Little has changed in the years since Hilaire Belloc departed bodily from King’s Land. The ghost of his powerful absence still dwells in his stead, and the mill that he restored stands tall and erect, and in full working order.
The great hills of the South Country
They stand along the sea;
And it’s there walking in the high woods
That I could wish to be…
Hilaire Belloc was a great walker. He walked to Rome; he walked across the United States; he walked throughout France and Spain; he traversed the Pyrenees and the Alps; he ambled and rambled his way around England. As a follower of Belloc, the Pilgrim always feels, on his own rambles, that he is following in the footsteps of this master of prose, poetry, polemic, and perambulation. In his perambulatory poem, “The End of the Road,” Belloc “crawled and scrambled… ranged and rambled,” “plodded… hobbled… trudged and tramped” but never turned his face to home, till he had slaked his heart at Rome. Although the Pilgrim has slaked his heart at Rome he has never, as yet, walked there. The desire to follow Belloc on his “path to Rome” remains with the Pilgrim as a reminder of a desire unfulfilled. One day, God willing….
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