It was in the late afternoon of a perfect summer's day that we set out from the Slipper Chapel with cross-bearer and acolytes to meet the pilgrims of the Cross. We had to hurry as we were rather late. We had arranged to meet the Cross at Barsham, but as we reached the brow of the hill that looks down upon the old manor, we saw the pilgrims marching towards us like a small compact battalion in battle array. We waited for them to reach us. They came as conquerors without slacking speed as they climbed the stiff hill. When they reached us, the Cross was erected and the Chaplain of the Slipper Chapel sprinkled it with holy water. Not a word was spoken; the Cross spoke for itself for it had come into its own. The last rays of the setting sun shone upon the white beams of ash. The pilgrims then went through the normal hourly routine of the stations of the Cross.