Nearly Heaven

God is at home; it's we who have gone out for a walk. MEISTER ECKHART

If you do not pause upon the bridge and look over the parapet, you will not see the row of cairns bisecting the river Irthing. Who built this progression of tiny ziggurats, this ley-line of stone stupas? Down the adjacent green lane you wander, seeking an answer, following Ariadne's thread. Then stop, amazed, at an airy threshold. On your right, a heap of stones coalesces into faces, cats' eyes, flowers. A sign says Nearly Heaven. You hesitate, then softly step from the sunken hawthorn track into the sanctuary.

On your left, even more artfully arranged stones suggest a dog, a buddha, a Spanish nobleman - whatever you may imagine. A child's swing, knifed from a rubber tyre, dangles. A comfy chair and sofa are draped in blue plastic against the rain. Semi-circular voodoo heads, roughly hewn from wood, with knapweed seed for hair, swing from a central tree. Behind the tree a dead mouse floats in a rain-filled bucket. A streaked and autographed mural dominates this stage set. It's like a painting by Joan Miró. On it passers-by have scrawled names, dates, messages.

Who lives here, who has lived here, who's passed through? What is this place, this surreal haven just a stone's throw from Hadrian's Wall's rational alignments? A hippie lair or artists' colony? A New Age traveller or gypsy camp? A children's den? A pilgrim resting place? The peat-brown stream rushes round the curve on its stony bed, giving little away. Across the water lies the stub of a ramshackle, do-it-yourself bridge made of wooden packing cases. And beyond this there's a shelter, a big tarp strung below the boughs of thick-set trees. It seems uninhabited.

Signs and markers. Signs and markers. You construct a simple cairn right at the end of the line, at the spot where the row of cairns hits the stony shore. You choose differently sized stones - large ones at the bottom, smaller ones on top - varying the colours, contrasting this smooth red sandstone with that olive-green rock, this black and white striated pebble with that speckled conglomerate.

What does it all mean? Does it have to mean anything? You sigh, happy to bathe in the mystery. Then walk back from this liminal space into the shadowed lane. Perhaps you'll now tease out a myriad meanings for evermore? That's fine. For within the mystery lies the meaning; and within the meaning lies the mystery.

(Click here and here for the responses of Dominic and George to Nearly [Almost] Heaven.)

Twice Brewed

Hadrian's Wall Country has always been a popular destination for the masochistic and the frankly mad. BBC WEBSITE The Guide to Life, the Universe and Everything

New York, New York (So Good They Named It Twice) GERARD KENNY

Once Brewed, Once Brewed (So Good They Named It Twice) THE SOLITARY WALKER

Once Brewed/Twice Brewed is a tiny settlement exactly halfway between Newcastle and Carlisle on the Hadrian's Wall Path. We spent the Tuesday night there. It has a pub. It has a youth hostel. It has a light scattering of isolated farms and cottage B&Bs. And that's about it. But what's with the name? Is it Once Brewed or Twice Brewed? I'll tell you a little story.

In the mid-eighteenth century a certain General Wade submitted a design for a military road which would run east to west just below Hadrian's Wall. Unfortunately he died before planning permission could be granted (evidently it took ages to obtain in those days as well) - but his engineer carried the project through, using stones from the Wall as a foundation for the new road (ah, so that's where much of the Wall went). The navvies building this road naturally demanded good, strong ale from the local pub at the end of their working day, but the pub beer was watery and weak, so they insisted the crafty, cost-cutting landlord brew the beer again. Hence the pub's present name: the Twice Brewed Inn.

Two hundred yards east of the inn lies the youth hostel - which in fact was England's first youth hostel ever. It was officially opened in 1934 by Lady Trevelyan of nearby Wallington Hall. A staunch teetotaller, she announced in her ceremonial speech: Of course there will be no alcohol served on these premises, so I hope the tea and coffee will only be brewed once. Thereafter the hostel became known as the Once Brewed Youth Hostel. And that's the reason why this smallest of hamlets has two names.

