Day twenty-three

23rd May 2009 IRELAND / WALES

Walking with giants

Six o’clock and breakfast is on the table … Mr Halvard wasn’t joking when he said I would not leave Ireland hungry… a full breakfast, a pile of toast and coffee. Again, I am hugely grateful to both Mr. Halvard and Mr. Jack… to start the day on a full tank makes a world of difference. A little after six thirty the three of us are outside the front door… I again say thank you, we shake hands, I am pointed in the right direction to the harbour, as I head down the street, I turn around for the last time hold my arm up high and again say thank you, not only to Mr. Halvard and Mr Jack but also to Ireland… before this day is done I will be in Wales… and I cannot but wonder will Wales be as good to me as both Scotland and Ireland have been.

It does not take me long to reach the harbour… In finding the ticket office, I dig out the brown paper envelope Mr. Omar had given me nearly a week ago… the ticket is paid for, change is given, a little over five pounds… it looks as if Mr. Omar has not only paid for me to get back to the mainland but has also thrown in a cup of tea and a cake while I’m sat on the boat… Thank you. By eight thirty the ferry is pulling away from the harbour. I stay on deck at the stern for a good half hour watching Dublin and Ireland fade into the distance. Another chapter finished… if I am to do this walk in forty days, I am just over the halfway mark… I head below deck and with the change given back after buying the ticket I buy a mug of tea and a pastry; I leave the rest of the change on the counter… I wanted to step into Wales as I did at the top of Scotland and how it is I came into Ireland… without a penny in my pocket.

I find a quiet seat and sink into it. I take out the map and try to figure out where it is I will aim for before the day is finished… my eyes gaze down at the map but my head is not there… it’s not thinking about the day ahead… it is reflecting on the days that have just gone, I try to refocus again on the map… but it’s not happening… I don’t fight it, I fold up the map and push it back into the side pocket of my trousers, lean back on the chair, stretch out my legs under the table, the mug of tea sat on the edge of the table, so as I can reach it without having to lean forward… I half close my eyes… the head takes me back to when I stepped of the boat in Larne…

…The laughter of Eddie (the truck driver from Laganside Haulage) that saw that I was lost and put me back on the right road… Omar and his daughter Amalia who waited for me at a castle and took me home to a warm welcome, a hot meal and a bed and then a breakfast and a packed lunch the following morning, the laughter of Sumie when I deliberately walked in the opposite direction she had told me to walk… The genuine smile of a waitress from a café on the streets of Belfast who allowed me to sit for longer than I should have … The manager of the Hillside Inn at Hillsborough for again letting me sit for near on two hours and for keeping the teapot full while I was waiting for the Rev. Richardson… Rev. Simon Richardson and Moyra for allowing me to stay at their home for the night and their two little ones, Patrick and Erin for the discussions on football, Doctor Who monsters and the gift of a chocolate chicken… and the list goes on… the coffee I took into Dromore Cathedral was given to me by a café in the same high street … a tea and sandwich from a café called ‘Friar Tuck’s’ in Banbridge… a bag of chips from a chippy in Newry… Owen (the Law student) who pulled up in his car and shared his flask and lunchbox… A tea from a café in Dundalk… Pie and chips given to me by a mother and daughter at Foleys café in Castlebellingham… and still the list goes on… The farmers Mark and Emer just south of Dunleer who gave me shelter from the rain and shared their kitchen table in the evening and the following morning… The garages that gave me tea, pastie and chocolate… Tea and cake at the Moorland café in the town of Drogheda… the warm welcome of John and Tae’s family in Balbriggan for a proper bed, hot meals and a packed lunch… an old oak that gave me shelter from the drizzle while I ate a sandwich and of course not forgetting Mr. Halvard and Mr. Jack.

I’m not sure if all these memories add anything to the story, especially from the reader's point of view… for me they are important… a big part in the telling of this story is to say, ‘Thank you’. If I’m honest when the idea first came to me to walk the length of these Islands, it was the different landscapes that intrigued me… a little over three weeks into the walk, that still stands… but I tell you this, there would not be a story to tell if it were not for the people that I have met… the many different landscapes have and always will fascinate me… but it has been the people that have moved me… inspired me… touched the very core of who it is I am.

I finish my tea and head back up on to the deck, I look out at the deep blue sea and a sky that seems to go on forever… the world is a beautiful place... a place made for the likes of you and I… Suddenly without warning and out of the blue that is all around me, the square peg, round hole conundrum rises to the surface… a Good God and an evil world… For many it is this that pushes them away from religion… how could a Good God create such a beautiful world and allow evil to exist within it… how does that add up… where is the sense in any of that? … I’m not the kind of guy who came to faith easily… “Questions and answers, honesty, lies. Yes, no you can’t” … in my head I need clear blue waters… not muddy puddles.

For me to answer that question, as I understand it… I don’t doubt there are probably far better explanations out there… but as I say, as I understand it, I kinda need you to walk with me for a little … yeah, I know I’m standing on the deck of a boat… there’s a bench behind me… maybe we can sit for a moment…

…If God is love and love by its very nature needs to be given… then for God to experience love, He needed to create something in His own image… a being that had the potential to stand as His equal  (in the role of co-creator)… for that to happen He first needed to create an environment for such a being to exist, and that is the world (and universe) that we see all around us. And as a parent knows when you have a little one, the love that you have in your heart is bigger than anything you have ever known before… the heart of a parent is to see their little one's  grow to their full potential... to grow beyond the achievements of their parents... and no matter how high they fly, mum and dad will still always be their mum and dad, and that doesn't change... this is the heart of God. God like any parent will invest all His love and energy into that child… watch His children grow and see the wonders of this world again through their eyes… throw them high into the sky and catch them… watch them smile and hear their giggles, hold them when they skin their knees, teach them to ride a bike, to swim, help them with their ‘ABC’s and when the day is all but done, you sit with them on the sofa and read to them a story…

…and then before you know it, you are teaching them to drive a car… a couple of months down the road she passes her driving test and comes home with a driving licence in her pocket… “Dad can I take the car, I want to take my sister out”… I think any dad will tell you this is not easy… “We will be back by seven”… you want to say “Where is it your wanting to go, I can take you”… but you don’t, your little ones are all grown up now… ready to take on the world… in handing the car keys over, you also hand over a degree of responsibility… the flip side of responsibility is failure, something could go wrong. At seven, you’re standing at the window, they’re not back yet… a quarter past and still not back… your heart is beginning to beat a little faster… I should have taken them… at twenty-five past they roll in without a care in the world… you play it cool… but oh boy… to love somebody so much, is not easy.

In my head I have that same image… but it is of God handing over the keys to humankind (with the same heart as above)… only at seven we never did come back… we crashed (metaphorically speaking)… bringing into this beautiful world the wreckage of greed, hate and of a me first attitude… and in doing so breaking the heart of God… God (like any parent) cannot keep stepping in to clear up the mess… not if we are to stand as equals… co-creators… Imagine for a moment that God is a cobbler, He has made the outer and inner sole’s, the heels, cut the material for the upper boot, punched the eyelets for the laces and pretty much stitched and glued it all together… leaving us to do just a little bit of stitching on top of the boot… do that and we can say “We made these boots together”… mess that up and our stitching will come undone, a hole will appear… they will start letting in water… and eventually the boot itself will fall apart… To fix a world that is falling apart we need to fulfil our portion of responsibility.

Yeah, I know… I rattle on sometimes… need to get off this bench, the boat is coming into Holyhead harbour. A little after mid-day I am walking down the gangway off the ferry. The skies look heavy but it’s not raining… collar up, head down, hands pushed into pockets and again I am walking… walking on roads that I know... and it feels good. Less than two hours of kicking stones, I walk through the village of Caergeiliog, a place as a kid I had spent a short time at school… about two miles south of where it is I am, is Royal Air Force Valley… twice RAF Valley has been my home, once as a kid when my dad was stationed here… and years later I to was stationed here as a member of the RAF Mountain Rescue Team. A thousand memories come flooding into my head… behind the wheel of a Bedford truck followed by four Land Rovers driving out of camp and heading for the hills (we did this pretty much every weekend of the year)… they were incredible days… I think at the time I didn’t always appreciate just how incredible they were. I close my eyes for a moment (not a good idea when walking on roads) and I see the faces of the guys… the troops… and with each face a different memory … I hear myself laugh out loud; I open my eyes… maybe best to keep them open… I count myself lucky, not everybody gets the chance to have walked (…and climbed) with giants… I want to mention names, but I don’t, because to mention a handful of names, would mean to miss out the names of others and that doesn’t feel right … Without a doubt, those years played a major role in who it is I am today.

