March 29, 1991: Cholsey to Culham
Janet and Toby in Wallingford
On Good Friday, March 29, 1991, I celebrated the first day of a seventeen-day break from the American School by undertaking the next stage, my eleventh, on the Thames Path. Dorothy was having neck problems so my only companion, other than the very excited Toby, was Janet Lockwood – who was visiting us for two weeks. Janet was about to set foot on her third long-distance route and to undertake her eighth day of walking in Britain.
We did not have a particularly early start and I was able to do some shopping for snacks at the Nosh store before we started off shortly before 9:00. We had only a short ride to Paddington, and not much of a wait to buy day returns to Culham. Janet then disappeared into the loo while Toby showed no interest in all the passersby who stopped to pet him – but who were not Janet. His separation anxiety was appeased when she return to get us some coffee.
We had decided to use the 9:45, so as to have a leisurely transfer at Reading, and we were able to board our train at platform three immediately. But was it our train? British Rail considered the matter carefully and then decided it would rather have all the comfortably settled passengers over on platform eight instead. So we set off for our new destination, Janet smoking a cigarette during this transition, and found a table for four on the new train. Once it had started to move we had some Easter-time hot cross buns with our well-cooled coffee and the ride passed rapidly enough. By 10:15 we were in Reading.
We found the Oxford train, this morning heading for Bicester, and settled down. Janet said she preferred this grotty old shuttle to the luxurious 125 we had just abandoned. I did not. The train started up at about 10:35, pausing at all the very familiar stations, and depositing us at Cholsey, at 10:53. We were the only passengers to use this stop. We used a tunnel to get under the tracks and emerged at the spot where the Lees and I had arrived in a lather last September.
Instead of using the path along the tracks I used the pavement of the road marked Fair Mile Hospital to get us back to the Thames Path. Janet, who was having a lot of trouble hearing me until I put her in front, wanted to know why there were no public conveniences in Moulsford. It was a bit chilly in the morning, with lingering grey skies – but the latter kept brightening as we moved along.
We crossed the A329 and walked past the hospital and down a rough track to the Littlestoke ferry site. Two old chaps were out for a stroll but otherwise there was no one about. Toby was unhooked when we reached the river and he soon found his first drink. He had a great time dashing about, particularly when he was able to go off lead. There was a very lovely stretch of the river here, with coots bobbing up and down among the reeds, and it was very quiet. Occasionally a boat would go by, but this was not very often. Two scullers were at practice on this stretch as well.
As we drew opposite Mongewell Park, with its surprising pyramid, we encountered some curious livestock, highland cattle, grazing in the fields next to the path. They looked as much like yaks as anything, and the furry babies were adorable. Toby was on lead here and later as we fought our way through boatyards in the throes of spring launchtime.
We followed some wonderful winding alleys into Wallingford, with ancient farms and cottages and a tricky archway, which we missed the first time, bringing us over a little stream and into the daffodil bedecked churchyard of St. Leonards. Here we started to look around for a place for lunch, wandering across the traffic of the town’s streets and into the town square (with its complement of teenage layabouts), finding that dogs were barred from most pubs and that the rest of the town was shut tight for Good Friday. There were tantalizing signs announcing public conveniences but Janet announced that she had a phobia against retracing her steps so we had to keep going – in this case out of town on the A4130.
Just before the Wallingford Bridge I noticed a downmarket pub, the Town Arms, and suggested that Janet ought to use its conveniences while she checked to see if dogs were welcome. She did and they were. We entered the more seedy public half, sharing space with two intent pool players, and sat down next to a jukebox with golden oldies like “It’s My Party” by Leslie Gore. It took a long time for Janet’s fry-up and my cheeseburger to arrive, but our landlady, a rumpled but friendly sort with a cigarette hanging from her lips, had warned me that there were four other orders ahead of us. Toby ate some of our chips. An ancient regular was congratulated on his forthcoming birthday by the young pool players. The former sat at the counter and drank a pint of Webster’s with a palsied hand.
After lunch we crossed the Thames and entered Crowmarsh Gifford; the sun broke through. I needed to follow the instructions in the guidebook closely because we were being directed away from the river (a missing right of way) and up onto the A423. Janet protested over this stretch of road walking. There was pavement but the cars did whiz by and she claimed this gave her vertigo. Fortunately, with small planes crossing our path on their way down to the Benson airfield, we were able to escape the road quickly and follow a paved lane into Preston Crowmarsh.
