Welcome Pilgrims of all faiths and none.

My son, at the time of writing, is just about to finish up his time at nursery, or daycare, for those reading from the US, after 3 wonderful years there.

He went in just before his first birthday when he was just about crawling around, and he leaves, running, jumping and climbing his way into his next stage of life.

The nursery itself is a magical place, with a huge back garden and meadow area for the children to explore all manner of fun activities. They grow plants and vegetables, they explore nature, play on their obstacle course and spend as much time as possible outside.

It’s been the best start we could have given him and we couldn’t be more pleased about his time there.

Myths and Magic

The nursery is in a village called Avebury. It is famous for its Neolithic stone circles and is a designated World Heritage Site.

If you have never been to Avebury, please do a quick search, it will help you visualise the place.

To get there from my house, you drive along a stretch of road that runs parallel to ‘The Kennet Avenue’, a dual line of stones running along a narrow field for around 1.5 miles.

It is an arresting sight, and to walk along it is quite special, with views of the Wiltshire downs and its tapestry of greens, yellows, and browns is quite something.

But things get really special when you get to the stone circles. They are 5000 years old. I don’t think anyone really knows why our ancestors put them there.

These monolithic giants, made from sarsen stone, were the passion of several generations of our distant cousins. Quite how they did it all is beyond me.

The feeling there is unmistakably spiritual. I can’t describe how I feel when I walk among the stones, but there is a kind of energy that I believe only exists in ancient human constructs.

The energy of several millennia surrounds me.

A Place of Faith

Almost opposite the nursery is St James Avebury, a beautiful stone church that is straight out of the picture books.

Its graveyard is dotted with beautiful, mature trees. On walking through the gate, I’m enveloped by a sense of peace.

I am not religious, but religious buildings have always fascinated me. 

As a kid, I found churches uncomfortable places, and still do inside to some extent, but outside, I have a different feeling. 

Knowing that many thousands of people have come here loaded with happiness, grief, forboding or hope creates a serenity in the air that is both comforting and life-affirming.

As you walk through the gates, there is a sign that reads

“Welcome Pilgrims of all faiths & none”

We pray you find peace here.

We pray you find God’s love here.

We hope you rest a while.

Know you are welcome.

In recovery, this sign and, more broadly, the church itself, struck a chord with me.

Feeling welcome

When I returned home from the hospital, we were a month away from moving house. Everything was in boxes, and the bed was soon to be a mattress on the floor. Not ideal when recovering from a brain bleed, but we had to move house!

When we made the move to the new house, I was still in pretty rough shape.

I wasn’t able to drive, and my main exercise was trying to walk the dog on my own. This was a slow and deliberate process of ‘a little bit further’ each day. 

I would return to the new house, still smelling of paint and a little bit sparse.

Jasper, my youngest son was 2.5 years old at this point, and whilst in hospital I felt like I missed a lot, but his screaming or more volatile moments were difficult to manage back at home. My head would be filled with piercing pain every time he shrieked, and of course, I was often too tired to play or do anything meaningful with him or my oldest son.

A low point

This was extremely difficult.

I needed to rest, but I also wanted to be a part of the family.

I wanted to help with the new house but frankly I was pretty useless and between pain killers and laying around I often felt like my wife was doing the bulk of things, especially with the children.

I was not lonely, but I felt alone.

I was disconnected and helpless; recovery was slow and painful.

My attitude was good, but the reality felt different.

A high point

When I felt able to drive again and the doctor signed it off, I had some freedom back.

It was 6-8 weeks after being home, and the main issue was turning my neck, but slowly that eased off and after that it was about being realistic about what I should and shouldn’t do, but I felt Ok to drive in short bursts, and things began to take on a semblance of normality.

But things really changed when I could take Jasper to nursery.

I was still signed off from work, so I had time to think and sometimes time to kill.

It was July or August 2022, and I remember dropping Jasper off on a beautiful morning and taking my dog, Hershel, with me for a walk around Avebury.

The stones early morning in Summer are buzzing with energy and spirit, which I drank in.

I feel alive.

For the first time in months, I could say that I was genuinely feeling alive. My senses were tingling and I could draw breath with some confidence.

I could walk.

I could think without blinding pain.

I could dream again.

And on that day I walked through teh church gates and read the sign.

The emotion hit me hard. 

I was welcome. I could stay. I could think. I could pause.

A place in which many people had been laid to rest. Where marriages and births had been celebrated.

I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and fortune.

I had survived. 

I broke down but not in tears. I broke down in a kind of euphoria. I sat on the bench with Herhsel and I did weep, but in a way that was an outpouring of positive emotions.

Tears of relief.

I was here. In this place. With my dog. My family is close by. 

I was here.

Be alive in your head.

After a near-death experience, it is easy to feel like you are still touched by the spectre of not being here anymore.

It is hard to feel truly alive because death still lingers in the front and centre of your mind.

The reality is different. You are alive.

The only thing to do is live. There is nothing else.

Avebury and its church filled me with life again. The kind of life affirming moment that fills you with every emotion and more. 

Please, if you are reading this, remind yourself that you are alive and therefore you still have things to do.

Never say die.