“Any chance of you going over to watch the National Pilgrimage to Walsingham on Bank Holiday Monday and maybe take a few photographs for our coursework?”
“You don’t get marks for photographs in coursework” I respond.
“Maybe not sir, but it’s a lot easier to understand if there are picture and anyway you live really near Walsingham.”
Really near is about 15 miles away, which is a long way on a bicycle.
So Whit Monday bright and early I arrive in the small North Norfolk village of Walsingham along with hundreds of other people who come to watch/take part in the spectacle. 
There were buses from Sunderland, Preston and Wakefield, minibuses from Maidstone, holy ladies from Harwich and the inevitable Marian protesters who set up their stall in the village square, inappropriately named Friday market. It was a jolly affair – a sort of Boy Scout Jamboree only played with clergymen. Hereinafter referred to as “Father” .. all of them.
Shortly after 10.30am a platoon of sea scouts formed up outside the front door of the Anglican shrine and moments later the first of two statues of Our Lady emerged, closely followed by the watchful guardians of the shrine. Behind them came a procession of Bishops and clergy. 
Loudspeakers crackled into life and the long procession singing a mixture of Marian hymns and old stock ancient and modern snaked its way up to the Friday Market, past the protesters and their Police bouncers and in to the Abbey grounds, where the Mass was celebrated at midday.
Once the Mass was over the congregation formed themselves into small family or parish groups and food emerged from hidden hampers. The whole scene resembled what one might have expected during the feeding of the 5000, but with slightly fewer numbers.