This was a delightful village, with whitewashed and thatched cottages, pink-blossomed trees and yellow daffodils, and not much traffic to bother us. Toby had to remain on lead however, and he lost his chance to make friends with an apricot Poodle, who was being exercised on this stretch as well. As we neared the A324 again we were able to cross a little park and regain the river at Benson Lock. There was a store here and Janet bought us some Snickers bars.
Another nice stretch of riverside followed, if you don’t count the caravan camp on the opposite bank. There were quite a few holiday strollers and their dogs about and Toby was having a good time checking everybody out. We had to abandon the river, however, at the Shillingford Bridge – having encountered another missing link. Just a few steps north on the A329 brought us to a lane and when this split there was a footpath along the back fence of Shillingford Court. We followed this for a while and eventually abandoned it for an alley into the village’s main road, a dusty thoroughfare that was being used by local youths as a speedway.
Again we turned west on the A423, Janet grumbling about the road walking, and walked several hundred yards before I spotted a stile that brought us back down to the river. There was not much evidence of any path hereabouts but the way forward was clear enough. We crossed the mouth of the River Thame and looked for another path to the north. The RA magazine had warned that still another obstruction lay ahead at Day’s Lock and since I wanted to have a peek at Dorchester and we would have to leave the path to get to our train station anyway, it seemed sensible to abandon the Thames at this point. Toby celebrated by drinking from the Thame after having his last sip from the Thames.
There wasn’t any path, although the OS map promised a right of way, but there were people heading toward us from the village and I could see a convenient stile. We headed just to the east of the Dyke Hills, which looked like they needed a golf course to complement all the natural sand traps, and followed lanes into the Bridge End section of Dorchester. A family was heading toward the river accompanied by a quite undistinguished brown mutt named Cyril. Janet and I decided that they had named him this so he would feel better about his extreme ordinariness.
Dorchester had public loos and Janet, who was complaining of stomach problems, disappeared into the ladies for about ten minutes. This gave me plenty of time to breathe in the carbon monoxide issuing from a driverless farm lorry that was chugging away in the car park. Toby now had to go on lead for the rest of the day, which would now require about three miles on roads.
First we visited Dorchester Abbey, having our only afternoon rest on some benches out front. I bought Janet a guidebook. Then we strolled northward out of town, taking a left at a crossroads and pausing once to get out some individual juice cartons which I had brought because I knew of Janet’s phobia about drinking from somebody else’s glass, canteen or bottle.
There were houses across the street called Lakeview and this reminded me that the OS map showed a large body of water on our right. We finally began to get glimpses of it as we neared the A415. Indeed Janet marched us down to the lakeshore in order to take our picture. We then passed through Burcot and headed west, marching speedily toward our train halt – with only an hour or so to go.
I was beginning to get a bit worried about making the 5:35 from Culham. Consequently I started to pick up the pace a bit, with Janet gamely trotting behind – only mildly annoyed when I announced a no-dawdling policy. It had now turned into a lovely, warm, golden afternoon and it would have been nice to savor the lovely surroundings. We kept having to cross the road to find the pavement and this slowed us down. Toby was quite good about keeping up the pace.
We passed through Clifton Hampden but the landmarks I was looking for on the OS map seemed to come ever farther apart. I was really beginning to despair when I saw the buildings I knew to be adjacent to the Culham station. I cut a corner by descending a steep grassy bank and pushed forward toward the tracks, which I could at last see before me. Janet was only half a block behind. She complained about blisters encountered during this sprint – at least that it what she thought might be making her feet feel damp. She was not cheered by my suggestion that it was perhaps blood.
Sixty seconds after our arrival the train pulled in. The door was high above us and I had to pick up the dog to throw him in and pull Janet up behind me. We had made it. Why is it that this always happens? We almost missed the Tilehurst train and the Cholsey train as well. I think it’s because there are no mileage markers in the guidebook, particularly away from the route, and it is hard for me to give an accurate estimate of how much time is needed.
We caught our breath as we sat in Didcot station. Toby had some canteen water and some biscuits. We arrived in Reading at about 5:40 but fortunately there was a fast Paddington train yet to arrive at platform five and we were able to find seats on it when it pulled in. Thus we were back in London about half an hour earlier than I had expected. I congratulated Janet, as one neurotic to another, for her ability to soldier on in spite of all her phobias, neuroses, and minor physical debilities. We were pretty footsore (my back ached too), complaints engendered especially because of the quick pace of the last hour of our walk. We were home by 7:00.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: