Connections 2

For the past three years The Bishops of Suffolk: Bishop Mike Harrison and Bishop Martin Seeley,  have carried out pilgrimages during Lent across the county. In 2017 this was from Dunwich and in 2018 from Bures to Bury St Edmunds.

This year they set off from Southwold on Ash Wednesday to arrive in Stowmarket 11 days later. In the East Anglian Daily Times Bishop Martin is quoted:

‘‘The one thing I always try to do after trekking across our beautiful county is to help connect the gifts of one person, with the needs of another of those I meet. To make connections between people, and to make a real difference in these uncertain times.’’

I joined the bishops on their eighth day at the church of St Mary, Rickinghall . We stood wondering if this was the correct church (this was Rickinghall Inferior, and there is another called Superior, but this is currently redundant) A shaft of sunlight filled the porch and a cheery lady arrived to confirm we were in the right place.

IMG_4748The bishops arrived wearing purple high-vis jackets printed with “Walking Together” on the back, and after a short service we set off  in  the company of the Vicar’s brother. The weather looked a bit better than the downpours they had endured the day before, but was windy, with occasional shafts of sunshine fleeting across the fields.


Making connections seemed very much a priority of the walk. At Walsham-le-Willows we joined a primary school where they gave an assembly, then a pottery, where the potter patiently taught them both how to make a pot. The moment when this was decorated was impressive and the bishops seemed justly pleased with their efforts:

IMG_4756Lunchtime in the pub was briefly interrupted for an update with the local radio before we set off again to Wyken Hall , where they were treated in style by the Carlisles. I bought a lovely blue jug from their shop.

Any association with hardship, indulgences, hair shirts or endurance rather deteriorated after that. The Carlisles very kindly gave us all a lift to the next village, Ixworth, and on the way Carla drove some of us up to the vineyards, which she described as looking like gravestones: row upon row of black sticks reaching down the slopes.

The final event for me was a short service at  All Saints, Ixworth Thorpe.  This is a tiny thatched church on a hill, with a Norman Door- yet another Grade one listed building I had never seen before. IMG_4761.JPGThe main thing which I witnessed was the amount of goodwill shown. There was a cheery group to meet them there and people felt privileged and pleased. The whole scene seemed strangely out of time, particularly now with a political scene  in turmoil. Connections were providing mutual support and encouragement.  How counter-cultural, at a time when we are threatened with barriers to education, research, industry and international connection, to simply walk out and meet people.   The bishops’ next appointment was a Darts’ Match- I hope they won, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

Connections 1

Generally speaking, this pilgrim prefers to travel alone. I walk at my own (rather slow) pace and let my mind wander. But there is much to be said  for walking in other people’s company, and this has happened recently.

I returned to St Benet’s Abbey  with a friend, specifically to meet members of the Friends of St Benet’s. (FoSBA). There is a proposal for  a pilgrimage  from St Benet’s to Bury St Edmunds to celebrate Bury’s Abbey Millennium in 2020. The FoSBA are busy getting ready to celebrate their own millennium of their foundation.  We wanted to talk to them more around how monks from St Benet’s might have travelled to Bury st Edmunds, and how it could be achieved now.  We met at the beautiful church in Ludham, where a fifteenth century rood screen showed an image of Saint Edmund next to Henry 6th:

IMG_4661I also enjoyed a tapestry on display of the local landscape- stitches make delightful ploughed fields:


A group of around eight of us, led by the vicar of Ludham, Deborah Hamilton-Gray, set off after a short reading from the Rule of St Benedict toward the Abbey site. This gave us the opportunity to make friends and hear about their plans.  This led us to think about how we could contribute to the Millennium of the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, due to take place in 2020. They have worked hard to produce their excellent website, and other things already in place at their Abbey site: a large cross with the word PEACE has been erected at the former altar, visible for some way across the Norfolk Broads.

IMG_4679There was also a “singing bench”, which not only provided a comfortable seat, but Benedictine chanting fuelled by solar energy! It was surprisingly enjoyable.

IMG_4681.JPGAnd there were connections with the past:  the abbey site is a ruin with a ruined mill within the gatehouse. Graffiti from centuries is scratched within:

IMG_4674.JPGThe FoSBA were full of local knowledge about the past and possible routes now . It is likely the geography has changed since then, partly due to the use of peat, but a boat would be a good way to start the journey. They suggested a path to Horning, then Woodbastwick, and then on to Norwich via Salhouse and Mousehold Heath.

