A Prayer

(Written on a pilgrimage from Geneva to Le Puy)

Dear God,
If You care,
Please help me.

If You are there
At the end of this prayer,
Give me a sign.

Though I can hardly speak,
And my signal is weak,
Reply if You can.

Even if You disguise your response
In the wind whispering through the birch trees
On the foothills of the mountains of Haute-Savoie,

Or in the murmur of the turquoise streams
Rushing with purpose down their rocky chutes,

Or in the scamperings of woodland mice
Seeking the knife-parings of pilgrims' cheese
Beneath this rough-hewn bench and table
Before this wooden hunting lodge.

Dear God,
If You care,
If You are there,
Please help me,
For now I need You more than ever,
And I am desperate to find meaning
In something more than landscape.

Dear God, You could say,
In a way, all my vain pilgrimages
Have led up to this time, this place:

This wayside cross, these offerings
Of stones and flowers crowding the base,
This niche
Jammed with a tiny statue of Saint James,
This stumbling prayer,
This weak and human message,
This plea, this faint voice
Appealing to You
Over the vast green forestlands
Of this jag-peaked and beautiful country.

Kim's Camino

Pilgrim Kim from Key West has made a wonderful film about her Camino and you can find it here on Rebekah Scott's terrific blog Big Fun In A Tiny Pueblo. I find it artistic and atmospheric, spiritual and mystical. It appeals to the romantic in me. And it draws me back magically, magnetically to the Camino. Hope you enjoy. (Be sure to put it on full screen.)

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.)

Imagine

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

JOHN LENNON Imagine

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...

Pilgrim Roads: An Interview With The Solitary Walker

We've been away for five days helping Carmen's mum move into her new flat in Kendal, so I've fallen rather behind in relating the Hadrian's Wall saga. But I'm pleased to see that George has still been flying the flag in this great post.

In the meantime, Anna-Marie, a Canadian writer, photographer, website designer and pilgrim, has just posted her recent interview with me about a Camino I walked a few years ago. You can find it here on her excellent blog, Pilgrim Roads.

On the Camino Aragonés, Spain

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