The Pilgrims' Way: Chilham to Canterbury

Photo by Benedict Wan

It was chilly in Chilham this morning. The birds were out in force singing their chorus, and I was eager to set out as soon as possible to meet the day.

Before I left, the family’s dog took one more chance to bark at me as much as he could during breakfast, and I lost patience and literally snapped at him with my fingers. Luckily, he didn’t steal any of the lovely fry-up that the household shared in the morning. I swear I’ve eaten more fry-ups in these last two weeks than I have in the last four years.

I left them with a grateful goodbye at around quarter past eight, and then I was gone. Back up the small hill to the top of Chilham, around the church to follow the hand-written Pilgrims Way’ sign (with a happy face included), and out of the village altogether. I had grown used to wearing light clothing despite the cold as I knew how much the temperature changes before midday, so I felt confident wearing just my Children’s Society t-shirt. It reminded me of the mornings when I would play Rugby at Alton and had to run around just to stay warm.

The usual people were up early; cyclicts, joggers, dog walkers. They provided brief company along the country paths and country roads, but I was mostly alone with the squirrels again. There were also a significant amount of conkers dropping from the trees  which were fun to kick along the road. A few times, I found myself at a busy road and questioned if I had gone the right way, especially as the North Downs Way turned into lovely forest. It felt like the Pilgrims’ Way was being deliberately different to stand out, which I’m not sure was worth the rush of air after large lorries whizzed by.

I came into Harbledown (meaning ‘Up and Down’ according to Chaucer) around 10:30. One of its churches was closed and the other was occupied by Sunday prayers, so I felt it impolite to ender for a stamp. Instead, I found a reasonably quiet space (sans the constant hum of busy traffic) to reflect on my journey.

When I first conceived of this trip, I thought it would be a private exercise in curiosity. I was interested in the challenge of walking so far, and I wanted to explore more of my own country. Once I seriously started planning, I realised it could be an opportunity to raise money for a cause that I felt strongly about: in this case, the protection and support of children. And just like that, I have raised nearly £1500 in total. On a personal level, the sense of community I experienced as I passed through different parts of Hampshire, Surrey, and Kent, was overwhelming. Members of different churches along the way helped me with accommodation, food – even my clothes were washed at one point! Individuals I met along the way all had their own stories, and all contributed in some way to the story of the pilgrimage (some even in the form of donations).

I found that a pilgrimage doesn’t have to start from London, or Winchester. Pilgrimages start as soon as you step out of your front door. We all have our own small pilgrimages throughout our lives, We place significance on places of meaning and they become a focal point for our emotional wellbeing. We remember sites and scenes in our idleness and take comfort from those memories. Pilgrimages do not have to be to Canterbury. They can be to wherever has meaning to you.

I enjoyed the opportunity to understand my own culture and history in a more practical way. Books can only take you so far, but touching neolithic sites, finding a Roman brick in the field, reading the graffiti from hundreds of years ago, but also from the 1980s before Chatham Docks closed connected my with my country’s past much more vividly. Walking the pathways in the footsteps of pilgrims from thousands of years ago was humbling, and made me feel connected to our past in an entirely new way. But I am quite sick of Saxon and Norman churches by now.

I said more in the video, but this is a sufficient summary. I was less than 40 minutes from the endpoint and I was ready for the final push. Soon, I got my first glimpse of the cathedral’s tower. The roads rapidly became busier and the surroundings became built up with businesses references to pilgrims and Chaucer. The final church I visited on the way was St. Dunstan’s, on the edge of the road towards the Westgate, a very impressive taster of what was to come. I managed to miss the head of St. Thomas More, but tried not to disturb the man sleeping on the pews.

Further down the road, Canterbury truly felt like a culmination of all I had done before. There was a statue of Chaucer himself, surrounded by the different characters whose stories I had failed miserably to read enroute. The high street was a kaleidoscope of people, businesses, and coloured bunting. It felt like a grand parade towards the end goal, a summary of everything I had seen on my way. There were churches, there were Tudor shopfronts, there were medieval walls, and so much more besides.

And then, a sharp left turn, and I saw the end. Canterbury was unlike anything else I had seen on my journey. Winchester and Rochester cathedrals were impressive, for sure, and had their own collections of stunning architecture and storied history. But the sheer scale of Canterbury was awesome in the truest sense of the word. Before I went in, I needed to receive my final stamp, and sign the pilgrim record book. The book I signed only started in February of this year, which speaks to the amount of people that pass through on the same path I had taken. The majority appeared to be from different parts of the UK but there were some from as far away as India! 

I had my family and a friend from London, Ben, who used me as an excuse to finally visit Canterbury. Together we went to see what all the fuss was about. When I tell you that walking into the cathedral was like walking into the chambers of giants,  I am not exaggerating. The ceiling was dizzyingly high. Light poured in through stained-glass windows. The columns overlapped and cast sharp lines across every sightline. Parts of it reminded me of the moving staircases at Hogwarts, others of the 21^st Hall of Moria. Canterbury cathedral has no bad angles. It is a beautiful testament to people’s faith.

I spent the majority of my time looking for interesting graffiti, and remembered what I was told at Rochester; namely that there are faces and buildings scratched into the walls. If you shine a light at the right angle, you can uncover entire scenes. The chapter house, the largest in England, was humbling to step into. So much empty space that bounced around the slightest noises. The room was devoid of any seating or adornment outside of the decorated ceiling and architectural design, making one of my favourite rooms of the entire pilgrimage. I flexed my historical knowledge by explaining to Ben who the kings and princes were that were entombed in the cathedral too. Finally, I almost broke my neck staring at the coats of arms on the ceiling around the cloisters. I enjoyed the fact my Crusader Kings experience had a practical use for once.

And, of course, visiting the spot where St. Thomas Beckett was murdered needed to be visited to truly complete the journey. The site is rather modest compared to other parts of the building: his name in red on the floor, a plaque explaining the event, and a crucifix made out of swords on the wall behind that was unique amongst the rest of the decorations.

In the end, I am glad that I undertook the journey, but I am also glad that I can rest for a while. Plenty of people undertook it anonymously for no other reasons than their own, and faster than me too. You can’t compare experiences, but speaking for myself: walking The Pilgrims’ Way was a chance to understand myself, what I place value in, and a reminder that people are fundamentally good. If anyone is interested in taking time for themselves, I would highly recommend a similar adventure.