The end is nigh . . .

But not too literally, I hope.

However, the end of my sabbatical journey is much closer - within the next 24 hours or so.

I am planning to travel to Windmill End on the Dudley No.2 Canal today, and to morrow Gwyneth will join me for a few days holiday together until the weekend. So, as holiday time has not officially been part of the journey blog, I will bring it to an end with today's entry.

Things to do now - more later.

Timely attention . . .

As I mentioned last Friday, one of the little jobs I have been trying to get finished before the boat journey ends is to deal with some breakouts of rust on the roof. I have reached the stage where half of the twentyfour or so holes I made have been filled, rubbed down and had an undercoat of paint. I now need some more wet & dry sanding paper, and that means getting to a hardware store.

So, I left Alvechurch at about 7.00am and headed towards Birmingham. I stopped for water (for the boat) and coffee (for me) at King's Norton at 8.50am.

On my way again after 15 minutes for the stretch into Gas Street Basin.

I was able to find a vacant visitor mooring on the BCN side of the Worcester Bar (just where the boat with the open cratch is on the extreme right in this photo), and

was tied up by 11.30am.

One of the neighbouring resident boat owners offered me a lift to the nearest Homebase to buy the wet & dry, and I caught a bus back into the city and walked up to Broad Street and back to the basin, returning by 12.45pm.

So, with 12 filled holes still to smooth off, I started work within the next 15 minutes - and so did the rain - heavily! The best laid plans . . . and all that.

Fortunately the rain only lasted an hour or so, and I was able to complete the smoothing and get an undercoat on by 4.30pm.

Old and new . . .

Alvechurch Church Centre consists of a medieval church building and a modern church hall named The Ark, which is "docked" alongside the church itself. It is an extremely well-thought out design, and is well-used. A very clever marrying of old and new.

I moored by the boatyard yesterday afternoon with the intention of staying until Monday morning so that I could worship here and perhaps get a ring on the 12cwt eight. As it turned out I was able to do both - twice!

For those who might be interested, five of the eight bells are original, dating from 1711, but they are in need of some tender loving care. For a start, they have never been quarter-turned, so the sound bows are really badly worn, especially on the tenor. There is a plan and appeal afoot to make repairs, and they have already raised some £45,000 of the £60,000 needed. The old and the new have not quite come together yet, but hopes are high for next year.

Whilst I was having lunch on Chyandour, another boat went by looking for a mooring, and it had a bell, wheel and stay motif on the side, so I made a suitable comment with the result that the couple moored adjacent to me and we all went to ring at Evensong. The locals were very appreciative, as they rarely get the eight ringing in the evening.

One of the books I have been reading on this journey is "The Wounded Healer" by Henri Nouwen. In this book, the writer offers a radical fresh interpretation of modern ministry that encompasses all who follow Christ, not just those who are 'professionals'. One of the insights he offers is that those who minister are called to identify the suffering in their own hearts and make that recognition the starting point for their service. They must become more open as fellow human beings, with the same wounds and suffering as those they seek to serve.

He writes, "forgiveness is only real for him who has discovered the weakness of his friends and the sins of his enemy in his own heart and is willing to call every human being his brother."

It seems to me that this requires the divine grace of humility in great abundance, something of which I need to know more, so that the old may become new in me.

For ever and ever . . .

I thought you might like a couple of shots of just a small part of the largest flight of locks in the UK.

Admittedly this first one is facing downhill from where I have come and the second one looking uphill to where I am going. Just imagine this pattern being repeated for 30 locks in just over 2 1/4 miles!

It was really magical just after sunrise as I started to lock up. There was mist rising off the water and a watery sun in the sky.

I did not expect to meet any other boaters this early in the day, but I did have the benefit of already empty locks, which saved a bit of time. By the time I was leaving the top lock at 11.10am I had been journeying for 5 hours - that works out at 10 minutes a lock - not bad really.

At the top of the flight I stopped for a well-deserved coffee and decided to walk through the fields to the very impressive parish church. I was pleasantly surprised to find it open and I had a quick look round. Among the items of note was the list of incumbents which indicated that one had been Vicar there for 62 years!

Quite appropriate, I suppose, at one end of a flight of locks that also seemed to go on for ever!

After this break for lunch I started off on the short journey to Alvechurch, where I may stay a couple of nights.

Festering wounds . . .

I finished yesterday at Tibberton, a typical Worcestershire farming village that seems a world away from Worcester itself, but is only a couple of miles to the North East.

Today I am planning to go a far as Stoke Pound another village that boaters through the ages have looked forward to arriving at. It marks the upper end of the Astwood and Stoke flights of locks (six locks each) and the lower end of the massive Tardebigge flight of 30 locks.

There is a much-used pub at Stoke Pound - fancy that!

I actually arrived at Stoke Pound in the early afternoon and set about some necessary paint repairs on Chyandour's roof. When it was repainted a couple of years ago, a number of rust breakouts were not really dealt with properly, and they have erupted again. So it has been necessary to scrape them out to metal (rust) level and treat with Fertan. When this has done its work I will fill the craters to raise the surface to the current paint level again, and then prime and top coat. Hopefully that will sort the problem out.

Doing this got me thinking about how often in life we cover up things that have not really been properly dealt with, only to have them break out and bite us on the bottom again, usually when we least expect them, and often many years later.

One of the most insidious of these is the inability to forgive. Whether it is something monstrous or seemingly insignificant, they both have the ability to paralyse or so control our whole being that we can end up bitter or constrained by feelings that we do not really understand. Not was it for nothing that our Lord taught that we are to forgive to the uttermost, just as we have been forgiven.

It makes you think (2) . . .

Today's thought came about as I journeyed through and around north Worcester.

I left the railway bridge mooring on the River Severn at about 7.15am and made my way downstream to the huge barge locks that give access to Diglis Basin and the Worcester and Birmingham Canal beyond. By the time I had locked up these two locks and made my way across the basin it was 9.00am and the darkening clouds began to let go of the burden they were carrying!

It wasn't a full soaking, but came quite close. Anyway, it was as I was travelling up this next bit of canal, and looking at the row upon row of back-to-back terraced housing, that it struck me quite suddenly as to just how privileged I am.

Back in 1979, when we were on home service with CMS, I recall saying that I ought never to become a clergyman because it would immediately give me a house and job for life, and that would be the wrong reason for doing it. Circumstances changed over the next few years and, when the call did come, I recall saying to God that I was concerned that I might accept for the wrong reason. He said to me that the concern was right in 1979 and the time would not have been right, but 1983 was different, and the time was right.

In some ways I feel guilty about the privileges I have - yet I know that I have been allowed them, even though I haven't earned them or deserved them. It is up to me to ensure that those who do not have such privileges are enabled to live fulfilled lives with whatever they do have, and wherever they are. To help them to know that Peter was right when he wrote:-

You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

1 Peter 2.9-10

It makes you think (1) . . .

