Trust the arrows

Meet John, the big gruff Irishman I was walking with on the Camino Inglés last week. For years he has been going on about coming walking with me in Spain and now his ambition is fulfilled. His reaction to the Camino was fascinating. As an older chap he had done a lot of training. He discovered the “London Loop” a series of day walks around the capital. Each stage starts at an underground railway station and finishes at another. John had also planned his equipment thoroughly. He had got his feet used to walking in the shoes he was going to use and had walked with a fully packed rucksack. I’d also sent him a slide show of the route so he would know what to expect. Still he was surprised. I asked him to describe how he felt...”I never thought it would be so beautiful and straightforward. You told me about the yellow arrows marking the way but I couldn’t quite believe it.” His sense of wonder about the journey continued as we walked along. He saw arrows of all kinds from the granite waymarks put in place by local authorities to the yellow arrows painted by local Amigos Associations. I told John that I had left Seville Cathedral following an arrow on the pavement and that and many hundreds of other arrows showed me all the way to Santiago 1000kms later. “Amazing” John concluded. And so they are.

On Tuesday more yellow arrows will guide me out of Valencia. I’ve never been there before and I am very much looking forward to exploring the city. Yesterday I picked up credenciales from the Pilgrims’ Office and tomorrow the local Amigos in Valencia are meeting me so that I can buy the guidebook for the route. Then I’m off in the company of another friend who walked with me on the Camino Hogmanay last year. The Big Man is also one of the South London gang and we three had a brief reunion before John returned to the UK. The Big Man is a very experienced camino walker but the 1300kms route from Valencia to Santiago is the longest either of us have undertaken. We should be on pilgrimage for about 7 weeks more or less. This route, the Camino Levante, is only walked by a few pilgrims each year and those who have done it say it is beautiful and at times challenging. My friend Andy who writes a super spiritual blog has walked most of the route and recommends it. He says that the waymarking is generally very good so yet again for most of the time all I’ll have to do is trust the arrows.

Trust has featured a lot in my life recently as I’ve moved home to another country. At times I’ve found it pretty scary. I’ve been worrying about whether I’ll fit in here, make friends, be understood, understand what they locals are saying? I’ve been waking up in the night asking myself random questions...what do I ask for in the butchers if I want to buy a sirloin steak or a kilo of mince? What’s the word for carrots again? How do shirt sizes work in Spain? Will I ever see or hear the BBC again?

Well the other evening I cooked dinner for friends having been at the shops and bought all the stuff. I’ve got my computer up and running and can listen to the BBC anytime I want. I bought a shirt in the Corte Inglés yesterday and I was out with other friends on Friday evening and I understood what was being said and with their help managed to communicate myself. I’ve also been making phone calls in Spanish. I’ve become quite fluent in the language of booking rooms in hostals but phoning to arrange to meet a friend or indeed to talk to someone who is a relative stranger made me really anxious. But it had to be done. Taking a very deep breath I phoned Don Jaime the parish priest of the Basilica of Santra Maria in Pontevedra. “It’s John the organist” I said, “May I come and see you on Friday, as I’d like to learn more about the music in the church and perhaps play the organ a little?” He couldn’t have been more helpful and told me to come before 11am. I turned up at the appointed hour to find the church filling with people and himself vested to start Mass. “The organ is open” he laughed, “ it is the Feast of Our Lady of Fatima, so you must play for us.” I played, they sang and already I began to feel a little at home. After the service he led me over to his office for “a chat”. After some preamble he got to the point. “What are you doing on Sunday?” he asked. I was non committal. “You see,” he went on, “we have 40 children from our own and a number of other parishes being confirmed. The Bishop will be there and of course the church will be full. Would you play?” So yesterday was spent emptying boxes of music, planning a programme and rehearsing. Just exactly as I have done in Scotland and London for most of my adult life. The Spanish may have different names for them but the notes of music still make the same sound.

As I came out of the train station in Pontevedra I wondered how easy it would be to walk to the Basilica. I was about to ask directions when my eye was drawn to a familiar sight right across the road. A waymark with a yellow arrow. This was the Camino Portuguese and I knew the route went through the centre of the town so I just followed the arrows. Guess what? They took me to within 200 metres of the church. A good omen or what!
So, friends, this morning I’ll follow the arrows again to play at my first major event and on Tuesday I’ll start following them again on my pilgrim way from Valencia. I’ll try to let you know from time to time how I am getting on.

Red Skies

It is 6am and I have been awake for 45 mins. As I stretch out I am amazed as ever by the body's powers of recuperation. Last night I went to bed feeling the stiffness in my muscles and the throbbing in my feet which is familiar to Camino walkers. This morning all gone to be replaced with the delicious feeling of excitement that today we will walk into Santiago.