Anyway, George and I dined at the Twice Brewed Inn and found the beer very good indeed, as was the company, for the bar and eating area were awash with lively, talkative Hadrian's Wall trampers. Seating was scarce so we politely gatecrashed one occupied table, requisitioned two stools, and struck up a conversation with two friendly walkers who - let's put it like this - now know plenty more about blogging than they did before (and nihilism and owls and American politics and stampeding cattle etc.).

The next day we were heading further west when who should we bump into but poet, short story writer, walker, climber, fell runner, amateur radio enthusiast, music teacher, double bass player and gypsy swinger Dominic of the blog ...made out of words. He also happens to be my wife's cousin. We'd arranged to see him in Gilsland later that day, but Dominic, eager to join up, had arrived early and had walked from Gilsland to meet us. He was equally surprised to see me as, of course, I'd also met up with George sooner than originally intended. This American trekker does seem to possess some magnetic power! Dominic proved to be one of the most interesting and stimulating of companions. You'd probably call him a lateral thinker. He tends to fire off all sorts of thoughts and ideas at crazy angles, often leaving George and I trailing in his creative wake.

Eventually we came to Thirlwall Castle - more a fortified house than a castle, and built entirely of masonry plundered from the Wall (ah, so that's where much of the Wall went)...

Here's Dominic admiring an attractive cottage garden and vegetable plot...

And here are George and Dominic striding purposefully onwards...

Fifty Conversational Topics We Covered While Walking The Wall

Inspired by Friko's recent request for a précis of our Hadrian's Wall conversations, and recalling my own post about fifty objects I found discarded by the roadside between Seville and Salamanca, I thought it might be fun to make a list of Fifty Conversational Topics We Covered While Walking The Wall. So here it is, in no particular order...

Marriage, Spanish food, roughing it round Europe, dead crows, de Kooning, Kandinsky, rosebay willowherb, Robert Frost, cairn building, pilgrimage, the varying quality of B&B breakfasts, gypsy swing music, Sir Michael Tippett, the colour black, Tate Modern, the Cabinet War Rooms, walking poles, blogging, fellow bloggers, Bob Dylan, simplicity, the hermit's life, Michele Bachmann, abstract art, custard, eros versus agape, wheatears, Assisi, the benefits of being slightly lost, Dublin, religion, mysticism, the magnificence of the approach to Carlisle, Colin Wilson, nihilism, owls, certain geographical locations as spiritual hotspots, American politics, parenthood, the English Lake District, packed lunches, life choices, the whereabouts of the Wall, Brahms, Belgium, a pair of blue eyes, beauty, the meaning and purpose of work, Catholic ritual, the potential dangers of stampeding cows.

Wall Photo Sequence (2)

Milecastle with figure

Walking the Wall

The Whin Sill

Breathing spaces (1)

Breathing spaces (2)

Cicerone

Sequestered farmstead

Two trees against the sky

A bend in the road

Inclined plane

Wall Photo Sequence (1)

This day, the Tuesday, was the day the Wall revealed itself in all its stunning glory. I'll let the photos do the talking. Please click on the pics to enlarge...

Figure in a landscape

Wild open spaces

The Whin Sill

Enough Wall here for  even the most ardent Wall seeker

Farmstead with sheep

Housesteads Roman Fort

Housesteads Roman Fort

Housesteads Roman Fort

Housesteads Roman Fort - the granary

Housesteads Roman Fort

Housesteads Roman Fort

Housesteads Roman Fort - the granary

Battling the elements (1)

Battling the elements (2)

Sycamore Gap

Bloggers Are Real People Too

The next day I woke to a dull, misty, rainy morning - but it was the only day of rain showers we would have. I say 'we' because by this time I'd met up with George of the blog Transit-Notes. From Wall I'd been shadowing a figure in a blue rainshell and red cap for about half an hour. I was pretty sure it was him. We crossed the river Tyne at Chollerford separated by only a few minutes...