The weather forecasters promised that today could be very hot - and they were right. Although it was a bit overcast first thing, the sun did its work and, by lunchtime, I had begun to swelter.

I set off from Kinver fairly early as I planned to get to Worcester if at all possible. There were not many boats moving at 6.15am but, within an hour or so I began to meet traffic coming up from Stourport and joined a queue working down towards it. One of the boats in front of me was named Rivendell.

We didn't get to meet up fully until locking down into the River Severn itself when I discovered that they too were hoping to moor overnight at Worcester.

At the tiller was 11 year old Sam, with his great-uncle by his side, thoroughly enjoying himself. Nothing out of the ordinary here - except that Sam is living with Cerebral Palsy.

It takes the best part of 45 minutes to lock down the two staircases onto the river, so Rivendell was well on its way and out of sight by the time I got through at 1.00pm. The river was not running any faster than usual, and there was only a bit of a headwind, so I made good progress and, although I had to stand off for a few minutes at all three of the river locks, I made it to Worcester by 3.55pm.

There are some free moorings here just by the rowing club, and a very convenient space one boat away from where Rivendell had moored, so I winded Chyandour (always approach a river mooring from downstream) and moored for the night, just down towards the railway bridge in the background of the picture.

David (Sam's great-uncle) gave me a wave of welcome, and I went to have a chat with him, and found myself being invited to share their evening meal later, which invitation I was happy to accept. It turned out that the family is within the Methodist tradition, and it was really pleasant to share a meal in circumstances like this and after a thanksgiving prayer before eating.

If you have read this far and want some more, you will have to come back later, as I need now to get moving! (I am writing the above early on Thursday morning.)

It made me think just how Gwyneth and I have been blessed in our health and in that of our children and grandchildren. I like to think that, in circumstances similar to Sam's, we too would have found the strength to be as positive as he and his family are. His mother was told he would never talk and, whilst it takes time to understand him, those close to him are able to make out what it is that he is saying. All this due to Mum's refusal to believe the doctor and the unstinting patience of both her and Sam himself.

There are, of course, lots of Sams around. I met many of them at the Children's Hospital in Birmingham during my time as Chaplain there, and I met many Mums, Dads and Siblings who, once the initial shock and disbelief about the child's illness had subsided, set to and made the very best of terrible situations.

God is love: and he enfoldeth

all the world in one embrace;

with unfailing grasp he holdeth

every child of every race.

And when human hearts are breaking

under sorrow's iron rod,

then they find that self-same aching

deep within the heart of God.

Here we go again . . .

The next two weks combine the end of my official holiday, and the end of my sabbatical. So, I am travelling on Chyandour again, this time planning to go to Stourport and then onto the River Severn.

I got away from the mooring just before 11.00am and had a very uneventful trip as far as Kinver, arriving about 4.15pm. The weather was cloudy, but there was no sign of any rain.

There are quite a few boats around, and my object of chatting with boat hirers should be easy to achieve.

Beginning a pause . . .

Home from Sheldon today at the end of a really worthwile week. Our family holiday starts tomorrow, so there will be a break until the middle of August, when I will be journeying more publicly again.

On the wildside . . .

Just to the north of Ivybridge, on the edge of the moor, lies Lukesland Gardens. ( http://www.lukesland.co.uk/index.htm )

This was the venue for a rather strenuous walk. Behind the estate there is a path that leads up onto the moor and a small group of us were able to climb up to a high point which is at one end of a ridge. We then followed the ridge along, passing a couple of other cairns, and eventually wending our way back through the moorland heather and sheep tracks to the moor gate.

Arriving back at Lukesland, we had our lunch followed by a tour around the gardens guided by the owner.

These walks have not been conducted in total silence, and I found the occasional thoughtful conversation very worthwhile.

A Walk and a Hill . . .

The morning dawned fine enough for us to plan a walk or two.

The morning was a walk in Stover Country Park, which included part of the Ted Hughes Poetry Trail ( http://tinyurl.com/qrebrq ). We did branch out a bit to include some mileage outside the park, but the whole experience was delightful.

After lunch we motored up onto the edge of Dartmoor at Haytor Vale, and took the opportunity to climb the tor there. Quite an impressive piece of granite and extremely windy towards the top. The youngsters clambering over it seemed to know no fear, and the adults looking after them seemed not to care!

Stones . . .

The weather forecast is, to say the least, mixed, for the next few days, and walking on the wilds of Dartmoor seems distinctly unlikely to be achievable with any degree of safety.

So today's walk in the rain was around the 49 or so acres of the Sheldon site - following a plan that had the walker stopping at 15 different spots to pray and reflect upon the view and God's ongoing re-creation of it.

The most memorable of these for me was the Sheldon Open Air Theatre. Here walkers are invited to think of their lives being played out on a stage, and to reflect upon what an audience would have seen if they had been sitting watching them.

Standing under the stage canopy with heavy rain pattering down, I found myself remembering minute details and people long-forgotten, and allowing them to play through my memory again. The happinesses and sadnesses were all there; the joys and the disappointments in their measure were there; and there was a deep sense of peace and safety in allowing this to happen in such a place.

We had started the day with this powerful prayer:-

My Lord God,

I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself;

and the fact that I think I am following your will

does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you

does in fact please you.

And I hope that I will never do anything

apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road

though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always

though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,

and will never leave me to face my perils alone.

and all that followed in my Prayer Walk seemed to echo different nuances from the prayer.

Thanks be to God.

Rambling with God . . .

The week since I got home from the boat journey was filled with a whole mixture of tidbits that are too varied to explain.

But now I have arrived at Sheldon for a week's worth of walking on Dartmoor.

For those of you who have never come across this community I cannot praise it highly enough.

http://www.sheldon.uk.com/

Its varied ministry is extremely well thought of, and I have been here several times.

The last lap . . .

I left Cross Green at sometime after 6.30am, with the intention of getting to Compton for a pump-out at Limekiln Chandlers by the time they opened at 9.00am. I was a wee bit early, but was moored alongside by the time they were up and running. With the deed done, and a bit of chat, I was on my way again by 9.40am.

The run down through this last section of the route was quite uneventful. I ended up following some folk who had never had a narrowboat before, and this was their first experience of locking. Great fun!

I passed ETII as they were about to make off for a meal rendezvous at the Round Oak, and they followed me all the way to The Bratch where, because they were running late, I let them in first.

So. by the time all this was done, I arrived at Chyandour's home mooring just after 1.00pm, and Joan was ready to haul on a rope to pull me into the mud!

I then had a few hours to tidy up and clean the boat, before Gwyn came to pick me up at about 4.30pm.

Altogether a very pleasing and varied trip.

Sabbath rest . . .

I had a lie in this morning because I was planning to worship at the Anglican Church in Penkridge but, before going to church, I moved Chyandour up through Penkridge Lock - one fewer to do after church - so that I could be on my way in good time.

