Introduction

The Two Saints' Way linking Chester and Lichfield Cathedrals is Britain's newest pilgrimage route, and one that runs through my part of the world. Named for St Werberga of Chester and St Chad of Lichfield, the first pilgrim party walked it in Holy Week 2012. Its inaugurator, committed Christian and long-distance walker David Pott, lives near me and in December 2010, I interviewed him about the Way for the magazine I write for, the Stone Gazette.

Writing the article sparked a keen desire to walk the Way myself. I'm a fairly fit walker and while I'm not a Christian, I am fascinated by the lives of these 7th century Saxon saints and their interconnecting stories. Werberga was the Christian sister of  the pagan Mercian princes Wulfad and Rufin who secretly converted to Christianity after encountering Chad when they were out hunting. (Their father, the pagan King Wulfhere of Mercia and his Christian wife Queen Ermenilda, had agreed to raise their daughters as Christians but their sons as pagans.) When Wulfhere learned of his sons' conversion, in a fit of rage, he had them slain at or near Stone, where their grave, marked by a cairn of stones, gave rise to its own pilgrimage.

David Pott leading the first pilgrim party round
Castle Ring on Cannock Chase, April 2012

I was also very well-placed to do this walk, as David Pott kindly advised me on distances and accommodation and talked me through the finer points of the route.  On Sunday April 1st,  having covered the first pilgrim party's visit to Stone for my magazine, Simon and I joined them on the last six-mile section from the edge of Cannock Chase to Lichfield Cathedral, where we witnessed the moving experience of seeing those who had walked the whole 88 miles having their feet washed in the pedilavium by a Cathedral Cannon.

The route runs on existing rights of way and shortly before setting out, I recconnoitred some of the cross-country sections both on my own and with my husband, Simon.  But now, an admission - I did not always keep to the route exactly. Constraints of time plus the need to find suitably located overnight stops meant that I cut out the detours to many places of interest plus the Salt - Stafford section.
My initial idea was to walk it completely alone, but having so much enjoyed the company of friends and family who had joined me for the 55 miles of the Leeds-Liverpool canal I did last May, I decided to maximise the social experience and find as many walking companions as possible.  To all of you who walked with me - and to all you met up with me or offered me hospitality en route, and especially to Simon, who not only provided transport but has ended up walking most of the Way himself, I cannot thank you all enough for making my pilgrimage walk a truly moving experience.  Now read on...

Saturday 14th July, Chester, 1 mile

Because Chester Cathedral would not be open early enough for me to visit it and reach Nantwich in reasonable time on the same day, Simon and I visited the Cathedral on the previous afternoon. Walking into the City, we were soon overtaken by a trio of pinstriped bouncers and bevvies of permatanned go-getters among the crowds streaming towards the Roodee for the Chester Races.

Sadly we couldn't visit St Werberga's shrine because a wedding service was underway.  However, when I asked an officious usher to visit the shrine on my behalf afterwards and explained why - his attitude softened and he gave me a hug!

But the best things about Chester Cathedral are  its cloister and garden and on this sunny afternoon, we had them almost to ourselves. 

Leaving the Cathedral, we walked along the city wall which runs round one side, then dropped down to the Shropshire Canal  which runs directly behind.  Then we walked the couple of miles to Hoole Lane bridge, the nearest point to the home of my cousin Rodney and his wife Sue, who had not only offered us a bed for the night, but invited us to their family get-together and hog-roast.

Sunday July 15th, Chester to Acton, 19 miles

We had sunshine all day from when Simon and I pulled our boots on in Rodney and Sue's charming front garden and headed off at 9.15 for  Hoole Lane bridge over the Shropshire Union Canal. Dog walkers, joggers and cyclists  gave us friendly greetings on the towpath as we headed out of the city towards Christleton.  After Waverton, the towpath got less crowded but harder going, being grassy and partially overgrown. About 7 miles along, just before Tattenhall marina, we picnicked on the grassy slope of a bridge, then fondly parted company - Simon  to walk back to Chester, to pick up the car and return home.

After an hour of thirsty tramping, I was glad to stop at the Shady Oak canalside pub for a lemon and lime in their  garden with a view up to Beeston Castle. The castle is one of the 2SW's points of interest, but I had no time to make the detour - though the castle, perched on a cliff top and reached by a dramatically curving footbridge, is definitely worth a visit.

On I went through Tiverton with its iron, then stone locks, Tilstone and Bunbury, the finishing point of our one and only family canal cruising holiday some years ago.  We found canal cruising  anything but restful and I much prefer to be beside canals than on them!

At Wardle, it was brought home to me how much the canal is a different world even when, as here, it runs through an industrial area right beside a main road, the A51. Just yards away from factories and a filling station, I came upon  a narrowboat bedecked with peg rugs fon sale, then a mother cradling a baby with its Moses basket beside her.  Simon and I were texting each other our progress and I texted him again on reaching the junction with the Llangollen Canal at Hurleston at about 4.30, where I was cheered to find my second 2SW marker!

Shortly before 6pm, I spotted the church tower at Acton, the point where I had to take a field path from the canal to reach my night's lodgings at Henhull Hall Farm.  Then to my surprise, who should appear on the towpath before me - but Simon!  He had made good time to Chester, was driving back in the same direction as me but didn't want to go home yet as the evening was so fine.

I was delighted to see him, and willingly let him lead me to the Star pub near Acton Church,  for a most welcome cuppa.  Then I phoned my friend Pauline in Nantwich, who was kindly offering me dinner that night, to tell her that she needn't fetch me from Henhull Hall Farm, as Simon would be able to drop me off.  Pauline being the extremely generous person she is, she invited Simon to dinner too!

