This summer, as in so many summers past, I will be making a pilgrimage to Walsingham. This Norfolk village is the home of England’s national shrine to Our Lady, and I’ll be on a coach from London, and telling the story of the shrine along the way.
One result of our country’s complicated history is that many Catholics – here at home but also abroad – don’t know the story of some of our ancient shrines, abbeys, and churches. Better known is the modern story that starts with Henry VIII’s destruction in the 1530s, with resulting horror and heroism, and the poignant – and it has to be said, hauntingly beautiful – sight of great ruined arches standing amid glorious and silent countryside.
The Walsingham story starts with the vision of a lady – her name has come down to us as Richeldis – living in this part of Norfolk, some six miles from the sea – in the 11th century. The year is 1061 and it is a time of uncertainty. Who will be the next king?
Edward the Confessor has no heir. There are rumors that the throne has been promised to William of Normandy. Meanwhile Christendom itself
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