Why ancient pilgrimages are back in vogue in the UK

As the sun begins to set, the choristers file down St John’s Walk, just as they have for the past 500 years. Their cassocks swish softly, their feet tap the worn flagstones and their murmured voices rise towards rafters adorned with angels and griffins. From my room in the medieval cloisters, I follow them along the ancient passage into the cathedral and take a seat in the stalls. The aged wood creaks beneath me, prayer books shuffle quietly in hand and then, evensong begins.

Hereford Cathedral has been a site of pilgrimage since 1320, when Thomas Cantilupe, a former Bishop of Hereford, was canonised. Pilgrimages fell out of favour after the Reformation, and for centuries, no travellers have spent the night here or at any other cathedral in Britain. But times have changed, which is how, after a spine-tingling evensong with voices as pure as mountain air, I find myself with the rare privilege of returning to the cathedral after dark.

I’m here to take on the Golden Valley Pilgrim Way, a 60-mile loop winding through the scenic heart of southwest Herefordshire. It’s a land of striking natural drama, where lush, green farmlands merge with the rugged silhouette of Wales’s Black Mountains. It’s also a region rich in history, prehistory and fine food and drink, plus a scattering of churches that, alongside Hereford Cathedral, offer sanctuary to pilgrims after dark.

And I’m not alone with this new interest. Walking is experiencing something of a renaissance, having surged in popularity post-Covid when it was one of the few activities we could enjoy. Since then, it has taken the younger generation and TikTok by storm with jovial hashtags like #hotgirlwalks and #softhiking. But the appeal goes far beyond day hikes. Pilgrimages, which traditionally have been spiritual walks to holy places, are making a comeback, but the purpose has changed and they are now undertaken as journeys of personal transformation. Just look at the Camino de Santiago, Europe’s most famous route: in 1984, only 423 pilgrims received completion certificates in Santiago de Compostela, yet, by 2024, that number soared to more than 500,000 people.

It’s not just historic routes that are drawing people to pilgrimage. The UK is at the forefront of creating new trails, with the Golden Valley Pilgrim Way standing out as a prime example. This inspiring route was brought to life by Simon Lockett, a pioneering rural priest from Abbeydore Deanery, who conceived the idea after undertaking a transformative pilgrimage in Italy.

“The way the path connects with spirituality is very current,” he said when I met him earlier in the day. “Today’s pilgrims may not be religious, but they’re soul-seekers: they’re hungry for the mystical and the contemplative, and they know they can find that in nature. In many ways, we’re going backwards to go forwards,” he explained.

His words ring true; in an age of increasing complexity, more and more of us seem to drawn to the simplicity of the past.

To be a pilgrim

The Golden Valley Pilgrim Way is refreshingly simple. Setting off from Hereford Cathedral, I cross the River Wye and head west towards Wales to begin the four-day self-guided circuit. Almost immediately, life strips back to the essentials: walk, eat, sleep, repeat. I rise with the sun, navigate between ancient landmarks using modern digital maps and restock supplies at local butchers and bakeries. There’s a pleasing rhythm to it all — one that feels both grounding and restorative.

At first, the sun shines brightly and I walk with the eager spring of a new pilgrim, meandering down country lanes and across muddy fields with bleating sheep. But as the miles pass, the sky begins to darken, and by the time the quaint village of Madley appears, the sun has faded.

Madley is the only stop on this new route with historic pilgrim credentials. In the sixth century, St Dubricius was born here and founded a Christian community that drew many followers. In the first instance, however, the shelter and warmth of the vicarage stables beckons, where I sit down and pull on my waterproofs.

“Do you want to come in?” asks a lady behind a door, ushering me into a room filled with people, tea and biscuits. This is social Saturday and it’s not long before I have a steaming mug in hand and am sitting with the locals. It seems that walking in a circle and sleeping in churches makes for an excellent conversation starter.

According to Simon, the Golden Valley Pilgrim Way is as much about these people as it is the pilgrims. “It’s interesting to see how walks like this can help maintain communities,” he’d explained to me before my journey began. “Often, when industries struggle, young people move away, yet this route has already raised morale in the churches and beyond.”