Joyce, my landlady at Henhull Hall Farm,
has display of artefacts discovered by
metal detectorists on her farmland, the site
 of the Civil War Battle of Nantwich in 1643

Simon then drove me round to Henhull Hall Farm, a large and beautifully appointed Cheshire Dairy Farm where my hostess Joyce welcomed us and ushered us into my most comfortable quarters (including a private sitting room with a fine view across the fields to Nantwich parish church).

After I'd had a shower and brush-up, Simon drove us to Pauline's where we shared a delicious meal of gammon in cheese sauce, new potatoes and salad with her friend Ray, daughter Gwen and granddaughter Chloe (3).  Like me, Pauline teaches German for the Open University, but unlike me, has brought her offspring up bi-lingually. Little Chloe, who sat beside me at table is becoming bi-lingual too, and I read her a German story.

After a wonderfully animated evening, Simon returned me to Henhull Hall Farm, where we parted company for real and I enjoyed an excellent night's sleep in a comfy bed.

Monday July 16th, Acton - Barthomley, 12 miles

Over the hearty breakfast Joyce served me, I asked her opinion on the dairy farmers' blockades of the milk processors who had announced yet another cut in the milk price from August 1st. She said that although their farm was taking an income hit, she hoped the dairy farmers wouldn't carry out their threat to pour away their milk, especially during the forthcoming Olympics.  Some of Henhull Hall Farm's milk went to Müller Dairies, and there was a Müller yoghourt in the picnic she made up for me.

With Antje (left) and Irmgard

 At 9.30, I headed off in drizzle down Welshmans Lane to Nantwich, where I had arranged to meet yet more German connections, Irmgard and Antje at the Bookshop Cafe.  I first met Irmgard many years ago through the Stoke - Erlangen Town Twinning Association but Antje only in 2011, when all three of us happened to book the same Anglo-German Walking Holiday in the Harz Mountains. Fancy going all that way to discover that we're almost neighbours! Antje was glad to get out of her house that day to escape the deep drilling in her drive prior to the installation of a ground source heating system.

The three of us were having such a good laugh that I only belatedly noticed it was now tipping down outside. In the Cafe's tiny loo, I donned my gaiters and black poncho, which when pulled over my rucksack gives me an enormous hump.  The little children in the bookshop gave me apprehensive looks, so I quickly got out of town, following the River Weaver Walk to the A530 then turning left into Coole Lane.

From this point, the 2SW goes over fields to Wynbunbury. Careful navigation is required, but Simon and I had reccied this stretch beforehand.  Even with waymarks in place, I found this essential, as before Bathurst farm, one waymark does not point in the direction of the route, perhaps because the right of way goes round three sides of a field instead of down to the left to a bridge over a stream, then another over the Weaver.

Through reccying with Simon I had convinced myself  that cows were essentially placid creatures (I was in Cheshire dairy country here), who would leave you alone, providing you gave them  a wide berth. Or that's what I thought until a herd of them followed me across a field near Wynbunbury! My black hump must have made them curious, unlike three horses who just skittered away.

But I was almost defeated by the last stretch of the path to Wynbunbury. It was pretty overgrown with ferns when we'd passed through two weeks earlier, but now the ferns were over head height with brambles as well! I didn't have a pole or stick to beat them down with and could only look down at my feet to check that they were still on a path at all.  I would have turned back discouraged if I hadn't known there was a right of way here - just yards from the village street.  But I kept my spirits up with the thought of lunch with Keith at the Swan, in whose pub garden beside the "leaning tower" of Wynbunbury, I'd enjoyed a Ploughman's a fortnight before.

Keith, who lives in nearby Willaston, is yet another of my German connections, being a member of Newcastle-under-Lyme's Anglo-German Circle, a source of Crewe jokes and an all-round good sport.  We shared an excellent fish platter, and then, I must confess, I asked him to give me a lift.   The fields were so wet that I had decided to continue to Barthomley on country roads instead.  Keith kindly drove me the couple of miles to Hough to save me a detour and from there I proceeded to Weston and Engelsea Brook (where the Museum of Primitive Methodism was closed for Monday, else I would have called in.  I have now been there and can recommend the short detour if only to see the leather boot worn by the movement's co-founder, the itinerant preacher Hugh Bourne. Its upper was cut away and stitched on more loosely as his feet became swollen after tramping up to 40 miles a day! ) Visitors are assured of a warm welcome and a free cup of tea!  More on  http://www.engleseabrook-museum.org.uk/

Towards 5 pm, my feet utterly sodden but my core and pack dry I reached Barthomley, where I was grateful to warm myself in front of a roaring fire at the White Lion. Here, I overheard another Crewe joke: Back in the 1980s, while shopping in Crewe town centre a woman was accosted by a CND campaigner who asked what she thought about Cruise missiles.  Baffled, the woman replied that she didn't realise that Crewe had any!

Domvilles Farm (instead of my my hostess,
who  was too young to photograph!) 

Before setting off down the road to my next overnight stop at Domvilles Farm, I phoned, as agreed, my landlady.  It was only then I realised that she wasn't there herself, but was directing operations from on holiday in Wales.  Her granddaughter, Olivia, would look after me instead.  

When I arrived at Domvilles, I was greeted by a very young girl who was indeed Olivia.  I remarked that she looked rather young to be a landlady, and she told me her age  - 14! But despite her tender years, Olivia looked after me extremely well, leading me to a room with a fourposter bed and - delight of delights - a bath.  She provided me with n oil heater which dried my socks in no time and cooked me, by prior request, some scrambled eggs and beans on toast (the Barthomley pub served no food at night).  So I snuggled down for an evening of TV, and feeling peckish in the middle of the night, scoffed the scone and cake from Joyce's picnic.