I'm excited because I will be staying there. Yesterday I got a message that my goods and chattles had arrived safely. There are many boxes to be emptied. That thought however doesn't detract one bit from how much I am looking forward to walking into Santiago today.

It has been a great week on the Camino Ingles. I have been walking with one of my friends from South West London where I used to live. (I really like the sound of that: "where I used to live!) John is one of the group of my  firm friends who meet regularly for a drink and a chat, which is more often than not a debate. Our gang is the evidence that middle age men still like to play like wee boys. Only now we can drink more. John is the most senior of us and the most competitive. He's big. He's Irish. And he is a builder. He is extremely bright and very well read. When we are all together John never introduces subjects for discussion like football or politics. Rather like a quiz master he asks questions, usually very loudly. "Does anyone know the chemical composition of nitroglycerine? Followed quickly by "what is the average number of words in a Shakespeare sonnet?

John is trying to retire but has been finding it difficult. Part of his strategy is that he has taken up walking and stage by stage he has been walking around London in a huge circle. He also decided he would walk to Compostela. At this announcement the boys, including me, replied "bet you don't". However I was duly delegated to lead an expedition.  This week John has experienced the glories of this little pilgrimage route. We were worried about the weather as there has been much rain and some storms in the region. However the weather was sunny and warm as we set off from Ferrol. We walked at a steady pace and at the end of the day strolled along the beach at Cabanas before crossing the long bridge into Pontedeume. Before dinner we walked down to the waterfront to see the sun set in a red sky. "Good weather tomorrow Johnnie" the big  Irishman pronounced and so it was to be. On the first day John had continued to ask me a stream of random quiz questions, "what do you call the colour of yellow on the house? "What is the latin name for that flower?" "Is it possible to have a tree that produces apples and pears?" On the second day as we climbed out of Pontedeume on our way to Betanzos I could tell he was silenced not just by the walk up hill but the beauty of the views looking back. On the way he began to return the many greetings of the local people who wished us "Buen Viaje" or "Buen Camino". The sky was red again as dusk descended on Betanzos. We visited the beautiful church of San Francisco and sat in tired silence. The big gruff Irishman lit a candle.
The following day we met a couple of Portuguese pilgrims. We were walking in shorts and light t shirts. They were fully laden with jackets, fleeces, trousers, gaiters, full boots  and backpacks which appeared to contain all their worldly goods. We also met Chris from New Zealand just as we were setting out. He was clutching a copy of my guide on which he had made notes. A thin, wiry chap Chris was the opposite of the Portuguese. He wore regular casual trousers and shirt,  carried a little rucksack and walked in regular casual brown shoes. I asked him where he started. "I left Ferrol yesterday" he said. "But that means you walked 50 kms all the way to Betanzos in one day!" I replied. And so he had. We caught up with him in Meson do Vento where he shared his meticulous notes on the guide. He set off next morning under a red sky promising to try and take two days to walk to Santiago. But I suspect he may have pushed ahead and I can imagine the looks on the faces in the Pilgrims' Office when he appears having walked a 5 day route in 3 days. However I'll be his witness.

The red sky of yesterday morning fulfilled the promise of the shepherd's warning and we were treated to a day of Galician heavy rain interspersed with periods of strong and very warm sun. As we walked all day through the rain my companion fell to silence most of the time. On our breaks we spoke of the route and as we ate our sandwiches in a bus shelter and last night at dinner the conversation was of life and love, faith and the lack of it, hope and ambition. There wasn't one quiz question.
As we ate in our hostal last night the sky glowed red. "Sun tomorrow" said Antonio as he served our salads. Today I'm excited for Big John as we walk our last hours to Santiago where he will spot the spires of the Cathedral and bask in his achievement as he stands in the square. Hugging statues and kneeling before alleged relics are definitely not his thing but I bet he'll follow the tradition anyhow.
John says this pilgrimage is among the best things he has ever done. He is wondering whether at his advanced age he can tackle a longer route. Of course he can. I can also hear him now when he is back in the pub with the rest of the tribe, "does anyone know the height of the spires of Santiago Cathedral?"

The St James Way

I thought I’d tell you about this new route in England just before I leave for Spain. As if predicting how difficult I might find some of the goodbyes I’ve had to say recently the Confraternity of St James asked if I would write a guidebook to a new route they have devised from Reading to Southampton. This turned out to be the greatest pleasure which helped me train for the two caminos ahead as well as letting me see some of the most beautiful and historic part of England. I predict that this route will become a “must walk” for pilgrims in the United Kingdom. I am certain it will also attract visitors from overseas who may be travelling via London from the United States, Australia and other countries. For them the St James Way is an excellent way to do some initial training for a longer camino in France and Spain or simply to enjoy walking through English history, past ancient sites, historic towns, along canals and river banks, past thatched cottages and 12th century churches.

