Last week I joined a Glastonbury walking group under the thoughtful and intelligent guidance of warbling Guy Hayward, founder of the British Pilgrimage Trust. We began and ended in the spotless quietude of St Margaret’s Chapel by the Magdalene alms houses. Beautiful countryside, good company and fine vistas, but the trip has inspired me to appeal to anyone who believes in the power of prayer to turn to this holy site and exorcise its demons. They were palpable.
From the ruined Abbey at the heart of the town, eternal symbol of Henry VIII’s gluttonous assault on the faith, to the chain-sawed stump of the Holy Thorn at Wearyall Hill, the newly burnt trunk of a revered 1,000-year-old oak, a menacing voodoo icon set upon a rock on our path, three noisome grabber cranes building a Gotham City of scrap metal near St Bridget’s mound, a leering prostitute and her diabolical client on a hillside bench, weary townsfolk pathetically collecting droplets of water from a once gushing spring now choked by commercial avarice, manic interruptions from malevolent horses. I sense that a spiritual war is being fought for the possession of the town’s sacred energies. The goodies need to win. Please pray for Glastonbury.
