The Via Francigena: Canterbury to Rome

"A Pilgrim’s Tale" in the footsteps of the Sigeric, Archbishop of Canterbury – 990-994.

My pilgrimage is based on ancient documents which include the journal concerning the return of Sigeric, Archbishop of Canterbury, who left Rome in the year 990 after having been given his Pallium by the Pope, a white embroidered stole, symbol of his ordination as Archbishop. I therefore decided to relive his journey by travelling on foot from Canterbury through three countries: France, Switzerland and Italy.

It began on Easter Sunday March 31^st. 2002 with a solemn and moving blessing given by the Dean of Canterbury on the very spot where Thomas Becket was murdered in the 12^th. century.

The following day, on a very damp Monday morning, I set off from the Cathedral’s historic gates with my very lightweight rucksack firmly set on my back, my well-travelled umbrella in hand and a certain apprehension about the 2000 kilometres ahead of me, but also happy to be finally on my way. However, after about 20 minutes of turning around in circles, I was already lost, and suddenly I laughed, because here I was with the idea of walking to Rome and I couldn’t even find my way out of Canterbury. But with the help of some incredulous passers-by when telling them I was walking to Rome, I finally arrived in Dover ready to cross the channel not on foot, but by boat of course!

During the following two weeks in sunny but cold and windy weather, I walked through the regions of the Pas de Calais, the Somme and the Marne and discovered many small villages still scarred by two world wars and where each military cemetery is a poignant reminder of those events. I also visited the great cathedrals of the north: Arras, St. Quentin, Laon and Reims – all majestic in their gothic splendour! In Reims, I met my friend François and on a grey and rainy day we walked along the busy Canal du Nord and through the mist covered vineyards where seasonal workers were fixing wires along the leafless vines in preparation for the spring. Happily for us and to brighten the day, we shared a bottle of Champagne with a friendly wine merchant and eventually set off in the afternoon very light-headed and fleet of foot. However at 6p.m., (having deviated a few kilometres) we realised that we were still a long way from our final destination and a short call on his mobile to his wife was necessary to put us back on the right road – by car! We had walked 32kms. Instead of 25!

My journey continued towards Chalons-en Champagne and Langres, this last, a town set high on a hill, is magnificent with its gothic cathedral and medieval walls - nevertheless the climb up was tough! One day, not far from Vitry-le-François, I was walking, absolutely petrified, along a narrow twisting road in thick fog when a car stopped at my level and a lady cried out:

"What on earth are you doing there?

- I am walking to Rome,

- But you are mad to walk in such weather!

- No, no I am English!

- Come, I’ll take you to the next village – my home" and, ten minutes later a found I myself driving through well-kept grounds to a sleeping beauty style chateau and here, I was invited to share the family’s lunch.

In Bar-le Duc – a provincial town, I stayed overnight as a guest of the local parish. The next day, one of the priests took me to visit the last resting place of Charles de Gaulle, Colombe-des-deux-Eglises and as I stood beneath the tall granite "Croix de Lorraine" I remembered Churchill’s inferred words "the Cross of Lorraine is the heaviest I have to bare"! Afterwards, we went to Clairvaux where an ancient Cistercian monastery is today a high-risk security prison.

However, I was pleased to hear, it will eventually close and hopefully the monastery will be rebuilt to its former glory. There is a convent across from the prison where the nuns give hospitality to the prisoner’s families and they explained to me during lunch, the tough conditions within the prison and the hardship endured by the families, most of whom come from beyond France: Russia. North Africa and Iran

After continuing my way through the magnificent pastures of the Franche-Comté region and the interesting discovery of its small cheese making villages: Mamirolle and Vernierfontaine, I was at the foot of the Alps and on May 4^th. arrived in snow covered Pontarlier. The following day, I battled my way up to Les Fourgs, (the last ski resort before the Swiss border) through strong icy winds and flurries of snow. I also had to walk the 17 kilometres there by road because the mountain paths were slippery due to the snowy conditions. Here, as I waited for my hospitality family, I spent the Sunday afternoon warming myself in the local school, as this was the only place open because it was the second round of the Presidential elections. The election staff treated me generously to food, wine and hot coffee, another way of getting warm and I finally left there late afternoon in very high "spirits"!

