St Cuthbert's Way – Lost and Found

Walking a long distance path requires discipline. One should bring neither too much nor too little - reaching the shops before they shut can be tricky. Reaching any shops at all can be tricky.

Staying in a different hotel/B&B each night means one never unpacking fully - something could be left behind. We utilise packing pouches to make it easy to find what we want in our cases.

So when we arrived on Holy Island for three nights at the Lindisfarne Hotel it was delightful to unpack our clothing into drawers and tuck our cases away. 

In fact, in the chilled island atmosphere I relaxed a little too much. In the morning Nigel said 'Where's the big water bottle?'

And I said 'Where's my hand bag?'

I had left the bottle under a bench overlooking the sea where we had been watching grey seals fishing and eider duck and mergansers bobbing past, and I had left my handbag in the pub where we had dinner. 

Somebody had public-spiritedly disposed of the plastic water bottle, but the handbag was there waiting for me.

It was a luxury to be on Holy Island where people kept my handbag safe for me and even more of a luxury to be staying in one place, meaning we could actually go back to retrieve it.

Below is something I FOUND. On our wall at home is a photo signed by Fenwick Lawson - it shows his extraordinary sculpture (carved from a diseased elm) of St Cuthbert.  We bought the picture early in our married life, when we were both working for Durham University, and fell in love with Lawson's carving. Although it has hung in every home we have had, I had stopped seeing it really. But there, in the grounds of Lindisfarne Priory, was that much loved face again. My heart leapt when I saw the full size cast of Fenwick Lawson's sculpture, conveying as it had done all those years ago in Durham, the presence and gentleness of the saint. Home at last - journey's end for both ourselves and Cuthbert.

We attended services each day at ancient St Mary's or the more modern and Celtic St Cuthbert Centre. All were beautifully led by the hard-working chaplain, Kay, who was also covering for the vicar who was on holiday.

We explored not only the priory, but also the castle, with its Lutyens make-over and Gertrude Jekyll garden.

We saw amazing wildlife - marsh heleborine orchids and dark green fritillary butterflies were common in the dunes, not to mention the ubiquitous bunnies!

We saw fabulous birds including dunlin and ringed plover, and stood for several minutes while a swallow, only two metres away, serenaded us from a fence.

But one thing eluded me - it was the singing of the seals.

I had heard it once, a few years before - I'd been sketching and the rest of the family had gone off to swim on the other side of the island.  I'd heard an eerie wailing sound and followed it, walked across rocks to a tidal island surmounted by the remains of a little chapel, marked with a cross.  From there I could see sandbanks where dozens of seals were resting together and singing to one another 'OOOOOOOOooooooooooo.'

On the current trip we had already seen perhaps hundreds of grey seals but had not experienced the 'singing'. I had begun to wonder if I had dreamt it. Then on our very last morning, on our very last walk, there they were - once more on the same sandbank beyond chapel island, and the uncanny noise was carried to us faintly on the sea breeze. 

How lucky am I to hear seal song not once, but twice.