My 40th Anniversay pilgrimage to Higham Ferrers

Pilgrimage from home to Higham Ferrers.

Wednesday 4 May 2022.

Most medieval pilgrimages were local. I had chosen Higham Ferrers my destination it was known for a Holy Cross, although the details of the cross are very hazy. There are wills from the early sixteenth century that mention it. Arthur Sothern left two ewes to pay for an eternal light to be lit at, the roode chappell before the roode. In 1531, John Bennett of Raunds left money for somebody to make a pilgrimage, ‘to the rode at Higham,’ on his behalf. This journey would be a round trip of only ten miles!

I set out at 6.25 on a misty, moisty, May and grey morning. There had been rain in the night. Out in the fields, the oil seed rape stank, but the larks were singing vociferously. The path was wide, so my feet remained dry.

At the top of the first rise of land I was able to look across the fields lightly veiled with mist. The water level of the brook was very low. It hasn’t rained properly for a few weeks now. Bags of dog poo along the path; something I would see along the whole of my route. Why pollute the countryside with plastic if you have no intention of taking the poo home? Let nature sort the problem. At the ridge the views towards Earls Barton were equally grey. Blue tits and hedge sparrows flitted in the hedge. I saw two hares out in the field, so a good start for nature spotting. The sun as now a watery blob of brightness in the grey.

I headed down towards the Whiston track. The church tower peeked above the trees. Even more bird song. Pigeons flitted but no sign of kites or buzzards as it is too early. Bluebells in small clumps brightened the wayside.

The Whiston ford was also low, which was good for me as I was able to use the steppingstones without getting wet feet. Lush greenery lined the path; cow parsley, grass, burdock, fresh teasels, hogweed, goosegrass and even flowering red campion.

Out on the road I had a better view of Whiston church, or, ‘Our Lady, or, the Queen, of the Nene Valley’ as I prefer to call it.

A huge building for a handful of houses. It is very visible for quite some distance. Sheep ‘Maahed!’ and bouncy lambs bleated. Too early for cars, thankfully. I crossed the road onto the track to the Nene. The gravel pit workings are now well towards Cogenhoe, but the diggers were already hard at work. Sand Martins circled the pit that still had a large puddle at the bottom. I watched them circle and skim for some time. There were half a dozen or so; the first I had seen this year. The river itself was low too and not much of a current. Ideal coracle conditions; I still plan to make a short pilgrimage to Peterborough by coracle! Further on more sheep grazed as I crossed the bridge.

A cuckoo called out. Sumer is icumin in, Murie sing cuckoo. Not the first I had heard this year, but certainly the loudest. A heron rose from the bank and flew off across the gravel works. I met my first person near the marina. We agreed that it was a lovely morning. Her dog looked nervous, but only stopped to bark at me from a safe distance. Swallows and house martins swooped amongst the houseboats. Men in vans were getting ready to begin work at the lock. I crossed the road onto the bridge and was soon on the riverbank. There was a solitary car in the car park, but I never saw the owner. A light drizzle began to fall. I didn’t bother with my cape. Small birds tweeted among the trees, but I could never see them. A few terns skimmed the water. A pair of unworried ducks ploughed by. I noticed the metallic tyrannosaurus sculpture across the river was now mostly hidden by briars. A pony looked at me. It had no companions and looked rather lonely, so I stopped to stroke it. Great crested grebes, swans, mallards and grey geese swam on the lake to my right.

The Archimedes screw at Doddington Mill was pounding noisily. A man with three Jack Russels came into the field. His dogs barked and generally refused to do as he asked, no matter how loud he shouted. The traffic on Hardwater Drive was fast. It took several moves to cross the bridge to get to the path for Doddington. The grass here was longer. My feet began to get wet. I had waterproofed my boots, but to no avail. The soles of my boots were soon sodden and became very slippery. I was on the wet grass before I even knew what had happened. No harm done I got up and walked on, but more cautiously now. Luckily my walking pole stopped me falling over again when I slipped. More swallows circled the field as I reached Doddington. It was still too early for traffic, or people in general, but the village shop was open. I walked to the bend near the pub and turned right down a path. Three horses were blocking the second gate and expected me to feed them. Grape vines of a very small vineyard had been pruned and tied in.