My own morale has certainly been lifted by this moment of serendipity, the kindness of these strangers and Madley church itself. The structure is grander than one would expect for such a small village, but its atmospheric crypt is the highlight. According to the locals, this crypt was once home to a statue of the Virgin Mary, which was believed to possess special powers.

Despite the rain, I continue contentedly, taking a path through the weathered oaks of Moccas Park, some of which have stood for 800 years, and past Arthur’s Stone, a hilltop tomb that’s watched over the valley for five millennia. With centuries slipping beneath my feet, I finally arrive at St Faith’s church in Dorstone, my home for the second night.

Sleeping in a church is like camping in a five-star hotel: immense, spectacular and basic. In Dorstone, that means a wood-clad portaloo in the graveyard, a modest kitchen in the bell tower and a fold-out bed behind the choir. There’s a sense of being briefly part of a place that’s existed since around 1256. I shiver, both at this thought and at the temperature. It seems that old, cold stone and wooden pews are calming but not overly cosy, and I’m certainly grateful for the pile of blankets. I’m more grateful still for Dorstone’s Pandy Inn, where a woodburner blazes beneath the low beams and a hearty pile of chilli beef warms me from within.

After dinner, I make my way back through the graveyard in the inky darkness, turn the heavy key in the lock and sink into the thick-walled silence for the night. I can feel the walk already settling in — there’s a satisfying physical hum, a mental quietening. Unfortunately, neither of these will dry my boots. So, with damp feet, I set off again the next morning, resuming my rhythm and venturing deeper into the Golden Valley. My wet footsteps carry me past countless bleating sheep and towards the increasingly brooding hills — the sort of untouched countryside that offers Mother Nature’s finest medicine.

I’m carrying a pilgrim passport in my pocket, which I stamp at every church. It’s a mark of progress and encourages travellers to explore every one along this designated route. At St Michael’s church, a vast medieval wall painting depicts Christ surrounded by tools — a warning to Sabbath breakers. Since today is Sunday, I can’t help but wonder if the artist would have approved of my long walk. Meanwhile, in the tiny St Mary’s in Craswall, the hooks in the Norman walls conjure images of children in thick woollen coats; they’re remnants from when the church also served as the village school.

The treasure-stuffed nave at St Clydawg’s in Clodock has a rare three-decker pulpit, a mysterious ninth-century stone tablet and idyllic views of the Welsh ridges, so close they feel within reach. This is where I’ll be staying for my third evening and I set up my camp bed beside a plaque listing tithes from 1805 (two pence for eggs, sixpence for fruit and vegetables), before preparing a simple dinner in the kitchen and gazing down on my temporary dominion from the minstrel’s gallery. Though my feet remain damp, spirits are high. It’s hard to believe that, after an invigorating day’s walk, travellers are allowed to rest in these rich repositories of history.

If a church represents the history of a place, writ in wood and stone, then a pub connects you to its present. In Clodock, these two institutions are closely connected: the Cornewall Arms stands right against the church wall. Inside it feels less like I’ve entered a pub and more like I’m in a sitting room: unmatched chairs line the walls, which are adorned with black-and-white photos of fetes and football teams, while a skittles set occupies the centre of the room. There’s no bar, just a hatch. I take a seat by the fireplace and strike up a conversation with Alan Williams, the landlady’s brother, who grew up in the pub. He reminisces about how a proportion of the profits from local farms were once spent here. “It was good times back then,” he says reflectively.

The rest of the evening’s patrons are a mixed bunch, including sheep farmers, a former TV presenter and, of course, this pilgrim. I feel the warmth of being welcomed, but also a slight wistfulness: pubs like the Cornewall Arms are a dying breed. Talk turns to more outsiders buying holiday homes. “It changes,” says Alan, “but quietly.”

As I complete the remaining 24 miles of the loop over the next two days, taking in the Golden Valley’s hillsides and holy places, it’s hard to imagine this place unfolding any other way. Quietly. Slowly. Much like the walk itself. When I’d asked Simon about the idea of a circular pilgrimage, he spoke of returning to your starting point with a new perspective. Yet, as I stand by a slab engraved with a scallop shell — the traditional symbol of a pilgrim — at Hereford Cathedral, I don’t experience a grand epiphany. I haven’t found God, or even myself. But I do feel… different. Tired, yes, but clearer and lighter. A small, quiet change.