Knowing Anna

by Sarah Meyrick

  ‘Theo!’ William laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You all right, old boy? You’re white as a sheet! Chin up.’

  Theo shook himself. He could see Father Stephen heading in his direction. ‘Sorry, William. I was miles away. Are we ready to go?’

  ‘I think everyone’s here,’ said Father Stephen, consulting his clipboard. ‘Shall we move over to the Cathedral now? Unless you think there’s anyone still to come?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve got it covered,’ said Theo. ‘Happy to move. I’ll round up my two.’

  Father Stephen shepherded the party into the Cathedral with the authority of a well-disciplined sheepdog. Theo brought up the rear, Sam in tow. Beth and Cleo/Clara had been joined by Mary Anne’s girls, Lucy and Ella. Theo could hear their laughter and felt marginally better. Beth had known these three since they were all in nappies; she’d survive the week.

  As they entered through the great west door, after a word with the duty steward, Father Stephen ushered everyone forward through the main body of the church into a small side chapel. There was a brief flurry of protest when Milo realized that Smith might have to stay outside, but Theo could see Tamsin assessing the situation, before turning the full force of her charm on the elderly steward. ‘Thank you,’ she was saying as he approached. ‘You’ve been so very understanding.

  ‘Now, Smith, behave.’ She fixed the dog with a hard stare. ‘One strike and you’re out, mate.’ As she looked up, Theo found himself exchanging a brief conspiratorial smile with her. His earlier fury seemed to have dissolved. She’d changed her shoes, he noticed. He mustn’t forget: she was Anna’s closest friend.

  ‘Friends, do all come in. Come in, sit down,’ urged Father Stephen. The party distributed itself uncertainly, squashing onto the wooden seats and along the bench underneath the window.

  ‘Thank you, everyone. And may I thank you for coming here today? I think it would mean a lot to Anna. I know there are people here from all parts of her life. Her family, of course. Her friends and colleagues. For myself, I can only say that it’s a great privilege to be asked to lead this venture. I’ve been on other pilgrimages, but none quite like this one. I’m sure some of you are wondering what you’ve let yourselves in for.’ Nervous laughter rippled around the chapel. Theo saw Mary Anne and Catherine exchange glances. William took Ruth’s hand. Beth was staring at the floor.

  ‘Well, let me explain. Nine years ago, Anna went on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Perhaps you were one of those who wondered what on earth possessed her to spend a month walking almost three hundred miles. But if you knew her then, you’ll no doubt remember that she came back profoundly moved by the experience.’

  Stop, thought Theo. Enough already. Leave it there. I don’t want to think about it. He concentrated hard on the pile of children’s books on the windowsill.

  ‘But that was Anna’s journey, and her story,’ continued Father Stephen. ‘This week you’ll have the chance to discover your own.’ Theo exhaled.

  ‘So what are we going to do? Well, Anna’s suggestion was that some of her friends and family might walk the Pilgrims’ Way to Canterbury in her memory. It’s a route that’s been walked by thousands of pilgrims over the centuries. They often set out from Winchester. We’ve cut a corner to fit our pilgrimage into the half-term week, which is why we’re starting here in Guildford. Actually, I think that’s rather fitting. This is a building where Anna often performed, so there’s a happy association.’

  Father Stephen paused and looked around. ‘I know that some of you are probably uncertain about the whole notion of pilgrimage. Perhaps it’s not something you ever imagined yourself doing, and you’re not quite sure why you’re here. Or you’re just plain worried about managing the hundred and four miles!’

  He beamed at them. ‘Please don’t worry. All sorts of people go on pilgrimages for all sorts of reasons, not necessarily religious ones. It’s a matter of allowing ourselves time and space away from the relentless routine of everyday life, in the hope of discovering something new. So can I encourage everyone to approach this week with open hearts and minds? Open to God – or at least the possibility of God – and all that he might have in store for us? Let me get the ball rolling with one of my favourite prayers for pilgrims. Wherever you stand on belief, I think it can speak to us all.’

  He put on his glasses and began to read from a small paperback.

  ‘Set out!

  You were born for the road.