As it turned out, the service was longer than I anticipated, and I did not get away until nearly 12.30pm.

The plan was to get to a delightful canal-side pub at Cross Green, that serves up really good food. That was achieved by 5.30pm and I did indeed enjoy the food.

All things bright and beautiful . . .

At the end of yesterday's jollifications Gwyneth brought me back to Chyandour as she has early commitments today and I want to get to Penkridge for tonight if at all possible. As it turned out I slept on a bit longer than usual and did not get away from the mooring until just after 7.00am. It did turn out to be good timing because, having made the turn at Great Haywood onto the Staffordshire & Worcestershire Canal, I was able to take on some diesel fuel at the Anglo-Welsh Boatyard before they had to deal with their hire boat changeover day.

The Staffs & Worcs Canal is one of the prettier canals and, before very long I was passing Tixall Wide. This amazing section resembles a lake more than a canal and is renowned for its population of Kingfishers, although I did not spot any today.

One other "feature" of this canal is that, where it is bordered by woodland on both sides, it tends to be rather shallow and it is easy to get mud-bound, especially if, like Chyandour, your boat sits low in the water. I managed to avoid getting seriously stuck, but I was able to help a Viking Afloat boat that was rather immovable, by towing it backwards off the mud shelf on which it had stuck fast.

Canal boating is recognised by many as a contact sport!

The weather remained reasonably clement, and I moored up on the outskirts of Penkridge at about 1.00pm. That turned out well because, by late afternoon and into the night, the rain came down with a vengeance, and I was glad to be inside.

What a day . . .

'Tis done. They are wed. Oh what a difference it makes when two people, who love the Lord and are beloved of the Lord, plan to surround their special day with worship that comes from the very essence of their being.

For Mel and Glenise it has been somewhat of a whirlwind romance, and a revelation that God still has plans up his copious sleeve for all who place their trust wholly in him.

For those of us privileged to share this part of their journey it has been delightful, and I am left remembering that "God has not finished with me yet" is a vital attitude to have for those who follow him.

More of the same . . .

The last few days have been remarkable in that they have been unremarkable! It set me thinking again about our life's journey with God. There are highs and lows, and times when we are more aware of his guidance and holy presence, and there are times when we just seem to get on with whatever comes along with little or no conscious reference to God at all. Since leaving Shardlow on Tuesday morning I have spent the afternoon and night first at Willington and then at Alrewas, and I have met a variety of folk along the way. I spent a bit of time helping folk lock up at Alrewas, just as I did previously at Foxton, but it has all been much of the same.

Today will be different because I am planning to get somewhere near to Great Haywood (Shugborough Hall) so that Gwyneth can collect me when she finishes school. Tomorrow the parishes are celebrating a special wedding of two of our members and, sabbatical or no sabbatical, I am booked to officiate at the service.

Into the unknown . . .

The weather was forecast to be very changeable today, and I was due to move on to some of the wider river stretches of the route. But, before reaching that part I boated through Loughborough early in the morning. One thing that was very noticeable was the great variety of canal-side properties ranging from small bungalows and terraced houses / cottages to much larger houses with wide long gardens and manicured lawns reaching down to the water. The weather actually stayed dry until I reached Kegworth Deep Lock. It was fine when I went into the lock, and fine as I let the water out but, when the boat was 10 feet down in the chamber, there was an horrendous cloudburst which soaked me and all the open maps on the roof of the boat. Such is boating!

The wider sections of the River Soar and the River Trent are quite spectacular, and Sawley Locks are an eye-opener. I am not sure whether I would be quite so enthusiastic in flood conditions. In the floods of 2000 the flood level marker is one third of the way up the wall of the Lock Office.

The second picture is Sawley Flood Lock in the opposite direction and shows the river in such conditions. Scary!

I eventually decided that I was wet enough for the day and moored up about 12.40pm at Shardlow.

Musical Postlude . . .

Gwyn had to get back to Netherton by mid-morning, so we went for an early morning walk around Mountsorrel before she left at 9.00am and I went up to St. Peter's Church for BCP Mattins.

I have not been to such a service for more years than I care to remember, although BCP Evensong is still very much a part of my regular worship pattern. It was a fully sung service with 5 hymns, psalm and canticles, and it was a real blessing to me. There were about 20 folk there altogether including the choir of 3 men and 3 women.

After lunch I decided to move on a bit from Mountsorrel towards Loughborough, so that is what I did. There were a lot of boats about with folk enjoying the hot sunshine.

There were some folk who were also enjoying a surfeit of alcohol in their system which caused somewhat erratic behaviour when steering a boat or when swimming in the canal.

Musical Interlude . . .

Gwyn arrived safely about 9.30pm last evening and at just after 9.00am this morning we set off by road for Wye, a village near Canterbury in Kent.

I had to be there for 2.00pm for rehearsals before the NEO presentation of one of its "Canterbury Vigils" at the church there. (See http://tinyurl.com/m8uqgo for a review of the series.)

The journey was OK, if somewhat marred by a 5 mile queue on the M25 for the Dartford Crossing, but we were still in good time.

The event itself was greatly blessed and, although the church was not jam-packed, it felt very worthwhile and part of God's economy that we undertook it.

After an uneventful drive back, we got to Chyandour at Mountsorrel at 1.15am.

Less is more . . .

Only a short trip today, as I move on the four miles from Syston to Mountsorrel to await Gwyn's arrival tonight. The weather was still fine early this morning so I left at 6.40am and, after a stop to take on water at Sileby Lock, arrived to moor at Mountsorrel at 9.40am.

Part of the waterway today is quite wide, and with no towpath. It has quite a different feel to it and, in some ways, is somewhat threatening; there is no recognisable bank to which one could turn to find safe haven and, even if there was, the edges are so shallow that Chyandour would not get within several feet of them anyway!

It set me thinking again about the things that seem to threaten us as we travel through our life. Like the river this morning, the threats can be on the edge of the path we travel, just where we might expect to find a place of safety. But Jesus did not promise to be with us for only part of the journey, or only in the middle of the stream, but everywhere and everywhen. So, even if the places of safety seem out of reach, the reality is that they are not.

Contrasts . . .

After yesterday's quiet day, which was a real scorcher, the weather forecast for today is that it will continue to be very hot. So, in order to minimise the amount of time that I would have to be out in it, I made an early and cool start at about 5.10am.

The first contrast was that of moving away from a centre of population with its attendant traffic noise, both road and rail, and into the countryside where you can hear a whole variety of birds strutting their stuff in the early morning music

show.

The second contrast has to do with the water I am travelling on.

After Kilby Lock the canal teams up with the river for various sections, separating and rejoining at a number of locks and weirs, some of which are quite spectacular and, as in this case, totally unprotected. Boats definitely have to keep clear. In the river sections the water is almost totally clear to the bottom - in the canalised sections, especially through Leicester - well, murky would be kind!

