No funeral by request

Whilst I was walking on the Cleveland Way last week, my next door neighbour died. Her wishes were that there be no funeral. So today around the time of her cremation I set off on a walk along the local routes and paths she had walked so often.

Station 1: Her garden where I picked a few flowers:

Sweet peas for sweetness
Clematis for colour,
One Pink for isolation,
Lavender for fragrance,
Rosemary for remembrance.

Station 2: overlooking Bottoms reservoir

Psalm 23, the psalm for this valley.

"The Lord is my Shepherd
I lack nothing.
He leads me beside still waters
He restores my soul
He takes me along paths of righteousness for his name sake.
Even though I walk through deaths dark valley
I fear no ill for you are with me your rod and staff comfort me
You prepare a table in the presence of my enemies
You anoint me with oil
And my cup runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me every day
And I will live in God's house forever."

Station 3: the spurter

A tribute

I once met my neighbour and her dog at this corner and we walked around Bottoms together. We lived next door to each other for about a decade and a half, but I barely knew her. She talked a lot but said little. She had been a teacher in Hadfield I think but in other places too. She had done a lot of outdoor pursuits and Guiding. She had looked after her mother, for 9 years. She didn't come into the house and I rarely went into hers. Most of our conversations were outside. Only recently, after the conservatory was built would she come in a sit down and talk whilst I was sewing. The last time I saw her Hannah and I made her and her mum a meal. We shared that feast together.

Station 4: a walk in the woods

The hymn is "All things bright and beautiful" beacause I'm sure she would have sung that many times in school for example. The mountains wear their purple hats today and I walk amongst the tall trees in the greenwood. I make up verses about fireweed and brambles and eat a few blackberries. There are also dragonflies and butterflies swooping past. I walk up the rest of the beech lined path in silence, the background hum of the road accompanying me.

Station 5; The fishing platform

There are already two mourners here: Hector and Elsie , two greyhounds with sleek bodies, sharp noses and alert ears. I acknowledge their attendance. Elsie noses my leg. They are called away.

Psalm 121: "I lift my eyes to the hills from whence my help comes. My help comes from God who made heaven and earth."

I cast the flowers onto the waters They separate and float away in sunlit ripples.

"Earth to earth, Ashes to Ashes. Dust to dust,
In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ from the dead."

I walk on in silence remembering 'There is nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God.'

Station 6: the falls by the hydroelectric station

"Peace is flowing like a river flowing out through you and me, flowing out into the desert, setting all the captives free."

Station 7: a bench overlooking Rhodeswood reservoir

The blessing

The blessing of the fresh air and clear sky,
The blessing of the still reservoir and the rushing stream
The blessing of the light butterfly and the snuffling-nosed dog,
The blessing of the green and gold day
And the light on the purple hillside be with you forever.

I walked back, about 5 miles altogether.
And that was it:
No funeral by request.

In our life and our believing
The love of God.

The church is not a museum

So you're a Reformed woman. You pray 'at all times' and you live with the Remembered Bible in you. You've visited monastic communities all of your adult life and they have played a vital role in your development and vocation. You find yourself at a cross roads with your denomination which, as it shrinks and ages, is less and less attractive, more and more inward looking and no longer feeds you. It can be destructive and wears an air of silence of the less than healthy kind: the stopped up sort of silence of the silenced ones.

You've tried other ecumenical communities and you've been part of the life of several churches over the years but it's never been a very good fit. You are an edge person. You love making community with other edge people and retelling the stories of the Gospel. But you are still waiting for the wounds to heal after your most recent encounter with the church. So you walk for 100 miles or so and pray.

Now it's time to go back.

Now it's time to get on track.
What will you do next?

In our life and our believing
The love of God

(written at the National Railway Museum York)

Some reflections on Walking the Cleveland Way

Accessibility: links to public transport at either end are reasonable. I used trains and buses to get on and off at either end. In between there are buses down the coast but fewer on the moors. However folks will give lifts, from b and b's for example. I had 3 different lifts, two from fellow travellers and one from a terrific b and b owner at Dromonby Bridge.

