VWPilgrim

First published 11th June 2023

Unfortunately, I had a terrible night’s sleep next to Carlisle Cathedral. Throughout the night the branches of the trees kept tap tapping on Mollys roof and then, as dawn broke on Wednesday morning about 5am I was woken by an unholy row outside. Nervous that it might be the ‘wanderers’ I hunkered down in my sleeping back. When I tentatively emerged an hour later I found the gruesome remains of half a pigeon and evidence that a sparrow hawk or something similar had taken another away. Seagulls were grimly and noisily fighting over the spoils. No chance of getting back to sleep so I had a cuppa and started to look at the order of service I’d been given for later that day.

Benjamin had shown me the liturgy that is used, and he was right, it was different – and great.  Wednesday communion service has a theme of peace and justice, and a lot of the liturgy was taken from the Wild Goose community on Iona.  Really challenging prayers.

I headed of to the cathedral coffee shop for breakfast.(Vinyl Cafe don’t do breakfast) and I had a lovely Cumberland sausage (of course) on a sourdough roll .  The lunchtime service also had a space for ‘an address’, although not essential.  As I had time, I thought I’d have a look at the Bible readings and see if anything stood out. The readings were a very odd one from Tobit, (a book in the apocrypha) with the author moaning to God, which whilst I can relate, didn’t feel that inspiring.  The Gospel was the Sadducees asking Jesus about heaven.  I was very tempted to whip out my relevant joke (What’s the difference between the Pharisees and the Sadducees?  The Sadducees didn’t believe in the resurrection, which is why they are Sad U C.”  (I can hear the Good Shepherd congregation groaning!).  This really wasn’t the basis of a good sermon, so I decided to tell them about my pilgrimage instead!

12noon I got my little blue case out of Molly and went in search of the verger.  He showed me to the vestry, and where everything was.  I was doing everything, no server or reader, just me and he left me to robe.  My little blue case was given to me by the then Vicar of Great St Mary’s, in Cambridge.  He was appalled that I didn’t have anything suitable to carry my robes in so gave me this old case, and I love it.  The odd thing about it is when I put my robes in to go somewhere, they always come out looking perfect. But I never seem to be able to put them back in so that they are not creased when I get home.  After Ely, I obviously hadn’t put the alb back in properly and when I put it on I looked like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards (as my mum would say).  That’s ok, I thought, a chasuble will cover a multitude of sins.  Only, the relaxed friendly approach in the cathedral also extended to the robes.  No chasuble, just alb and stole, which is more my tradition to be honest, but not this morning.  The verger came in and I asked if there was a chasuble I could borrow.  He looked at me and my alb in the way vergers often look at clergy, and pulled out a crisply ironed white alb and with a sigh and a smile he said “wear this!”

The service took place on a lovely simple altar at the back of the cathedral, right next to the door, opposite the gift shop, where everyone comes in.  With such accessible liturgy it seemed a very appropriate place. About 8 were in the congregation but there was also a steady flow of tourists, respectfully walking past, some stopping and pausing as we prayed.  Afterwards I chatted to the those who came, just two were regulars, the rest were people who were visiting Carlisle and had stayed for the service.

Once the congregation had left I had a nice chat with the verger.  He’d been a verger a very long time in various churches “man and boy” and obviously loved it.  “it’s the verger’s that oils the wheels and keeps everything running in cathedrals”  he told me. That is one thing I discovered on this pilgrimage.  If you want to know what’s going on – ask the verger!

I went back to my new favourite cafe, Vinyl Cafe, for lunch (they’d promised to play side two of Howard Jones if I came back) and had a very nice sandwich, freshly made. But as I wrote my mood changed a little. I hadn’t slept very well and I think there was the realisation that I was now turning the corner (quite literally) and heading south. Only one more chapter in the pilgrimage, and whilst I was looking forward to who I would be seeing and being in Manchester Cathedral, it signified the beginning of the end.

The day I arrived at the Cathedral, I sent a message to the local (woodworking) Baptist Minister Matt.  Before I set off on the pilgrimage, he told me that his in-laws had a nice place, a big converted barn, near Carlisle and he was certain they would let me park Molly on the drive.  I asked Matt to ask them,  they said yes, and after a brief call I was given the what3words location and felt assured I was very welcome to come to them after the service on Wednesday.

Sara and Nick, Matt’s in-laws, were only half an hour south, even via the scenic route, and I pulled into the drive of a haven of natural beauty and peace. I got such a lovely welcome, from two people who had never met me before, they fed me, gave me beer and made me feel at home. I had been determined to sleep in the van as much as possible, but when I saw the beautiful guest bedroom and en-suite shower, I gave in and stayed in the bed. It’s a pilgrimage not a martyrdom, I said to myself. The grounds of the barn conversion they live in are amazing and a labour of love for Sara and Nick. There’s a huge pond and a lovely field in which they have created a wildflower meadow, with a lovely meandering path mown through. It was so peaceful to stroll around in the early evening, listening to the birds and the sheep in the background. Thursday morning Sara made me scrambled eggs (eggs from their chickens) and toast. I felt refreshed and ready for the final leg to Manchester. Spotify randomly chose, Don’t stop me now by Queen – the song on which this pilgrimage started. Perfect.

Whilst at Sara and Nick’s I realised that I was not very far from Keswick.  This gave me an opportunity for a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage!  I have a Triumph Thruxton motorbike and in 2011 on the Triumph forum I read about a biker cafe, called the Filling Station, that was being set up in an old garage and petrol station on the edge of Keswick.  It had faced a bit of local opposition but the biker community had rallied round and supported it.  I’d always want to take the bike up there, but going in Molly would certainly be the best next thing.

The Filling station was everything I hoped it would be.  Great decor, red leather seats, huge portions and cheeky, cheery northern waitresses!  “Are you ready for my joke?” one asked as she brought my order, before I could say yes or no she crashed the plate onto the table, “Ere are your waffly good waffles!” –   And they were – awfully good!

As we were in the lake district it seemed the right thing to do to look for a campsite by the water.  I looked at the app and not very far away was a place at the bottom of Ulswater.  I rang, they had space and I set off, only 40 minutes down the round to find the site.  Given the adventures leading up to this, finding Waterside farm campsite was a doddle, or so I thought!  Only as I am writing this, I now realise that I had actually spoken to another campsite.  This explains why they couldn’t find my booking when I checked in!  The check in desk was in a neat little shop with essentials in it.  I got a can opener.  “Ah the one thing you forgot” said the receptionist, “yup”,  As she continued to look for my booking, another member of staff came in, “Who’s is that can opener?”. “he’s buying it” “Ah the one thing you forgot?” she said.  I got the feeling they sell a lot of can openers!

They let me in and I pitched up and met my new neighbour, a topless guy, called Lloyd. He had the look of a young blonder Leo Sayer about him. He was on holiday with his son, and really chatty, telling me what was worth seeing and how to get to the pub, which was a long walk by the lake, to a small village called Pooley. I cooked some food and set off explore the lake, praying and having a leisurely walk. After washing up I walked to the pub, the most disappointing pub on the pilgrimage so far. Despite there being four people behind the bar you had to sit at your table and order through the QR code, I found a table, which was easy as in this huge pub it was me, and one other table of people – that was it, and it was only 8:30pm. I read my book for an hour and had a lovely walk back to the site being dived bombed by bats on the way.

I was concerned that the site might be noisy, especially as in the field behind me there was a huge group of what looked like D of E teenagers.  But by the time I was back to Molly all was very quiet and I had a great night sleep, not waking up until nearly 9am on Friday morning.   

In the morning I had breakfast, and another chat with Lloyd (still not wearing a t-shirt) about cold showers, mental health, breathing and recovery.   At one point he said “it’s good to be talking to someone who also thinks about these things.” “Makes you think you might not be barmy” I joked,  “or we both could be” he replied!

I walked back along the lake to Pooley, to a lovely little bookshop/coffee shop to read and do a bit of writing.  Then back to Molly and set off to find an old school friend Sara who lived in the South Lakes on the border with Lancashire, getting closer to home.