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The Long Slog
In the days beyond recall, on coming home on leave, I found that two of my friends had plotted a jolly little jaunt for us all, a stroll on my beloved North York Moors. One of them had, he said, read a book which would show us the way. It was easy.
I suppose that I should have been suspicious when we caught the Northallerton bus and alighted at Clack Lane Ends. After walking for an age we arrived at what he described as "the start". The start of what? Six hours later it was pitch black and we caught up with a party from the TA, led by a lieutenant colonel who, in the dark, kept falling down holes. He knew the way, he insisted. We finally made it to the Lion Inn at Blakey. It was shut. The TA bivouacked comfortably for the night. Having eaten all my sandwiches and drunk every drop of my pop, I pulled rank and shared some of the territorial's supper. Then we lay down, cold, wet, and dispirited, in a bed of nettles. Who cared about a bit more pain? I have never been so glad to see the dawn in all my life. We tramped off again, leaving the weekend soldiery to their hearty breakfasts.
By the time that we staggered onto Fylingdales Moor I was spent. No way would I take even one more step. The friend whose bright idea it all was pointed out that the nearest bus stop was ten miles away, as was the end of this epic adventure. So it was that I reluctantly completed the first of several Lyke Wake Walks. It nearly finished me, so did all the others.
Lent abstinence is another of those long slogs. Like that trail across the moors from Osmotherley to Ravenscar it seems interminable and we wonder why we started it. The temptation is to give in and give up. On a solo crossing I did abandon the attempt, and it was true, it took me longer to walk home than it would have done to keep going on to the end. There is something of an achievement about the rigours of Lent. It is like banging your head against a wall, it's wonderful when you stop. But there is a far more glorious dawn at the end of it than the slowly awakening light that night on Blakey Ridge. Keep going - the feeling of elation is well worth waiting for.
May God bless you all, Fr. Allan
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