The third contrast is a revisit of yesterday's. I met up with another hire boat, this time from "Rose Narrowboats", crewed by three folk from Denmark who come to the UK almost every year for a holiday on part of the canal system. We locked down together into Leicester where they were planning to stop for "the shopping"!

It was getting really hot by lunchtime so I decided to moor up at Syston by the Hope & Anchor bridge and stay there for the night.

In company with others . . .

After the past few days, a less exciting one would be good! As the throttle cable on the boat is the same age as the gearbox control cable, I reckoned that it might be a good idea to have a spare one on board so, before setting off, I went over to Foxton Boat Services again, and made the necessary purchase.

There was not a great deal of boat traffic around, and I journeyed on by myself for a couple of hours until I reached Napton Locks.

Here I teamed up with a Canaltime hire boat to work through the series of locks together - it makes things so much easier, and is kinder on water usage. The couple on board, Rob & Jane were from Scotland, and it was their first time to have a holiday on a narrowboat. They were really enjoying themslves. It turned out that he is a Chaplain at Falkirk Infirmary, so we made it an unspoken rule not to talk shop!

We reached Kilby Bridge Wharf in mid-afternoon, and I am planning to stay here for a day or two although, after a stop for late lunch, Rob & Jane were going on further before mooring for the night.

What next , I wonder . . .

The canal here is very river-like in its quality, and meanders along succesfully avoiding all the villages on route. I eventually arrived at Foxton at about 3.30pm and there was no queue of boats waiting to lock down. The lock-keeper set the top lock for me and in I went.

After he had drawn the paddle, I noticed that Chyandour was drifting back towards the cill of the top gate and applied some forward engine thrust to pull it forward. Imagine my surprise, then, when, instead of going forwards, it went backwards even faster! Not a good idea!

The long and the short of it was that the gearbox control cable had parted company with itself somewhere between the controller and the gearbox, and it was stuck in reverse.

The lock-keeper carried out all the necessary procedures and, after refilling the lock, I was able to pull the boat out and moor to the top bollards.

It just so happens that Foxton Boat Services operates out of the Bridge 61 pub and shop by the bottom of the flight and, when I went to see the owner there he was quite content to sell me a new cable to fit for myself. This was good.

Fortunately the fitting was not a long job and by 5.00pm I was ready once again to begin the descent of the flight. This was completed without further incident, and I moored up just below the locks at about 6.15pm.

These "just so happens" are happening quite a lot - aren't they? God is definitely good.

Patience is a Godsend . . .

The plan was that son-in-law Noel would take me to a parts place in Market Harborough for opening time at 8.15am, and then onto North Kilworth with the newly obtained fuel filter. That is indeed what happened. What was not planned for was that the filter I had bought on the advice given to Matt by yet somebody else, was not the correct one and, by the time this was discovered, Noel had left and was on his way back to Corby!

Various other things colluded to add to the delay and, in the end, I phoned Noel and he came back to collect me, take me to Market Harborough again to get the correct filter and back to the boatyard, before returning yet again to Corby. What a blessing that man is.

After a few other hiccoughs, one of which involved having to fit a secondhand filter casting because one of the connecting ports had been threaded, we did manage to get everything up and running and I was able to leave about 1.30pm with the aim of arriving at Foxton and locking down before the locks closed at 6.15pm.

A Sabbatical Sabbath . . .

Spent with Daughter and family, and including a visit to worship at their church - St. Columba and the Northern Saints. ( http://www.stcolumbascorby.org.uk/workpage.htm )

The modern building lends itself more easily to a free style of worship that is obviously Church of England, but which enables exeprimentation within what is allowable in terms of style and form of worship. It was all both worshipful and enjoyable, and I came away refreshed.

The problem assessed . . .

Matt, the engine man from North Kilworth Wharf ( http://www.northkilworthwharf.com ) spent a good while trying to get it started and working out what was wrong. Well, he got it started quite unexpectedly and was still uncertain as to what was causing the problem. We therfore made a decsion to change both the inline fuel filters and purge any air from the system right the way through.

The one snag to completing this today being that he did not have one of the filters is stock, and his supplier would not be open again until Monday morning.

You may remember that I was hoping to spend the weekend at Welford Basin, visiting daughter's family in Corby. It turned that they were not going to be around until the evening time and, in fact, North Kilworth would be an easier place for them to pick me up from, so I moved Chyandour onto a mooring opposite the boatyard and awaited their arrival.

The silent hours . . .

This was to come later. It certainly did not describe last night! The sound of the traffic on the M6, by which bridge I was moored (just by Watford Gap Service Station) had a way of penetrating the whole fabric of the boat, although it did seem better when I had removed my hearing aids!

The torrential rain of last evening had susbsided by this morning, although it was still very misty and humid. I left the mooring just after 6.30am in order to get to Welford Basin in the early afternoon.

The engine trouble didn't start until I was approaching Yelvertoft a couple of hours later, so I took the opportunity to stop there and have an early coffee break. There was still nothing obviously wrong, and I could no make it behave badly, so I started off again about 9.00am, having shared my concerns with the couple on a boat that had pulled up to take on water.

Soon after Bridge 30 it started its 'hunting' again and, shortly thereafter stopped altogether, and refused to start. "Dead in the water" is the approved expression! I floated on quietly for a bit, but it was not long before Juniper, the boat from Yelvertoft, caught up with me, and took me in tow. I was able to make contact with a boatyard at North Kilworth and, as Juniper was also headed there for a pumpout and to get fuel, they towed me the 5 miles or so. It was very quiet on Chyandour.

It's too easy to say that God sends help when we need it, although I do believe that is true; I must just make sure that, when things don't work out, I do not blame God for his apparent lack of concern. That is, after all, what got the disciples in the boat a good ticking off from Jesus for their lack of faith.

Onwards and upwards . . .

. . . although there is a bit of down to start with! The summit level of this bit of waterway is nearly at at an end and I have now to lock down in order to get to Napton Junction, a few miles and a number of locks away, where I shall join the Grand Union Canal towards Leicester. I want to be in Welford Basin by Saturday evening, so I made an early start again today, casting off the mooring just after 5.00am.

Four hours later I had completed the descent and stopped for a coffee break, and to take on water (very slowly - hardly any pressure in the tap!) and by 10.25am was passing the junction at Napton and turning on to the Grand Union Canal (Oxford Canal Section).

The engine continued to behave impeccably until just before Braunston, when the trouble of yesterday started up again. I took some advice from the engine fitter at Union Canal Carriers at the bottom of Braunston Locks which basically boiled down to "it's one of those strange things that are almost impossible to fix until they finally conk out!" Very useful! No doubt the saga will continue later.

Just as I was about to start locking up at Braunston, another boat was coming towards the locks and we joined forces, the locks being wide enough for two craft side by side. It turned out that Tim & Sara (for that was their names) are also members of Boaters' Christian Fellowship and their boat Florella normally lives on the River Medway. They had spent the previous weekend at Parkhead Junction on Dudley No.1 Canal for the Gardner Engine Rally that is held there most years. Small world, eh?

We worked up the locks together but, after going through Braunston Tunnel, they were intending to stop for a day or so to meet friends, whilst I continued towards Norton Junction. I continued through the junction towards the locks at Watford (of Watford Gap variety) and it was just before reaching them that the engine started playing games again. It did keep going, and I got to the locks in time to book a passage up before they closed. It was then that the heavens opened, and what had been a cloudy but dry day became an exceedingly soggy one!

Having finished locking up there by just after 5.00pm I decided to moor up for the night and wring myself out.

Totally new territory . . .

In more ways than one!

I started back from Cropredy at just before 1.00pm and within half an hour had had my first encounter with the extremely strong undertow from the top ground sluices on these locks. On starting to fill Broadmoor Lock I had left Chyandour tied by the centreline onto the middle bollard, as you can in many places, but within ony a few seconds the undertow had drawn her back and then violently forward again succesfully(?) causing the centreline to part with a terrific crack. I knew that the line had seen better days, but this did take me by surprise. Fortunately, on the lockside, there lives a fendermaker and supplier of ropes etc., so I was able to get a new one straight away!

I was reminded of the verse which promises me of God's presence at ALL times.

After that things went swimmingly well for several hours, until the engine started behaving quite oddly - increasing rpm for a few seconds for no apparent cause. But, it kept going, so I thought I would stop for the night and see what the morning would bring.

I moored up just short of the aptly named Ladder Bridge at about 5.45pm.

The next stage . . .

The last few days have been spent tidying up a few loose ends at home, and giving the lawns a mow before setting off on a longer pilgrimage on Chyandour.

Later on today I plan to drive David & Joan's car down to Broadmoor Lock on the Oxford Canal, just north of Cropredy, where they have moored for the night at the end of their summer cruise.

After swapping over at the boat, I shall go onto Cropredy to wind before starting on a trip which should take me up through Leicester on the River Soar and onto the River Trent, before turning West to join the Trent & Mersey Canal and making my way back home by 16 July. The map above will give you some idea of the route, moving anti-clockwise from bottom right to middle left.

There are a couple of other events that have to be squeezed into this time, but more of those anon.

Sharing Ministry . . .

Tim's first time as President at a Holy Communion service in his own church, with me as the invited preacher!

The gospel was from Mark's account of the stilling of the storm on the lake, and Jesus' rebuke of both the wind and waves and his close friends, whose faith seemed to have deserted them.

I have been thinking about the nature of faith and how it affects our life's journey as part of this sabbatical of mine, and I started the seeds for this sermon whilst I was in Assisi!

In a nutshell, it was fear that led Jesus' friends to be unsure of who he was, even when they had already seen a good number of miracles and the like.

What are the fears along our life's way? And do we do any better than Jesus' close friends in keeping our eyes on him?

May I run the race before me,

strong in faith to face the foe.

Looking only unto Jesus,

As I onward go.

It was a great privilege to share this weekend with Tim and his family and friends.

A very special day . . .

Tim was ordained priest today by Gordon Mursell, Bishop of Stafford, at St. Stephen's Church in Bentilee, a suburb of Stoke-on-Trent. It was a very lively service and five deacons were ordained priest during the celebration.

After the service, the folk from Tim's church, plus friends and family, retired to the local Primary School in Tim's parish for a finger buffet and disco.

An altogether positive experience, for which I am thankful to God who brought it all about.

Spaces in between . . .

It's not that nothing has happened, but I have realised that being at home feels so "normal" that there seems to be nothing to say.

When I got back from my few days at Foxton, I was able to start some painting at St. Andrew's where the north wall had been replastered. This will be completed over the next week or so, in order that the radiator can be fitted back in place.

I have counted this as part of the "holiday" section of my sabbatical - I do actually find painting quite relaxing! (Strange man :-) )

Foxton revisited . . .

Because Foxton had been quite quiet on Sunday, I decided to spend another day here on the way home from Liz and Noel's.

It was very busy indeed, and I had the opportunity for several conversations as I accompanied boat crew up and down the locks. It was also the second day of Foxton Schools' Week, in which the locks are visited by hordes of local Primary School children and their teachers.

The displays and workshops were being organised under the auspices of Wild over Waterways - http://www.wow4water.net/ - a Very Good Thing, sez me.

Accompanying another . . .

Yesterday I had the opportunity to have an outing on a narrowboat with Rod Lee, Vicar of St. Columba, Corby, where daughter Liz and her family worship. This was quite unexpected and very pleasant.

Rod moors the boat he shares with three others at Welford Basin Wharf on the Welford Arm of the Grand Union Canal - a very pretty and quiet spot. Although I am on sabbatical, it was good to be able have some fellowship over the tiller, supplied from time to time with hot drinks by Rod's wife, Glenda.

It was only a short trip down the arm and on to the winding hole at Downtown Bridge and return, but it was really relaxing and worthwhile.

Other peoples' journeys . . .

Today was spent at Foxton Locks in Northamptonshire.

I decided that I would be a hobbler for the day - someone who originally helped tow boats but now more often helps boaters work through sets of locks.

I had some really varied conversations, and some new insights into what benefit folk feel they get from taking time out from their usual routine.

This was all grist to the mill, and will be reflected upon more in due course.

The Promised Catch-up . . .

It is happening - slowly.

However, I am sneakily posting the entries where they should appear in the journal, so you may have to go back a few days to find them.

Catching up . . .

To those who have logged in regularly and found little to follow in recent days, my sincere apologies.

Since I last posted I have been up to my eyes in trying to breath new life into that dead computer.

The actual physical rebuild was completed relatively easily, but I was totally amazed at just how long it took to install the operating system, programs and, especially, the data.

I am so very thankful that the data was there in the back-up.

So, I am aiming to bring things up-to-date again over the next few days.

The Forth Bridge . . .

There is a significant difference between those who hire boats for holidays, and those who own them, either for holiday times or to live on permanently.

Those who hire them do not get "The Forth Bridge" experience.

This can simply be described as the necessity for some bit of maintenance or painting to be done on a boat on a continuing basis - just like those who paint the Forth Bridge. Once you have finished at one end it is time to start again at the other end!

So, true to form, today was the day on which David and I spent a few happy hours with my head and arms down the rear bilge replacing the stern-tube packing, and then changing the engine oil and oil filter. Painting comes later!

In a sense this refelects some aspects of life, and of our relationship with God. "God has not finished with me yet" - there is still room for improvement. As the master-craftsman, he knows just what it is that needs doing next; but, am I willing to let him improve me?

Another transition . . .

I made an early start today because David wanted to experiment backing Chyandour from the winding hole at Giggety Wharf to its home mooring. I met him by Houndel Bridge at 7.30am and, after winding, it only took us half an hour or so to work back home. This is a vast improvement over the 3 hours that it can take to go on to Hinksford and wind there.

