Following my long walk the day before, and probably because I had skipped a meal, I didn’t feel full of my usual vim an vigour the following morning. However, the up side of walking so far yesterday was that I only needed to walk during the afternoon to get to my destination for the day, the village of Clastres, beyond the official end of the official stage at Seraucourt-le-Grand.

This meant that I could sleep in a little, buy yet another pair of sunglasses to replace my Arras pair which had broken the previous day, and loaf into the centre of Saint Quentin.

I walked to St Quentin cathedral and was bowled over by the space and height of the building. Sadly some hefty building works next door meant that the experience wasn’t the most peaceful, but I enjoyed walking around the ambulatory at the east end and seeing the shrines to various saints.

As you enter the cathedral at the west end, the first thing your come across is a labyrinth. Amazingly this one is said to date from the 1470s. They are often confused for mazes, but unlike a maze where there are dead ends, labyrinths take the walker on one continuous route. They were seen as mini pilgrimages, and prayers were suggested as the person walked within them. It was wonderful to e on a pilgrimage within a pilgrimage for a moment.

I visited the small gift shop and obtained my stamp and then noticed a deep niche carved into one of the pillars. It turns out that the cathedral, although damaged during the Great War, was largely in tact when the German occupying forces came to leave. They prepared 91 such niches across the building, mostly in pillars, with the intention of blowing the building up as liberation troops entered.

A sign in this niche tells that a local woman was friends with one of the German sappers who was preparing the charges and he shared the plan with her and the disaster was averted. I reflected that this was a strong symbol of hope and friendship, even between enemies. And that such relationships can make a huge difference: in this case saving this holy place.

I mused on this as I walked into the main square, looking for a place to have a coffee and do some blogging (you may have picked up the fact that I am running a little behind on my updates!)

Come 12.30pm it was time to walk out of time to my AirBnB for the night. I was to stay with Romain who had offered to leave me a homemade dinner in the fridge. I couldn’t wait.

The road out of town featured some interesting murals – rather like our own dear Hereford has now. And then a very pleasant canal side walk along the St Quentin canal.

A little way on there, I was minding my own business when I became embroiled in the canal rush hour. A cyclist rode towards me at the same time a boat overtook me in the opposite direction, followed by a waterways van driving alongside it on the towpath. I wondered for a while if this was the slowest high speed pursuit imaginable. Was the boat stolen? Had a Tory MP been locked in the hold by bad people, and his campaign manager was driving alongside ready to throw a hold-all of used notes onto the deck?

A realised later that life on the St Quentin Canal was not that exciting. This was the lock-keeper driving along to let the boat through the next set of locks.

There had been a shower at this point, but I had stayed dry by sitting under a bridge, however as I came away from the canal at Seraucourt-le-Grand, I became aware of a big black mass of clouds behind me. They were heading inexorably in my direction.

I quickened my pace. And hoped to out walk the coming storm.

Sadly, I was not to be fortunate this time. On a piece of high exposed ground about half an hour from Clastres, my destination, the rain started and the wind picked up considerably. Coat and rucksack cover already on, I braced myself. For the moment the rain was at my back, but it could see that shortly I would turn right and it would come across my side.

With blackening sky, it began to hail and this was driven hard into my right hand side. I can only really describe it as someone firing frozen grit at me with a powerful leaf blower. I walked on doggedly. My tormentor ran out of grit and went on to frozen petit pois. A lightning flash to my left… I bent my head further and concentrating on putting one soggy first down after the other.

When the petit pois were momentarily replaced by full on frozen garden peas I turned my back to the wind for a moment and let my rucksack take the force of the hail. There was another lightning flash and a roll of thunder and I wondered if I might get struck by lightning.

Happiky while I was still working out what my walking poles were made of and whether their cork handles would act as insulators against any electricity the hail subsided and softer rain fell once more.

I won’t labour this part of the journey any further. It was uncomfortable, I had very wet legs and a full wet boot on the windward side. I staggered into my flat for the night at Clastres and was greeted by Romain.

Now I have to say that I could not have been greeted my a kinder or more hospitable host, and on a day when I had just taking a meteorological pummelling, this was an absolute Godsend.

Not only had Romain cooked me dinner and prepared breakfast for me, he did my washing and joined my for a pre-dinner aperitif of good Belgian beer and homemade tapenade and mini quiche Lorraine. I felt truly at home and as we talked about his job, teaching teenagers with behavioural and learning difficulties and I talked about ministry, there was a deep bond made.

I am constantly amazed by the people I meet and the places I see on this pilgrimage.