A few weeks ago I walked the St Cuthbert’s Way with a friend, whose fortunate idea it was in the first place. This long distance path runs for about 65 miles connecting Melrose Abbey in the Scottish Borders with Lindisfarne or Holy Island off the Northumbrian coast. In the seventh century Cuthbert joined the community at Melrose Abbey, in time becoming the abbot of the community at Lindisfarne. Increasingly he felt called to a solitary life and lived as a hermit on a very small tidal island at Lindisfarne. Finding it too close to people he moved to an island in the Inner Farne Islands just down the coast. Even there he was visited by people coming to him, speaking to him from their boats. He was made the bishop of the northeastern Christians but after a few years retired to his island to die. Things didn’t stop there though. His body was removed by the monks when the Vikings came to call and he was moved around for many years, eventually being finally put to rest in what became Durham Cathedral. The route we followed was probably not actually trodden by Cuthbert but visits some of the places he would have known and visited on his way from Melrose to Lindisfarne. I really don’t think that he climbed over bits of the Cheviots, as we did, when there were easier valley routes with abbeys to stay in. It is a good walk if you are looking for a route with varied and beautiful scenery, that can be walked in a week without too much difficulty if you are reasonably fit, and has a bit of history to it. We treated it partly as a pilgrimage, I guess, and spent a couple of nights on Lindisfarne at the end. It was a privilege to stay in such a special place. The veil is thin there…
One thing that I particularly noticed after I returned home is the effect of moving and living at what you might call a human pace. Flying back down from Edinburgh (yes, that was the cheapest solution to the ‘how do we get there and back’ problem) meant that we covered 400 or so miles in a few hours. But during the week we had been moving at say two miles per hour on average and covering up to 18 miles a day at most. Such a slow pace means that you inhabit the landscape when travelling through it. You have time to stop and talk with people you meet on the way, time to stop and watch the herons on the river. And you note how the landscape changes. All your senses are engaged with where you are.
Life became very simple – get up, pray, eat, walk, eat (and drink), pray, sleep. Our concerns became focused on feet (blisters in my case which I knew would happen and was prepared for) and whether there would be a bath at our B&B for that night or not. A simple pattern probably similar to Cuthbert’s and his travelling companions.
And for a week or two afterwards that simplicity and feeling of being placed persisted.
One thing that I particularly noticed after I returned home is the effect of moving and living at what you might call a human pace. Flying back down from Edinburgh (yes, that was the cheapest solution to the ‘how do we get there and back’ problem) meant that we covered 400 or so miles in a few hours. But during the week we had been moving at say two miles per hour on average and covering up to 18 miles a day at most. Such a slow pace means that you inhabit the landscape when travelling through it. You have time to stop and talk with people you meet on the way, time to stop and watch the herons on the river. And you note how the landscape changes. All your senses are engaged with where you are.
Life became very simple – get up, pray, eat, walk, eat (and drink), pray, sleep. Our concerns became focused on feet (blisters in my case which I knew would happen and was prepared for) and whether there would be a bath at our B&B for that night or not. A simple pattern probably similar to Cuthbert’s and his travelling companions.
And for a week or two afterwards that simplicity and feeling of being placed persisted.
Which, while it lasted, was a good position from which to be and do this curate stuff…
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