Autumn is spectacular here.
Day 24
In the morning, Emma went to exercise class and I sat in the sun, reading across the car park from the local train station on the " Watercress Line." At an unexpected noise, I looked and found myself wondering if I'd traveled back in time. A steam engine chugged into view, pulling tiny little wooden cars that looked like Roma caravans. Was it a Saturday excursion line? I watched as the conductors used flag signals to send this little vision of the past on its way.
In the afternoon, Emma, Colin and I went to visit their son, Wilf, at Winchester College. For anyone who hasn't been (or watched "The Last Kingdom " on Netflix) Winchester is an ancient city with a beautiful, historically important cathedral.
Winchester College (in the US we'd call it a school) was established in the 15th center by Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of England, William Wyckham. He also founded the ironically named New College in Oxford. Winchester's students, past and present, are called Wyckhamites. The campus' buildings span the 15th-21st centuries. While Colin and Wilf watched football (soccer to us Yanks), Emma and I walked through the campus.
The cloistered memorial to the fallen Wyckhamites of the first and second world wars.
A garden tucked in behind the memorial.
The Warden's Yard, complete wth chalk stream.
The building simply called "School."
William Wyckham
Old Chapel, with cloister
The Old Chapel cloister has memorials to notable Wyckhamite "boys," including these to those who died while students.
Climber George Mallon was a Wyckhamite. Beautiful marker.
Photo doesn't do this glorious sycamore justice.
We had tea with other parents in a colonnaded porch before heading home, about 20 minutes away.
Dinner was festive. I was allowed to cook, and we enjoyed champagne cocktails and Ina Garten's Vegetable Pot pie in front of the fire, sharing favorite books and music.
Day 25: Sunday
Late start to the day. Relaxed breakfast in the sun, then Emma and I gathered apples for pressing while Colin went to play golf with Wilf and a school friend. Apples done for the day, we moved to the lavender hedge, which got a ferocious clipping.
Back in the kitchen, I had to confront the reality of my situation. My tendinitis is not improving at a rate that will allow me to finish the Camino Frances, not even the final 100k. I could, of course, try, but even if I did really short days, I might only get a day or two in and find myself back in the same situation, stuck in remote Spain. It's the flexion of the uphills and downhills that cause the most irritation. Even mild ones.
Sigh. After eight years of hoping and six months of planning, I will not enter Santiago as a pilgrim, at the side of my dear Marise. This time. Sniff, slurp.
BUT. There is a new path opening.
Yesterday morning, after the apparition of the 19th Century train, I looked up again, this time to a very familiar sight in an unexpected place. Half a dozen backpacks walked past me, carried by distance walkers. I felt like I was on the Camino.
I was.
While I had known about the Camino Inglese, which English pilgrims in the Middle Ages walked from A Coruna to Santiago, I had not given much thought to where those pilgrims would have come from in England. But the Confraternity of St James has resurrected the probable path of those pilgrims from Reading Abbey to Southampton, from which they would have sailed to Spain. And the St James Way goes through Arlesford, crossing directly in front of the cafe where I sat yesterday. It also crosses through Preston Candover, where Emma grew up. The pub there that has an official Way stamp was where we celebrated Emma's and Colin's rehearsal dinner 18 years ago.
This St James Way, which is recognized in Santiago as part of the Camino Ingles, is 68.5 miles long. And because it goes along rivers, chalk streams and canals, It. Is. Flat.
I have two weeks and a bit to do something. I'm certain that my return to try and finish in Spain would be too much distance, altitude change, pressure and yes...disappointment. But walking along rivers and chalk streams, past Roman ruins and medieval churches in the English autumn, seems doable and feels right. I can start with short distances and build up. I can take hours or days off. For the next ten days, I have a bed here at Emma's and Colin's and won't need to carry a pack. After the 19th, if I can't send my pack ahead, I can find a room in a central place with a train station and walk sections before returning by train. I don't need to finish, but I might.
So Tuesday, Sarah the lovely PT has agreed to K-tape me. Wednesday I'll get to visit dear friend Heidi in London for a short evening, and Thursday I will take a local walk. We will see how this plays out.
My Camino continues to surprise, and sometimes amaze, me.
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