  You have a meeting to keep.

  Where? With whom?

  Perhaps with yourself.

  Set out!

  Alone or with others –

  But get out of yourself.

  You have created rivals;

  You will find companions.

  You envisaged enemies;

  You will find brothers and sisters.

  Set out!

  Your head does not know

  Where your feet

  Are leading your heart.

  Set out!

  You were born for the road –

  The pilgrim’s road.

  Someone is coming to meet you,

  Is seeking you

  In the shrine at the end of the road,

  In the shrine at the depths of your heart.

  Go!

  God already walks with you.’

  Father Stephen closed the book, and let the silence sit for a few moments. Then he continued. ‘Our journey this week is also about honouring Anna, a woman everyone here loved or admired. It’s a chance for us to share our stories about her, to give thanks for her life and all she meant to us.’ Theo was aware of the familiar taste of salt as tears welled up. He felt Sam’s sticky hand reach out to find his.

  ‘And with that in mind – Mary Anne, Catherine – your turn, I think?’

  The two women stepped forward, a little hesitantly, with a black canvas sports bag. Mary Anne cleared her throat. ‘Catherine and I had an idea. I hope you’ll approve,’ she said. Undoing the zip, she pulled out a bundle of purple T-shirts, and shook one out. On one side #walkforanna was printed in white, on the other, a web address and the logo of a cancer charity.

  ‘We’ve set up a website, so that people can make donations,’ said Catherine. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can walk a hundred miles without a bit of encouragement. So for anyone who wants one, help yourself to a T-shirt and take a handful of these little cards, which explain what we’re doing. We can give them out on the way. The idea is to get people to sponsor us and help raise money to stop other families from losing their lovely mums.’

  ‘I’ll have one,’ said Beth, just too loudly, and stood up from her child-sized chair. There was a gentle round of applause, as she pulled on a T-shirt far too large for her slight frame. Others followed, until most of the group were wearing them.

  ‘Right!’ said Father Stephen. ‘Before we go, a couple of practicalities. This isn’t a route march – we’re not an army! We’ll be walking at a group pace. That’s part of what it means to travel together. We may find ourselves stopping from time to time, if someone in the group needs a drink or a plaster for a blister. And that’s part of pilgrimage, too – helping to carry each other’s burdens. If anyone gets into real difficulties, we’ve got a back-up car, courtesy of Ruth.

  ‘Second, each day will be marked with a short pause for reflection. Everyone is welcome. Take part in any way you can. I’m also going to suggest we spend some time each day in silence. Some of us will probably find that harder than others,’ he added with a smile directed at Sam and Milo. ‘But I’ll try to help by offering some ideas to think about as we walk. And now, as we set off, I’d like you to hear again one of Anna’s favourite poems, by John Donne, which you may remember from her funeral. William – would you?’

  Theo watched his father-in-law stand in his seat, ramrod straight. He pushed his glasses up his nose, cleared his throat, and began to read in his sonorous voice.

  ‘Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awak
ening, into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end.’

  Theo stumbled out of the Cathedral, dazzled suddenly by the unexpected sunlight. The early cloud had lifted, and although there was still a nip in the breeze, the sun was shining out of a cheerful blue sky dotted with occasional cotton-wool clouds. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was just after ten o’clock. They had twelve miles to cover today. Three or four hours on his own probably amounted to at least six as a group.

  He looked round for Sam, who was holding Smith’s lead while Milo stowed his water bottle in his rucksack. Was a six-hour walk going to prove too much for these two, and for Milo’s friend George? Sam, at eleven, was a good few inches taller than Milo, and these days his limp was, if not quite invisible, rarely a hindrance. He’d taken him to the clinic for new supports to go into his walking boots a fortnight earlier, and had mentioned, as casually as possible, the impending walk. The orthotist, who had looked after Sam since the beginning, had been equally casual in her response.

  ‘That sounds fun, Sam. Better than spending half-term on the Xbox?’

  And Sam had dutifully smiled in return, and shrugged his almost adolescent shoulders insouciantly, as if walking a hundred odd miles was an everyday occurrence.

