. Taking local advice I took the metro from Wallsend to North Shields. Then a short walk to the passenger ferry across the Tyne. The rain was more persistent but I got to Arbeia, where it is thought a company of Roman Arabs from Iraq were originally station in what was a storage fort for supplies for the rest of the Wall.
As it was rather wet by now I got a taxi down to Sandra’s mum’s house, where I am stopping tonight. A warm welcome awaited me of course. A total walk of 9 miles today: I am pleased with that.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God

Glimpses of Goyt Valley

I saw a wind hover, where the winds gather,
Where the clouds whisked away
And the grass waltzed across the wild land,
While my hair whipped across my eyes
And the sun burst out brightly.

There was Pym Chair, not so good for relaxing.
Was he preacher or highway man?
Your money or my sermon, his sinister request.
I saw a wind hover and in its stillness
I saw the valley through God’s eye

Down the steep road the door to Jenkin chapel was open. Its simple interior a place my ancestors would have known. Set at the junction of the Salters roads its simple lines and homely interior looks out on a well kept graveyard. The local dead are still well regarded and recorded on aged stones.

The paths we followed along the valley were lined with trees old and young. Someone had counted the massive beeches and there were many contenders for ‘tree of the day ‘. There was a beautiful rich greenness in every fern and moss, every leaf and plant and the riverside meadows.
The butterflies seemed to particularly like the thistles. They danced around them in ones, twos, three and even fours. The other gifts of the day were the frequent stands of wild raspberries bringing a welcome fruity tang to the walk.

The sky changed from pale to dark grey. A strong shower swept through, followed by the widening blue window and higher whiskers of white feathery clouds. A summer day of contrasts and companionship.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God

Open door

The door was open. The interior calm and cool. Lined with wood it was carved from the forest itself. A yellow chrysanthemum in a plastic pot the only sign that reasonably recently someone had been here.

God is my strength and refuge,
A present help in trouble,
The One in whom I put my trust.
God sets a bright flower before me
And surrounds me with calm and peace.
In the valley the sheep let me know
They are at home here too.
As the light filters through the trees
And the dappled path stretches ahead of me
I lean into the silence and drink
From the quiet pools.
The sheep take an uphill path through the trees
To new pastures, excited and eager:
It is worthwhile to follow them
Knowing you are with us.

This was written at Saddell and Carradale church. And this Inscription on a grave stone was seem a little further on at Dippen:
Life is short
Death is sure
Sin the wound
Christ the cure

Waited for a bus at Torrisdale Castle, where the coat of arms says Forward and the Gunera very large. Bob speculated that if rhubarb was that size you could feed a lot of people with one stalk. Maybe a plant breeding programme is in order.

Another clear day gave lovely views of Arran from this coast. I can see back to Carradale from where we came. It was a good walk except for the bit along the shore. We had not expected it to be quite as difficult as it was over the rocks and salt Marsh. Samphire and sea pink were growing among the rocks and we saw two common blue Butterflies.

A glorious day
In our life and our believing
The love of God

And on the third day

If yesterday was marked by different shades of grey (no, not like that, in the landscape I mean), then today’s hue was blue.
It began fairly early, as the clouds thinned out from day break, to be replaced by clear blue by mid day.
We visited the ruins of Saddell Abbey. Reclaimed by the green of the valley and the forest, it was first named by the Vikings, and as their descendants we admired the lushness. No wonder it was later settled by Monks as it must have also been productive.
Loch Lussa lies in the middle of the southern section of the Kintyre peninsula. We reached it from the south and walked along the western shore. It was astonishingly blue. The shore was dotted with Marsh orchids in diverse shades of purple, one of my favourite British wild flowers. Each little floret on the spike is a perfect tiny masterpiece.
We found a Croft selling freshly picked kale so Hannah was well pleased. Leaving Bob to walk around the North end of the Loch and back to Saddell, Hannah and I went back by road stopping at Peninver to explore Ardnacross Bay. The sea was very calm and there were clear views of Arran across Kilbrannan Sound. The blue sea and sky were a wonder, and a complete contrast to yesterday’s low clouds. The water looked inviting and some local children were running about in the shallows. An oyster catcher rose from a rock giving its shrill alarm cry.
We called in at the tea shop near Carradale and were the last customers of the day, rewarded with chocolate brownies, flapjack and the last of the lemon drizzle.
It was the only drizzle we had seen all day. The evening sun bathed us generously as we turned for home. The sky was still and blue.