The route was first devised by Marion Marples the Secretary of the CSJ more than 20 years ago. It was walked by only a few people including guidewriter Alison Raju who produced the first set of walking notes. The CSJ now wishes to develop and promote this new route. The guide is almost finished and will be published on line by the CSJ.
This route is about 70 miles long and runs from Reading to Southampton. For pilgrims wishing to walk the route as part of their journey to Compostela they can fly to France or Southern Spain from Southampton, or they can continue on foot to Portsmouth on another route, the Pilgrims’ Trail, to cross by ferry.

Artist impression of Roman amphitheatre at Silchester

The route is based on the Roman road from Silchester via Basingstoke to Winchester, and also includes the St James churches at Bramley, which has wall-paintings including St James, and Wield, as well as the former Benedictine priory at Monk Sherborne, whose church became the parish church at Pamber (not to be confused with the Norman church at Monk Sherborne). From Alresford, the Way follows the Itchen Way to Winchester, England's capital under the Saxons. The cathedral was a Benedictine foundation, of which several buildings, including the Pilgrims’ Hall, survive. Also Benedictine were St Mary's Abbey, also called the Nunnaminster, of which some foundations can be seen, and Hyde Abbey, of which little remains. Nothing remains of the four friaries, though there are some fragments of the hospitals of St John and St Mary Magdalen.

The route continues following the Itchen Way, past the Hospital of St Cross, which still gives out a dole of bread and beer to travellers, and past Southampton airport to Southampton, where a few fragments survive of the Augustinian priory of St Denis (in the suburb now spelt St Denys).
However, the medieval walls of Southampton remain, with the gateways where pilgrims embarked for pilgrim destinations in France, Spain and the Mediterranean. Near the God’s Hospital Tower the Maison Dieu of St Julian’s accommodated pilgrims.
Ferries however no longer run from Southampton to France, so the Pilgrims’ Trail connects Winchester with Portsmouth via Bishop's Waltham, where there are remains of the palace of the bishop of Winchester, and Southwick, where the parish church, dedicated to St James-without-the-Priory-Gate, contains remnants of the former Augustinian priory founded by Henry I. There is an annual pilgrimage around 25 July (St James’s day) from Portchester church to Southwick, recalling the journey made by the Augustinian canons in c 1145 as they moved to a larger site.
Portsmouth, though largely a naval port, had a 13 century Hospital of St Nicholas, and wine trade with South West France. Recently, Time Team has excavated land around the Royal Garrison Church (founded 1212) to discover the plan of a medieval pilgrim hospital and Maison Dieu, where pilgrims would have stayed. The modern cathedral is based on a chapel of Thomas Becket, built by the Southwick monks.

The route starts at the ruins of Reading Abbey with the adjacent more modern church of St James and proceeds south through places such as Sulhamstead Abbots with its picturesque 12th century church. Then onward to Silchester with the remains of a Roman town. You actually walk in the shadow of the tall remains of the walls which were the town’s fortification before heading on to visit another St James church at Bramley. New Alresford (pronounced “Allsford” ) Martyrs Worthy, Kings Worthy, Preston Candover, Itchen Stokeand Itchen Abbas are beautiful villages which soon lead along the River Itchen to the historic town of Winchester.
There I was welcomed as a pilgrim in the great cathedral. The visitors charges were waived. “Yes we have a sello” confirmed the smiling receptionist. The cathedral is breathtaking in its size and beauty and the sun shone as I left to make my way just a few miles further along the river to the Church and Hospital of St Cross. I had a seen a television programme about it and wanted to see it for myself. Soon it loomed large sitting with perfectly manicured lawns. I made my way through the arched entrance and bumped into one of the brothers.

Legend has it that the Hospital's foundation originated in a walk that Henry de Blois, a grandson of William the Conqueror, took in the Itchen Meadows. He was supposedly stopped by a young peasant girl who begged de Blois to help her people, who were starving because of the civil war. The parallel with the Virgin Mary was not lost on de Blois, who was so moved by the girl's plight that when, a little further along the river, he discovered the ruins of a religious house, he resolved to use the site to establish a new community to help the poor. How much of this is fact is unclear, but we do know that Henry de Blois was young, wealthy and powerful: a monk, knight and politician in one. Appointed Bishop of Winchester in 1129 at the age of 28, he founded the Hospital of St Cross between 1132 and 1136, creating what has become England's oldest charitable institution.
The Hospital was founded to support thirteen poor men, so frail that they were unable to work, and to feed one hundred men at the gates each day. The thirteen men became the Brothers of St Cross. Then, as now, they were not monks. St Cross is not a monastery but a secular foundation. Medieval St Cross was endowed with land, mills and farms, providing food and drink for a large number of people - don't forget the water was unfit for drinking so copious amounts of ale and beer were needed!
“Are you coming to Matins?” he said with a smile. “May I?” I asked. Next thing I was ushered in to meet the others. They beamed when I said I was a pilgrim. Their smiles broadened when I explained about the St James Way and the guidebook. The service lasted 15 minutes and was a perfect start to a day’s walking. Before I left I was offered the traditional “dole” – a slice of bread and a cup of ale. I have to say it was a little early for beer, even for me.
From there the route meanders along river and canal reaching Southampton easily within the day.