Making connections here was so important to us: gathering information, making friends, sharing and forming ideas. And the Benedictines?  Maybe some connection was made there, too. The Rule addresses the monastic world of the 6th Century, but is still relevant. In her book A Life-Giving Way, Esther De Waal discusses the central precept of Christ in the Benedictine view of hospitality. Chapter 53  of The Rule advises that “Great care and concern are to be shown in receiving poor people and pilgrims, because in them more particularly Christ is received.”  The final paragraph lends a note of caution, however: “no-one is to speak or associate with guests unless he is bidden” de Waal interprets this as a need (?mutual) of withdrawal to protect oneself.  Connections have their place, but one’s own space is important, too!

foretelling the weather

26th February-  I took the bus to Clare and walked back to Bury again. I have developed a routine of trying to sketch whilst sitting on the  top deck of the bus. This has the interesting effect of uncontrolled lurches on the page, and an ever-changing view. The curves in the ploughed fields sweep around and when you look up they are gone. A memory of a gate, a red hedge of dogwood, a few cheery daffodils, bare branches.

IMG_4630I was hoping to see signs of Spring, and there was plenty about, but the main thing was the incredible weather. The frost was still on the ground in the shade of the old church site at Clare Priory, but this quickly disappeared as I made my way along the tracks and over the fields, and as the morning went on it grew warmer and warmer. The sky was clear blue throughout the day until I could see no more.

IMG_4605There was continual birdsong; a skylark went up and up, then became invisible in front of the sun; hazel branches were overloaded with catkins, and a bumble bee was out exploring sloe blossom

IMG_4615.JPGIMG_4613.JPGYet I could not help feel this was rather odd for the time of year. A year ago there was snow on the ground and a mean Easterly wind. It turns out this was the hottest day recorded for February. And it was dry. Tracks are normally so wet at this time of year a walk from Clare results in large plates of clay attached to your boots, but not today. Tracks were cracked and fields looked parched.

IMG_4619.JPGIMG_4620.JPGHow should we respond to this? Whatever the cause there is sound evidence that the surface of the Earth has been heating up since records began:

91944-050-8CAC285DOur species has a heavy responsibility to manage this: even if it is not caused by man’s activities, (although it is highly suggestive that production of carbon dioxide combined with destruction of forests is contributing). There is an urgent need to protect  the environment  if we wish to keep, let alone enhance our biodiversity, and even our own survival. Beautiful though it may be to bathe in sunshine in February I feel conflicted, and the effects are here to see on our own doorstep.

St Benet’s Abbey

Where did the monks come from to set up the great abbey in Bury St Edmunds? Many years ago I had been told it was France. King Cnut needed literate men to act as administrators for his East Anglian kingdom when he founded the Abbey in Bury St Edmunds in 1020.  Benedictine monks were ideal as literate, self-contained, and dedicated to prayer.

Looking it up now interesting possibilities are discussed by Joseph C.W. Mason in his book St Edmund and the Vikings 869-1066, suggesting they came via Norfolk. Abbo, a Benedictine monk from the abbey at Fleury (St Benoît-sur-Loire) was invited to England in 985 by Oswald, Archbishop of York. He was appointed abbott of Ramsey, a fenland monastery. Whilst there he wrote Passio Sancti Edmundi describing in lurid detail the murder of Edmund by the Danes and the miracles that followed. It is clear that there was a cult of St Edmund developing in East Anglia with numerous churches dedicated to the saint, particularly around NE Norfolk.

David Addy describes evidence for the setting up of the Abbey in Bury St Edmunds in  1020  in the  St edmundsbury chronicle. He describes how twelve – thirteen monks came from St Benet’s Hulme, with others from Ely, making 20 in all. This is now known as St Benet’s Abbey.

I set out to visit St Benet’s on a bitterly cold Sunday in January. The sun was low when I got there and the place was deserted. The wind funnelled off the marshes and through the ruins.

IMG_4211.JPGIt is clear that people love this lonely ruin, with a combination of the abbey remains and a mill built in its centre. The friends of St Benet’s have produced a great website full of information

How did the monks get to Bury? The Norfolk broads block the direct path, unless they used a boat. Pondering on this problem, which occurred a thousand years ago, I returned  to the car with a last glance:



The Church in the Forest

It was such a beautiful day for the end of November I headed for the bus station in Bury St Edmunds and took the bus for Brandon, sitting on the top of the double-decker. Towards the end of the journey I was joined by a lady and we got chatting. When I explained that I planned to walk back to Thetford through the forest she expressed concern: she never went into the forest without her husband. I wryly thought that (statistically at least) she was at greater risk of rape or murder through domestic violence then from a stranger in a forest. Nevertheless she pressed her point by reminding me of the tragic case in Norfolk last year of the murder of an 83 year old man walking his dog.

I have walked between Brandon and Thetford on my own before, and was not troubled by her concern as I set off. It was sunny and mild, with lots of colour still from oak and birch leaves, now mainly on the ground, and sun on the Scots pines.IMG_4021.JPGAs I walked towards Santon Downham the trees closed in and I wasn’t exactly sure of the way at a couple of places, but relied on the general direction. I then heard a cough behind me and noticed a man coming up towards me. “I coughed so that you would not alarmed when I pass you!” he explained. How thoughtful.

