Blog

After I was treated to a wonderful full English Breakfast, prepared by Jenny, my Pilipino host, I headed out back onto The Saints Way.

A gentle climb out of Lanviet, The Saints Way continued to head south towards Fowey.

A couple of miles outside of Lanivet I caught up to Jake, a 28-year-old local who was out for his daily walk. Today he had decided he wanted to scale Helman Tor, the third highest peak in Cornwall, according to Jake. He asked me if I wanted to join him and of course I agreed.

It took us around an hour to reach the top. It is not a great height, but you certainly got a great view from the top, a set of granite stones were waiting for us. The way these stones are set almost makes you think that someone put them there.

Jake was delightful. A reformed drug addict, he now fills his days with keeping himself fit, both his mind and body. He loves to hike; he loves nature and loves looking after himself so he can in turn look after those around him. He had a lot to say, and I was more than happy to listen. We parted ways at the top of Helman Tor, but something tells me this won’t be the last time I am in his presence.

The walk to Fowey was undulating, slow ups and long painstaking downs. It was a tease of a walk, one of those that makes you think the finish is just around the corner. You get around the corner and no, the finish is not there, it is just around the next corner. Is it?

If you think Padstow is a delightful seaside harbour, then Fowey is going to tell you otherwise. Wow, what a quaint little town, nestled on the banks of the estuary of the river Fowey. Oh, while I am talking about Fowey, how do you pronounce it? Listen to Episode Four of the podcast and find out. Do I get it right? Of course, I don’t.

I made it to Saint Fimbarrus Church, the official end of The Saints Way, in good time. It was a peaceful welcome, to be able to go and sit in the Church where the pilgrims of old would have done. The past two days I have reflected a lot on why they would have taken that journey and why I am doing this right now.

I took the bus back to my car in Bodmin and drove home.

I felt tired, overwhelmed, but happy. Happy to be back out on the road again. I am not going to leave it another two years before I do my next walk.

Can you believe it has been over two years since I walked St Cuthbert’s Way?

Well, I certainly can’t! Where does all the time go? How did I allow that to happen? Life! It just happens and things get in the way. Maybe you don’t have that problem – if you don’t, could you please tell me your secret?

I made a very conscious decision to get back out on the road. Time and money are always a restrictor in my life, which is why it has taken me this long to get back out there. I needed a walk that would be short but challenging.

After much searching and research, I decided upon The Saints Way, from Padstow to Fowey in Cornwall. An area of the country I have not been to.

I now live in Brighton so getting to Padstow was going to be a challenge in its own right. I decided to drive to Bodmin and leave my car there, then take a bus to Padstow to start the walk. This meant leaving home at 4:30am, drive the 200 miles in order to arrive to catch the first Sunday bus from Bodmin to Padstow. The drive was uneventful, as was the bus journey.

Padstow is gorgeous, a little seaside harbour town on the north coast of Cornwall. It’s mid Cornwall and it is much hillier than I expected. I found my way to Saint Petroc’s Church, a medieval church that is officially the start of The Saints Way.

The Saints Way is a route that the Irish and Welsh Saints would take on their pilgrimages to Canterbury, Santiago, Rome, Jerusalem and beyond. Rather than take the boat around the dangerous waters around Lands End, they would get off in Padstow and walk the 30 miles to Fowey, where they could then get on the boat to cross the English Channel to France.

These days The Saints Way is not a popular route, as I walked today there was many a stretch where I was pushing aside grass, bushes, trees to make my way through.

Coming out of Padstow you get a beautiful view of the estuary of the river Camel and the many tributaries that add to it. I met a few people walking the opposite way but no one going the way I was heading.

The landscape is rich with cultivated fields and sections of woodland. Breaking up the scenery are wind turbines, all working hard to keep civilisation accustomed to its first world privilege.

The sun was beating down all day, a nicer reminder that even in September we still need to reach for the sun cream. Not an indicator of global warming at all!

