VWPilgrim

First published 8th June 2023

On Sunday the church I was glad I went to, was St Paul’s in Spennymoor.  It’s where I did a two year placement when I was a student at Cranmer hall, 25 years ago.

The service that morning was a new monthly non eucharistic, all age service they had just started, this was only the second time they had done it.  It was enthusiastically led by one curate, and another preached.  All age Trinity service, of course the curate preached!  The vicar popped up at the beginning and the end and let them get on with it, sound familiar?  (For those who don’t know we currently have three curates at the Good Shepherd, I need all the help I can get!). I really enjoyed the service but I’d forgotten the strength of the responses from the congregation in this part of the world. The clergy  really knew that the Lord was also with them and the credal responses were definite.  A joy to be part of. 

It was amazing to see people who I remembered, including the lady who was part of the embroidery group that made my ordination stole.  As we chatted, some said they thought my face was familiar but they couldn’t believe I was old enough to have been a student there 25 years ago. So, not that memorable but young looking – I’ll take that! They seemed genuinely pleased that I’d made the effort to come back and see them, but I am so glad I did. Looking back, this church was a hugely influential part of my formation as a priest and I give thanks for them every time I put on my white stole. Came away feeling blessed and encouraged.

Things got a little desperate for lunch and I ended up in Greggs in Seaford, I just needed to eat!  Another look at the app and there was campsite not far. I called, they had a space and it’s in the ruins of an old Abbey!

Finchale Abbey is the antithesis of Sacred Stones campsite. From the anarchic, park where you want, have fires, no site rules, slightly dodgy mysticism to a very neat, adults only, perfectly manicured site – however, both connected by a form of ancient spirituality and a beautiful setting. On arrival I was handed an A4 sheet of rules and instructions. The last line, underlined and in red and in capital letters caught my eye:

PLEASE ENSURE ON LEAVING THAT YOU CAR IS PROPERLY ATTACHED TO YOUR CARAVAN

How many times have people left their caravan behind for this to go into the rules, I wondered, I’ve never towed a caravan but surely this is the first rule of towing?   All the reviews on the app mentioned the toilets and they didn’t disappoint.  The shower cubicles were about the size of the living room in our old flat it Islington, and spotless!

Wifi seemed to be frowned upon, and there was no phone signal in the valley.  “If you need WiFi you should go to the local pub” said the instructions.  I asked at the kiosk how far away that was, as it was a lovely sunny evening and I wanted to walk it.  The chap told me it was a mile to the end of the drive, turn right and ‘it’s that bit up to the roundabout’. “How long is that bit?” I asked,  he shrugged.  ‘That bit’ turned out to be another mile!  Someone commented on Friday nights campsite ‘could you get any nearer to the pub?’, well today, I couldn’t get much further away!  The pub, The Newton Grange was well worth the walk and I felt I’d earned a cold Guinness or two.

Surprisingly, I found myself slightly yearning for last nights campsite.  Molly being a couple of shades of orange and rust looked out of place in a sea of white and grey camper vans and caravans. What was interesting is that everyone sat in deck chairs outside their pitch, friendly, but keeping themselves very much to themselves.  But the thing was, we were just yards away from this stunning setting, now with no public visitors, a beautiful Abbey and river you could walk down to, an extraordinary view as the sun was setting.  No one seemed to want to look around.  Maybe they had seen it, maybe it wasn’t their first night, but it seemed a shame that they missed out on something magical.  Maybe they hadn’t read my blog!  This learning to take time, to look around seems to be a theme of this pilgrimage, and one that I am really enjoying, as you will know if you’ve been following along.

The raving stopped about 1am…that’s not true, the campsite was extremely quiet by 10 and after a late walk.  I went to bed…and had the best nights sleep on the pilgrimage so far!

When I planned the pilgrimage the idea was to see if I could preside at the eucharist in the cathedrals I had a connection with. The reason for this is because the priest and author Henri Nouwen had a huge influence on my journey into the priesthood. Two of his books ‘The Return of the Prodigal Son’ and ‘Sabbatical Journey’ were particularly important. In his sabbatical journey, where he stopped, he would celebrate communion, more often than not people came and gathered around the table with him. I’ve held on to that image for over 30 years and was keen to include in my sabbatical journey.

The Bishop thought it was a good idea and encouraged me to write to the Deans of the cathedrals I was due to visit and ask, she would then send a follow up letter.  To be honest, as I wrote the letter I began to loose a bit of confidence, writing to these grand places, asking if I could borrow an altar.  In the letter I wrote apologetically:

Forgive me, if this is an inappropriate request, and I completely understand if you feel it’s not something that you could allow. If it would be possible it would mean a great deal.

What surprised me was the enthusiastic response. Carlisle was first, yes absolutely, we even have electric hook up for your van. Ely next, the Dean kindly wrote ‘an entirely appropriate request’. London, no problem at all, just tell us the date and Manchester were keen to welcome me home! Durham, however, emailed and said that I could ‘attend’ the service and they would be able to find me a parking space and get me out of paying the congestion charge, which you now incur if you drive along ‘The Bailey’ towards the cathedral. A bit surprised, given the enthusiasm from the other cathedrals, I rang, just in case they or I had misunderstood. My request had been denied. I dropped in the conversation that even St Paul’s cathedral had said yes, but they did not budge, and I didn’t push it. In the end it turned out well because I was due to be there on the Friday when I had the pit stop in Cambridge, so by not being there I wasn’t letting anyone down, but, I was a bit disappointed to be honest.

Monday morning, the drive to the cathedral from the campsite was shorter in time than the walk to the pub, the night before.  But I had forgotten how frustrating the drive along The Bailey was. 30 years and a congestion charge doesn’t seemed to have improved it much.  It’s a very narrow, uphill lane, full of tourists and students who have little regard for the traffic that goes up and down. Molly got lots of waves and thumbs up from people as we passed, but they did this standing in the way, not great for a 40 year old clutch.  I drove up to the green in front of the cathedral where I assumed I should park, to be confronted by a pop up pillar and an intercom, that wasn’t there in my day.  I was informed that the parking was actually around the back of the cathedral, tradesman’s entrance again.  I reversed, dived back onto the Bailey, and entered the medieval arch and found a place to park.  I checked with the security guard if I was parking in the right place, ‘Aye, no bovver, I got ya number’ he cheerily replied.

I went into the cathedral the way we used to from college, through the cloisters, passing a young boy and his mum humming the Harry Potter theme tune.  I entered the cathedral through a new glass portal and took a deep breath.  Durham, was darker inside than I remember but still as awe inspiring.  I lingered in Cuthbert’s chapel, explored the cathedral, embraced the pillars, and waited for the service to start.  The communion service was lovely, and surprisingly intimate in the side chapel where the medieval market used to be. 

People didn’t hang around afterwards so I headed off to my old college, St Johns, Cranmer hall.  Sadly, due to my pitstop I had arrived 3 days after term had finished, so all the students had gone and the current warden, Philip, who was at college with me, was leading a pilgramage to Israel.  The risk of going with the flow and the spontanity means that you may not get every thing done you want, or see everyone you would like, and sometimes, that’s OK. Peering through the window, I could still see the red leather chesterfield sofas.  Could these be the same ones as in the common room from 25 years ago?  Hazel and I had decided to get the same when we moved into our curates house, as they had survived such a battering whilst we were in Cranmer, we thought they would last.  If these are the same ones they have done even better than ours!

Lunch was a sandwich in the sunny market square, whilst be serenaded by a pretty good Elvis impersonator.  No need to consult the app, I knew where I was staying tonight, so I then took a leisurely walk along the river to Prebends bridge.  Walking across this bridge was my ‘commute’ for three years, the view never got old, but the trees have got a lot bigger!

Back to the van, I took on the challenge of The Bailey with renewed confidence, scattering tourists and students out of the way, whilst blasting out ‘Don’t stop till you get enough’ by Michael Jackson. Unbeknown to me the challenge of ‘The Stang*’ awaited! *thanks for the edit Caroline! Bloomin’ spell check!