So, I was safely moored up by 8.15am and unloading my gear into the car for a less sedate drive home.

The transition from 3 mph to 30 mph or more is quite remarkable although, because one is cocooned in a steel box, the effect is not quite so noticeable.

Towards home . . .

Gwyn arrived in good time yesterday for us to enjoy an evening meal at The Curry Inn and then walk back to the mooring. 

This morning, she decided to have a walk around the area before driving home, so we set off in Chyandour at about 9.00am and I dropped her off at the majestic Avenue Bridge so that she could walk back on local footpaths to where she had parked the car last night.

I, meanwhile, continued on my way towards Wolverhampton. I managed to get a pump-out at Napton Narrowboats at Autherley Junction before turning out onto the Staffs & Worcester canal towards Wombourne.

There was quite a lot of traffic making its way home from the weekend festival at The Bratch; one of which was a little steam boat that I had first seen on Friday evening by Chillington Wharf. 

SB Mudlark's hull is from the 1970s, but the single cylinder steam engine is a rebuild of an 1882 engine that was originally in a Leeds and Liverpool canal launch. It really is impressive!

The rest of the journey to Wombourne was unremarkable, and I moored up at the picnic site below Bratch by about 4.00pm.

Worship and waiting . . .

Wheaton Aston church does not seem very large from the outside, but is surprisingly spacious inside. The worship this morning was a Family Communion Service, but as was said, being the start of the half-term holiday week, many of the regular families were away.

Nevertheless, it was good to be there and share in a more informal liturgy than the one we normally use.

Having got back from church I set off for Brewood. Just as I was setting off, my brother and family were approaching on their hire boat from the bridge behind me. We spoke briefly but they were planning to stop again for water (why I am not sure - they only filled up yesterday afternoon!).

I continued, and moored by Bridge 12 at Brewood at about 1.15pm. Gwyneth is due to come out for the night, and here will be a shorter walk into the village for a meal than where I was moored on the way up.

So, I will now await her arrival.

Serendipity and God-instances

On Saturday, I thought I would make an early start, and got away from the mooring about 6.20am to travel up to Wheaton Aston for fuel from a supplier that has lower prices than most. Arriving about 2 hours later, I was pleased to find no other boats waiting, and I was soon filled up and on my way. I decided that I would worship at Wheaton Aston church on Sunday so went as far as High Onn before winding and coming back to moor here at about 11.30am.

There is a lock at Wheaton Aston, and I thought it would be pleasant to meet folk there and offer to help work boats through the lock if it would help. Here was the first of two really tremendous God-instances.

About 3.45pm I had set the lock for a Viking Afloat boat arriving from the Autherley Junction direction and, as it approached, I thought I recognised the young girl sitting in the well-deck. Imagine my surprise when I realised it was one of my delightful nieces! Within a few moments her Mum appeared with windlass ready to operate the lock and nearly jumped out of her skin to see me there. My brother on the tiller similarly seemed a bit stunned.

I had not seen them for some months, and it was a temendous blessing to be able to spend a short while with them. They stopped for water here, so a cup of tea and cake soon appeared before they set off again.

The second of these events occured later in the evening when  boat went past and then, shortly after, reversed back to greet me.

It turned out that the guy steering the boat had noticed David & Joan's names on the boat and had also seen the Boaters' Christian Fellowship stickers and it had set him thinking. Apparently he and David had been students together at Durham in the late 60s!

I was able to contact David on my mobile, and they had a reminiscent chat for a while.

Two instances of serendipity like this remind me that our life journeys are often more than just the passing of time and distance. For Christian folk in particular I believe that God's purposes are served by these God-instances in ways we might not at first perceive but, in God's greater scheme of things they serve his purpose for good.

The Best Laid Plans . . .

Thursday morning was again fine and sunny, so I took the opportunity to wash off the roof of Chyandour before getting ready to set off up the Shropshire Union Canal. However, as I was getting towards the end of the cleaning task, a hired narrowboat came out of the bridge hole of the Shroppie and endeavoured to take the very tight turn northwards towards Coven.

One of the travellers was ready to pole the front end round and plunged the pole into the bank, whereupon it immediately sank some 3 feet into the soft mud - and stayed there, sticking out into the waterway at 45 degrees!

It was still there an hour later, refusing all attempts to dislodge it so, as I was ready to set off, I sidled over to see if I could help, mooring Chyandour alongside the hire boat. After a short while the sunny weather changed dramatically and we were treated to a full blown rain / hail storm for about 10 minutes; talk about getting soaked!

After the rain eased off, I decided that a bit more effort was required on the pole - effort that could only really be supplied by a boat engine! So, with a barrel hitch and frapping around the pole at one end and the rear end of Chyandour at the other, I used a rope to tug the pole out of the bank. It took a lot of muddy water churned up by the propellor and black smoke from the exhaust but, after only a few seconds, the pole began to move and was soon freed.

The good folk on the hire craft were soon on their way, as was I, albeit quite a bit later than I had intended. After filling with water, I started out for Brewood and moored at the Brewood Farm country moorings about 12.30pm.

This is a really beautiful and peaceful spot, I have decided to stay for a couple of nights.

Being of a Franciscan disposition does not mean that I don't value prayerful insights from other traditions, and I have found this prayer of St. Benedict of great value:-

Almighty God, give us wisdom to perceive you,

intelligence to understand you,

diligence to seek you,

patience to wait for you,

vision to behold you,

a heart to meditate upon you,

a life to proclaim you;

through Jesus Christ our Lord,

who lives with you and the Holy Spirit,

ons God now and for ever.

I hope you find it helpful as well.

The next few miles . . .

It was a lovely dawn and it was impossible to resist an early rise and run!

After breakfast I was able to get away about 7.30am and continue my journey towards Wolverhampton. The couple on the boat that had been moored behind me were celebrating the woman's 50th birthday today by planning for a meal in Birmingham this evening.

Now, with average timings, it takes about 14 hours to travel from Bratch to Worcester Bar (Gas Street Basin) in Birmingham, so I have no idea what time they were planning to eat tonight, or whether they will feel like it after working up the 21 locks in 2 miles from Aldersley Junction to Wolverhampton!

I stopped for a coffee break and shopping at Compton and then continued to Autherley Junction where I moored for the night at about 12.15pm. This might seem a bit early, but I was able to spend the afternoon finishing some boat-painting and cleaning.

That's about all, really, although it might be noted that the weather has turned decidedly less clement this evening and it is now hammering it down with rain.

Why do we pray?

Today I have stayed above Bratch Locks, and not done very much other than some boat cleaning and painting and, of course, quite a bit of reading.

I came across a thought-provoking bit of the book I am reading, and thought I would share it with you for your comments.

". . . man can come to the knowledge of God naturally . . . there never was a nation or a people who were without some knowledge of God. The result of this knowledge is that primitive man without any exterior prompting, as it were involuntarily, directs his gaze towards heaven, falls on his knees, and utters an incomprehensible but necessary sigh; he feels spontaneously that something is drawing him to the heights, that something unknown compels him."

