What does it take to walk hundreds of miles across countries, landscapes, and centuries of history?
For Eamonn Mullally, a retired IT strategist with a deeply reflective spirit, it meant embracing solitude, faith, and the unexpected moments that only a true pilgrimage can offer. Eamonn grew up as a Roman Catholic, but life took unexpected turns. After some years of marriage, his wife felt called to be ordained as a priest in the Anglican Church, a decision grounded in deep faith that reshaped their journey together. Now, as a trustee of the Confraternity of Pilgrims to Rome in London, Eamonn carries that same spirit of commitment and reflection into every step he takes.
Starting from Canterbury, he journeyed all the way to Rome and then pushed further to Santa Maria di Leuca. More than just a physical challenge, this was a personal voyage of repentance, growth, and transformation, where every step opened space for thought, healing, and connection.
Join us as we walk alongside Eamonn, discovering what drives a modern pilgrim to lace up his boots and keep moving forward, even when the path feels endless.
1. Which part of the Via Francigena did you walk?
I have walked from Canterbury to Rome and on to Santa Maria di Leuca. Always walking, except for crossing the English Channel, taking the paddle steamer along Lake Geneva, and being ferried across the River Po by Danilo Parisi.
2. How long were you on the trail? Did you walk solo or with someone?
I have walked between Canterbury and Rome in five phases between June 2023 and April 2025, using approximately 90 walking days. I then continued to walk the South to Santa Maria di Leuca with two short breaks. In all, the South has taken 34 walking days, between the end of April and the beginning of June 2025.
My preference is to walk alone, so there is time to think and reflect. On several occasions, I have walked for a few days with others I met along the way.
3. After reaching Rome, what motivated you, years later, to resume the journey to Santa Maria di Leuca?
Walking the South felt like the natural thing to do. As I got closer to Rome, I felt Jerusalem was calling. If the destination is important, how we travel is more important.
4. How has your perception of pilgrimage changed over the years?
I was motivated to walk the Via Francigena because I completed part of the Camino de Santiago with my family many years ago.
In the beginning, it was about staying physically active. Now, I would add psychological and spiritual well-being. It has become an act of repentance focused on all the times in my life when I have got things wrong. I cannot change the past. However, I can try to learn from my mistakes. Reflection helps.
5. Have there been any moments or encounters on the road that felt especially meaningful?
Absolutely. There are three moments that stand out for their emotional depth and spiritual weight.
The first was the beginning of my pilgrimage, walking with my wife from Canterbury to Tournehem-sur-le-Hem in France. It was just 110 km—short in distance, but long in significance. My wife, a busy ordained priest in the Church of England, doesn’t share my love of long-distance walking, so we agreed I’d continue solo, with her joining me for the final 100 km to Rome. That moment came in April 2025. We began walking together again on Easter Monday from Montefiascone to Rome. On that very day, we learned that Pope Francis had died. Friends in London asked if we’d stay for the funeral—but at that point, we had no idea what would happen. As we continued our journey, the Anglican Communion office in Rome heard we were walking pilgrims and invited my wife to join their delegation. I was welcomed as her spouse. To be at Pope Francis’ funeral was indescribable. A man of deep humility, who stood firmly against the sin of ‘othering.’
Another time, during a solo leg through the Northern Apennines, I slipped and injured my leg badly. I couldn’t walk at first and thought I might be stuck alone. After some time, I was able to hobble 3km to my hostel at Passo della Cisa—an agonizing walk. I rested there, following NHS advice, and after two days I was able to carry on. That injury made me more cautious. I always tell someone where I’m going when I walk in the mountains now.
And there are the mysterious companions. On 3rd May, as I climbed Mount Tavanese in the Southern Apennines, I heard a cowbell that seemed to follow me. When I stopped, it stopped. Eventually, a cow appeared, walked with me for an hour past the summit, and rejoined its herd only after leading me safely. A few days later, leaving my B&B in Roccaromana before dawn, I found a dog sleeping by the gate. I greeted it, and it quietly joined me. I kept telling it to go home, but it walked with me over the next hill, then disappeared. It’s strange: in the places I felt uneasy or unsure, I wasn’t alone. It was as though someone—or something—had sent help.
6. In your opinion, what is something that should never be missing from a pilgrim’s backpack?
An important thing to have in our backpack is a small trowel, and time for those we meet. Apart from the occasional footprint, the only trace we should leave behind is lives changed by positive interactions.