I looked across the Nene Valley. It was hard to track the river as so many artificial lakes have been created, presumably all old gravel pits. There is little of the Nene valley to Peterborough that hasn’t been spared. Church spires rose above the light mist. The sky was still grey.

The path was all downhill towards the river. My boots kept slipping, but I stayed on my feet. I had never had this problem in the past except on a roadside verge during very dry weather when the grass was nearly dead. My feet were soaked by now, but felt comfortable enough. The walk along the river was pleasant. More cuckoos cried out. I hoped to see a kingfisher, but no luck. A heron looked at me, then flew off.

Further on the newly enlarged prison dominated the view. It was edged by a large area of solar panels. My clothing was quite wet, but mostly on the surface and the water hadn’t soaked through. Water was dripping from my hat. As both are wool based, I was still warm, in fact a bit too warm as the weather had turned rather muggy. I reached Wellingborough underpass where mallow plants were growing, with surprisingly large leaves. A host of pigeons flew out. Graffiti was sprayed along the sides.

The rain stopped as I reached the embankment and the Whitworth’s factory, where a flotilla of swans swam towards me in search of food. The ducks sensibly kept a safe distance. The path and grass were awash with swam poo, and with the rain, it now stank and had become greasy underfoot. Two men were feeding the swans near the toilets, so I was mostly ignored. I continued on towards the fields. A heron sat in a tree. A cormorant flew off, whilst another sat and glared at the world. A cormorant inflight is an odd sight. They have none of the elegance, nor ease, that most flying birds have. I always half expect them to fall from the sky. It is not far to walk to get back into the countryside from the Embankment. There were the remains of fires but little litter. Cuckoos called again. More ducks and swans, but still no kingfisher.

Chester Farm stood on the hill to my right. There had once been a Roman settlement here on the higher ground. A very pleasant site with plenty of water and fertile fields lower down. Unfortunately, the bridges which I had been assured would be repaired by the end of April were impossible to use. Nothing had even been started. My planned tea break was cancelled! My foot slipped again near Ditchford Lock. I didn’t fall but my right knee didn’t feel right. I stopped at the lock to remove my bag and have a drink. I was surrounded by cloud of Mayflies. The knee felt tight. I could walk, but I began to wonder if walking home again was the sensible thing to do.

I continued to Ditchford bridge. It is hard to realise now that this was once a tourist attraction and had many visitors. I stopped to watch the factory in the hope of seeing peregrine falcons. I had seen adults and young birds here last year. No luck. I did see a pair of Canada geese with fluffy yellow goslings.

There was a lot of traffic crossing the bridge. I stopped to watch the water. There were alpacas in the field and a few ponies. I searched in vain for a kingfisher. Crossing the bridge needed careful timing with the traffic lights. Pedestrians may now have right of way, but I prefer to be on the safe side! I took the stile into Ditchford Lakes which would allow me to get to Rushden lakes shopping area. I decided to go the shorter way, even though I had seen kingfishers on the longer route. My knee didn’t feel great, and I decided to play it safe and arrive. I saw grebes and geese, but no kingfisher, nor any people until I reached the gate near the cinema where two men with a dog a said hello. One noted I had a good hat for the rain, even though it had now stopped. I walked through the shopping area seeing very few people even though the car park was nearly full. I initially missed the path that I needed and had to back track. I was soon on the hard track. Thepath sides are quite woody. Birds sang and St John’s Wort was growing too, along with forget me nots. I met one woman on a bike before I turned right for Higham Ferrers. Lat year tree of us walked the Nene Way. With no reason to go to Higham Ferrers we continued on to Stanwick Lakes. I had walked into Higham on my pilgrimage to Peterborough, but that had been on a cold Sunday night towards the end of March. I hadn’t stopped. The walk along the river was very pleasant and promised a kingfisher, but again, I didn’t see on. A heron sat in a tree, then flew off. Further on I was startled by a woman in bright pink running by as I watched another heron stalking the bank.

