It is said that when the then monk, Martin Luther got irretrievably behind in his prayers, he came to the realisation that God loved him simply because of his faith and not because of anything he did, (or didn’t do). Righteousness was being justified by faith alone. And thus began the Reformation.

Well, I’m never going to start a Reformation. I know God loves me whether I blog or not – but I don’t want to get behind! So… buckle up everyone, for a double helping: this post covers two days!

I left you entering the town of Vitry-le-François. It is a similar size to Ludlow, but unlike this Shropshire town, Vitry-en-Perthois as it the was raised to the ground by Emperor Charles V in 1544. The French King Francis I engaged an Italian architect to design and rebuild the city in the renaissance style – with vistas and large squares – and the king gave it his name.

Sadly, the town was once again raised to the ground four hundred years later, but was rebuilt on the same plan, and the Collegiate Church of Notre-Dame was restored.

None of this was on my mind yesterday morning however. I was far more concerned with the whereabouts of a pair of thick walking socks. I wear a thin pair of socks, and then a thicker pair over the top which reduces rubbing on my feet considerably. I alternate between pairs so I can wash one pair and wear the other. With the luxury of washing machine in my very comfortable AirBnB, I had washed as many of my clothes as I could, and had planned to strap the thick wet socks onto my rucksack during the day to dry them. But this relied on having the other pair: the pair that were now missing in action.

I racked my brain. The problem was I have washed and hung out these socks so regularly now, that I could be sure when I last had them. I emailed the hotel from the night before and hoped. And more frustratingly, I now had to wait an hour while the wet pair dried in front of a fan dryer. You’ve heard of watching paint dry: I see you and raise you watching socks dry!

I was cheered up, on finally donning my newly dry socks, by the idea of a street and / or gate full of Mini Mes… all searching for missing hosiery perhaps!

And then to the Collegiate Church of Notre Dame. Once again a huge church, of the 17th Century this time, still bearing the scars of the Second World War, but light and airy inside.

Sadly, like with so many open churches on the Via Francigena (and indeed the Camino to Santiago di Compestella) there was no stamp here. I am planning a letter writing campaign to parish secretaries when I get home!

However, as if to underline what I was saying in my last blog post about support for churches, I saw this banner inside the door. (Beware Maund Churches, this might be one of the many ideas I come off sabbatical with!)

And thus, I left the church and went in search of a stamp. It was Saturday so the Hotel de Ville and Tourist Office was shut, so I made do with asking at a stationers for a business stamp and went on my way.

The official route out of town is long and winding, I took a more direct route along the river Marne and then joined the bike option along the D396 from Frignicourt to Blaize-sous-Arzillières. This saved nearly 6km, but once onto the road was not pleasant with speeding vehicles and sloping verges. I learned later that my Swiss friends, Pierre and Anne-Laura took a taxi from Vitry to Blaize: a very wise move.

Once in Blaise-sous-Arzillières I was able to rejoin the Via and escape onto gravel roads and woodland walks. Blaise was not overly busy on a Saturday morning, indeed I suspect it is never very busy any day of the week. I found a place that a bar, restaurant, caterer, tobaconist, filling station and lottery retailer. An establishment covering all the bases, except the most basic: being open for business!

It was an 8km walk to Saint-Remy-en-Bouzemont, the official end of that stage where I planned to lunch. However owing to “sockgate” I found a picnic bench next to a village football pitch at Neuville-sous-Arzillières and tucked into my lunch.

Saint-Remy seemed to be a village with more about it. It had a coat of arms, a water tower, a factory and a police station; signs announced it was a village fleuris and was also a commune lying on the Via Francigena (the first such signed boast I have seen).

From here it was 7km to my accommodation at Au Passage des Gneus at Drosnay. This was off the walking route, along the suggested bike option. It began to cloud over and the wind got up; it looked like rain. The last few miles always seem like the longest. A memorial to a doctor who had died accidentally on that stretch of road in 1952 did nothing to lift my spirits.

I had given up looking to see how far the village was, and was relieved when it finally hove into view. Of course, my accommodation was at the opposite end of the long drawn out village, but nonetheless I had arrived.