From the sky and from the sea
The joy of God

The second leg

Reading this you may wonder about the first leg, which was Huddersfield to Kilmarnock via the Yorkshire Dales. The best bit was the cheese shop n Ribblesdale where having been pressed to try many kinds of cheese we came away with 10 to last us the week. We ate some in a small picnic at Teabay. Whichever way we go round here we cross over routes we have taken before, particularly Hannah’s End to End five years ago.
Kilmarnock has won the strap line Scotland ‘s most improved town. We visited an award winning fish and chip shop.

But the second leg, the original subject of this entry, was wet. We met Hannah at Ardrossan harbour and eventually we were all loaded onto a Cal-mac ferry for Arran. The famous Cal-Mac breakfast with Lorne sausage well worth the wait.
From Brodick to Lochranza it rained. Very open country, the road wandered by the coast, but there was no avoiding Hannah getting soaked on her bicycle. She made very good time but was wet and cold. The 12.00 ferry to Claonaig was warm but brief. As a port it boasted only a bus shelter. Hannah decided to press on. A newly resurfaced single track road of 14 miles with quite a loose surface had to be negotiated before a bar came in sight 1 mile from our destination. Let’s hope some hot food and a chance to dry out concludes the second leg in a more satisfactory way than it started.

Evening came on gently and the rain cleared such that sky, sea and hills were various shades of soft grey. It is quiet and calm.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God l

Avoiding the Bulls of Bashan and other advice from the psalmist

Sometimes when you are reciting the psalms in worship like Benedictines do, you come across something odd like the Bulls of Bashan. Now I’ve no idea who or what they were but I’m pretty sure that webmaster Bob will google it quite quickly and put a footnote to inform us all.
But actually I think I may have met one today. When I say met one I actually made quite a lot of effort to avoid him. It was on the way back from Byland Abbey that the first sign on the footpath warned me of his presence. At that point he was about three fields away with his harem. The nearest I got to him was him bellowing and roaring, just like in the psalms, on the other side of the fence. I took a different path, up a hill. Turned out to be the same field, who could have guessed. Who comes around the cornerstone old grumpy and his gang. By now I was at the top of the hill and pretty soon over the handy stile.
So whoever the Bulls of Bashan are or were, my advice is, like the psalmist, to give the plenty of room.

As the Bulls of Bashan roar,
So the hare runs up hill.
Follow her!

A short time after writing this I had a fall off another stile and had to attend the Malton urgent care unit for some stitches in my left hand. Patched up now and back in Huddersfield with Bob.

In our coming and our going
The Peace of God

These stones would shout aloud

I grew up on the architecture of England. It was my father’s contribution to my general knowledge, complimenting my mother which was the common flora and fauna. As a result I can name seasonal wild flowers, birds and insects but I also know a Norman arch from a Gothic one.
Standing at Riveaulx the stones make me gasp. I saw it last summer but standing here again it was no less impressive.
It’s easy to imagine they prayed and sang in this lofty, now roofless sanctuary. I wonder what Henry VIII would have made of it all these centuries later after his greed and bad leadership laid waste to these holy houses of the North.

The trees clap their hands
But it is in the woods around Stanbrook Abbey that I find my true sanctuary. This enormous woodland cathedral, its green roof meeting across my path, letting in beams of sunlight, is a wonderfully restoring place.
A hind leaps across the path ahead of me. She also knows the value of this sanctuary. At this moment it seems to be the calmest place on earth and I know I need to store it in my core memory for later days.
Insects hum, birds sing and wild garlic makes a strong pong from ramsons deep as snow drifts. The light filters in catching small puddles and making the shine like jewels, giving the green leaves many different shades.
From time to time others pass by. Not many but a few who have also found peace here. They remark on how beautiful a place this is, a constant doxology, and walk on. The birds join in the refrain and the trees clap their hands, as the psalmist says.

As the hind rests peacefully in the wood
So may I rest peacefully in God.
As the birds sing joyfully in the branches
So may I praise God daily.
As the light flickers through the leaves
So may I pass each day in the light.
As the flowers carpet the ground
So may I hold the earth gently and honour the Creator.