I guess I should have taken a detour so as to walk past the old Camp… but I don’t… I keep walking under the strange skies of Anglesey… I walk into a village called Gwalchmai and step into a hotel with the same name. There’s a young lady behind the bar… and again I share my story in the hope of a cup of tea… “Of course, you can have a cup of tea… you’ve missed lunch, but I can make you a sandwich if you like”. “Really, that would be great… Thank you so much”… and five minutes later, I’m sat in the bar near a window with a cheese and pickle sandwich, a bag of Monster Munches and a mug of tea… how good is that.

Across the room there are two guys, I’m guessing in their mid / late seventies, both had a pint glass and between them a packet of pork scratchings, one of the guys had a woolly jumper on, that looked to be three sizes too big, the other guy was wearing a hoody (the hood was up)… if I squint my eyes a little (or maybe it was the pickle in the sandwich)… I see the image of two Druids, a pot of mead between them, both chewing on acorns.

In western Europe, between 100BC and 50AD the island of Anglesey is thought to have been the Oxbridge for Druids… they were the religious leaders of the ancient Celtic society (… they were also political advisers, thinkers, medics, astrologers and judges). In truth there is little known about them… the only written evidence of the Druids is from the Romans… and they were no fans… I think today we have a romantic image of Druids sat in a sacred oak grove gazing up at the night sky and looking for signs of what was to come. Sometime close to 60AD the Romans had had enough of the Druids instigating attacks against them. A Roman general by the name of Suetonius Paulinus marched his well-trained legions from Chester barracks into Anglesey and massacred the Druids and their defending tribesmen… and that was pretty much the tragic end to a culture. Nearly two thousand years on and we are still committing crimes against humanity.

Sandwich and tea finished; I again thank the barmaid… on the way out I give my imaginary cap a small tug and respectfully nod to the two druids in the corner… they give a nod back while chomping away at pork scratching… and with that I head back out on to the road.

A little over two hours of walking on the old road (…on the same road I guess that the Romans had marched into Anglesey), I reach the village of Gaerwen and find the Church of St Michael. I am told, that if I’m looking for the vicar, to try his house, I am given directions. Thank you. I again knock on a door…and the door is opened, just as dinner is about to be put on the table… I feel awkward… and again I explain myself, in the hope of being given a quiet corner in the church to take shelter for the night… but instead the door is opened wide… I am introduced to Clarissa, Clarissa tells me I have about ten minutes to grab a shower before dinner is served, I am given a fresh towel and shown where the bathroom is… and again I am bowled over… again lost for word… no idea what to say… Thank you. After dinner the table is cleared… and then strawberries and cream… and then coffee. We sit and talk… I learn that Emlyn used to work in the construction industry before becoming a vicar for the Church of Wales…stories like this inspire me.

A little later Emlyn digs out a folding camp bed and we head out to the garden to a porter cabin of many colours, “We use this as a club house and a space for Sunday school… make yourself at home, help your self to the tea and biscuits”. Thank you. “We will see you in the morning for breakfast”.

I set up the camp bed, climb into my sleeping bag and with my hands behind my head I let my thoughts drift… my first thought at the end of each day is of gratitude for what it is I have been given…

I think of the Druids looking up into the night sky… asking questions and finding answers from beyond this world… I wonder did they see a star from the east move across the sky and then come to a stop in a faraway land over a stable… did they somehow know their work was done, that they had laid the groundwork, in ready for a new dawn… a new beginning… what did they make of the Gospel stories that were creeping into these islands… the building of stone chapels that would slowly replace the ancient oak groves… and what of this Kingdom these early pioneers talked of building… could it be that one day, tattooed guys from the construction industry would become religious leaders… for the times they were a-changin.