Walkability: the route is well marked. I had the GPS which did mean I was never lost, but the little acorn signs are frequent on the ground. The sections worked out reasonably well. I did it in 11 days only missing out some of Osmotherley to Clay Bank and Staithes to Whitby. It is reasonably strenuous, more so on the coast possibly because I was more tired by then. Mostly dry weather meant the path was not slippery which was good as there were quite a lot of steps.

The YHA's: mostly good. Boggle Hole was excellent. The others all score good. They have the advantage of mostly being near the route. The disadvantage is the bunk beds. Food good in all of them.

Things to see: there's loads from wildlife to stunning scenery to historical and cultural sites. All of this gave me plenty to think about. Add to that lovely local food: the Staithes kippers and the Robin Hood Bay mackerel were the best! Also enough people to talk to but not crowded. A few familiar faces popped up from time to time. I hope they all completed the challenge as well.

Meanwhile the world has moved on. The Rio Olympics are nearly over and Yorkshire has done really well. But Aleppo is still under seige....

As the world turns; Creator keep us each day;
As the people meet; Christ keep us each day;
As the energy flows; Spirit keep us each day;
In the power and company of the Holy Three, One God forever.

(prayer originally written for Bob's End to End, 2003).

In the loop

24 hour news loop: a Syrian child

Like a doll, the boy sits in the ambulance.
The child's legs dangle over the seat.
He sits there, disorientated.
He puts his hand up to his bloodied face.
He examines his hand:
Whose blood is this?
Unsure, he wipes it on the seat.
The boy sits on the seat of the ambulance,
His legs dangling over the edge.
His hand goes up to his face,
His bloody, dusty face.
Whose blood is this?
He wipes it on the seat.
He sits in the ambulance,
So small, his spindly legs
Dangle over the edge of the seat.
There is blood on his face.
He puts up his hand and touches it.
Whose blood is this?
Where did it come from?
He looks at his hand
And wipes it on the seat.
He sits, waiting in the ambulance.
His skinny body is so puny.
There's blood on his face
And dust all over him.
He touches his face
And gets blood on his hand.
Where did the blood come from?
He wipes it on the seat.
He sits, silently, waiting, in the ambulance....

Just one viral video.
Just one injured child.
How many times can you watch it?

Janet Lees 18.08.2016

Final lap to Filey

One of the best things about the Way has been the wildlife, especially the Butterflies. Here' s a few of today's sightings:
In the woods above Cayton Bay, speckled woods;
On the coast three peacock Butterflies and several Walls, a clutch of small green beetles and a small tortoiseshell before caravan park and footpath to Gristhorpe;
On the next stretch, a peacock, a Wall, 2 painted ladies and three common blues, and a dead mole;
Another painted lady, a peacock and 2 Walls round to end of the Way at Filey Brigg.

Although it had once again been a hot day for walking there are signs that the summer is coming to an end. Crops are ripe in the fields, hay has been baled and a tractor is ploughing above Filey, followed closely by gulls. Autumn is the next season.

Looking for plants and animals in the countryside has been something I have done all my life. My mother taught me the names of many wild flowers when I was growing up and I learnt the names of butterflies and insects when I was doing my A levels. I find it sustaining to look for them as I walk along, even greet them and try to remember what I have seen.

Along the way today the sea was always there on my left. It was so blue and vast and beautiful. Some of the cliffs still house a few late gulls and I saw a Cormorant enjoying a meal.

People also enjoy the way. Coming towards me from Filey, a woman and her daughter, told me her mother had walked the Way a few years ago when she was nearly 70. Looks like I'll have to come back in 10 to 12 years time to keep up with that. It has been brilliant experience. Thanks to all who have supported me, especially Bob and a lot of followers on Twitter.

On our coming and our going
The Peace of God.
In our life and our believing
The Love of God

Alone or together?

Most of this way I have walked on my own. Occasionally I have had a companion and that has mostly been Bob. Last night at Boggle Hole YHA there were three women sharing a room, each of us had walked from Whitby and each of us was walking onto Scarborough.

In the bar, I saw Mark, who I met at Helmsley YHA on the first day of the walk. Encounters on the way from Boggle Hole; a van drew up, it was a couple I meet yesterday.

My decision to travel alone was about prayer and thinking time. Company is nice but sometimes you need less of it. But today was going to be a long hot route and Karen, from Leeds, was going the same way so, when we met later on the track, we decided to go on together.

The steepness of the Cleveland Way path meant we decided to use the flatter route that follows the old Whitby to Scarborough railway line. It also has more tea shops. We tried the one at Ravenscar and the one at Cloughton. The route was more shady. There was also a charming weasel at Burniston.

 

It is very different walking with someone else but we both agreed on this long hot day, the company of each other had helped us get to the end. It also reminded me of one of my favourite episodes in the Gospels: reflecting on the meeting on the road to Emmaus, the say to each other "Wasn't it like a fire burning in us when he spoke to us on the road".

That fire, the one you put in us,
That fire, may it burn on and on.
That fire, the one we remember
That fire, may it fuel our days.
That fire, that comes with your company,
That fire, may it energise us on the way.

Prayer

At Boggle Hole YHA the rooms are named after the sea areas of the shipping forecast. I'm in Cromarty which reminds me of times spent on the NE coast of Scotland, especially with Bob and Hannah in the final few days of their End to Ends (2003 and 2012 respectively).

It also reminds me Carol Ann Duffy's poem 'Prayer' which ends with a recitation of those names. The poem raises questions of prayer: what is it? So does this walk. Is a walk a prayer?

Over centuries, many people have thought so. Some walks are more formal others more creative. Opportunities to pray in different ways may be planned or occur more randomly. The labyrinth, like the one at Whitby Abbey, is one way to walk and pray but there's no limit really.

The Remembered Bible (RB) fits well with walking as it saves the extra weight of carrying a print or digital Bible if you use the Bible in you. Let it resonate with the landscape and the encounters and prayers are likely to pop-up like some of these examples in the blog over the week of this walk.

The Way to Robin Hood's Bay

Leaving Whitby Abbey the old cross is prominent: 
The cross still stands,
On the Abbey plain,
Above the waking town,
Beside the ancient way:
The cross still stands.

The path hugs the coast most of the Way:
The way
Between the barley and the sea
A well trodden path.
Below a wrecked ship
Tells one story of this coast
Whilst along the cliff posts
Bouquets of withered flowers,
Their plastic shrouds
Rattling in the wind, tell others.
In the distance a train whistle
Breaks the silence but not the step.

New treasures seen on the way today:
Devil's bit scabious; darker and more rounded than the field scabious seen on the moorland sections; Butterflies: peacock, small tortoiseshell some sort of fritillary and three painted ladies near Gnipe Howe; Finally a pied wagtail bobbing along the path as I came into Robin Hood's Bay for lunch.

Glorious day in Whitby

A series of observations and reflections made today in Whitby.

Glory to you, dear God today,
As I look out at Whitby bay.
Glory, with Hild and Mary pray,
As we walk ever in the Way.

Overheard in Whitby

Is it donkey ride time?
Jesus, it's always donkey ride time with you!

Messy church was in full flood at St Hilda's.

Here's a verse about it to add to some others (the tune is Rhosymedre)

The love of God comes close
Where stands the messy table
And folks of every age
Join in as they are able,
Where children lead the way
Just listen to what they say.
The fun of God is here to stay
Embracing those who go this Way,
The fun if God is here to stay.

There were more women represented in St Hilda's church:

The women doing the messy church;
In the windows, Mary, Hilda and Priscilla;
On the war memorial for WW1 dedicated to 27 men and women: R L Bulmer, E M Harrison and F E Smales all VAD nurses, some likely to have been women.

Conversations in Whitby

A mother and daughter asked me 'Which way do we go?'
Good question.

How to get a dangerous reputation:

Hilda is said to have petrified snakes.

Later in the day I found one in the garden of the YHA.

Community of the Holy Paraclete at Whitby Priory

The signs are here,
The staff, the table, the cross.
The light is here
The silence is here
The stones keep vigil even when we do not,
Remembering, murmuring, echoing,
This is the place,
And we will serve God in it.

An RB Magnificat 

Did Mary say?
God makes everything bigger,
Even me.

I'm so happy to shout that out!
God remembers everyone,
Even me,

The most puny of all.
It's amazing that this is still remembered:
I really am blessed

By everything God is doing
In and through us all.
You may think the mighty are big and strong,
You may envy the rich or even the proud

But God has different priorities.
God lifts up the humble, 

Makes leaders of the lowly
And those others overlook,
And fills empty ones full again.
This has been known for ages:

Take time to celebrate it now
And, like me, say yes to God.

