The wound is the place where the light enters you. RUMI Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. RUMI

If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath. AMIT RAY

Sunday, 3 February 2013

The Viking Way: Horncastle To Belchford

Last Thursday I continued my long, interrupted walk along the Viking Way. On climbing out of the car in Horncastle I almost regretted my decision, as the afternoon was cold, with a strong, face-searing wind. But after a mile or so I relaxed, and all my cares and worries blew away.

What do the botanists know? Our lives should go between the lichen and the bark. The eye may see for the hand, but not for the mind. We are still being born, and have as yet but a dim vision of sea and land, sun. moon, and stars... HENRY DAVID THOREAU A Week On The Concord And Merrimack Rivers

I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees / I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees / Asked the Lord above, Have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you please. ROBERT JOHNSON Cross Road Blues

Roads are a record of those who have gone before. REBECCA SOLNIT Wanderlust: A History Of Walking 

We are but dust and shadow. HORACE The Odes Of Horace

In the small village of Fulletby...

... I came across Winn Cottage opposite the church. This had once been home to the remarkable Henry Winn (1816-1914). Henry left school when he was 10, became Parish Clerk at the age of 14, and held this post until he was 90 years old. Entirely self educated, he also worked as the village grocer, draper, ironmonger, constable and schoolmaster. And as if that were not enough, he somehow found time to found a local library, and write poetry and newspaper articles about village life. Even more astonishingly, he fathered 21 children — although only four daughters grew to adulthood.   

The Church of St Andrew, Fulletby.

I was now walking along the spine of a low range of chalk hills known as the Lincolnshire Wolds. I reached Belchford, my destination, but had to detour down a muddy bridleway for a couple of miles to catch the Louth bus back to Horncastle.


George said...

Every time I read one of your travel/walking posts about your surroundings, I want to move to the U.K. permanently. You are truly blessed with myriad, walkable landscapes. Great photos!

Henry Winn's life is amazing! How one can father twenty-one children and still have time for anything else is light years beyond my imagination.

The Solitary Walker said...

There's still time, George..!

George said...

I hope you're referring to living in the U.K., not following Henry Winn's example to father more children!

The Solitary Walker said...

Well, all I'll say is that I'll let my readers weigh up for themselves the intended ambiguity, George!

Ruth said...

I'm mesmerized by your photos, drawn in and struck silent.

The Thoreau quote is tremendous. It's why we keep walking, I guess: to understand more of the vastness.

I'm smiling about Mr. Winn and your and George's comments. I might say that since there was a woman in the picture, this is how he found time to father children and do all those other things.

The Solitary Walker said...

Well said, Ruth! (And perhaps there was more than one woman. Who knows?)

Ruth said...

Haha ... good point!

Vagabonde said...

What a lovely walk. I especially like your picture of the road with trees on both sides. It reminds me of little roads like this in France. I don’t know of such a road around here – there could be some, but it would have to be in the countryside.

I hope Henry Winn had 2 or 3 wives, or partners. Not at the same time though, unless he was a Mormon (!) In those days wives died in childbirth often (actually they still do. When I read on a blog recently that the blogger’s sister had just died in childbirth I checked, and the US has a bad record – it is 39th in childbirth death – just like a 3rd world country.)

Goat said...

Excellent pictures and the Robert Johnson quote is a winner. Hope you departed that (those?) crossroads with your soul intact.

The Weaver of Grass said...

This made me smile Robert and brought back memories. My maternal grandfather lived all his life in Bardney and his favourite expression when he knew it was going to rain (and one which the family still use today) was "It's going to rain - it's dark o'er Fulletby!"

Amanda said...

A walk rich both in history and mystery - and I love the Horace quote paired with the evocative photo.