The St James’ Way is easy walking. It can be done in stages and there is Bed and Breakfast accommodation available either on the route or nearby. With a little planning the route is very accessible. I recommend it.

And so dear friends I’m off. It has been a week or so of farewells. Tough at times but the tears shed herald a different future. My next post will be from my new home in Santiago after I have walked the Camino Ingles with a friend from London who has long wanted to walk to Compostela. Then with another friend I am off to walk from Valencia. I’ll keep you posted. 2 days to go!

Open the box

I’ve been hesitating about writing about what is in the box. It seems too public. Too confessional. A little too personal. And yet there is nothing in the box, for all its secrets light and dark I wouldn’t share with a fellow pilgrim on the road to Santiago. I’ve also realised that the box contains some of the milestones of the longer pilgrimage I’ve been on. So here goes.
Over the past few weeks I’ve been trying to dispose of the clutter in my life. The clothes I haven’t worn for a year were ruthlessly separated from the rest and taken to charity shop or dump. My books have almost all gone save a half a dozen too unbearable to part with. Ornaments, pictures, that fancy thing to peel a cucumber and the steak knives still in their box are all gone. The white walls of my home are bare. I’ve done this before in my life when there has been a major change. I’ve had that feeling that I should get rid of everything but never had enough courage or faith or stupidity to do it. Because no matter how hard I try some things just have to stay with me. Someone else can throw them out one day. These are the things I’ve found all over the place and as I have encountered them I’ve been putting them in a box. As if to prevent myself filling it up I’ve put it on a top shelf where it sits both threatening me and tempting me to open it and relive the memories inside. Just one more time. I’ve now opened it to write this.

In a corner is a simple silver box blackened with age. The cover has the head of a Pope long since dead. It contains the rosary beads given to me for my first communion over 50 years ago. I can remember the day if I try. A child in school uniform egged on by proud parents into a church which would fuel a deep ambivalence for the rest of my life. Then my eye is drawn as if to escape the sacred to a piece of paper extracted from an old wallet. Once carefully folded it was looked at so frequently in its day the creases are separating. "My true love hath my heart...never was a better bargain driven." The little boy with his rosary beads could not have known what heartbreaks life would bring and also the joys. On balance I think I have gained much more than lost.
An ancient death certificate describes a family mystery of a long gone relative who died of multiple injuries having fallen from a window. Successive generations always pondered whether he jumped or was pushed. No one was quite sure the family legend had actually occurred until I did some research and obtained a copy of the certificate. The event is confirmed but the mystery remains unsolved.

The cheap leatherette pouch also held a mystery. It came from my parents’ house after they had both died. I remember the day I opened it to find a small cardboard box in mint condition. Unopened. From inside I drew out one by one four medals of shiny metal with crisp new ribbons which had never seen the light of day. I’ve taken them out today. The box is addressed to my father and contains the Burma Star marking his war service in that country. Also there is the War Medal which everyone got. I knew he had been in the war and I knew he had been in Burma. The other two: the Defence Medal for brave conduct in a non operational setting and the Battle of Britain Medal remain surprises. Not only had he not opened the box, he had never talked about what he actually did in the war. Rather he talked about how futile it was, how politicians could never be trusted to genuinely seek peaceful solutions before armed conflict, how his own church was compromised by not condemning Hitler. Some considered his views radical but he won everyone’s respect. He was the man in the street where we lived who wrote letters for people who couldn’t write. Who spoke up for fellow workers. Who had to educate himself but made sure I got and took the opportunities which had been denied to him.