The church of St Mary the Virgin at Santon Downham is known as The Church in the Forest, and is indeed surrounded by trees, mainly planted around 1920 with the development of the Forestry Commission . 

There is lots to explore both outside and in.  On the South wall is a mythical beast that appears to be sprouting a Fleur de Lys from its tail above a Romanesque arch


On the North side there is a blocked up archway and what looks like a piscina- was this bit inside at one stage, or was it actually a frame for a statue, as their pamphlet suggests?


Inside the church there was  medieval and Victorian stained glass, and also a lovely image of St Francis by Harcourt Doyle from 1952.  I was particularly intrigued by the rood screen with a dark printed pattern stained onto it, hard to make out in the light, and a tiny window on the right side. Curiously the pattern of this window was reflected in the glass of a memorial scroll painted with forest plants by the window opposite.


The front of the rood screen was boldly painted (more recently?) with a joyful band of briar roses.

IMG_4045.JPGThe other thing which touched me was a (rather worn) Call to Prayer from Bishop Martin for the people of Syria and Iraq. It put into context any worries for the  safety of lone women walking in a forest to think of the tragedies endured there. I remembered my own visit to Syria back in 2007 and the kindness and generosity of the people I met there.  Could prayer possibly work for them?

I left the church and continued into the forest thinking about various issues to do with safety.  What would make me feel more or less safe? Getting lost would worry me, particularly if it got dark- signage could be improved. Would I be afraid in the dark? I remembered childhood fears of owls hooting, and, bizarrely, a dread of the noise of vacuum cleaners.

Suddenly there was a hideous noise overhead; a roaring sound which made the birds cry out. It sounded like jets but I could not see them. I actually felt pleased to be in the forest as I felt protected. The noise came again, this time very loud and I spotted four fighter jets in close synchrony flash across. Friend or Foe? They were probably from the local American Airbase, but they did not make me feel safe at all.

I reached the Little Ouse and enjoyed a board walk and a wooden bridge with beautiful views. thinking about the limitations imposed by a sense of safety and risk. Being too cautious can be very limiting and boring. There is a frisson associated with risk, and thrills to be had from wild places, heights, dangerous liaisons.. Risk is inevitable in most encounters and in creative acts of art and writing, with a risk of criticism.

IMG_4054.JPGI was now on the North bank of the Little Ouse, and in Norfolk. There were two more dangers ahead: the first was a swan on the bank with her rather large cygnets. She hissed at me briefly whilst I did my best to ignore her.  The second was the oncoming roar of the A11. I haven’t recovered from the stress of crossing over this to get to Mildenhall and was very relieved that here was an underpass  with some splendid graffiti, including “Sexy Mary” to make the experience truly delightful.  I knew I must be getting to Thetford, but there was one thing missing. No litter! I was impressed. Surely the place isn’t becoming gentrified?


Journeying back in time

I was the only one on the bus this morning from Bury to Clare, enjoying the journey from the front of a double decker. Walking back again the leaves were in brilliant autumnal colours. Field maple is a luminous yellow, dogwood a maroon, blackberry leaves bright coral crimson, and a bumper crop of purple sloes stood out against yellow hazel bushes.IMG_3854.JPG

I dawdled in the various churches to see the preparations for the forthcoming Armistice Day on the centenary of the end of the First World War. St Peter and St Paul’s in Clare looked incredibly smart with beautifully arranged poppies and a red alter cloth. At the foot of the altar were two hassocks embroidered along the side with the word PEACE.


Walking on I took a detour to St Mary’s Hawkedon. This looked beautifully kept, too, with a brush left on the alter rail hinting at recent activity. The East window was filled with an assortment of medieval pieces of stained glass and the pew ends were full of individual  detail and character. I am pleased it is a grade one listed building, but it shares with six other parishes and has a service once a fortnight. There was a wall painting of the Transfiguration above the  East window, but I couldn’t make it out and was pleased to find a copy in the West end


The main activity, however, was further on- in St Andrew’s, Brockley. When I had visited before this Grade II* listed building had been closed. This time there were lights on!

IMG_3847 I entered the church nervously as there were voices- there was a group setting up an art exhibition and lots of attention was focussed on Armistice Day. The Warden wanted to show me a display he had made for his grandfather and also his uncle who were both killed in the First World War. Five men from the village had died during that time, and a map of the village showed where they lived. It felt very personal and recalled for me the impact of that war on my own family.  I cried.