My goal for the day was Lanivet, small town exactly halfway along The Saints Way. I took my time getting there. My accommodation for the evening was St Benets Abbey, now a B&B but at one time was a hospital for the many pilgrims that passed through that area. It was a welcome break for me. As it was the first time I had walked such a distance in one day, once I arrived I headed to my room, had a most welcomed shower, and settled in for the night.

Day Five

Today I have mixed feelings; excited to get to Holy Island and reach the destination, sad because it is drawing to an end.

The White Swan Inn was a lovely place to stay, very friendly staff and tasty food, both dinner and breakfast.

I started off back in Fenwick and began my final days’ walk towards Lindisfarne. 

It was very misty this morning and I could only see a couple of hundred yards around me. A much gentler walk today, dry but boots still getting wet from all the dew on the grass.

Could not see much at all.

Had to cross the A1 and then the main high speed railroad. There is a system set up where you have to call the signal man to make sure it is safe to cross. I picked up the telephone, the signal answered.

Me: “Hello, I’m at Fenham Hill railroad crossing.”

Signalman: “Please wait there, it is not safe to cross, call me back in a few minutes.”

I took a seat on the style and waited. All I could hear were sheep, birds and the occasional rustle of the trees and hedgerow as they moved in the wind. I waited, only about 30 seconds and then I could hear the sound of an approaching train. As the train came around the corner the driver could see me and gave a sound of the horn. It whisked past me at full speed. I watched it disappear around the corner. I picked the telephone up again.

Me: “Hello, it’s me again at Fenham Hill.”

Signalman: “Arh great, how many in your party?”

Me: “One.”

Signalman: “And how long will it take you to cross?”

Me: “Erm, less than a minute.”

Signalman: “That’s one crossing at Fenham Hill, you have a minute from now, go.”

I slammed the telephone back on its hook and officially made my way across the railroad tracks. It was quite a fun experience, little things eh?

It was still so misty and I could just make out the beach, by this time I could certainly smell the sea.

I reached the causeway at around 9:45am and cars were already streaming across. The marker posts for you to walk are set south of the road, a straighter route. I walked along the road for a little bit as there were a lot of deep channels still within the first few hundred yards. Once I could see the channels had dissipated I made my way towards the posts.

Now tradition says you should so this bit in bare feet. With hindsight, I should have, as I was about to get very muddy! I was worried about exposing my blisters to the mud but then again I am sure the salt water would have done them good. We live and learn.

The mist was still very heavy and my range of sight went from about 10 poles in front and behind to 4. The poles are very evenly spaced, around 25 to 30 yards between. There are also two rescue towers out there. In case you get stuck you can climb up into one, providing you can make it. From the look of the poles and the water mark it seems as though the average depth, when the tide is in, is about 4 feet. So, no I would not want to get stuck in that.

I passed one gentleman, Steven, who was walking St Cuthbert’s but in sections. This was his final day. He lives in the area so he can walk a section and then drive home. He is a huge Roman History buff and was telling me all about the amazing history they have left in this area and countries.

With the mist surrounding me and hiding the view of Holy Island I felt privileged to be there. It was as if I was being given a gift and not allowed to see it until the very last moment. I had to earn it and show that I was worthy of receiving this special moment.

I was not disappointed. I made it to Holy Island and I felt such a sense of peace. I walked into the Market Square, which has no market, not even a curb side stall, and soaked in the atmosphere. The Priory is right there and the stillness is entrancing. You can see why the Monks settled here. You can feel what Cuthbert felt. The Castle is a little further east and stands defiantly proud, mist trying to swallow it up but failing.

This week has been amazing. I have not felt so close and connected to nature in this way for a long time. That stood out for me. I have met some amazing people, made some wonderful new friends. I have connected to an area of the world that I did not know before, in a way that will be everlasting. I am so lucky.

Please, I urge you to do the same. Get out there and connect. Nature has a lot of the answers we seek, take a walk in it, respect it and listen.

