A jovial chorus of voices was fast approaching, punctuated by the excited yelps from an accompanying dog. “Beautiful morning for it, how far you walking?” came the call from the man at the front. Yet my party of 16 did not answer.
The two people nearest to him moved awkwardly aside, as he became increasingly inquisitive. Then our leader – Abigail Rowe – approached him, clasping a sign that read: “We are on a silent pilgrimage. We mean no disrespect”.
Almost at once he voluntarily lowered his voice to a whisper and bade us good luck, then wandered on with his friends, now also in silence, too.
I was an hour into an eight-mile silent pilgrimage with the ever-innovative British Pilgrimage Trust (which was set up in 2014 with the aim of bringing back spiritual journeys to Britain almost 500 years after Henry VIII banned them during the reformation). This latest offering – a one-day pilgrimage between the small church at Stoughton, in rural West Sussex, to the historic cathedral in the centre of Chichester – was offered to give anyone, regardless of their religion or lack thereof (they very much tout their “bring your own beliefs” motto), chance for quiet contemplation in the chaotic run-up to Christmas.
For me, as a mother of a 14-month-old, the silence was a treat, but I was quickly discovering that the hardest part was not being able to chat to passing walkers – which is something of a sacrilegious offence between hikers.
The 15 other souls who joined me had come from as far as Mexico (via London), the Isle of Wight and Hampshire – with a few locals thrown in for good measure. Their reasons for taking part ranged from thinking of loved ones who had recently died or were seriously ill, to coming to terms with a health diagnosis and trying to make peace with a religion that had scorned them for their sexuality. Then there were those who, like me, were in no way religious and simply wanted some peace in the outdoors.
No matter what the reason, our guide Abigail, trustee of the BPT, asked us to think of an intention or subject we wanted time to consider and pick up an object to carry with us to remind us of it along the way. I wasn’t sure whether to think of something big – the recent loss of a friend – or something small, such as what should I do with my hair now it’s growing out post-lockdown? But I did decide to use the spiky husk of a beech nut as a symbolic reminder, which I placed in my pocket.
Abigail read the poem Leisure, by WH Davies, after which the Stoughton rector, Lindsay Yates, offered us a pilgrim blessing. Then, without a word, we were off.
At first it felt like a bit of a novelty – big grins on everyone’s faces as a cyclist called hello. But soon we were on an uphill footpath where we all seemed to fall into a rhythm. I began to notice sounds more than ever – the birds singing, the wind rustling the leaves, the popping sound walking boots make on stones. Even in silence there was still a rich soundtrack. I was still not really contemplating anything deeper than whether I could pull off a Rachel cut in the year 2022 when we passed the first chatty group just before the Downs at Kingley Vale on the (fittingly named) Devil’s Humps – a trio of burial mounds. Here more passersby were shown Abigail’s sign and reacted much the same, with a contemplative silence.
We began descending the hillside to a path that took us to one of the oldest yew trees in Britain. It would have been tempting to talk about these ancient specimens, about how they were used as gathering places by druids, worshipped by pagans, used to make longbows for battle by the church and – these particular ones – believed to hold the deceased souls of the Viking soldiers who were defeated here, but instead we all just stood and admired them in quiet reverie.
Here a few people gave the improvised sign to indicate a toilet stop (a necessary bit of sign language quickly learned to ensure no one got left behind), before we walked on to West Stoke Church, where we ate lunch in the glow of candlelight.
From there it was a march towards Chichester, first along a minor roadside, then a pleasant diversion into Brandy Hole Copse, a small, wild woodland on the outskirts of the city. My thoughts kept wandering as freely as my feet. Though now it was more about my surroundings: pondering the type of fungi growing on a felled branch, or questioning the whereabouts of some particular noisy bluetits.
When we emerged on the Centurion Way, which, in taking us to our destination, would cross the course of an old Roman road, I thought of the many who had walked this land before us and what their reasons might have been. Then I placed my hand in my pocket and felt the prickles of the beech nut husk. It was then I thought about my friend.
No great revelations came, but I did feel I finally had earned the time to linger with my thoughts – and my friend – for a while, and for that last half-hour I felt oddly at peace with the world.
We soon arrived at Bishop’s Palace Gardens, where the wild woods were replaced with the manicured gardens of the cathedral, and the tweets of woodland birds became the raucous cries of gulls. It was here, standing on the top of the old city walls, that we were to let go of our objects. I smiled for the friend I’d had the privilege to know and now, like the beech nut, had lost to the darkening light.
Moments later we entered the cathedral where the choir were singing a Christmas carol, which we were invited to join in with. Suddenly, 16 new voices began to emerge from our small crowd in unison.
I looked to my fellow pilgrims and thought how odd it was to have spent six hours with a group of people without really getting to know any of them at all. Yet without a word being spoken, we had all learned something collectively – that no matter how chaotic it gets, silence is there waiting. All we have to do is stop talking, start walking and listen.
• This article was amended on 22 December 2021 to clarify details about the Centurion Way’s association with a Roman road.
The trip was provided by the British Pilgrimage Trust, which offers a range of pilgrimages throughout the year from single to multi-day options. The next silent pilgrimages are from Chidham to Chichester on 15 January and 14 April 2022 (with the latter including a swim in the sea), £40pp, or £35 each if booking for two