There are many who would own this compulsion as something that they experience in this day and age too, and I am amongst them. But I suspect that there are many in churches of all denominations that do not yet sense this compulsion as a driving force in their lives, and they are the poorer for it.

How can we change this?

Monday . . .

Depsite the date on this posting, it actually refers to Monday. I am still playing catch-up!

Monday morning dawned fine and sunny, and I was able to get out for a run by about 6.30am. Just below Dunsley Tunnel I came across NB Ichthus moored up (Malcolm, the owner,  is another Boaters' Christian Fellowship member). He too is an early bird, and we were able to pass the time of day for a bit. One thing he did tell me was that the Stourbridge Canal was still closed after its recent stoppage, even though it was meant to have opened last week.

Back along in September last year, there had been a serious breach, and the canal had de-watered for about two miles.

The repair was completed just before Christmas, but the fist boats through discovered that the profile was too shallow at the repair site, and many had great difficulty in getting past.

So, about a month ago, the canal was closed again so that the problem could be sorted out. Sadly, that has taken longer than planned, and it is unlikely to open bfore the middle of the week. Apparently it is still leaking!

There was nothing for it but to retrace my journey of Sunday back to Wombourne. It was still raining, although not quite as heavily as the previous day, and I made good time, eventually mooring here above Bratch Locks. I will probably stay here for a second night, and move on on Wednesday.

Those interested in a fuller history etc. of The Bratch could do little better than following this link: http://www.sstaffs.gov.uk/default.aspx?page=13246

And so to the water . . .

After church on Sunday, I prepared to set off on Chyandour on the Staffs and Worcester Canal towards Stourport, planning to turn off at Stourton onto the Stourbridge Canal.

Now, this is the first time that I have set off on the boat when it has been pouring with rain - there has to be a first time for everything, I suppose - and it does not make journeying alone the most easy of activities. I have got quite used to operating locks by myself, but they become quite significantly more dangerous when everything is slippery with rain.

Hinksford Lock was the scene of my misfortune, when my windlass slipped off a shortened lock winding stub and clouted me on the forehead above my left eye. Blood everywhere! I have to be so thankful that it did not hit a couple of millimetres lower, when it would have smashed my spectacles and maybe worse.

It is even more difficult to operate locks and steer narrowboats when one is holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to one's eyebrow in an effort to staunch the flow!

The flow eventually eased and I reached the junction without further major incident. I had decided to go slightly past it and use a mooring at Stewponey Wharf for the night, which made it easier for Gwyn to come over and bring a few things that I had forgotten, and also some sticking plasters!

That little problem . . .

Remember that dead computer?

Well, some of the bits to rebuild it were awaiting me when I returned from Hilfield - but not all of them!

However, after a trip to a courier's warehouse early on Saturday morning and a delivery from Royal Mail a while later, the project could begin.

Now, anyone who has done this will already be aware that it does not always go smoothly - this was to be no different. However, after a few hiccoughs, the hardware bit was complete.

Onwards and upwards - the operating system follows.

By late Saturday evening that too was installed. So, after I get back from my retreat week on Chyandour, I shall begin the time-consuming task of re-installing all the other software.

A Surprise in the Dorset Countryside

Firstly an apology. This should have been written and posted last week after I arrived home from Hilfield.

But, you know how it is, when you are back in your own environment 

all sorts of other things clamour for attention - and usually get it!

Hidden in a copse of trees at Hilfield is

The Secret Garden. 

Once you have followed the path through the edge of the copse, you are transported into a world of colour and fragrance. 

I can show you some of the colours, but I do not have the technology to share the fragrances.

Walking in the tree-surrounded garden is like be transported into a parallel world - but there is time to enjoy what you see and smell, and not rush on to the next item on the agenda. God's creation is all around, and he is to be praised.

To God the Father, who created the world;

To God the Son, who redeemed the world;

To God the Holy Spirit, who sustains the world;

Be all praise and glory, now and for ever.

Observations . . .

This is the first time that I have been to a retreat like this, in which the participants are invited to live alongside the Brothers and join in the everyday life of the Friary.

So, there are no special talks, no periods of wandering around the grounds in holy silence, and no compelling reason to be other than your normal self!

The obvious difference is that of a disciplined approach to setting aside times for prayer, both corporate and individual.

When the bell rings you stop doing what you are doing, repair to Chapel, pray, and then get on with what you were doing once again. Simple really. Why does it not seem like that when I am at home?

This is a rhetorical question to which I do know the answer - I would like to put it into practice a bit more. We shall see!

The task asigned to me and three others for today was to assist in the library, ensuring that the books on the shelves are where they should be according to the catalogue. It soon became apparent that many of the people who put books back on the shelves have never learnt their alphabet or number sequences when they were at school!

Still, we did get most of it finished before evening prayer; there remains only one section to complete tomorrow.

Immediate or Important?

The last two days have again highlighted the difference between these.

Coming back home, even if not into the business of parish life, brings its own change of pace - from the leisurely, time-allowed sense of retreat into the busy-ness of modern living.

Gremlins in the computer have finally forced me to retire it after spending a good few hours trying to persuade it that it was a very inconvenient time for it to die! (Classification - immediate.)

A highlight of the weekend was the warmth of welcome received from folk at St. Benedict Biscop in Wombourne where I decided to worship on Sunday morning. Three different folk came to greet me in my seat before the service began, and several others chatted with me over coffee afterwards. (Classification - important.)

I have found that using the Jesus Prayer as suggested in the book I am reading does make a difference, but it is so, so easy to convince oneself that it is enough. It isn't. (Classification - important.)

So, I have come away on the second part of the retreat / pilgrimage, and am now peacefully ensconced at Hilfield Friary in Dorset. The retreat does not have any particular focus, other than on living alongside the Brothers for a few days, and joining in the life of the community. (Classification - important.)

But the perishing nuisance of having to sort out the computer, and knowing that it is going to take an age to get it set up again, is going to be sitting like a crow on my shoulder. (Classification - immediate, but it must never become important!)

Here ends the first chapter . . .

Yesterday was a long day, and I had little opportunity to make an entry on this blog.

A 7.00am train from Santa Maria degli Angeli meant getting up at 5.30am to finish packing and to have a quick bite to eat before walking down to the station. The 4km walk down only took half an hour, as opposed to the 45 minutes it took uphill on the day of arrival!

The train journey back to Rome was as uneventful as that when arriving last Sunday although, because the train was a Eurostar train rather than a Regular service, the cost was now €20, as opposed to the €9.40 that so pleased me on day one. Such is life - and business!

The main station at Rome was teeming with people disgorging themselves from most of the 29 platforms - some seemed to know where they were meant to be going, others looked round them looking rather lost and forlorn; many were on the lookout for the raised umbrella of a tour guide.

