Ely Cathedral. A forest of peace.

Woke to a rain soaked morning and struggled into waterproofs inside the cramped confines of my micro camper. I eat a breakfast of muesli in high winds as various members of the clergy stop by to say hello and am then blown across the grounds of Ely Cathedral to the doors for morning service.

Inside the church is a forest of peace, I have the strongest sense of walking into a woodland glade. Did our ancestors do this on purpose or did they subconsciously create a place that felt familiar to our pagan roots of nature worship? I walk to the alter, passing ranks of green men carved into the arms of the choir stalls.

The pilgrim party awaits me. Many wear scallop shells with pride. Some have walked the way of St James to Santiago de Compostela. Others are not Christian but are drawn to the idea of pilgrimage, walking with an intention. There is a simple service of morning prayer and then we are given traditional pilgrim food. Biscuits made of spelt and spices and dried fish. Both are surprisingly tasty. We are each presented with a pilgrim badge showing Saint Edmund which we all pin proudly to our bags or coats.

A party of pilgrims at Ely Cathedral..

We set off from town into a day of drizzle and cold winds. Soon we are spread out as we cross bridges over the river Ouse and head through the flatlands of Cambridgeshire. It is, to be honest, countryside hard to love. Miles of vast fields and drainage ditches. I walk and chat to others for a while and then find myself alone. walking on a raised bank with a canalised river Lark on one side and a line of telegraph poles on the other. The sky revolves above and my thoughts open out. I have the luxury of that rare commodity in modern life. Time to think.

Chiffchaffs and whitethroats call from honeycomb bright trees and behind me I can hear voices from Texas and South Korea. The pilgrimage has, somewhat surprisingly, attracted an international audience. As the day wears on I find the walking hard. An endurance walker has taken the lead and sets a blistering, blister inducing pace which the rest of us struggle to maintain. My legs are already aching after 5 miles and I have another 10 to go.

We are encouraged to embrace the experience as a whole. The fun bits, the dull bits, Life's metaphors are God's instructions.

The soil of the surrounding countryside is so black but fertile I am told.

I walk alone and then find company.

Go at your own pace, not that dictated by others.

My thoughts open out like a child's paper toy. A buzzard spirals overhead as my legs move ever on.

When I feel I know longer want to go on. Two ladies wait for me and literally haul me over logs and across stiles.

I limp into Mildenhall at three and walk into a church full of 600 year old angels. There is warmth and welcome. Conversation and cake.