PILGRIM’S PROGRESS

To walk from Pershore, Worcestershire, to Rome and follow in the steps of pilgrims is a special blessing. I had announced before setting off in 2010 the intention of “knocking on doors” in the hope of being offered accommodation.

When I tried a door in Conches-en-Ouche, Normandy, a woman berated me for trespassing. To then ask for a bed did not seem hopeful but, in my best French, I had a go.

About 20 minutes later I

found myself sitting at a full dinner table with a glass of champagne singing Happy Birthday to Michel. Fate had decreed that I was to join a family celebrating the birthday of the woman’s husband, a rocket engineer with the Ariane European Space programme.

After a sumptuous meal the men retired to watch the final of the Six Nations rugby tournament, England v France. When France won in the last few moments, relieved, I retired to bed. CHRIS O’GRADY WINS A £250 RAILBOOKERS VOUCHER

few miles later, it would fall down again. It was going to be a long night in the African bush.

Suddenly, out of the blackness, a voice called: “Do you need help?” A logging lorry rumbled up, the owner instructed his men to take off the exhaust. He inquired whether we were the women who had stopped for the driver with the overturned lorry and said he believed in karma. The next day he delivered the exhaust to the town’s chief and garage owner. CERI WILLIAMS

But, coming towards us a flock of goats and their shepherd. Drawing near he pointed to the ground over and over again, each time saying “Potami, Potami”. As the car stopped I reached for the dictionary, muttering the Greek alphabet as I

scrabbled through it trying to remember the Greek characters. Then… Eureka! “Potami” meant “river”. The shepherd was telling us that we were driving along a dried-up river bed. No wonder it was bumpy. SHEILA TAYLOR