The Pilgrims' Way - Farnham to Guildford
Maybe it’s delayed fatigue, but I feel especially tired today. I’m not sure why, but it could be to do with the threat of my brother dropping out.
He had been complaining of blisters for the last few days, but I thought it was generic soreness. After all, the amount of walking that we are d
oing each day, multiple days in a row, is hardly something you casually prepare for. I worry that I set the pace too fast, that I should have better accommodated him. For his part, he can’t pinpoint the cause of the friction, and says his footwear and boots are fine. The result, in any case, is that he needs time to rest and recover.
If he doesn’t, he may have a repeat of today. As we set out from Farnham, we were in high spirits. We had slept well and bought truly outrageous sausage rolls that looked like marrow bursting out of a bone as a snack for later. The stage of the Pilgrims’ Way between Farnham and Guildford shadows the A31, which meant the path was more or less a straight line. There was little fluctuation in elevation, and very little cross-country. To top it all off, it was to be the shortest section so far: approximately five hours, compared to the six-hour average of the previous days.
To begin then, we were in good spirits. The morning was dry and the heat hadn’t yet manifested, so our speed was good. We played pooh-sticks on the River Wey by Moor Park House. The noise of the cars hardly ever disappeared but was interrupted at points by birdsong and the crunch of hard footfalls on fallen leaves. However, it became clear early on that Freddie was not coping well with a fourth day of walking. Stoic though he was, ultimately e couldn’t hide the discomfort he was experiencing. We needed to walk at a slower pace, or he may not make it at all.
We followed the pavement that led into Seale, and noticed each house had a name rather than a number. Luckily for us, the tearoom in Seale allowed us a moment’s rest from the rain that was beginning outside, which we took advantage of by ordering a strawberry milkshake and chai latte (two guesses whose order was whose). The church at Seale was also quite lovely, settled as it was under autumn foliage.
From there (excluding the wrong turn that I made – the first of several), the road curved around towards Puttenham, which went on for an eternity and forced us to walk directly on the road. Fortunately, Freddie’s prayers for a wizard staff came true when I salvaged a good stick from the side of the road. Once it started raining heavily, and he put his hood up, he finally looked like a true pilgrim.
The route continued forward, but Freddie was severely struggling. Even carrying his bags for him seemed to make “no difference”, in his words. But despite the immense, repeated pain he must have been feeling, Freddie kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other, leaning on his walking stick.
When we did pass the fields of hops and made it into the charming town of Puttenham, we were around halfway to Guildford and had only an hour to make our appointment with Peter to visit Guildford Castle. It was obvious we would be delayed, and fortunately Peter didn’t mind. I was hoping to get there soon for Freddie’s sake, as neither of us wanted him to walk any longer than he needed to.
Further and further along the way we went, passing by golf courses and wild mushrooms, before we finally crossed under the motorway and entered the village of Compton. We had scheduled a visit to the Watts Chapel and Gallery, which is more than worth visiting. The chapel in particular is striking for how alien it feels to the other chapels you might see anywhere along the Pilgrims’ Way. I almost don’t want to spoil the surprise you get when you enter for the first time, but the sight of it made all of us gasp in awe. The gallery too was a fabulous visit, full of the portraits that made G.F. Watts so celebrated. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to visit the tearoom, but considering its proximity to The Pilgrims’ Way, it would be a well-received final stop before the final push into Guildford itself.
Freddie found within himself a burst of energy, or gritted his teeth exponentially, which allowed us to make our way to the finish line. The woods turned to gardens, which turned to fences, which turned to houses, which turned into Ye Olde Ship Inn – which turned out to be closed on Tuesdays. But Freddie was paying the price for his final efforts, and couldn’t go any further. He sat on a vacant bench in the pub’s garden and waited for a lift back home.
I, however, had one more stop. Peter, saint that he was, had waited over two hours past our original meeting time to give me a private tour of the motte and bailey castle in the centre of town. He shared all the history he could, and humoured my attempts at proper documentary production. All in all, a wonderful chap. The castle was quite nice too, I suppose.
With that, the day ended, and it was near to 7pm by the time we arrived home – four hours later than planned. It seems likely that I will be walking by myself tomorrow, too. But I would prefer that Freddie took a day or two to recover, in order of him to enjoy the remaining days better. I will be waiting with a big smile and a warm hug when he does – right before I give him back his share of the inventory.
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