I eat the last of my pilgrim biscuits leaning up against the wall of the hostel of St Saviour, resting place for many a traveller on the road to worship at the shrine of Saint Edmund.
The 21st Century passes by. Traffic fumes, bored and agitated drivers waiting at the temporary traffic lights. Loud music pounding out of cars with overly large exhausts.
I no longer feel part of this world. I have stepped out of my time and back 1000 years to the time King Cnut sent Benedictine Monks from Ely to Bury St Edmunds to found a monastry.
I now know what it is like to walk in their path. To be a pilgrim.
I know of the camaraderie, the strolling, rolling conversation which flows as the miles tick away beneath us and life stories are shared, wisdom given, worries emerge.
A moment when your life is shared as you fall into step alongside each other. Then you stop to tie a shoelace or take a sip of water and that person is gone. Swept on in the Pilgrim tide and another joins you.
I know that on the road everyone is equal, trappings of wealth, education and accent count for little when you are faced with wind and rain.
I know what it is like to walk and be still as the scenery revolves like a theatre backdrop. Now the black earth of the fens, now two deer running, now the lapwing flute over the water meadows. Now king cup and chiffchaff and chalk stream flash past.
I know what it is like to feel you can’t go on and be literally hauled up and over obstacles by strangers who are now friends as they waited to help you when you were struggling.
I know that churches have a special magic early in the morning. I know what it is like to walk into a cathedral like a forest grove. The welcome of tea and cakes served by parish ladies, of singing in unison and prayers by the crossroads.
I know of unpromising inns where the staff make you feel they care. I know of jokes in the bar, mud in the hallways, I know that small forgotten places can give the warmest welcome.
I know of a moment of profound conversation in a room between two people who would never have ordinarily met. I know that the important moments are sometimes not where you expect to find them.
I know of feeling so foot sore you cannot continue. Your sense of humour left at the last stopping place. Toes throbbing for mercy.
I know I need bigger boots and walkers socks.
I know what it is like to limp up the aisle of St Edmunds Cathedral.
I know Edmund’s body is no longer there but I feel those monks of old encouraging me on.
I know what it is to be sung to and blessed, to be hugged and congratulated.
I know it is done and tomorrow I may rest.