I caught up with him at Chesters Roman fort. He was deep in animated conversation with two German walkers. Feeling once again part of some Stanley-Livingstone scenario, I cast round for something momentous and witty to say. But as I approached, George suddenly lost his balance at the top of a shallow flight of stone steps and fell backwards, recovering himself adroitly with his walking poles. Any brilliant opening gambits or pithy one-liners fled my mind as this colourfully-attired American hurtled past me. Instead I stuttered something like: 'It's amazing how much two walkers in blue raingear have in common, isn't it?' (I too was wearing a blue rainshell.) George beamed at me in astonishment. 'Robert!' he exclaimed. 'How wonderful to see you a day early!' (We'd actually arranged to meet up the following afternoon.)

Then began a wide-ranging conversation which lasted with scarcely a break for the next three to four days. George proved to be - though I'd guessed this already from his blog - one of the most charming, gracious, enthusiastic, intelligent, cultured and spiritually aware people you could ever wish to meet. After an hour or two's chat we felt we'd known each other half a lifetime. And that incident on the steps - which was, on reflection, a tremendous wabi-sabi moment - was the only less than sure-footed move he made on the whole trip.

Here's Chesters Roman fort in the rain...   

And here's George next to a trig point in the rain...

And here's George again at the Temple of Mithras (I think the rain's just stopped for a moment)...

The scenery just got better and better...

... as cultivated ground gradually gave way to wild moorland...

Wall To Wall

The Wall still proved elusive. From a distance these rocks looked promising, but on closer inspection they turned out to be natural, unhewn boulders...

I saw the vallum again, and more clouds, and more cows, but no Wall...

Here's a close-up view of the vallum (with cows)...

Entering the darkly mysterious Stanley Plantation, I felt fleetingly like Henry Morton Stanley on the trail of David Livingstone...

I emerged from the hushed, cathedral atmosphere of the pine wood into dappled sunlight...

Climbing higher, I passed a mosaic of fields, and rough pastures grazed by sheep...

... until, after crossing a small piece of deciduous woodland, I climbed this stile, descended the inviting, green slope behind...

... and stumbled quite unexpectedly on an impressive chunk of Wall. This time there was no mistaking it...

At the end of that first day I retired gratefully to the Hadrian Hotel in the charming village of Wall (yes, really!) with its tranquil village green and its rather Italianate-looking church bell tower...

Lying Down In Green Pastures

Here are two domestic couples I encountered on the Hadrian's Wall Path enjoying 'the green, green grass of home'. But what are they saying or not saying to each other? Or thinking about each other? Is a kind of bovine yin and yang at work, or are they simply posing for a pair of Yes/No pillows? Answers please, dear creative blogfriends...

Looking For The Wall

Last week I spent five most enjoyable days walking the Hadrian's Wall Path (which became Britain's 15th National Trail in 2003). Early Monday morning I took a train to Newcastle, then a bus to Newburn on the city's western edge. I joined the trail at the Tyne Riverside Country Park. The sun shone, the river sparkled, and all seemed well with the world... 

Soon the path coincided with the trackbed of the old Wylam Wagonway, one of the earliest railways ever built. Originally, in the 1750s, the wagons would have been drawn by horses along raised wooden tracks, but by 1815 these had been replaced by steam locomotives on iron rails. The trucks were transporting coal from the colliery at Wylam to the coal 'staithes' (or loading points) on the river Tyne five miles away. From here it was a case of 'keel boats' (or cargo boats) literally taking 'coals to Newcastle'...

Here's the site of the first Roman fort I came across - Rudchester or Vindobala...

There's little evidence of it on the ground. In fact all you can see is this grassy field fringed with nettles...

I climbed higher, up gentle gradients. Although the path shadowed a B road for much of the day, a high hedge often shielded the traffic. As I stepped further westward, the scenery improved little by little...  

The path was an endless swathe of sweet-smelling cut grass, and the flowered field margins danced with bees and butterflies. Sometimes the path veered right, and sometimes left...

But most of the time it led straight on (note the acorn sign, the National Trail logo)...

As clouds gathered, I passed the Whittle Dene reservoirs...

And still I searched in vain for the Wall. At one place I stumbled on a pile of stones, but didn't think they'd been cut square enough to have ever formed part of the Wall. Though that's definitely the Roman ditch behind...

(Hadrian's Wall was constructed with a ditch to the north, and a wider ditch and earth rampart to the south, known as the vallum.)