Easter Triduum

All Shall Be Well

After an accidental nap, I walk up the hill to the church of St John the Baptist, where most of the services take place. It's beautiful, and already dark when I arrive. I'd considered going to the Cathedral, but I'll give this a try.

There's an overwhelming quantity of priests. I try to relax, but I never washed the blood from my legs, and I'm aching after last night. And today's walking. Still, it's beautiful. I know that nothing will ever be the same as spending Holy Week at Hilfield, and the intense sharing of time and emotion there. I miss it desperately. I cry through most of the service, and I've forgotten my handkerchief.

I forgot to check about a curfew into the house, and the watch is very cramped and busy, so I leave. I sit alone until midnight, reading and crying, before I settle down to sleep.

Breakfast here is lovely. Sourdough toast and butter, and muesli. Also, the most fantastic dates I've ever eaten.

I walk down the road to St Julian's church, and I sit in Lady Julian's Shrine for a while. A long while. There are more tears shed.

I decide to head to the Cathedral for the Solemn Liturgy. There's an hour of meditation and reflections before, which I enjoy. Well, enjoy isn't the right word.

I'm not sure about choirs singing the Passion. It's hard to hear the words, it's hard to focus. The Cathedral is beautiful though, and I try not to let my gaze focus on the ceiling. There's not much else to focus on visually, with everything covered or absent.

There's compline in St Julian's. It's very confusing for absolutely no reason - the booklets are unclear. I talk afterwards over a cup of tea with some other people staying at the guesthouse. They are unimpressed by the fact I'm a pilgrim, and talk about how nice it is to be on retreat, and to spend money without worrying. I talk about Hilfield, and how I miss the all consuming nature of it. One of my companions says the evil one often tries to lead us away from what is good, and that I should never have left the Friary to start my pilgrimage. This is an unhelpful and incorrect line of thought and conversation.

Holy Saturday, the only day I don't do anything in the church, is possibly the most fruitful and pleasant of my days in Norwich. Right to Roam have organised a trespass in Hethersett, a short bus ride away. I'm too nervous to talk to any of my fellow walkers on the bus, but when we get off, we meet a crowd of about forty people ready to walk.

Me at Kett's Oak

Trespass, I will remind you, before I'm critisied for opening advertising criminal acts, is not a crime. It is a civil matter, and even then, only if the landowner can prove that you have damaged property or otherwise acted unlawfully. It's the same as wild camping. As long as you don't damage crops or fences, they don't have a leg to stand on. I'm still generally respectful - I understand that people who own land, especially if they have for generations, feel they have a connection to it. But I've also seen the old Ordinance Survey maps. You could walk a path around the edge of almost every field.

The theme of the walk was Robert Kett and the Norfolk rising. Kett was a landowner, and in 1549, when land became enclosed, the people began to tear up the fences put in place to mark land boundaries. Kett, a local landowner, agreed with the cause, and joined them in destroying his own fences.

On the 9th July 1549, Kett and his followers gathered at an oak tree, now known as Kett's Oak. It would have been a ridiculous coincidence if it had been known as Kett's Oak before that. The original group of three hundred swelled to twelve thousand on the march to Norwich, where they set up a camp on Household Heath, where they remained for seven weeks and wrote up a list of 29 demands, including:

- A reduction in rents

- The punishment of corrupt officials

- And the replacement of counsellors to the king (both clerical and lay) who enriched themselves at the expense of the state.

The fight has not yet been won.

Kett's army held brief control over the city, but soon enough a mercenary army was assembled and thousands of rebels killed. Robert Kett was hanged from the walls of Norwich castle, and his brother William was hanged from Wymondham Abbey.

Kett's Oak is an ancient tree, which isn't accessible by public footpaths. It's accessible across fields, or from a busy cycle lane. A hugely significant site of English protest history and it can't be safely reached on public land.

I meet lots of wonderful people on the walk. It's an enriching and joyful experience, and I learn lots about my rights in accessing land. Various people try to help me with the route going forward, but alas, nothing can be found. Hopefully something turns up.

After a quick nap and some food, I head back to St John's for the Easter Vigil. I'm welcomed in warmly, and given my candle. Even in the dark, the church is beautiful. We head outside where the fire in prepared. There's a very strong smell of something petrol based. Nothing will ever compare to the Hilfield Easter fire, but this is quite big for how central the church is in the city. Apparently last year a fire engine was called. It's certainly not just symbolic.

Lighting the Paschal candle takes enough attempts to be funny, with the priest stating, good humouredly, 'this liturgy was devised in the Mediterranean'. We go in, and I don't cry this time, but everything is wonderful, and joyful once the bells ring. I love Easter.

I stay awkwardly afterwards for drinks and cake, before heading back to where I'm staying. I've decided to leave tomorrow morning. I feel too unsettled here. But Christ is risen, there is joy and hope in my heart amidst the fear and stress.