Yesterday I had a table at the indoor car boot sale in Benderloch’s Victory Hall, selling signed copies of my books. Beside them, as props, I’d laid out my two Compostela certificates from Santiago de Compostela — one dated 5 September 2018 for the Camino Francés, and one dated 9 September 2018 for the English Way.

People kept asking about the second one. And every time I told the story, I realised something: this is the story of how Book 1 and Book 3 are really one story. So here it is.

The rule

To receive a Compostela — the official certificate of pilgrimage issued by the Pilgrim’s Office in Santiago — you must walk at least the final 100 kilometres of a recognised Way, and you must prove it with stamps in your pilgrim passport, the credencial. The Church officials who administer this are careful, precise, and bound by centuries of practice. Rightly so. The Compostela means something because they guard what it means.

The English Way from A Coruña falls short of that distance. I knew this when I set out. I’d arrived in Santiago on 5 September at the end of 500 miles on the Camino Francés, travelled up to A Coruña intending to rest for a few days — and changed my mind. I walked back instead.

I knew there was every chance I’d be refused a second certificate. I didn’t let that stop me from trying.

Mauro

On the second-last day I met Mauro. He’d started earlier than me, walked further than me, and he was done — exhausted, ready to give up. The trouble was, there was nowhere to give up to. Ten miles of open countryside lay between us and the next town. No villages. No shortcuts. The only way out was through.

So we walked it together. We talked. We encouraged each other. It was, I’ve since realised, a bit like a coaching breakthrough — only slower, and considerably more painful on the feet. He pushed through.

When we reached Santiago, I queued beside him at the Pilgrim’s Office, and I was proud to stand there when they presented him with his Compostela — prouder still to see what it did to him. He’d found out he had it within him to keep going. That certificate wasn’t paper. It was proof he could carry into the rest of his life.

Then it was my turn. And Mauro watched.

The negotiation

The young official listened to my story. He did the maths. He said no. I can’t offer you the Compostela.

This is where the Whithorn Way enters the story.

Before I ever flew to Spain, I had walked 100 miles of the Whithorn Way — Scotland’s own ancient pilgrim route, from Glasgow towards Galloway. But the Whithorn Way is not yet developed the way the Spanish caminos are. There is no network of stamps waiting at every church and café. What I had instead was my documented journey: my photographs, my posts along the way, and one single stamp and blessing — received on my first day, from the late Rev. Alan Birss at Paisley Abbey.

So I brought out my phone. I showed the official the photographs. I showed him the stamp. I explained that in Scotland, a pilgrim proves his walk the way pilgrims always have — by the record of the journey itself. And I suggested, politely, that he might want to speak to his line manager. He could sense I wasn’t for backing down. I’d presented my case and my evidence; now I wanted someone else to adjudicate.

He went to a manager. The manager went to someone higher. And I’m certain the highest voice of all must have had some say in it, because after about half an hour the young official came back — smiling — and presented me with my second Compostela.

I believe I’m the first pilgrim in the history of the Camino to have received a Compostela this way: with a Scottish pilgrim route, a photo archive, and a single stamp from Paisley Abbey accepted as evidence of the miles.

Mauro was still watching, somewhere between bemusement and awe.

We celebrated the only way pilgrims should — with a three-course, ten-euro pilgrim meal in one of the most sought-after restaurants in the city, which, miraculously, also happened to have a table for us.

The date on the certificate

One more thing I didn’t plan. The second Compostela is dated 9 September 2018 — my Gran Jackson’s birthday. I hadn’t intended to walk the English Way at all. I’d intended to rest in A Coruña. Something turned me around, and the road delivered me back to Santiago on her birthday.

Some things you don’t explain. You just keep walking.

One story, two books

That’s why these two books belong together. The Way That Loved Me Back is the Camino — the 500 miles that started everything. The Long Walk to the White House is the Whithorn Way — the Scottish pilgrimage that, quite literally, earned its place in the records of Santiago de Compostela.

The road that loved Callum back was already waiting for him in Galloway. He just didn’t know it yet.

Is fhearr na’n t-òr sgeul air inns’ air chòir.

Better than gold is a tale well told.

When was the last time you had to persevere, and just carry on through a difficult time? How has it shaped you today?