HIGHLIGHT: Castle Acre Priory
On the final approach to Castle Acre, the Peddars Way drops fast to the river, where a view of the priory ruins spurs me on.
A sign by a ford warns of ‘Deep Water’. But not for us pilgrims. A footbridge takes me over the swirling waters of the River Nar.
Once across, I am on the very edge of Castle Acre Priory grounds.
Before me, the remains of what was a massive religious house are laid out on a sloping meadow that is a riot of wild flowers.
Beyond, in the heart of the village., the tower of the church of St James the Great rises above the trees.
Castle Acre is a magical place: a Norman walled settlement with the priory at one end, a castle at the other, and a huddle of houses around the central green. It even has a gatehouse standing astride the main road in.
After all the ruinous remains of pilgrim priories that have lined my route from London, it is a relief to find here, at Castle Acre, something that is still standing and which medieval pilgrims might recognise.
It’s not complete, by any means, but the west front, through which medieval pilgrims entered the priory church, still stands, a sheet of stone rather like a stage-scenery flat. I fear for its stability in the face of Norfolk gales, but it is anchored to the earth at one end by the surviving abbot’s quarters and has, I reassure myself, been standing since 1160.
To the right of the church are the prior’s lodgings, still intact, with a large hall, great chamber and chapel on the first floor. I step inside and explore. It survived the Dissolution, when the rest of the priory was stripped and gutted, because it was easily adapted as a nobleman’s house.
I walk through the priory church’s empty doorway and up the nave, where yellow wallflowers have colonised the stonework, clinging in clusters to the sheer walls that rise above me.
Then comes the cloister, off which was the guest hall, where well-heeled pilgrims would have stayed.
Henry III was among them, as were Edward I and his queen, Eleanor. Aristocrats, priors and abbots were also made welcome.
Next stop is the village church, St James the Great, dedicated to the patron saint of pilgrims.
Among its many treasures is the 15th century font, its oak cover soaring like a fretworked spire towards the roof. At the pinnacle a golden dove flies.
Then there is the surviving lower section of the rood screen, on which St James, with his scallop shell and staff, appears alongside the other apostles.
Leaving, I pass a board offering an encouraging message for a pilgrim: ‘Thank you for visiting, go safely on your way’.
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