A few more reflections from the walk.

Day Three

Kirk Yetholm is famous for being the northern end of The Pennine Way; finish it, and there is a free half a pint waiting for you at the bar! I left there at 9 am, so none for me.

I left the road and up into the hills; only a short portion is the same as The Pennine Way, and then St Cuthbert’s Way heads east. I met a gentleman, Greg, who is also walking the Way, we decided to walk together. He is a retired businessman and soldier. He was very humble, I thanked him for his service, and he brushed it off. As I spoke to him, I found out that Major General Greg, now retired, was the most senior reservist in the British Armed Forces; he is now honorary Deputy Colonel of The Rifles. Where else can this happen? I am on a walk, a pilgrimage, and I meet and befriend someone who has had such an influential and prolific career. We talked all day, and the walk to Wooler was terrific.

It was boggy up on top, and at one point, Greg and I sat for a rest, watching a Curlew fly around us, making its unique call. We also saw two red grouse and three goldfinches, a deer, numerous rabbits and many more birds. You can see why Cuthbert loved to be in this area and so close to nature.

Wooler is a lovely town, with four Churches in a tiny community. This is rural living at its best. Greg was staying with the Vicar of the local Church of England Church; he related how difficult it had been for her as a newcomer arriving into a big rural parish with the many challenges facing farming.

I took a walk into the Church, and learned that Reverend Suzanne has started an Arts programme. I will get in touch with her and find out if we can do a storytelling evening there in the future. Perfect venue and setting for it.

Day Four

Met Greg at the Church at 9 am, and off we set.

Just as the farmers said it would be, the sun is out, and it stayed out all day. Glorious weather all day.

It much gentler day today, It still had its ups and downs but nothing major.

We reached St Cuthbert’s Cave; sadly, it is roped off as someone made a fire in it, got out of control and damaged the cave. It is so peaceful here, in a bit of gorge, sheltered from the wind. You can see why Cuthbert wanted to stay there; he lived as a hermit here for a few years and used to tend sheep as a boy. It is sandstone, and there are natural lines cut into the stone. I touched the stone, wishing it to tell me all the stories it has inside.

As you leave the cave, you walk up a ridge, and on the path, a beautiful yellowhammer hopped around and showed us the Way. At the top of the ridge, you can see Lindisfarne for the first time from the Way. The sea looked so calm, the castle standing proud.

We walked into Fenwick; Greg took a taxi back to Wooler, where he is staying this evening. My hotel, The White Swan Inn, was on the Way, so he dropped me off.

We said goodbye, but I hope it won’t be for long. I loved spending time with Greg and hearing all about his experiences and stories.

A reminder that the people we surround ourselves with are the most important.

The first story pilgrimage is underway! Here are some thoughts I’ve been jotting down from the road so far. These are just some unpolished notes from my daily reflections, I hope they give you a sense of the walk so far.

The journey to Melrose

The train journey to Berwick-upon-Tweed was eventful. We made good time to just outside York when we ground to a halt to find we were delayed due to an earlier train hitting a cow. We eventually made it to Berwick over 90 minutes late. I went to get on the bus, my ticket stating I am ticketed to Melrose, only to be told by the bus driver that this is not so and I had to buy another ticket. No big deal.

Melrose is a beautiful town. I walked down to the Abbey; wasn’t able to get in but it looked amazing. Had a lovely dinner at my hotel, Burt’s. Early night as a long day tomorrow.

Day One

Started with a full Scottish breakfast, knew I would need to fill up for the day.

You would think that the start of St Cuthbert’s Way would have a clear marker, but you have to do your homework to know which road to take. There was a little sign, taking you down the side of someone’s house, through their back garden onto the trail. Steps through a forest take you out of Melrose up into the Eildon Hills. Three wonderful, almost volcanic in look, hills. Quite steep but immediately stunning views back down into Melrose.

The signage was not great all day today. Had several times when I was unsure if I was on St Cuthbert’s Way, had to keep looking at my map that I have from the official guide, but it was tough.