I laugh when I see two other things in the box. My own “medal” presented by President Ortega, the Order of the 10th Anniversary of the Revolution in Nicaragua for work others did supporting medical aid when that country was war torn. And sitting ironically beside it two napkin rings from Charles and Diana’s Wedding. The Old Man thoroughly approved of the first and heartily laughed at the second.
The family photographs are there nestling with memorial cards and funeral Orders of Service. One or two special pens. A small and odd assortment of photos of people I know were family whose only record are the images in sepia tones. If I threw them out all memory of them would be gone

Placed carefully in the box are the photographs of my own children at all the various stages of their development. You can see their impish cheekiness. Their growing sense of adventure. Their beauty which is all the more acute to a father’s eyes. What could not be known then were the profound challenges they would face. But there are some things we cannot change. Sometimes all we can do is pray and when that appears not to work some of us walk.
That brings me to the last items I want to show you. They lie on top of all the things that bring memories of joy or sadness. They are my credenciales. To me more important than the Compostelas rolled into one cardboard tube, the Pilgrim Passports remain separate in all their glory. A glance at the sellos brings instant memories of walking in Spain; of particular places and memorable people. They are records of my journeys of hope because that’s how I’ve come to think about pilgrimage. I think it may be the special gift of the Camino. Pilgrims are hopeful people. We hope for a bed every night. We hope it doesn’t rain. We hope the food will be good in the next village. We hope that our water will last until the next fountain. We hope we will meet someone when we are lonely and we hope that the pilgrim we have met who won’t stop talking will go away. We hope that we can be as nice to other people as they are to us because we are pilgrims. When we go to bed at night with sore bones and throbbing feet we hope it will all feel better in the morning. It always does. So in the end the credenciales represent hope in the box. I’m quite happy with that thought.

Pilgrim Blessing

In the last few weeks more e mails have arrived from pilgrims than ever before. The pilgrimage season is up on us and pilgrims want to find out about latest updates to the guidebooks, advice about accommodation in various places or just to chat through e mail about the mounting excitement as the departure date approaches. I really enjoy this contact. It is as if I can walk with them without actually being there. Sometimes pilgrims e mail en route to let me know how it is going or to pass on information to others coming behind them. Whatever the reason it is great to hear from them especially when I get the final e mail saying “I made it!”

Recently I’ve had several such e mails from pilgrims about the Camino Inglés. This is a splendid little route of 5 days walking from Ferrol to Santiago. It has its challenges and pilgrims are well advised to do some preparation and training in advance. Just because it is relatively short doesn’t mean it is easy all the way! That is why it is a real blessing for me to hear about pilgrims arriving in Santiago at the end of the route. They write with huge enthusiasm and sense of achievement.

Talking of blessings. I’ve had several e mails in the last year asking if I know of a Pilgrim Blessing which pilgrims can be given before they set out. Sometimes pilgrims want to ask their local priest or minister to do this for them. Information is fairly difficult to come by and some of the texts are medieval sounding translations of medieval blessings. So when musical friends Elena and Piotr announced they were going off on the Camino Francés from León to Santiago next week it provided the ideal opportunity to write a blessing for them. This morning they received their blessing, scallop shells and walking sticks and a bottle of wine to toast their departure. Here is the text for anyone who wishes to use it:

Father God we pray for these pilgrims Elena and Piotr who are soon to leave these shores to travel to the tomb of St James, The Great in Santiago de Compostela. In doing so they will honour St James, apostle, friend of Jesus and martyr for his faith.
That faith has a long tradition of pilgrimages, of the faithful travelling to holy places for religious reasons. The very word “pilgrim” comes from the Latin “peregrine” which means “foreigner” or “wanderer”; someone who travels in faith to another place in a journey set apart from their normal lives.
For this reason Abraham is recognised as the first pilgrim described in scripture because he was called to journey to the land chosen by God. Centuries later, Abraham’s descendents embarked on their pilgrimage to the Promised Land from Egypt. The birth of Jesus himself is marked by the pilgrimage of the Magi, the three kings who followed the star to pay homage to the messiah and it is recorded that Jesus himself travelled on pilgrimage many times to Jerusalem.
We pray that Elena and Piotr be inspired by these examples of pilgrimage described in Sacred Scripture.
Father God we ask you to bless these scallop shells, the traditional symbols of pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela – we pray that Elena and Piotr bear them proudly to their destination at the tomb of the apostle.
Father God we ask you to bless these sticks symbols of the support Elena and Piotr will receive from friends old and new who they will meet on the way.
Father God we ask you to bless Elena and Piotr. May they travel safely and enjoy days of happy and prayerful companionship and nights of restful sleep until they reach their journey’s end.
Together we say the Pilgrims’ Prayer:
St James, Apostle
Chosen among the first
You were the first to drink
The Cup of the Master
And you are the great protector of pilgrims;
Make us strong in faith
And happy in hope
On our pilgrim journey
Following the path of Christian life
And sustain us so that
We may finally reach the glory of God the Father
Amen
Elena and Piotr as you go from this place to begin your final preparations, leave with the love and fond good wishes of all who know you. Bow your heads as we pray for God’s blessing:
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your cheeks.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
We ask this through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

The wine could not have been more appropriate for a musical pilgrim. I intend to celebrate with it myself when Lent is over!
Do you need a priest or a bottle of wine for the Blessing I can hear you ask. The answer is that you don’t need a priest – do it yourself. Simply read it aloud or better still read it with someone else particularly if you are going with other pilgrims. Bless each other. However whilst others may disagree I’d say the wine isn’t optional.

