May 25, 1996: Finsbury Park to Clapton
The Walthamstow Marshes
After a long period without much London-based walking the Lees and the Linicks returned to the trail for the third time in a month on this day. We decided not to resume our Chilterns Hundred Walk, which would have entailed an eleven and a half mile stretch – because Harold was having a recurrence of his ulcer problems and wanted a shorter walk. So it was back to the Green London Way – which we had last walked on February 5, 1995.
Dorothy was persuaded to accompany us, her first walk in over a year, and this meant that eleven year-old Toby could return to the trail as well. Dorothy managed to get his purple harness on without too much difficulty while I completed the last of my packing preparations. The harness was inside out –– but this didn’t seem to impede our progress too much. The dog was his usual hyperactive, excited self as we traveled in the direction of the tube stop at 9:30. In retrospect I should have insisted we change twice, once at Baker Street and once at King’s Cross but in the event we rode all the way to Piccadilly and then took the long ride north on the Piccadilly Line to Finsbury Park – where we had last suspended our progress on this parkland and semi-urban route some months ago.
Tosh and Harold had already finished a cup of coffee before our arrival at 10:15. I herded everybody forward on Station Road but they turned the corner and headed west before I could catch their attention in order to move us across the main road. Harold finally turned around and I was able to wave them back. Workmen were cementing the walkway access up to the footpath that parallels the railroad line and we gingerly made our way around them and soon reached our route – an abrupt escape from the traffic behind us. Toby was unleashed and there seemed to be no need to put him back on lead as we made our way into Finsbury Park itself and headed toward cafés and toilets. He followed Tosh into the ladies loo while the rest of us waited to make a circle of a lake. On its fenced shoreline there were a number of species of ducks and geese. Many were being fed scraps of bread by the passersby and one old lady was surprised when her task was interrupted by a friendly Schnauzer knocking against the back of her legs in greeting. The animal in question, for once, was not our own but two and a half year-old Bouncer, who was also being taken on a walk by his mistress. The Schnauzer owners exchanged notes. Bouncer was beautifully marked and a very robust specimen; also well-named.
We then continued around the lake, with many colonies of fuzzy yellow goslings surrounding mom, and passed along a running track. Then we headed east, out of the park through the Manor House Gates – where the dog had to return to lead. Here there was a busy crossing at Seven Sisters Road. We continued east on Woodbury Downs and decided to take a slightly longer route to walk between the two Stoke Newington reservoirs. We were walking very slowly (I hadn’t even bothered to tape my feet) and gossiping a mile a minute. Eventually I had to pull out my A-to-Zed in order to see how to get us back to Green Lanes, where we turned south. After a block we were able to enter Clissold Park. “Look out for a spire,” I advised the others as we followed the main walkway. Harold had already spotted it. I paused at a park bench to give some water to Toby.
It was sunny today (the best day of the bank holiday weekend) but there was a bit of a breeze in the park and Tosh, at 11:30, was eager for her lunch. I tried to warn the impatient lady that the Stoke Newington pubs were unlikely to be open at this hour but she insisted that we must press ahead. We passed Clissold House itself, and walked behind Old St. Mary’s church and emerged on Stoke Newington Church Street – opposite the newer church, whose neo-Gothic tower by George Gilbert Scott had been our beacon.
We turned east on the Church Street and began to encounter a series of disappointments. Either the pubs served no food or they weren’t open. And there was no luck at any of the local eateries either. The funky street was quite interesting with its book shops and antique stores and the half-blind Tosh kept nominating one of these establishments as a likely looking pub until I had to break the news to her than only book worms eat at such premises. We passed Chinese, Indian, Greek, and Spanish restaurants and even walked by our next turn-off as he headed toward the high street and still more pubs. At the Jolly Butchers we were told that dogs were welcome but no food was on offer. The publican sent us to the Rochester Castle, which had food but allowed no dogs. (Here there was a very crowed Saturday street scene, with plenty of drunks and crazies about.) The eventual solution was to buy our food elsewhere and eat it at the Jolly Butchers. Tosh and I had finished our first pints in the shadow of Irish literary greats before Harold and Dorothy returned from the appropriately named Greasy Spoon across the street – with bacon and egg salad butties.
We did buy our crisps from the accommodating publican, who even offered to fetch some water for the dog. It was close to 1:00 before we were ready to have our last visit to the loos (Dorothy was tempted by some chocolate condoms in the ladies) and to make our way back to Church Street. The Lees missed our turn-off and had to be called back as we turned north into Abney Park Cemetery, a quite interesting Victorian site which welcomed us with the grave of William Booth. After a turning to the east we came out on the high street only a block north of our pub!
The way forward was not clear. I assumed we were heading east on Northwold Road but we ended up heading southeast and after a while I had to get out the map and head us north again in a neighborhood with many black families. When we reached Northwold again we went into some grocery stores for sweets. “I’ll have a Marianne Faithful [Mars Bar],” Dorothy requested. I bought a Dime Bar and a Bounty. As we doubled back west a bit and turned north on Kyverdale Road we began to encounter Hasids in their shabbos best, children in payess, men wearing streimls, women in wigs. It was absolutely fascinating to step back into 18th century Poland. The parade of walking black costumes (no Volvos on a Saturday) continued as we walked east on Filey. A small jog put us into Springfield Park.
I congratulated Dorothy on reaching her 700th mile on British footpaths at this spot. We paused to give the dog some biscuits and a Westie came up and tried to pee on my knapsack. There was another pond and this time there were swans and little grey cygnets. First the Hasids and their kids in black now the Swans in white. A wide vista had opened up below as we now overlooked the surprisingly empty Lea Valley. We headed downhill to two beech trees and followed park paths out to the north end of the park where a footbridge led across the river. Dorothy would have lingered for coffee at an outdoor cafe but Tosh had opera tickets today – and for once declined the opportunity.
We circled a marina and reached the east bank of the river, which we followed for a very pleasant mile along footpaths that bordered the Walthamstow Marshes. Toby was winding down from a grand day of trotting and sniffing. I snuck away to some trees for a last pee. On the river a swan glided by with her brood paddling furious behind, except for one cygnet who had hitched a ride on her back. We walked under a railway bridge (there was plenty of rail traffic hereabouts) and crossed to the opposite bank on a second footbridge. We left the river to pass around a warehouse and walked behind a block of speaker-beset flats that adjoined our last bit of parkland for the day. As we entered urban streets again I paused in some puzzlement because the street I wanted to use was unmarked. But Harold asked an Indian girl (still another ethnic group heard from today) and she confirmed that we were on Gunton Road. One block west along this street brought us to Upper Clapton Road. Just a few steps along this and we were inside the Clapton train station.
We didn’t have too long to wait for a train – but I managed to cough into my canteen and cover myself with the spume. It was 3:17 when a train pulled up and a black man with a wide Staffordshire bull terrier stepped out just as a surprised Toby was about to spring in. Toby settled down on a seat and we were soon in the refurbished Liverpool Street station. Here we said goodbye to the Lees and continued on the Circle Line to Paddington, where we changed to the Bakerloo Line. A few stops along the Maida Vale Parade and, at 4:30, we were able to make our way home after a most successful outing.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: