To Be a Pilgrim

Walking the St. Swithun's Way

Yesterday we drove to Alton, listening to Paul Theroux's travelogue, the Great Railway Bazaar (Mrs Mover's reading group homework). So absorbing and atmospheric was it that as we lay our heads on the pillow in our lodgings in the rainy woods we felt like we were in Rangoon not Hampshire. Nor did I remember even driving there.

It was the ideal prelude to our own modest adventure - walking the St. Swithun's Way - which we began today by catching a bus to Farnham and walking back. We got lost among the fine buildings before finding the waymarked path across the flinty fields where we picked up a nice piece as a pilgrim's keepsake relic. We were away then, following paths cut through broad beans, barley and potatoes. It went through ancient woods, past thatched cottages and hamlets, and cut through the villages of Froyle and Bentley. We saw no other walkers and only seemed to pass the time of day with people on horseback. The bird of the day was the yellowhammer, for we saw many, and their song was a constant backdrop in the stillness and solitude.

Back in Alton we walked through luxuriant woods to the village of Beech and our B and B, nestling secretively on a road of exclusivity, carved through ancient woodland. Alan Titchmarsh used to live on this road where his home was the setting for many editions of Gardener's World. Our guesthouse, chosen at random, could not be bettered by any traveller. It had been a 17 mile day, so as our heads touched the pillow.......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.