For those who may wish to use older forms of Pilgrim Blessing here are some more:

"In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, receive this pouch, habit for your pilgrimage, so that, castigated and corrected, you hasten to prostrate at Saint James' feet, where you yearn to arrive and, after having completed your journey, you come to us delighted with the help of God, who rules over the world without end. Amen.
Receive this staff as support for the journey and your efforts during your pilgrimage so that you are able to defeat the throngs of enemies and thus arrive safely at Saint James' feet and, after having completed your journey, you come to us delighted with the consent of the same God, who lives in and rules over Heaven without end. Amen."
And another which is the text of a medieval rite dated 1078 preserved in the Missal of Vich Cathedral, Barcelona, Spain. At the Abbey of Roncesvalles the blessing is used at the end of the Mass for the blessing of pilgrims passing through.
Priest: Our help is in the name of the Lord.
Response: Who made heaven and earth.
Priest: The Lord be with you.
Response: And also with you.
Let us pray.
O Lord whose word makes all things holy, bless we beseech you these emblems, rucksacks and staffs to be used on this pilgrimage. May all those who carry them arrive safely at the shrine of St. James the Apostle, the objective of their journey. We ask this through Christ our Lord.R: Amen
Presenting the Rucksacks
(When presenting the rucksacks the priest says: “In the name of the Lord”)
In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, shoulder these rucksacks which will help you during your pilgrimage. May the fatigue of carrying them be expiation for your sins, so that when you have been forgiven you may reach the shrine of St. James full of courage, and when your pilgrimage is over, return home full of joy. We ask this through Christ our Lord.
R: Amen
Presenting the shells and other emblems
Receive these shells and medals, as signs of your pilgrimage. With God’s grace may you behave as true pilgrims throughout your entire journey and be able to reach your objective, which is to visit the shrine of St, James and gain indulgences. We ask this through Christ our Lord.
R: Amen
Blessing the Pilgrims
Lord Jesus Christ, you taught us through the Apostle St Paul that here below we have no lasting city and must always seek the heavenly city. Hear our prayers for these pilgrims we commission. May the Holy Spirit breathe his grace into their hearts; may he enliven their faith, strengthen their hope and feed the flame of their love. May they thus make their pilgrimage in the true spirit of penance, sacrifice and expiation. May the same spirit purify their minds from every evil thought. May he defend their hearts and give them the constant help of his protection so that they can reach the objective of their journey safely and by means of this pilgrimage they are now starting merit to come one day to the heavenly Jerusalem. You who live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.
R: Amen
May the Lord always guide your steps and be your inseparable companion throughout your journey.
R: Amen
May our Lady of Roncesvalles grant you her motherly protection, defend you against all dangers of soul and body. Through her intercession may you arrive safely at the end of your pilgrimage.
R: Amen
May St Raphael the Archangel accompany you throughout your journey as he accompanied Tobias and ward off every contrary or troublesome incident.
R: Amen
And may almighty God bless you, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
R: Amen
Go in the peace of Christ
Translated from a French version of the Latin original by Brother David Leo fsc.
Copies available from the Confraternity of St James http://www.csj.org.uk

Thank you St James

I never thought it I would ever become scared to visit a blog…especially my own. However dear readers those of you who call in here occasionally may have noticed that for the last 25 days I haven’t written a word. I’ve had thoughts about things to write about. I’ve even logged on. But whenever I see the countdown clock I experience a rising panic that I am running out of time to get everything done. I’ve been busy.

The last 26 days have been crazy. First I had to cram in social engagements before Lent began on 9th March. These started with lunch with Adrian and Paula who are thinking of walking the Via de la Plata. He is a lawyer to trade now a judge, she is an academic specialising in education. They are also pilgrims.

I encountered them on a hot, sunny afternoon on the Camino Portuguese. They were carrying substantial rucksacks but they walked with the steady and determined pace of experienced pilgrims. It turn out they had walked the Camino Francés from France and enjoyed it so much they were exploring other routes. After the Camino Portugues they went on to walk the Camino Inglés.They have also walked to Finisterre. Adrian and Paula walk every step of the way and carry every ounce of their kit on their backs. It is also their preference to sleep in good hotels each night. We laughingly call them the “Parador Pilgrims”. They stoutly defend their right to continue to do what many medieval pilgrims did who slept in inns along the way. At least they aren’t being carried by servants like some in the past! The meticulous planning and booking of the itinerary is down to Adrian who has made his plans available on his website. To see it go here.  Adrian and Paula are fast becoming firm friends. Another gift of the Camino.

Then just before Ash Wednesday a different group of friends assembled for a final evening of festivities before the rigours of Lent began. I’ve told you before about the dressing up and partying that goes on in Galicia during Carnaval…that was replicated by friends in London who even included a re-enactment of La Quemada, a potion of homemade liquor set alight and served accompanied by a long poem about the witches and spirits of Galicia. During the high jinks of the evening I realised that if I hadn’t walked that first Camino I wouldn’t have been sitting there with all of these friends.

But as Lent began so too did serious preparations to go to Spain. First though there was the important matter of Brendan’s funeral. There were very few people there. “I’ve outlived them all” was his boast. I played and a young actor who Brendan had mentored recited the most beautiful sonnet. Then an older woman spoke. She was an actor too and wanted to thank Brendan on behalf of her whole profession for the help he had given her and many others as struggling young actors, “he fed us, tutored us and loved us” she said. To the strains of the Beethoven he had requested the curtains in the crematorium closed on Brendan for the last time. We all applauded.
I then launched into emptying cupboards, packing boxes and opening files which haven’t seen the light of day for years. I’ve been rigorous with my clothes – out have gone the city suits, the shirts with cuffs and the silk ties. That stuff was easy and I’ve made numerous journeys to local charity shops. More difficult were the books. I made the mistake of lifting one off the shelf and opening it before deciding if it would stay or go. 30 minutes later I was still thinking about it. “You’ll never get to Spain at this rate” I thought. So with a large leap of faith I’ve ditched most of them and a few lonely tomes now sit on the bare shelves waiting for transportation.

If the books were bad, sorting the music was worse. To be honest like many other musicians I’ve been hoarding for years. After several attempts I eventually disposed of my collection of musical hall scores from before World War 2 and lots of other pieces. I don't  think I'm likely to need the music for the Can Can. Do you?  Donations to local music teachers followed and gradually I am working my way along the shelves. I hate this bit.
At one point I felt the anxiety rising again – “Will I be ok”, “Will it all work out?” “Should you stop this nonsense now, John?” Taking a break from packing and worrying I got on with another project which has been waiting for some time, writing a guide to The James’ Way a new walking route in England devised by the Confraternity of St James. It covers 70 miles from Reading to Southampton and goes through historic sites, beautiful countryside and wonderful English villages. The route is dotted with 12 century churches, gorgeous stretches of river walking and frequent choices between having lunch in an ancient country churchyard or the local village pub. The route can be walked in 5 stages returning to London or another base each night or sleeping over on the way. The guide is largely written and when it is finished I’ll tell you much more about it. It will be published on the CSJ website as an on-line guide and I predict this route is going to become a “must do” for pilgrims in the UK and from abroad. When you see the pictures you may agree.

I very much enjoyed the walking and the writing. I could leave to start walking in Spain right now. But first of course I have to find tenants for my property and there is the little matter of getting all my stuff over there.
As I told you I had been plagued by estate agents when I made initial enquiries. They added to my feeling of panic. So I told them all that I would select one and get back to them one month before I was due to leave. I did that last week. They appeared literally almost instantly with cameras and clip board. Viewing hours were arranged. Each Saturday and Sunday 10 – 1.30 pm and each evening 5 – 8pm. With the thought of strangers coming into my home I started cleaning the place. Again.
Then I called in to see Don Antonio in La Terazza to ask if he could recommend a company to take my stuff to Spain. I should have known. “Si señor, my very good friend, he has been to this place many times, he delivers many things between Galicia and Londres. “ Without a pause, Antonio phoned the chap in Spain. “Si, si, si, si, si, 15 boxes, Santiago, si, si.” Antonio put down the phone and beamed. “It is all fixed, he comes to Londres twice a month. He will come on the date you tell him and deliver 3 – 4 days later.” Phew. What a relief.
With one problem solved I steeled myself for the invasion of the house viewers poking around. I decided to go out and leave it to the agents. So last Saturday to avoid the first of them off I went to walk the final stage of the St James’ Way from Winchester to Southampton. Exhausted I got back to find a note from the estate agents. “First viewings went well, we have client who wishes to lease your property at the price we asked for a period of two years.” Deal done. I can stop cleaning.

I’m on my way. St James, if you had a hand in this – thanks.

Ends and beginnings

“In my beginning is my end” is the opening line of T S Elliot’s poem East Coker. This is true of our pilgrimage journeys and it is certainly true of life. Today my mind is drawn to powerful lines in this poem:

Do not let me hear
Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,
Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,
Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God.
The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

These words remind me of Brendan, Shakespearean actor, friend and 93 year old who died a few days ago.