I, fortunately, knew where I was heading - from platform 4 where I arrived to platform 25 from where the train to the airport was due to depart - sounds easy enough, but the vastness of the station means that it took the best part of 10 minutes to walk it - quickly!

The Leonardo Express (don't ask) transported me safely to the airport which also proved labrynthine to navigate but, having printed my own Boarding Card before leaving home, I did not have to join the seemingly endless queues at the check-in desks, and could make my way directly to departure security.

Having passed succesfully through all the required hoops, I arrived at the correct gate without about half an hour to spare, and it was whilst I was waiting that I watched a sad tale unfold in front of me.

The previous flight from this gate was heading for Kiev, and was boarding as I arrived, and soon the folk were on their way and the barrier restored. Some few minutes later a young couple laden with luggage arrived, and it became obvious that they were due to be on this flight. The woman approached the attendant at the adjacent desk and was curtly dismissed with a wave of the hand. Not even a kind word or offer of help was made. She tried speaking to various official looking people but either they were unable or unwilling to help.

I felt really sorry for them and they became more desperate as the minutes passed. By the time that they were able to persuade someone to help it was too late, and the flight left without them. I only hoped that their luggage was not on board, and that they could arrange a replacement flight as soon as possible.

My flight was instructive. I discovered that a KitKat Chunky or a Twix bar would cost me £2.00, and I could have a cup of coffee for £2.50. Such is the "benefit" of getting cheap flight tickets.

Although we took off a bit late, a following wind brought us home to Manchester on time and I was able to get to the car park and be on my way with little delay. The traffic on the M6 was typical for a Friday afternoon, but I was still home safely by 4.15pm.

It will take a little while for me process all that I have experienced this past week, but I will try to write something about it over the next, more extended, period of this sabbatical.

Indulgences?

In some ways today has been quite difficult to categorize. I went again to Lodi (Lauds) at the Basillica of St. Clare and found myself again lifted in worship by both the music and the interspersed silences.

I wanted to make one trip outside Assisi, and decided to visit the place where Francis spent the whole of Lent in 1211 - a small island in the middle of Lake Trasimeno.

The first indulgence I allowed myself was a bus down to Santa Maria degli Angeli to catch the train.

It was only about an hour's journey north to Passignano on the shores of the lake, from where a 20 minute ferry ride took me to the island of Isola Maggiore.

In Francis' day it was completely uninhabited and the community that lives there now is only about 100 strong. But, inevitably, it is geared towards tourism.

As I walked round the lake shore, there certainly was a sense of quiet, and it attracts those who have the time and skill to sit and draw or paint, rather than those (like me) who point and click!

Around the far side of the island from the present jetty is the small beach where Francis was landed from a rowing boat, and left to fend for himself. There are a number of stories that have grown up around the experiences that he had during this time, some of which may well be true. Up the hillside above the beach there is now a small chapel built over the spot where he made his primitive shelter.

There is no doubt an air of stillness about it, and I said the midday office sitting by the side of this chapel.

I have found myself drawn more and more to use Francis' prayer in all the churches I have visited, but only in the church higher up on the top of the island, was an attempt made to charge me to go in.

Apparently there are some 14th century frescoes that are worth asking tourists €3 to see. On being asked if I needed to pay to pray, the attendant quite graciously let me in; but I did get the impression that, if I had so much as looked at a wall-painting, he would have been there with his bunch of tickets!

Almost half of the shoreline walk is shut off at the moment as major renovation work is being done to the castle on that end of the island so, by the time I had climbed up over the centre of the island and back down to the jetty, there was a boat ready to return me to Passignano and then back to Assisi by train and bus.

The other indulgences? Well, a couple of rides on a train and a couple of rides on a boat are all a bit of an indulgence as far as I am concerned, but the whole day was very enjoyable, and that in itself can bring hidden spiritual benefit, and certainly has done for me, although it might take a bit of time to pin down exactly what.

Devotion, Determination, Discipline . . .

Today's was somewhat of a 3D experience - as though the whole picture can only be seen when the object is viewed in 

three dimensions.

I started with a walk down to San Damiano. Most of the place does not open to the public until 10.00am, but before the hordes arrived it was possible to sit in total silence in the chapel where Francis received his call from God to renounce his former life and "rebuild my church". That it was during a time of devotion to our Lord that this happened is no coincidence. When our hearts are open to God in offering ourselves devotedly, it is much more likely that we will be attuned to hear His voice, in whatever form it comes to us.

Of the rest of the complex, I was most taken with the nun's refectory. Here are the very tables at which Clare and the sisters would have sat for their meals, and entertained amongst their guests Francis and the brothers. There was a simplicity about the whole room with its stark reminders on the wall that "SILENZIO" was the order of the day!

It is here too, in the upstairs dormitory, that the place of Clare's death is marked by a cross on the wall and, always, a vase of fresh flowers on the floor where she had lain.

Like Francis, she had shown a dogged determination to escape initially the ties of her family; ties which were made in a new and fresh way later as her sister and mother joined her in the sisterhood.

From San Damiano it is downhill all the way to my next stopping place - Rivotorto. It was here in 1208 that Francis and his first companions found an old hovel which they began to use as a place in which to live. They were determined not to take advantage of anyone, especially those who were poor, so it took a lot of discipline a year or so later to vacate the hovel when an old peasant arrived one day with his donkey and told them that the hovel belonged to him.

So they upped sticks and moved on to The Porziuncula, a small broken-down church building some miles away along the valley floor.

And, today, so did I.

But I made a bit of a detour in location, time and spirit by stopping at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission Cemetery just outside Rivotorto towards Santa Maria degli Angeli.

Here lie the remains of some 949 commonwealth servicemen who lost their lives in action in the Italian campaign in 1943-44. The contrast between Francis, the man of peace, and these men of war could not be more stark here, nestled under the city on the hillside overlooking it, yet they too were devoted, determined and diciplined. They too wanted peace and, like Francis, had to risk all to attempt its achievement.

The Porziuncula became a very special place for Francis and the brothers, so much so that, as he approached his death, he asked the brothers to take him back there for his last days on earth. Like Clare, the place in the rudimentary infirmary where he died is marked always with flowers.

That The Porziuncular is still intact today is solely due to the fact that a massive basilica was built around it and its environs in the 15th century. I'm not sure what Francis and Clare would have made of all the glitz that now surrounds the memorials to their lives, but I suspect it would not have been very complimentary!

However, I hope that the many visitors will be inspired by the 3 Ds that are clear for those who are on the lookout for them, to the extent that they will endeavour to make them part of their lives for the sake of Christ too.

Francis was known for being on the lookout for unexpected and simple joys. For me that came about today at an otherwise uninspiring statue of St. Francis in a corridor connecting the basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli to the Rose Garden Chapel, where a family of doves has taken up residence in the open basket of the statue, and the mother was, with devotion, detemination and discipline sitting on her eggs.