Took a detour to Dryburgh Abbey, on the other side of the Tweed River. Gorgeous, so tranquil, built in 1150 and now in ruins but still pretty impressive. I had the whole site to myself. Had my lunch there and enjoyed being able to soak all the history in.

Rain showers all day, pretty wet, on and off with the waterproofs. 

I was unsure where to leave St Cuthbert’s Way to get to my B&B in Jedburgh. Jedburgh is not on the route, it is about 2.5 miles south. I could see that Harestanes looked like a good place but for some reason I felt I should keep going and get to the B689 road. Get to that point and then probably take a bus or taxi to my B&B. I was hoping to be at my B&B by 5pm, but it was 6pm by the time I got to the B689. To get there I had to walk up these steep stairs and then climb over the side crash barrier to get on the road.

As I was climbing over the barrier a white van started to beep it’s horn at me. I thought to myself, that was rude as I was not blocking the road and they could easily get around me. As the van came close I saw that it was my brother, Gareth. He lives about 4 hours from here but it a self-employed courier and was on a job!

What are the chances? That we would meet there, the exact moment I step onto the road. A minute later we would have not seen each other. I jumped in his van and went with him to his drop off in Berwick, and then he drove me to my B&B. 

A St Cuthbert Miracle!

Day Two

A friend from senior school, Julian, drove up to see me for breakfast at my B&B. I haven’t seen Julian for over 11 years, it was lovely to catch up, miss him.

Back onto the Way and weather the same as yesterday, rain showers all day. The way is very wet, muddy. Better signage today.

After about 90 minutes I hear someone coming up behind me. Ann from Peckham, a retired headteacher. She was heading to Morebattle today and we walked together for about 150 minutes. We had a lovely chat, she told me she had no stories to tell but that she was a better headteacher than teacher, now a Governor of a primary school, walks often, and volunteers with the Red Cross helping refugees. She had a lot of stories to tell, I told her! 

I left her in Morebattle and carried on to Yetholm. Very steep going out of Morebattle to the highest point on St Cuthbert’s Way, 1200 ft, Wideopen Hill. The view from up there was stunning, could see back towards Melrose and the Eildon Hills, and all around. So lucky to be able to soak all that in. Not only is that the highest point but it is also the halfway point.

Steep going back down, which is even tougher on the feet.

Got to my hotel, The Plough, at around 4:50pm. All is well, my feet were so wet and I have several blisters. Going to have to keep an eye on them.

Had a lovely dinner and chat with a couple from Sunderland that were away for the evening as their Christmas present. Obviously with lockdown they have not been able to do it until now.

All is well.

On a balmy summer evening in a small village in northern Spain, I had just finished performing a play in a Korean restaurant owned by a woman from Ireland. The play was about a man chasing a myth, searching for truth amongst a mist of stories. I was performing it in a different location each evening, at the end of that day’s progress on the Camino de Santiago.

As I was clearing up and preparing to have my evening meal on this particular night, a member of the audience approached me. He was stooped with age and well past his physical prime. Holding up his mobile phone, he asked, “You, me, selfie?” I couldn’t resist his charm, but I soon learned his charm was nothing compared to his story.

The man was from Germany, and at 84 years old was walking all 500 miles of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage on his own. He relayed how slow he was in completing this task, but that he was determined to reach the goal. He explained how his wife had passed away several years before, and his life was very lonely, with no family and little social life.

I asked why he would attempt such a challenge. He hesitated and said, “You will laugh at me.” I assured him I would not.

Looking straight into my eyes, with deep conviction and honesty, he said: “God told me to do it.”

I think about that encounter nearly every day. At the age of 84, not in the best of health, a man felt inspired and moved enough in his heart to act. He acted upon inspiration. He listened, and he was doing what he felt should be done, as simple as that.

What a great inspiration and example to follow.

“No regrets” can be followed by either a question mark or an exclamation point. Which one will you choose?