I was introduced to Brendan some years ago. He lived on his own. Quickly a friendship formed and I visited him regularly. Usually all I would have to do was pose a question and sit back for quite a long time while Brendan expounded the answer. He could talk for hours about acting and his stage successes. He became an engineer when he left school but hated it. By chance he got a job in stage management, then his first speaking part. The rest, as they say, is history. He toured the United States, and appeared in many films and television programmes but his first love was being on the stage performing Shakespeare. Having worked with many of the great British actors he had a mean line in character description and many an afternoon was spent in his one room apartment listening to the juicy gossip of the past.

Brendan (R) with Sir Ian McKellen and the cast of Arsenic and Old Lace 1963

Brendan was proud of the fact that he had always worked right into his 70’s before illness forced his retirement. He was also proud that he had outlived everyone in his family. But that pride was also tinged with sadness as were some of his stories of the many follies in his life, the parties, the champagne, the glitz. He loved all of that but came to realize the emptiness of it. Latterly his preoccupation was prayer and reciting Shakespeare sonnets “to keep my mind alive”. Not a bad preoccupation for any of us!
Brendan lived a full and long life. He died peacefully at the end of his journey. This week a few of us will assemble to say the final farewell. He spoke about his funeral and asked me to play some Beethoven for him. I can think of nothing better than the Ode to Joy from the 9th Symphony as we say goodbye. He also hooted with laughter when I said that there would be applause but this time no encore.
He always thanked me effusively when I visited. He never ever understood that I got more out of the friendship than I ever put in.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow
Macbeth, Act V, Sc. V

Brendan was avidly interested in my walking trips in Spain and when I was away I telephoned him from time to time. He used to interrogate me for every detail. He thought moving there was a wonderful idea. “Everyone should pursue their dream if they can” was his wise counsel. “Will you be able to play the organ there?” was one of his more penetrating questions. Whilst I glossed over the answer in truth that has slightly worried me because most Spanish churches have never had organs since they are allergic to the high temperatures of summer and cold of winter and those that do have fallen into serious disrepair. There is also no tradition of singing in Spain except in the major Cathedrals where they have choirs. Indeed even in Santiago the Cathedral choir only assembles on High Days and Holidays. As I have gazed around my study trying to think of what music books and so on to take with me I was starting to wonder how much use they would get.

Time for another Camino Miracle. Remember Piotr, the polish pilgrim whose Compostela I wrote, who appeared in London one day and who has been playing the violin with me? Well Piotr spent 7 years in Santiago teaching music. “We have to find you somewhere to play the organ” he said a few weeks ago with a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, but where?” I said explaining my anxieties. Piotr looked around the church in Clapham where music is a strong feature, where the people sing with gusto and the priests are very appreciative. “Oh I think we can find you a place, just like this” he said. “Errrr, in Galicia? in Spain? “ “Oh yes,” was the reply.

And so after a couple of e mails and phone calls a few weeks ago I boarded the train for the 40 minute train journey from Santiago to Pontevedra. Right there adjacent to the Camino Portuguese and facing the hostal in which I had slept whilst writing the CSJ Guide to the route is the Basílica de Santa María A Grande. This 16th Century Church is stunningly beautiful and it has a restored pipe organ.

I had decided to arrive early and check out the Masses and what the priest was like. As I opened the door a wave of sound hit me. Singing. Loud singing. The voices of several hundred people. Astonished I squeezed into the standing room only against the back wall. Accompanied by a few guitars the Family Mass was well underway. The priest was very nice and encouraging. He spoke warmly to the congregation and it was clear they were enjoying themselves. There was a real feeling of joy.

Still reeling in surprise I watched that Mass end and I knew another two were due to begin in rapid succession. The priest, Don Jaime, was pleased to see me when I introduced myself as Piotr’s friend from London. I said I would attend the 12 noon Mass and talk to him after that. He said he was also doing the 1pm Mass then had to go to A Coruña but he would have a few minutes to speak to me. At 12 o’clock another 150 people filled the pews in the nave. There was no accompaniment but…they sang! After mass Don Jaime apologised that he had to rush away in the afternoon. I told him not to worry as I was returning in May and would come to see him. “If you are leaving after the 1pm Mass would it be ok if I tried the organ?” I enquired tentatively.“ Why wait until then?” he replied. “Play for the Mass.” So, with about 3 minutes preparation whilst the seats filled up yet again, that’s what I did. In that 40 minute service I could feel that this was a man I could work with then after Mass when people came up to thank me I knew I would be welcome. I wondered how to broach the subject of the organist vacancy with the priest. He came over to say goodbye after Mass. “When you come back in May can we discuss whether you would consider becoming our organist?“ He asked. As the English say, “it would be churlish to refuse.”