The next day, I found myself in Auberson, the Franco-Swiss border village, where two custom officers were waiting for eventual passers-by, but surely not a pilgrim on foot. After many explanations and much laughter, and to mark my passage, I requested that they stamp my pilgrim’s passport and this they did - with much amusement.

The walking through Switzerland was wonderful because the country is so picturesque with its smooth lakes reflecting snow-capped mountains; its green pastures and hillsides covered with spring flowers; its well-fed cows with their tinkling bells echoing around the fields and well-marked mountains paths to help the pilgrim not lose his way. In good weather conditions, I made my way from Yverdon-les-Bains, Lausanne, Vevey, Montreux, Aigle, the path up the Rhone river and then into the high valley leading to the Grand-St-Bernard pass – 10 days of happiness in spite of some very steep climbs and difficult paths. And from this country said to be "inward-looking" I was given never to be forgotten hospitality from kind families, parishes and nuns.

In Bourg St. Pierre, the last village before the pass, Father Berloussi, a slightly deaf but dynamic priest of eighty years gave me a bed for the night, and in the afternoon I watched him make rhubarb jam and listened to his thoughts on the new abortion laws which he deeply opposed. The next day, he took me by car for a few kilometres because the path was banned due to avalanche risks. When we could go no further, he made me put on his wooden snowshoes from some bygone age so that I could negotiate the snowy pass and then with his rapid blessing on the spot, I set off with some apprehension to climb the aptly named "Combe aux Mortes" - Death’s Coomb! using my old umbrella as a helpful snow pick. Luckily for me there was a lady – Madeleine, who was climbing the pass on sealskin-covered skis, and with her patient help, gradually and sometimes on all fours, I arrived breathless and happy at the top of the pass and on to the hospice. Nevertheless, I was a little sad too, because my old umbrella and companion of former pilgrimages was now in two pieces – victim of the deep frozen snow! On arrival, a priest gave me some hot tea and told me the story of this ancient pilgrim’s halt because the hospice situated at 2440 metres has given hospitality to pilgrims since the Middle Ages and saved many lives from the perils of the snow. Their warm and helpful hospitality to pilgrims still continues today and so, in this peaceful place, I spent a quiet and spiritual night.

With another umbrella in hand, a donation from the hospice as mine should be either in its museum or a bin, I set out early morning with a priest and Bella, an avalanche dog to safely escort us along the still snow covered paths and ridges to the road which the Italians had already cleared of its snowy white winter blanket.

I was now in Italy, in a place so beautiful that it took one’s breath away. Surrounded by snow-capped mountains and a pale blue sky for background. There was absolute silence and I was alone in the world except for some frightened marmots hastily retreating from me just a few yards away. I was filled with an immense joy, not only because I was half way through my pilgrimage but also that I had crossed the Alps safely and that too, I was in good health. I stopped for a while in this extraordinary site to meditate and to thank God for so much happiness and well-being. And after these few moments of reflection, I continued my way down the steep 15 kilometre road drop to St. Remy les Bosses and the Aosta Valley.

The valley with its mountains, water falls and hilltop villages is just as beautiful as Switzerland but with history and culture as well. The villages, with their stronghold castles dominating the countryside and medieval quarters where the churches attract all to their silent interiors for moments of pray, are places for spiritual thoughts and historical discoveries.

Soon the mountains recede and the Pô Plain opens up before me, a large and flat valley with rice fields and canals as far as the eye can see. But here today, the historic pilgrim’s path "La Via Roma" is now a major road and I must follow it to continue my way. Therefore, with much hesitation, I began the most difficult part of my walk since leaving Canterbury. The trucks and cars were driven so fast that each time I was overtaken, I nearly did a double backward somersault. It was terrifying! and that, for a few hundred kilometres!

One day, about two kilometres from Vercelli, on this large and straight road, I heard a voice: "Veronica, Veronica", I had a flash! maybe, to relieve me of my fright, was it God calling me at last? But no! I looked over to the other side of the road and I saw a strange long-bearded man on a bicycle. It was Christian, a friend of François from Reims who had asked him to look out for me; he too was on his way to Rome. We had lunch together and talked about the difficulty of negotiating dangerous roads and above all, of those mad conductors who think they are driving a "Formula One" car. He was the only pilgrim I had met since leaving Canterbury two months previously and I was delighted to share these moments with him.

