My Long 300 Miles Walk

My long walk began when I was dropped off at Heathrow airport… Well, perhaps dumped would be a better word with £40 in my pocket. Who would do such a thing? Family! Imagine how I felt watching them drive off.

Giving you some context, born, raised in France, Italian parents, forced into an arranged marriage, 2 kids later I was ditched in Toronto.

Widow at 32 of my second husband from Glasgow.

After 3 decades, posted with Canadian Navy to England with my 3rd husband. We lived in Barrow-in-Furness, life was good for a while, until he embarked on an affair. He went back to Canada, even moved his lady friend into our house. all I worked for, even my identity was gone.

I went to France sort out my ID, another night mare began. Life fell apart for me. I was wrong expecting family support and here I was, stranded at an airport.

Fluent in several languages with a lot of skills, I tried getting work, first around the airport, then in London, but without a National Insurance Number my hands were tied. I was advised to return to Barrow where I would be registered. Without money or transport I felt my only option was to walk the 300 mile journey North.

It was anger at my husband, my family, and the military leaving me behind still under a valid NATO stamp, that drove me onward.

I missed my son’s wedding because of it!

I survived several weeks of hardship. I was happiest walking across the countryside. I would sleep under bushes, eat dandelions, blackberries, whatever I could find. I found a whole field of hazelnuts one night.

I loved the countryside. I was at peace. The wild life seemed to understand what I was going through and I felt like I understood them. I wasn’t alone. I had company.

I felt more alone as I passed through towns and cities although occasionally the generosity of people surprised me. One place that sticks in my mind was Chesterfield. I was sheltering from the rain under bridges when I was approached by local youths. They asked about my situation and went away, came back with food, blankets and a flask of coffee. It was the only place where I was offered generosity without any expectation in return.

Samaritans referred me to Pathways who couldn’t help me but gave me a suitcase with clothes. I had to continue my journey through the fields. My shoes were falling apart, I was soaked, cold, drinking snow. The wheels of my suitcase broke.

I reached Barrow, my caravan was broken into. I used a temporary one in Rampside with, no heat, no water, I survived on expired food I had left behind.

6 months later I was able to qualify at Furness Homeless Shelter, I stayed a year, took many courses, was given a nice council apartment in town, had to give it up, I found work in Manchester. Discovering Mustard Tree helping me rebuild what I had lost. Now Retired.