Last year we had spent a week in Northern France, exploring the battlefield and War Grave Commission graveyards. I went to find the grave of my great uncle Geoffrey, killed at Passchendaele on September 19th 1917. I went with two of my children, and when  we found the grave I wanted to talk to Geoffrey and tell him about all the things he had missed.  My grandfather survived, writing poignant memories for Geoffrey’s family. He later went on to marry Geoffrey’s younger sister, my grandmother.

IMG_1198IMG_1693My mother has kept the postcard my grandfather sent back to England on the 11th November 1918. Soldiers were allowed to send messages by ticking a box. In a moment of intense understatement he ticked “I am quite well”.

By the time I departed from the happy atmosphere in Brockley church the light was fading. I took some photos of their art show


IMG_3848.JPGand walked back across the fields in the fading light, thinking about Uncle Geoffrey and all the other young men who lost their lives in that war. Between nine and eleven million military personnel and a further 8 million civilians lost their lives.

IMG_3852It got dark by the time I reached Mickley Green. I would not have minded but for cars which dazzled me with headlights on full beam. I hope this year’s Armistice Day can help  lay ghosts at peace and ensure this never happens again.

to Rushbrooke

My cousin was staying with me from Australia, and I wanted to take her on a walk to Rushbrooke Church. Plenty has been written on this before and here, emphasising its unusual features. We had to go!

We took my Iraqi friend, Nada, and set out despite a gloomy weather forecast. I took my rain-coat just in case. Walking out of Bury St Edmunds we went along the St Edmund’s Way towards Nowton Church. By good luck it was open, and once again we were able to admire the amazing tapestry of medieval and Victorian stained glass donated by Mr Oakes.

IMG_1557.JPGBut there was something a little odd: not only was the church open but a  pair of men’s trousers was hanging over a pew! Was there anyone else there? I sat down and filled in the visitors’ book, noticing there had been about a dozen entries since my last visit in February.

Outside I noticed how beautifully kept the front garden looked, with freshly planted wallflowers and weeded beds. Then a man appeared from behind a grave with a fork, and I felt reassured that he was the owner of the clothes in the church.

After some distraction picking wool off a gate we walked on and over the fields toward Sicklesmere. Only after a while did I realise I had left my raincoat in the church! I decided to collect it later, and we walked on. Over the Sicklesmere road and up a hill between high hedges, which felt like an ancient track.

IMG_2248.JPGIMG_2255.JPGAs we entered the church we were met by a lady going the other way, and we got chatting. She had spent the morning cleaning and preparing it for the monthly service the following day. She explained she had been cleaning the church for 40 years and was the only one left to do it, with a congregation of very few left. She had arranged some flowers, which she had purchased herself. She expressed her sadness that so few people came, and her anxiety for the future as she herself was not well.  My forthright cousin asked her why she still did it. It seemed to be a sense of duty and loyalty to the Rothschild Family who once owned the estate, where she had worked, as much as to God.

IMG_2270 We admired her flowers and I set about exploring the church for all the little things which may be overlooked by official documents, but describe the effort and goodwill of the people who have contributed to both this church, and the many others like it whose future is uncertain in these secular times. There were numerous prayer mats which had been painstakingly sewn:

IMG_3694.jpgIMG_3693.JPGIMG_3692.jpgThe church is a Grade One listed building, and there are many things to see, most famously the shield of Henry VIII on the ceiling with the words “Dieu et mon Droict” (sic)


Apparently this was not present in 1840, and could possibly have been replaced by Colonel Rushbrooke if it had been hidden and then found again. It is impressive, but not as lovely as the roundels of unicorns on the North side:

IMG_3689These are Flemish and connected to the roundels inserted into the work at Nowton. They fit perfectly into their environment in this church.

The other thing I could not resist as we went back into the entrance area (baptistry ), was the bookcase of fabulous books for sale in aid of the heating. I can’t imagine this covers the cost, but I was delighted with my purchases:

IMG_3765.jpg“The Queensgate Mystery ” is a “War economy standard” for senior girls aged 12-14y, with an improving verse as introduction:

“All things are possible to the girl who believes;

They are less difficult to the girl who hopes;

They are easy to the girl who loves;

And simple to the girl who does all three.”

“Brenda’s Homecoming” is a little later, published in 1947 under “Authorised economy standards” and describing itself as suitable Sunday School material for 8-12 year olds. I can’t wait to read them!

Coming back outside the weather had deteriorated and it had started to rain heavily. My raincoat was still sitting in Nowton church. We ate some chocolate biscuits and set out back for Bury St Edmunds, being directed back along a shorter track. By the time we got back we were all wet right through. The books had been stuffed under my clothes but were, I am sorry to say, rather damp.

I drove to collect the key to Nowton Church to retrieve my raincoat and explained about the gardener and the trousers. “That was the Church Warden”! exclaimed Mrs Finn, the keeper of the key.  Two more examples of the often unsung heroes who keep things going.