Margaret Clitheroe was one of the Catholic 40 martyrs of England, and is remembered in the Catholic St Hilda's Church. She was executed in York.

Margaret remembered:

Doors are for opening, remembered Margaret,
Under the weight of one used for the wrong purpose,
As the doors of heaven opened to welcome her home.

A stone to remember 'an important woman, possibly Abbess Aelfled who died here in around 714' is on display at the Abbey. She was the third Prioress and became a nun to fulfill a view made by her father. I was unable to find out what she thought about it.

Conversations round a labyrinth in Whitby Abbey

 
'I've been doing this since 10 o'clock'
Well it is quite a big one; something of a feat for the feet.
'Shall we go on? I think I'm nearly there'.

The attraction of the labyrinth,
Reeling us in, casting us out.

In our life and our believing
The love of God

Morning Prayers

Gold!

When the gold morning comes,
The giant disc rising above the horizon
After your all night vigil
That has kept the lights on,
The incubator going,
The streets safe:
Vital vigil, significant service.
Then you will know
What it is to be in the team
Bringing home the gold.

Mother of the world

I read a prayer written by a Muslim woman that mentioned Mary and Jesus. In the prayer she used the title Mother of the World for Mary. Some commentators said 'Is this Muslim?' and some said 'Can Mary be Mother of the World? I thought - why this nit picking?
I am a Reformed women. I pray as the Spirit inspires me through the scriptures as I remember them. I remember Mary as a woman, as a mother, as one who prayed in joy and in sorrow and I do so too. I do not pray to Mary but I pray with her.

Mother of the World,
How long is your labour?
As we pray together
Through ageless ideas and images
May we be inspired today
To build up, not cast down
Those who pray alongside us,
To encourage each murmur,
Endorse each silence,
The the world may sigh or sing
In such harmony
That your way of peace
Is commonly celebrated
In every place and by every creature.

The new rucksack

Today, Sunday 14th August, was the first real test day for the new rucksack. Up to Friday I was using an old rucksack from our 2004 bits of the West Highland Way. I used the small one, originally bought for Hannah, but trying to travel light I'd thought this one adequate for my current adventure.

The main problem was that even empty it was quite heavy. I'd tried various things, including leaving it for Bob to pick up on Friday from my previous B and B. But from Sunday onwards I'd need a different plan as I have to carry it everyday to the end. So Bob came up with a whole range of rucksacks including a new one he got for me. Guess what? It's orange! Yesterday I tried it out and today was the first full test day.

The path was from Saltburn to Staithes. It's quite an undulating walk along the cliff tops and includes the highest cliffs in England. There were some butterflies, including the grayling which it seems is common on coasts, and a lots of bumblebees on the heather. It was probably the most strenuous day's walking so far in terms of repeated ascents and descents.

I walked into Staithes at around the middle of the afternoon. The houses are perched closely together around the harbour. The streets are steep and narrow. St Peter's church hosts a local craft co-op. It's hard not to buy something but it needs to be light! I got some beautiful hand-dyed wool from Wensleydale long wool sheep. Ideal to pack in the new rucksack.

Saltburn: lost and found (Saturday 13th August)

As a sort of holiday from walking on Saturday morning, Bob and I went to visit the ruins of Guisborough Priory. A community group has been working to restore the 'lost gardens' that had gradually become submerged since the Reformation. This includes the lovely Monks Walk, a shady space surrounded by lime trees now over 200 years old.

There's a corner heap of masonry pieces abandoned like a huge puzzle which is being photographed and catalogued. Meanwhile they're holding a teddy bears' picnic tomorrow if you know a bear looking for a good day out.

The way to Saltburn was over fields to Skelton where I was momentarily lost in a housing development in which the names of all the streets were in Cumbria. A man in a car noticed my indecision and pointed me in the right direction. Just in time, Bob appeared from the Saltburn direction. We retraced his steps together, including under the huge Saltburn viaduct, and emerged in the valley gardens.

At Street level the path placed us adjacent to the town war memorial. An unusual design, it bears the names of two of those from our Silcoates roll of honour. They are A P Antrobus, the youngest of the schools war dead at just 18 years in 1914. His father had been a Congregational minister in Saltburn. The other was W B Weatherill, one of six brothers to attend Silcoates who died in 1918 . His father was described as a Sea Captain, and Willie joined the school when it was in exile in Saltburn. Which brings us to the next connection.

The school was housed in what is now the Saltburn House Hotel from 1904 to 1908 after a fire gutted the Wakefield site. John Yonge was the Headmaster and he is credited with the leadership and vision that not only saw through the period or exile in Saltburn but also the return to Wakefield. See http://www.silcoates.org.uk/about-silcoates/history/

There is a plaque in the entrance hall of the hotel about what happened to it after Silcoates left:
"This home, built by Sir Joseph Pease in 1872 was purchased by the Working Mens Club and Institute Union for the purpose of a convalescent home and was opened on Saturday September 11th 1909 by the Right Honorable Harberton Samuel MP."

Pease was a Quaker and Samuel a Unitarian who had similar ideas about temperance and education for working men at the time. On a board in the rose garden over the road there is mention of Silcoates and its connection to Saltburn. A connection that meant that two young men of the town, having become Silcoatians and then been killed in action in the 1914 -1918 war are remembered together both in this their home town and on our roll of honour back at Silcoates in Wakefield.

On our hearts and on our homes
The peace of God

Out of the woods: 12th August

As I emerge out of the woods beside the A171 and the wall of traffic noise smacks into me, I find myself thinking about the small woodlands that have been a regular feature of the Way.

Since leaving Helmsley each day has been decorated by gentle strolls in sections of woodland. I must have done at least 50 miles by now and quite a few have been through small woods.

Through the woods
The trees can be straight or bent
Deciduous or conifers,
And the ground may be dark or dappled
By playful patches of light.
Sometimes the wind shakes them,
Making them creak or sing;
Sometimes birds and insects make them hum their own symphony.
There is life and death here,
Shelter and support.
There are communities of species
Interacting in a Web of life.
And it is green, in so many ways.
Joyfully alive with green,
One of God's great hues
In which minuscule molecules
Combine to use sunlight
To power the eco-dance.
May it go on and on and on
And may we play our part in making it so.

Due to lack of WiFi on 12th August this post was delayed. Normal service was resumed on 13th August at Guisborough Methodist Church coffee morning.

Stone Way: 12th August

There are stretches of the Way that, due to erosion, have been paved. They make the route clearer and often more even. Like those who reused stones from a Roman wall or a Religious foundation, these slabs have often come from somewhere else. Usually you don't know where. Today (that was 12th August) on the path leading from Roseberry Topping to Guisborough woods there was a stone with it's story on display. Works and symbols on the stone gave a few clues: Trinity, a cross, a fish and a date 1961. About a quarter of a mile further on the other half of the same stone lying in the path next to other plain stones. A cross, a star and the beginning of the word school. So a stone from a school called Trinity now lies broken face up in a path on the North Yorkshire Moors. How long will it lie there telling half a story?

On Roseberry Topping: 12th August

Today I climbed up Roseberry Topping. I was not alone. The young man from the National Trust was there picking up the litter that was left there yesterday, though why it wasn't obvious to those untidy visitors to take that with them I don't know.

Today's visitors were local and from other nations, some I'd seen on previous days. A red admiral got up the path ahead of me. On the ascent a stone told me I was 46 miles from the start of the Way. At the top it was very very windy and I clung to the trig point as I tried to do the necessary selfie (which I'm not good at on a flat spot on a calm day).

The world stretched out beneath me: farmland with its patchwork of fields in light and dark, green and gold. Beyond those the industrial sites of Teesside, close enough for this to be a local leisure space.

It's amazing being above the world like this, looking down, looking to the horizon, looking up to the clouds racing by. Walking this route is good for me. It is restoring me as well as making demands on my fitness.

In Guisborough woods I thought how astonishing it is to be here, in this place, by God's grace. Each plant and creature living round me. Each step planted firmly on the earth. I walk at my own pace, aiming for about 30 minutes per mile and as I step out I am reclaiming my confidence and the way ahead. It is being in the wide open space that helps this process.

In our coming and our going
The blessing of God

The Cathedral of the Moors

This idea came to me when I connected yesterday's walk to the Lady Chapel along the cross-wise path and today's walk across the Moor to Kildale and a fragment of a remembered poem by R S Thomas. At the beginning of today's walk it was raining and the low clouds roofed the moorland scenery for the first four miles or so. Along the path stood old battered square stone pillars at reasonably frequent intervals which reminded me of the crosses I saw yesterday.

It is said that there are many remnants of old standing crosses on the North York Moors but today it is often hard to tell which could have been crosses. Yet they are route markers and as such they tell a story of the Cathedral of the Moors.

Story in stone

Stone pillars to hold up the sky 

As it comes bearing down filled with grey rain.

Stone pillars marking out the way
As it goes snaking over the hills purple with heather.

Stone pillars telling a story of travelling
As we go, each at our own pace, onward today.

The hand stone

Just when you wonder if this is the way
Up pops a hand stone,
Palm open, welcoming,indicating,
Its this way, you are not lost.

The face stone

When we stumble or fall
A human face makes all the difference.
Yesterday, Veronica noticed, and held out kindness.
Today the face on the stone looks just like the one
On shroud or veil.
I trace the features with my finger
And wonder at how similar we look.

Madonna and child

Two stones side by side;
One tall, one small,
Perhaps broken.
These are my Madonna and child:
Moor sentinels,
Signalling that young and old
Travel together
With the quick and the halt,
Over the rough and the smooth.

Still pools

From time to time a worn rock
Becomes a basin,
Collecting minuscule molecules,
Holding vital resources,
Offering a generous blessing,
Helping us all to live wet.

You prepare a table

The essential rock
That underlies everything.
The ageless rock
Worn and lichened
The crumbling rock
Becoming dust again.
This rock, this table:
I break the bread
And feast here.

And finally the A19

I'm not sure the A19 was a good choice. After the low Gregorian hum of the chain saw in the woods behind Mount Grace where the remembered steepness of the path is what put off my return, it certainly was noisy. But I was committed now and sticking my orange hat on one of my poles (figuring it better to avoid getting run down immediately than the longer term effects of the sun at this point) I set off along the narrow edge strip reserved for the poor. 

My footpath was up a steep bank, then it was alongside a wheatfield where I could have gleaned some ears had I any use for them. After that the highest stile on the walk so far. I took my backpack off and heaved it over, not wanting to overbalance at the top of this precarious piece of field furniture. I was rewarded with butterfly corner. The best tally of the day amongst thistles and rose bay willow: numerous whites, some common heaths, a peacock and the prize the day, a painted lady, full of grace.

Way of the cross on the path to the shrine of Our Lady of Mount Grace

Along this path are simple wooden crosses each one accompanied by a simple sign marking the stations of the cross. Here's a bit of creative RB I wrote there.

Through the wood we see you,
Man of wood,
Tree-lined one,
Arms out like branches,
Head crowned and bowed down:
Through the wood we see you.

Jesus receives his cross.
Does a scene from The Life of Brian come to mind?
'Only joking, I'm for crucifixion'.
Or do you see whole piles of them
Heaped up beside any road.
Battered and used take any one of them,
Yours for as long as...

Jesus of the cross,
Our truest memory of you,
Abandoned and reviled
As we walk the away
Remind us again of the cross places of our world
Where you keep vigil still
That people may hang on

Jesus meets his mother:
And here the holly tree
That bears the berry
And the thorn.
Scarred and scared,
The thorn will pierce you too.

Simon helps Jesus carry his cross
What did you do in town today dear?
Oh I helped a guy carry his cross.
That was kind of you love.
Was the least I could do:
Veronica here lent him her hanky.

In the green
The story rolls on, with honour or disdain:
Falling, stripping, nailing, dying, burying.
And then the green space
Opens out ahead of you
As you emerge from the tunnel into the light.
Now the sun shines and warmth comes back.
A few steps separate the two states here,
But elsewhere it's another story.

A path to Mount Grace

Trails cross over everywhere. This morning I went from the Cleveland Way to the pilgrim path to the shrine of Our Lady of Mount Grace which is lined by the stations of the cross. The church dedicated to Mary also remembers Catherine of Aragon,one time wife of Henry 8. From there it was a step path through woodland to Mount Grace Priory itself this time on the trail of Marjorie Kempe. Whilst there I was ambushed by Gertrude Bell. Yesterday I read an article about her in the G2,saying how she'd lived at Redcar. Seems she was at Mount Grace too. Her book 'Syria' is signed by her as being written at Mount Grace. I remembered reading an older biography about her published by Virago decades ago. How many degrees of connection between me and these dangerous women?

There is red and white tape around the figure of Mary at Mount Grace. Unusually placed at the altar end of the remains of the great church, she is offering the Christ child back to God. But there's a warning: don't come too close, keep off. Can other women do this or not? How dangerous would that be?

Mary, Marjorie and other unnamed women
Are important to us:
We trace their stories through the stones
Left scattered by those of previous ages
Who didn't find them so valuable.
This is Mount Grace,
A grace filled place
Echoing now to a chain saw
Rather than Gregorian chant,
Its lawns welcoming picnickers
As children play hide and seek
Amongst the Silent stones.

Visit Osmotherley YHA!

Osmotherley YHA at Cote Ghyll just half a mile outside Osmotherley may sound a mouthful but it's a place for a great mouthful! If walking the Cleveland Way don't miss an opportunity to stay here and sample the excellent food; just what the Walker ordered. You can take it with you. Take away pizza is particularly popular with the campers at the adjacent Cote Ghyll camping site. It's a good base for exploring the North Yorkshire Moors National Park and suited to all ages. You can play pool at breakfast or dinner and the bar is well stocked with ales and wines. Bliss with a bunk bed (probably the only feature of YHA life this 57 year old is slow to recommend) .

Some nature notes from Sutton Bank to Osmotherley

Fruits are ripening: Raspberries and bilberries and wild strawberries
Later summer wild flowers include, harebell, fireweed, foxgloves, knapweed, covers, vetches, yarrow, tansy, scabious, bell flowers,
A good day for Butterflies inspite of the wind.  Various whites are the most numerous. Others seen were Ringlet. Speckled wood. Red admiral, small tortoiseshell, small copper, common heath, and a few small blue ones (suggestions anyone?)
Old larches bent by the wind on the ridge over the years - just like today.
Also rowan with berries. Clouds blowing in, possible rain later. The heather is out on the moors making them purple. In the small valleys shady green ferny gullies alongside tumbling water.
And all that in 13.6 miles!

Day 2: Helmsley to Sutton Bank via Rievaulx Abbey

Here it all begins;
At the cross,
In the market Square
As people go by
No longer looking up.
The butcher, the Baker the banker,
Even the Co op worker,
Come and go.
Here it all begins;
The day, the way.
From the cross watcher
And the cross pray-er,
To the vigil keeper:
Knees are not enough
Take also my feet, my hands, my side. This is the way,
And we will serve God here today.

The Cleveland Way begins at the cross in the market Square at Helmsley. It is old and battered by time. The steps are worn down. Yesterday some bikers sat here, today no one yet. The town is waking up. The parish church is large and has a Norman door (Hello. I'm Norman, do come in). Inside a vicar used his wife's money to paint the walls. There's a side chapel with a window of the story of Columba from Ireland to Iona and the conversion of the Picts. Also paintings of the story of Aidan of Lindisfarne. These are the basic northern celtic saints, part of the story I am trying to write. They go with us in Spirit

In our coming and our going
The blessing of God

Janet's walk, day 1: the journey to the way

Enforced pause at Thirsk railway station

There wasn't much at the station. I sat down to wait. A boy smiled at me through the window of a car that did a squealing turn in the car park, narrowly missing the tractor as it sped away. I tried to look less out of place, one woman on an empty bench in a near empty car park in a not often frequented station. I did what olduns do, I started to eat something from a paper bag. My hair blowing across my face made that tricky. I bit into a tomato and the seeds spiralled several feet away. This was not a way to remain inconspicuous sending showers of tomato seeds far and wide. The banana was more co operative if less flavoursome. I stowed the skin in the adjacent bin.
The sky had clouded over and rain was a possibility. The tall red fireweed that lined the car park bowed in the wind. A budleia on the wasteground by the track tossed its several flower heads too vigorously for the cabbage white butterfly to find a safe landing. It gave up and danced off up the bank.