  Milo, on the other hand, was to all intents and purposes still a little boy. How old was he? Eight? Nine? Anna’s department again. She would have known; just as she would have known which birthday card to buy, what he’d like as a present. Luckily, he had always been an inexhaustible ball of energy, determined to keep up with Sam, whom he adored.

  Would it be better if the boys were at the front or the back? Would the sight of walkers ahead in the distance discourage or motivate them? Theo wasn’t sure. Knowing the two of them, they would probably scoot up and down the line, wearing themselves out in the process. He hoped George was as energetic. But perhaps he underestimated them. Maybe they’d find their rhythm during the week. You mollycoddle that boy, said his father’s voice. He needs to toughen up if he’s ever going to be a farmer. But he isn’t going to be a farmer, thought Theo irritably. So you can shut up about that, Dad.

  At that moment he caught a call from Father Stephen, at the front of the line of walkers, signalling the off. Theo waved back, marshalled the boys and set off in pursuit.

  For the first half-mile or so, the route wound downhill from the Cathedral into the city centre and over the railway bridge before descending to the river bank. It hugged the river for another mile or so before meeting the Pilgrims’ Way in a large open park just to the south of the city. Within half an hour, the walkers had emerged onto a track that climbed up steeply alongside a wooded hillside. Theo felt his heart lift a little as they ascended. To their right lay a vast tract of woodland, to their left a rolling chalk ridge.

  ‘A triumph of the people over the planners,’ said William, falling into step beside him. ‘There was a scheme to build houses on Pewley Down after the First World War, but it was defeated. And then a local brewery stepped in. Bought the land and donated it to the people of Guildford in memory of the fallen. Can’t argue with that. Masterstroke.’

  ‘Cheers to that brewery!’ said Theo. ‘What are our other highlights today?’

  ‘St Martha’s church, at the top of this hill. Glorious spot. Panoramic views. Victorian rebuild of a Saxon original. Said to be the site where Saxon pagans burned a clutch of early Christian martyrs. In fact, there’s some suggestion that the name St Martha’s is a corruption of “martyrs”. No idea if that’s actually the case. But here’s a true story. During the last war the church was disguised to look like a clump of trees to save it from bombing. Like something out of Macbeth.’

  ‘Sounds more like Dad’s Army to me,’ said Theo.

  William gave a gruff bark of laughter. ‘Speaking of the Home Guard, look out for pillboxes. Amazing to think what a serious threat the German invasion seemed at the time. Assuming we’re taking the North Downs Way, there’re about a dozen of the things along the route. We pass at least half of them today.’

  ‘Would a concrete pillbox really have been any cop in the face of an invading army?’ asked Theo. ‘That reminds me of a story my grandfather told me. He spent most of the war patrolling a beach in Kent, armed with nothing more than an old rifle and five rounds of ammo. In the end he persuaded his godfather to post him a revolver as back up. Luckily, Hitler never showed up.’

  He enjoyed William’s company. He was a fount of knowledge, but wore his learning lightly. A gentle man, he tended to take a back seat in family gatherings. Ruth was the organizer, the dynamo in the marriage. Or was that just how it looked? You never really knew. How was his father-in-law coping with Anna’s death, he wondered? He had been so paralysed by his own pain that he’d scarcely noticed.

  ‘How are you, William?’ he asked, aware of the inadequacy of the question.

  ‘Mustn’t grumble.’

  ‘But . . . really? Deep down?’

  For a moment he thought William hadn’t heard, or was pretending not to have done. Theo glanced sideways at him. He was striding purposefully enough, using the gnarled thumb stick he had leaned on for half a century. But had he always stooped so much? Been quite so gaunt?

  ‘Harder for her mother,’ he said eventually. ‘Hard to get over the loss of a child, even an adult one. Hardly need tell you that. But we soldier on. Same for us all, of course. Best foot forward and so on. Kids OK?’

  Theo looked ahead up the track. The boys were sharing dog duty, and looked cheerful enough. Beth’s purple shirt was just visible near the front of the group, but he couldn’t read her body language at this distance. How on earth did you define ‘OK’ anyway?

