I had realised for a little while that I was not going to get to the Great St Bernard’s Pass; time was against me and the walking route was not yet passable owing to snow.

Charlie Chaplin ended his days in Vevey, and I thought if it was good enough for “The Tramp” it was good enough for me.

As it happens Vevey is also halfway between Canterbury and Rome, so this seemed to be a good place to hang up my boots. These boots were wearing thin and I had worn out the cushioned insoles.

So, with another sunny day forecast I packed up and was walking into central Lausanne by 7.30am. Again, watching a city wake up is a wonderful thing, although on a public holiday, there were very few people awake.

I found an open boulangerie and spent a significant amount of money on a pain au raisin. I sat with a couple of feisty sparrows outside the Grancy Metro station and ate my breakfast.

Lausanne’s Metro, a little like a grown up funicular railway climbs from the lakeside at Ouchy through to the heights beyond the city centre at Croisettes; it’s done this since 1877, though not it this modern sleek form!

Ouchy was where I was to pick up the Via Francigena for one final day. I wasn’t really sure what I felt about it. I hung around outside the station on this particularly well-heeled stretch of the lakeside thinking of all the places I’d been and people I’d met since Calais. It didn’t quite sink in that by the end of the day I would have finished for this period on the Via.

Just opposite was a sculpted block wall, containing a clock counting down to the Olympic Games in Paris. I chuckled as I remembered the spoof clock inaugurated on the BBC comedy 2012. This looked far more efficient… far more Swiss!

I thought of the nine day candle I had lit in Besançon Cathedral. It would still be burning, but would go out tomorrow. Some days it felt like this walk might never end (particularly on the rainy days) and now it was ending.

I needed to get some steps under my belt to help to try to marshal my thoughts. Leaving the clock and the Chateau de Ouchy behind me, I found the paddle steamer La Suisse being prepared for another days steaming around the lake. This elegant lady would accompany me on my final days walking.

As would numerous Swiss vineyards. I hadn’t realised the Swiss produced much wine, but I had read that it was very good and seldom exported. People said that it was so good they kept it for themselves, I also suspected that few people abroad would want to pay what was asked for it either!

As if musings might be getting too serious, these Beetle beauties were waiting round the corner. Undoubtably more reliable than my friends old VW and less likely to let water in through the footwells, I wondered if I could come back and take one out for a spin!

Outside this Olympic Museum was this fascinating statue. There is quite a lot of art on the waterfront, but I particularly liked the movement and effort conveyed in the sculpted figures.

A few more people were beginning to surface now. Mostly joggers and dog walkers, but I wasn’t fussy. It was nice to see people around. My favourite type of dog walkers here are the big butch men walking the tiniest, frilliest dogs.

The sound of a steam whistle alerted me to La Suisse on its way up the lake. It was going to get to Vevey about quicker than me, its amazing the turn of speed paddle steamers have. I toyed with the idea of catching the ship back.

Pully was the next place I came to on then lakeside. It had a small marina, a park with a great play area and a garden gauge railway, much to my boyish excitement. There’s nothing cheerier than a park with a miniature railway!

The first vines appeared by the lakeside, and shortly afterwards I climbed up onto the side of the main road.

Here road and railway shared the low ground, and terraces of vineyards clung to the hillside. Shortly afterwards a stiff climb brought me into the vineyards themselves. Walking along a concrete roadway, used only for viticulture and walkers, the views were wonderful.

And thus was the remainder of the walk, up and down the hillsides. Sharing the path with lots of people out for a stroll on the Whitmonday. Along the route some winemakers had stalls and were offering samples (it’s hard being a pilgrim at times!).

Though I wasn’t responsible for all of these, I’d like to add!

I arrived in the town of Vevey at around 3pm, having made good time. I went in search of St Martins Church and its adjacent cemetery. For Vevey held another significance for me. It was here a soldier of the Worcestershire Regiment was buried, and I wanted to pay my respects.

3861 Pte Alfred Edgar Saunders was one of those men who had been captured at Saint Quentin on the first day of the German Spring Offensive in March 1918. , The son of John and Elizabeth Cole 18 Cole Hill, Worcester he joined the army in January 1915 and served overseas with the 2/8th Worcestershire Regiment. Along with much of the rest of B Company, his frontline position was overrun and he was eventually taken to Kassel as a prisoner of war.

Alfred became seriously ill in captivity and, along with a number of other soldiers was moved to neutral Switzerland to recover. Sadly a recovery was not to be; he died at the age of 25 and today lies buried in this beautiful cemetery.

There are around 140 men from the First and Second World Wars buried at Vevey. Of those from the Second War, many are RAF aircrew, or escape and evaders who didn’t make it over the mountains.

I had brought with me a piece of pink granite from my training walks on the Malvern Hills and it seemed appropriate to leave it on Alfred’s grave. I liked to think he had probably walked on the Malverns too, and this was a little bit of home these many miles away.

And so, after a little while pondering the costs of war, the battlefields through which I had walked and my own pilgrimage, I retired to the park by the church to eat a late lunch and to drink a toast to Alfred and his comrades, and to also mark the end of my journey.

I shall continue to post some reflections over the next few days. You have not heard the last of the Loafing Pilgrim!