From town to town – Pavia, Corte San Andrea with its ancient pilgrim’s hostel, Piacenza, Fiorenzuola d’Arda, Fidenza and Fornovo – these large and small towns with their historical cathedrals and churches and where Sigeric, Archbishop of Canterbury passed through and prayed on his return from Rome in 990 and today, are part of my spiritual and cultural pilgrimage. And, I shall never forget Chiaravalle and the visit to its isolated magnificent Cistercian abbey set in a field of sunny yellow colza, and where inside, ladies were making, along the full length of the main aisle, a carpet of fresh flowers for the feast of Corpus Christi – I was overwhelmed with admiration.

Once again I am up in the mountains: "the Appennins Chain" with villages from another age, a forest with thousands of chestnut trees and the "Cisse Pass", a thousand-year old and inescapable passage for all pilgrims on their way to Rome. In one of the villages, I met two Dutch trekkers and we walked the next few days ensemble, as we were staying in the same places overnight. We admired the wonderful panoramas, the spring flowers and old villages, took shelter in a barn during a torrential rainstorm and finally crossed the pass in fine weather; singing "Climb every mountain" as we reached the top. Their good humour and the fact that they spoke excellent English made crossing the mountains very friendly and convivial.

Now it is Tuscany that fills me joy as I walk through the countryside with its soft sloping hills and tall cypress trees dominating the skyline; its neat rows of vineyards and silvery olive trees, and the villages: Pietransanta, Camiore and Fuccechio with their ochre coloured houses and beautiful churches where inside one finds a refreshing coolness after a day’s walk in the relentless heat. And not forgetting the great historical towns: San Gimignano, Lucca and Siena, and though I gave myself an extra day for visits, there were so many monuments to see, that I’ll have to come back another time.

Next it is the farming region of Lazio that I travelled through with its recently harvested fields and dark turquoise lakes of: Bolsena and Vico, popular resorts where people from the towns find respite from pollution and heat. On Sunday, June 16^th. I arrive in Aquapendante located high on a hill and from where in the far distance, I can see the hills of Rome because now I am only 15 days walk away from the "Holy City". But before then, there is more beautiful countryside to cross and more hilltop villages to discover and "La Via Roma" passes through them from one end to the other. Therefore, everyday I walk up and stroll through the steep-sided narrow street of these villages, visiting their medieval quarters and churches with their beautiful ancient frescoes: a real delight for the eyes!

A few days from Rome, walking along the edge of a forest road I saw ahead of me two or three walkers. Ah! I said to myself – other pilgrims to accompany me on my last few days? But no, because as I approached them, I noticed the stiletto shoes and that the shorts were very short indeed! They were ladies plying the oldest trade in the world and needless to say, here the cars drove slowly! On passing, we greeted each other shyly with a timid "Buon Giorno" and I noticed that they were very young and beautiful. As I continued on my way, I thought a lot about them, their daily life whether it rained or was fine, and at what resembled their future – may God bless them!

I am now at the gateway to Rome and I walk along the "Voie Triomphale" the old roman and well-named road. I hastily leave my rucksack with the nuns and walk the last four kilometres very light-footed towards the Vatican where, on this Sunday June 30^th. the square is virtually empty. I seat myself across from St. Peter’s basilica, my heart beats fast and my eyes blur for I am happy and yet sad to be finally here. The next morning, a priest welcomes me to the Vatican for a private visit, he presents me with the golden pilgrim’s book in which I write a few words and afterwards he gives me a parchment – a written testimonial to mark the end of my pilgrimage. He then takes me down to the crypt where I glimpse previous pope’s marbled sepulchres and finally arrive at St. Peter’s tomb – and there, in a tremulous voice, I read an appropriate passage from the bible. At the end of this solemn moment, I was able to partake in a special private audience given by Pope Jean-Paul II for a few cardinals, bishops, priests and their families and the papal benediction was the highlight that marked the end of my peregrination from Canterbury to Rome.

This long pilgrimage on foot will always be graved in my memory by the strong emotion it brought, by the hospitality I received along the way and also, with certain sadness as it was the end of a very long and marvellous journey.

Veronica O’Connor. Paris 2002.