Writer and bookseller Luke Sherlock moves through England’s landscapes with a deep sense of curiosity.
Best known for sharing his journeys as @englishpilgrim, Luke spends his days tracing ancient footpaths, seeking out overlooked churches, and reflecting on the stories held within the land. His work — both online and in print — invites a slower way of seeing: one that honours history, place, and the quiet beauty of the overlooked.
In this conversation, we speak with Luke about pilgrimage, landscape, and the enduring pull of England’s hidden sacred spaces — themes explored in his book, Forgotten Churches: Exploring England’s Hidden Treasures.
As the world grows louder and more complex, we return to a simple truth: Nature is our reprieve. What in the natural world steadies you?
The soughing of the wind in the forests whilst walking our dog, Mona. There’s something element in this, something somehow far bigger than us that grounds me, physically.
You’ve often framed pilgrimage as an act of attention rather than belief. When did walking begin to feel meaningful to you, beyond movement or exercise?
When sitting in medieval churches, alone, tired. Without knowing it, I’d walked to these places to soothe myself for a time. I’m glad they are there for us.
As a Patron of the British Pilgrimage Trust, you’re helping reinterpret ancient routes for contemporary life. What do you think modern pilgrims are truly seeking when they step onto these paths?
As one pilgrim recently put it to me: “spiritual development.” This may come in many forms. Some seek community, others to reflect inwards. Yet it is to bring intention and meaning to our lives, fundamentally.
Your work moves between inner and outer landscapes: the personal and the historic. Tell us about how walking through old places has reshaped your relationship to time.
I visited a church in Ranworth on the Norfolk Broads. It contains a late medieval rood screen [from the] 15th century. On this astonishing survival are a collection of female saints. It is before these that women would have prayed for safe passage through the tribulations of childbirth. I find being able to inhabit the spaces of our ancestors, to take in some of that absorbed emotion, incredibly moving. It brings the past to life. Deepens your sense of humanity.
You spend a great deal of time with places shaped slowly, over centuries. Has that long view changed the way you think about progress, productivity, or success?
Sustainability is probably at the heart of what I’d think of as success. Is an individual life sustainable? Is a community? A country? A planet? It feels like we’re far away from that at the moment and we can all feel it. We know it in our guts. That’s why I think a great many of us are so anxious…
How do you think form, material, and age influence our emotional and spiritual experience of different spaces?
Stories are what make us human. They are amongst our most valuable treasures. In the material realm we can feel the quiet whispers of the stories embedded within them, whether consciously or not. As such, we can know of the toil of those who’ve gone before us, or the passion, or the sense of beauty and love. Think of a medieval stonemason working away. If you still see that work now, it brings a smile to know such a person once stepped back and admired their work, many centuries ago.
We’ve heard you’re working on a new book! What’s capturing your attention right now — what questions or themes are pulling you forward in this next project?
I want to promote contemplative pilgrimages in England. I think this country has so much to offer and we should celebrate our landscapes, communities and history. So that’s my focus for now.
Somerset appears repeatedly in your writing and images. What is it about this landscape (Frome, Bruton, the surrounding countryside) that continues to draw you back?
The perpendicular Gothic towers of Somerset represent the final flourishing of this architecture in England. And when I think of my home, the England of the imagination, it is such places I see. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been drawn to this land — a pilgrim, come home.
Sherlock & Pages exists as a sort of gathering point. What kind of cultural or communal role did you hope the space might play when you first opened?
Sherlock & Pages was envisioned to be a place for discussions to unfold on the topics we are passionate about: nature, landscape, history and heritage. It was about looking after a beautiful shop in a small town but hoping our whispers might make their way a little further.
In an era dominated by speed and digital mediation, how do books, walking, and physical places keep you grounded?
Books represent a unique technology. Little can be better to raise the mirror to ourselves. That deep engagement always leaves a mark on someone. You can tell a reader: they are more watchful. Maybe even more forgiving. But then again, some of that depends what you’re reading…
If pilgrimage is ultimately about returning rather than arriving, what do you find yourself returning to, again and again, through your work?
Probably those days spent with my Mum and Dad and my brothers and our various dogs, visiting churchyards, sipping on a can of Coke if they’d let us. Feeling the elements, searching for the oldest grave, and without knowing it being very happy.
For those passing through Somerset, Sherlock & Pages offers a place to continue the journey — a curated space devoted to landscape, nature writing, history, and pilgrimage. If you find yourself in Frome, it’s well worth stepping inside.