  ‘I don’t really know, to be honest,’ he said. ‘As well as can be expected, I suppose.’

  By lunchtime, the group was beginning to find its tempo. Conversation bubbled up and down the line of people. Sometimes the path was wide enough for them to walk as pairs or even threes. At other points, it was single file only. The boys had kept up a barrage of chatter from the outset and so far showed little sign of fatigue.

  Theo at least was glad to stop for lunch. As the party gathered in a grassy picnic area on the edge of a nature reserve, he looked round for his daughter. ‘Beth!’ he called. ‘Sandwiches? Drink?’

  Beth looked up, raised her eyebrows, and called back: ‘Dad, don’t fuss. I’m fine. I’ve got a cereal bar.’ And that, he realized as she turned back to her friends, was the last he’d see of her for now. Was it a good thing, that she was so absorbed in conversation with the others? They’d all known each other since they were babies, in some case bumps. And surely it was healthier that a fifteen-year-old was in the company of people her own age, rather than clinging to her father’s every word. Mind you, he’d seen her deep in conversation with Tamsin, earlier. But that was to be welcomed; Tamsin was her godmother.

  Theo sighed. Anna would have known how to handle Beth, when to worry, when to tease and when just to let things go. And if she’d been here, he would have had someone to talk to. In almost two decades they had never run out of things to say to each other. There was still so much more he wanted to share. The day-to-day trivia, as well as the profound. Those moments when you know that only one person in the whole world would appreciate why something was funny, or shocking or surprising. The things that you saved up to tell each other, because you knew they would bring delight or amusement. A dozen times a day he caught himself thinking, I must remember to tell Anna that . . . But all those thoughts would now go unsaid. Enough. Ruth had just arrived in her car. He picked up his sandwiches and headed squarely in the direction of his mother-in-law.

  ‘I promised you silence!’ Father Stephen’s loud voice broke through the hubbub. �
�As I said earlier, we’re going to try walking in silence for a while every day. My thought is that today we’ll see if we can manage half an hour. If that goes well, perhaps we’ll extend the time tomorrow.’ He looked around the uncertain faces, and smiled broadly.

  ‘Trust me on this one, please. I promise it’s going to be worth it. Silence can be alarming, I know, but it gives us a chance to think. Now, our theme for today is going to be “gathering”. Today, at the start of our venture, we’ve gathered for the first time. Most of us know our fellow pilgrims, and I hope you’ve had the chance to say hello to those you don’t.

  ‘But whoever you walk with, when you go on pilgrimage, you tend to form a bond with your fellow travellers. And that can be something precious. There’s a bit in the Bible where Jesus says, “Where two or three of you are gathered in my name, there will I be also.” So in the next half-hour, shall we think about our gathering? What or who have we left behind? Why have we come? What’s our part in this pilgrimage?

  ‘This next part of the walk is a chance for us to gather our thoughts a little. You might like to offer that up in prayer, but that’s up to you. Shall we say five minutes to pack up your picnics, and then we’ll be off?’

  For Theo, it was almost too obvious. He was here because Anna had asked him to come. At the time, he would have promised to walk to the moon, if he thought it would bring her comfort. In fact, he realized now, the prospect of the pilgrimage had brought him comfort since her death. It was a physical task, which had always been his forte. It was something to keep Beth and Sam occupied during half-term. The Easter holidays had been grim; he’d been totally unable to plan anything. Apart from Easter Day itself, when he’d thrown himself on the mercy of Ruth and William, it had been unutterably bleak. The walk had been something to look ahead to, to keep on the horizon on days so black that even the effort of getting out of bed in the morning felt beyond him. Was this perhaps why she’d suggested it?

  As for what he’d left behind, that was quite simply the horrible emptiness of life without her. It all happened so fast. One minute they were going about their lives, and the next, it seemed, Anna was having tests for the nagging discomfort that she’d insisted was a pulled muscle from dragging home a sack of organic potatoes from the farm shop. Then came the deadly diagnosis. He’d just about got his head round the fact that she wasn’t going to recover, and that the prognosis meant weeks not months, when all of a sudden it was into the hospice and then back home to die.