I passed a cemetery on my right hand side, and a church sign caught my eye. The Eglise de Notre Dame, was proudly announced along with a Monument Historique sign. The gate to the cemetery appeared to be sealed shut, so I peered through. I could see no church.

It took me a moment to realise that the space in the centre of the cemetery had been the church. It was no longer there. On closer inspection, I learned that the wooden framed building had been destroyed in a fire in July 2023. A statement of intent from the Mairie and the church committee stated boldly, that the church would “be rebuilt exactly as it had been before the fire.”

It felt as if there was a message for me here, following my gloomy assessment of the future for church buildings in my last blog post. It was a message that there were communities that took pride in their church buildings, particularly when they had been lost dramatically. I prayed that this phoenix would rise from the ashes at Drosnay.

My last action of the day, before finding my accommodation was to give directions to a lady who stopped to ask me the way to the cemetery and the church. I pointed her in the right direction, but wondered what she would think when she arrived to find there was no church.

And so, a few more weary steps later, I found myself at my guesthouse for the night – “As the cranes pass.” Christophe was a wonderful host, and I was pleased to find Pierre an Anne-Laura already in residence, along with a German pilgrim couple too.

We were feasted that night at a very reasonable fee and breakfasted well the following morning too. I learned more of the language and education system in Switzerland, and I told my pilgrim friends of a book I had read which told the history of the British Isles in cheese. I realised only halfway into telling this story, that I would have to explain that the author suspected British and Irish monks of exporting the art of cheese making to France and Switzerland. Despite this, we still parted on friendly terms and I was very grateful for the champagne that my friends shared with me!

The next morning I walked from Drosnay into Outines. I listened to Sunday Worship on Radio 4 which focussed on the image of God as the vine and the Son the branches, and we abiding in God and bearing fruit. It was a thoughtful and thought-provoking service, and given the number of vineyards I had walked through over the past few days, most apt.

When rounding the corner into the village centre of Outines, I noticed the very familiar scene of a figure wearing a dog collar carrying a large box from his car. I had finally arrived in a village at the right time and place for a church service.

The Church of the Saint Nicholas at Outines is another half-timbered church, and is clearly loved and cared for by its community. Around fifty people gathered for mass – many keeping Herefordshire time, I was pleased to see! On making enquiries afterwards, people drove quite some distance “following the priest” from church to church each Sunday. No dashing around for the clergy here, it seemed that the priest had just one service to take each Sunday morning.

With the obvious exception of being in French, the outline of the mass was almost identical to a Common Worship communion. A choir had been assembled, and a number of men sang most heartily – often with a cantor and response. It was a really uplifting service. The gospel was the same passage from John (Ch 15.1-8) and although I struggled to follow the homily, abiding in the love of God seemed to be the main focus again.

News had spread among the congregation that there was a pilgrim in their midst and after the service several English speakers came forward and invited me over the road for champagne and brioche. (Another idea to bring back to the Maund?)

Sadly I could not stay too long as I was on a deadline. My uncle was driving down to meet me and stay for a couple of days. We planned to meet at Montmorency-Beaufort, before driving on to accommodation at Brienne-le-Chateau. Perhaps with this in mind, I made good time, stopping for late lunch outside the church of St Philip and James at Lentilles. Yet another wonderful half-timbered building: so warm and inviting. And of course with the St James link for the pilgrim!

I crossed the railway line just outside Villeret and then spotted a British car approaching. Jocular greetings were exchanged and I got into the car. It was frankly an odd feeling, to be travelling at a speed in excess of 5km an hour. I hadn’t travelled this fast since the ferry crossing over three weeks ago!

Brienne-le-Château is a very quiet town on a Sunday night. Despite being similar in size to Bromyard, this town lays claim to an Emperor: Napoleon who attended military college here. Never let it be said that uncle and nephew can’t find the beating heart of a place, even on a Sunday night. Firstly we found the pizza van in the Leclerc supermarket car park (that happily also sold beer). We then found a kebab house (that also sold beer). Thus replete and after much catching up, we retired for the night – whether to sleep the sleep of the righteous, as Martin Luther would recognise it, is yet to be seen!