Across the river Highland cattle grazed. It appeared very rural, but the traffic noise of the busy dual carriageway was more than noticeable, even more so as I approached the footbridge that crossed the river and road. Traffic thundered below. On the far side I passed a lake and came to the park. Once there had been a quay here. Higham Ferrers had once been very important. There was a castle, but no stonework remains. There is much more remaining of Chichele College. The church wis very large and has an exterior Chantry Chapel and a Bede House. Records show the castle had a vineyard and there was an area for growing saffron. My path took me out onto the modern Vineyard road and by the recreation ground. I went to the main street and crossed the road to see the remains of the castle, open grassland and a part of the moat. There is a dovecote wall, but I had forgotten how to get to it. I recrossed the road to go into the modern medieval garden at the Chichele College.

I had donated several plants and had been told that my mandrake was thriving. It has never been marked as mandrake as I was worried some Harry Potter fan would dig it up. The gardens had become rather overgrown as access had been restricted during repairs to the walls during much of Lockdown. I prefer the slightly overgrown look. They had completely removed the soapwort I gave them as it took over, as nobody bothered to keep it under control- lazy gardeners! Henry Chichele dedicated his College to St Edward, the Confessor, and St Thomas in 1425. There were eight chaplains, four clerks and six choristers. The college was closed during the reformation in 1543.

And so, to my destination, the church of St Mary the Virgin. I arrived at 12.55. I had checked beforehand about opening times, and was relieved to see a sign showing the church was open. .is a cross on your right as you eneter the churchyard from the market square.

The Chantry chapel is on your left as you approach the main doors ofthe church. Sadly, the chaepel is rarely open.

The Bede House was built sometime around 1422 by Henry Chichele. It as to be for twelve men over fifty years of age, as was common for many alms houses. The men were to live in close company with a woman to look after them. There were usually duties to be carried out and a uniform for most Alms/Bede houses. Being sober, and a good Christian were foremost necessities of becoming a Bedesman. There is a large fireplace. I used to be part of a team entertaining at medieval banquets. Singing around the Bede House fire was a highlight for me.

Last year peregrines had nested and fledged, but no sign of them today. I photographed the pipe and tabor player on the outside window before going to the porch. The carvings inside the porch somehow escaped damage by Henry VIII and Cromwell. Some are very worn, but still impressive. The sculpture is mostly 13 c. The rondels show scenes from the life of Christ and Mary. Figures around the doorways are of those of David’s line, although who is who, I have no idea. If you look more closely there is a person playing a citole and another blowing a wind instrument of some sort.

The interior of the church is much larger than you expect. Thomas of Lancaster owned the castle. He was later executed for treason at Pontefract, but his relics were said to cause healing. People acclaimed him as a saint. There were efforts to repress this, which generally failed. A case of a fake saint as political protest. Thomas was never canonised, despite attempts to make him official. I have never discovered anything to suggest that Higham Ferrers housed a relic of St Thomas, but the church has several records of people claiming sanctuary here, even from afar as Norfolk.

Today was a mother’s meeting over in a play area. Mostly complaints about others, from what I could hear. There is some good fifteenth century woodwork, the rood screen, and the benches, which have misericordes and carvings, the owl is my favourite carving. The rood itself is a much later replacement. There are some medieval floor tiles too, although most are very worn. The stained glass is not medieval, but the Jesse window, installed in 1914 is impressive and shows Henry Chichele who became Archbishop of Canterbury. There is a fine tomb with a mostly complete brass.

I sat outside the church to play ‘C’est la Fin’ to declare the pilgrimage was over, I would not be walking home. I made my way to the café near the church for a panini and a coffee.

Once home, I realised that I had lost my water bottle. I had carried this on every walk since 1986 when I walked to Mont St Michel. Actually, not quite every walk. As an experiment, I had made a leather bottle, that I carried when I walked from Hereford to Holywell. I was another two days before I was able to buy another bottle and the weather was very hot. Within a couple of miles from Hereford, I slipped at a style and damaged the lining. I soon had a very soggy piece of leather. I later made a much better bottle, but I only use it for displays.

Miles - 17.59

Kms – 28.15

Steps – 39,424

More photos of the church.