by Dominique Gelder Smith
Damien hung back from the group to help me pick sloes once on a Northern reunion. It meant we had a good half an hour of walking through quiet footpaths in the wake of the rest of the Leg talking about everything and nothing. That was typical behaviour for him. Damien always put you at ease with his stories but he also had an incredible talent for really listening to what you had to say.
I had no idea about this quality when I first knew him from afar, as a teenaged Midland walker. I joined in with wearing a mask of his face to the Paschal Party and hushed when he insisted the Wednesday night celebrations quieten down in Kings Lynn. It wasn’t until I finally walked Northern that I really learnt who he was. Damien knew every parishioner along the route and greeted them as family. He was the greatest adviser on Leg lore and always volunteered to help out when things got tough. He was the person you turned to when you needed a hug or a reminder of the bigger picture (in life, not just on pilgrimage).
My favourite memories of Damien, however, fit into the category of ridiculous and amusing: the time he splattered Carmel and me with a ton of mud as we pushed his car out of a flooded road on a recce; his childlike delight using a kitchen blowtorch to light candles during evening prayer; the way he completely understood my request to visit the gelato place in Leicester during the 35mins I had between finishing our recce and catching the train home.
Damien was a true friend because he joined you in being enthusiastic about whatever it was you cared about and his passion meant that his interests always seemed fascinating to you, too. The road will feel longer and the nights a lot quieter without Damien for company.
Northern Pilgrim 