Home
Pilgrimage home
Photos
Highs & Lows
Lessons Learned
10 - 14 September 2007
A recurring theme throughout the week was a resounding chorus, of "next time I'd..." We decided this was a good thing, that we hadn't been put off by the obstacles in our way! These are some of my thoughts.
It was indeed knackering walking longish distance in mediaeval shoes. I think it's something you have to try to really understand; I run around London in flat pumps all the time but that still didn't prepare me for the constant pounding on my knee-joints when carrying unbalanced, unpadded baggage. Without any cushioning underneath, every footstep reverberated up the shin and this reawakened an old knee injury I'd incurred as a teenager hiking with too heavy a backpack on Dartmoor. By the final day, when we at last came to tackle the Holy Mile (and a quarter) and our lovely leader took us down the old path, now well-gravelled, I was in more pain from my knee than the sharp little stones digging into my soles (though you can be sure they were noted!). In all honesty, I took my mind off the pain by reciting a few paternosters.
The baggage (and more particularly my bedding roll) was a problem because we'd lost our pony and cart after the first mile. The trauma of the Norwich traffic had left the pony skittish and, barely a mile down the Marriot Way, when a cyclist tore past, his bell a-ringing, the pony took fright and bolted. He came to rest with his nose in the hedge after crashing through some bollards. The cart was smashed to pieces and the jugs of wine and beer which had been borne upon it were strewn down the path; thank goodness noone was hurt! The pony was switly returned to his owners and we became the pack animals. That first day, I carried my bedding roll on my pilgrim staff but this gave me an awful crook in the shoulder and back, so I had to re-evaluate my method for the ensuing days. Very early on, I'd taken off my hose and elected to wear modern socks instead, having discovered that the seams under my foot were going to cripple me at alarming speed. That evening, at Swannington church, these hose, being of nice and stretchy wool, were hacked apart and, with the help of Lena, turned into straps to attach to mine and Jeff's bedding rolls. It wasn't a perfect solution but was comfy enough to carry slung across my back for the remainder of the journey. Next time, I'll plan my baggage better. I was very impressed with Lena's pannier-style bag.
Aside from using it to carry my bed-roll, the pilgrim staff was my prized companion. It's one of the symbols of the mediaeval pilgrim, as integral as the scrip and the gourd but, despite having done a fair bit of long distance hiking in my past, I had never before felt the need of a stick to lean on. This brings me neatly back to those mediaeval shoes: in smooth leather soles sans grip, climbing banks, my staff saved me from more than one inelegant tumble and became a natural walking prop. So I did end the trip pretty much in once piece. I had a blister on each heel, which were swiftly dealt with by means of compeed blister plasters and that was all - not bad for a pair of well-made but off-the-peg boots.
Although I've been re-enacting for 7 years now, I'd never previously done anything as immersive as this. I remained in the same clothes for the whole 5 days, only taking my wimple and veil off to sleep. The weather was far warmer than we'd expected and I was 'gently glowing' as a lady might for much of the last 2 days and yet I didn't smell! I can only conclude that it had something to do with linen not being very absorbant - either way, the natural fibres worked a treat.
The bits of kit that worked less well were my sleeping pallet and my cloak. The pallet had been cut to roughly the same dimensions as my modern thermarest, but when filled with straw, it wasn't long enough and my feet dangled over the end. This wasn't a massive problem on the first and third nights (on the stone floor of Swannington Church and on a mass of straw in a mediaeval building at Pensthorpe, respectively) but on the second night on the concrete barn floor at Lizard Farm I was icy, and had a horrid sort-of sleep, even with my woolly socks on. So I'll be adding an extra strip onto that for future use! My great big circular cloak was wonderful at night, but horridly cumbersome to carry around all day, just because of the weight and bulk of thing. I can only imagine how unwieldy it would have become a soggy nightmare had it rained. If I do this sort of thing again I think I'll make a blanket instead - two layers of wool, filled in the middle with light-weight modern fleece - to pin around me in dire need and to better keep my toes warm in bed.
I need to learn more by rote. I can say my Paternoster, and did on several occasions when I was hitting a low and needed to distract my mind, but I can still only stumble through the Ave and I never did learn the Credo. I was deeply impressed by Ian's story of a living-history set-piece he saw many years ago: a surgeon attending to a man by candlelight whilst onlookers prayed for his recovery; as the man's condition worsened and he died, the prayers became those for the dead, as the candles were, one by one, snuffed out. It's detail like that, taking living-history to a higher level, that I aspire to. Maybe one day. I also came away in awe of our musician, John, who played bagpipes and recorder throughout the trip and left me with Bache Bene Venies (from Carmina Burana) glued imovably in my skull. I wish I could play a musical instrument and am wildly jealous of those who can. Maybe I'm not yet too old to try and progress my recorder-playing beyond 'Au Clair de la Lune'?!