April 28, 1991: Culham to Oxford
The Thames at Abingdon
On April 28th, 1991, Tosh and I concluded what we now assumed would be our last London-based stretch of the Thames walk. I had Toby with me, but there were no other walkers on this pleasant spring-like Saturday morning. The dog and I boarded an 8:30 train at Paddington and, unlike last time, we were actually allowed to remain seated. I drank an orange juice as we headed west on a fast train. When it stopped in Slough Tosh got on, having earlier made her way from Ealing Broadway. She was wearing her turquoise outfit and a brown bobble hat.
We had to change trains at Didcot Parkway, where I noticed that the sign asking gentlemen to rearrange their attire was now missing from the doorway of the gents. A man asked me what kind of dog I had. When I said Toby was a Schnauzer he asked, “What does he schnauz?” Our local to Oxford left us off at Culham at 9:41 and we were ready to resume the march along the A415 that Janet and I had begun in some haste a few weeks earlier. Since I did not have to look at my watch every few seconds, the mile and a quarter’s worth of road walking seemed to go much faster today. We passed the grounds of the European School of Culham and turned off on a side road. This took us over two bridges, a lock cut and the main channel of the Thames. We were using a route recommended by the Ramblers Association that led us across a field next to a hedgerow and out into the delightful village of Sutton Courtenay.
I actually lost track of the next turnoff, which was almost immediate, as we wandered into the town toward the village green. Tosh got into a long conversation with some people in front of the church while I consulted my maps. Then we retraced out steps and followed a delightful path in a green bower out onto an island between the two channels. Back on the north bank of the river again we headed upstream, moving along at a very rapid pace, and soon passing Culham itself, looking very much like a medieval manor.
Toby was enjoying his freedom to splash along at water’s edge. Every now and then he would dislodge a family of ducklings but he never pursued them into the water. Ahead of us, around a large bend, we could see two other walkers and their dog. We passed them just before reaching a footbridge over Swift Ditch. I tried to stay behind to take a picture of the other two crossing this wooden structure but Toby got nervous and wouldn’t go ahead with Tosh.
Next we followed the edge of the river opposite some rather ugly riverside townhouses, with sheep over on our right and the tower of Abingdon’s St. Helen’s church acting as a beacon ahead of us. Riverside activity picked up and we entered a park; Toby missed a houseboat cat staring out at him as we reached Abingdon Bridge. Here we had better luck than in Wallingford because at the Nag’s Head, the first pub on the west bank, we found a nice establishment that served food and welcomed dogs.
Tosh had a bitter shandy and I drank a pint of lager. We had to wait a bit for our food, since it was not even 12:00 when we arrived, but it was well worth waiting for. Tosh had an omelet and I had a bacon and sausage sandwich and chips. Toby helped me finish my lunch. He was having separation anxiety whenever anyone left the table and was quite happy when, after coffee, we left shortly before 1:00.
Instead of returning immediately to the river I decided to have a peek into Abingdon and return to the Thames on a route suggested by the guidebook. Unfortunately, just before we reached our goal, I spotted a Rottweiler ahead of us. As this is Toby’s least favorite breed we had to take refuge in the courtyard of what seemed to be some ancient almshouses before being able to proceed to the market square. Here we turned right, following a lane under the archway of the St. Nicholas church. After passing through a parking lot we were able to use paths through public parkland and along a ditch as far as a footbridge over the Abbey Stream. As we neared the main channel of the Thames I started to tell Tosh the story of Dorothy’s recent battles with the school psychologist, who seemed to have gone mad. She enjoyed this tale tremendously; I think this was the only time during the entire day that she was not chattering herself. With Harold teaching in Iowa and Tosh on sabbatical the poor woman was starved for conversation.
As we crossed under the Nuneham Rail Bridge we encountered the first of a growing number of cyclists, although this one was on foot and pushing his bike. Cyclists don’t really share the footpath happily with walkers at any time, I feel, and they are a particular menace when one has a dog. They often sped up silently behind us or approached us erratically and I had to keep a special eye on Toby when they were about – although he seemed to have sense enough to stay out of their way.
As we neared Radley and its college boathouses there was an additional irritant. Crews of all ages and sexes were now beginning to crowd the river. Usually these rowers just add to the colorful pageant of the scene but today no one was allowed to man an oar without loud instruction, coming either from a megaphone in a motorboat or, worse for us, someone racing up and down the footpath on a bicycle. I really felt that this was not the proper use of what was soon to become a national trail, but I suppose such comments smack of heresy in boating-mad Oxford – a city noted for its unkind treatment of the heretical.
As we neared Sandford Lock we encountered an encampment of hippies, their vans offering various brands of wizardry, and their dogs keen to sniff Toby. One battle-scarred veteran with a knee-sock on his foreleg was particularly interested in our city dog; there was a delightful little puppy at home in some wreckage near the last caravan. It was obvious that the neighbors were quite unhappy with this intrusion and there were signs posted about a public meeting on the invasion.
I had to put Toby on lead as we passed the lock itself. Soon thereafter we found a quiet spot for a brief but rare rest. I had told Tosh that if we were in the vicinity of Iffley Lock by 4:00 then we could make the 5:00 fast train from Oxford. This spurred us on; it was an afternoon when we made excellent time on what was virtually a flat surface.
As the afternoon grew warmer we were encountering more and more people; cyclists, prams, whole families strolling about – and the punters on the river were assuming a jaunty college air as views of university buildings began to appear beyond the green river meadows on the opposite bank. A college girl pushing her bike down some steps gave me a big grin when she saw I was wearing, as was she, a Harvard sweatshirt. I don’t remember similar greetings from anyone while wearing Michigan State livery.
We turned away from the river too soon, seduced by an early train station sign and Tosh’s anxiety about getting trapped on the wrong side of the river. We wandered along some not very interesting streets crowded with apartment houses before approaching the A420. Tosh wanted to know if she had time to buy a bookcase from a garden center but fortunately the answer was no. Outside Oxford’s train station there were signs asking for information about a missing co-ed, last seen a few days earlier at this spot. A few days later they discovered her body beneath the floorboards of her own flat.
Our train was waiting at the platform at 4:50 and ten minutes later we were off. The conductor was a bit puzzled when I gave him two tickets since he could see no child or dog – Toby being well-hidden beneath my feet. I dozed all the way to Didcot. Tosh had to depart at Reading but I had a through run to Paddington, arriving at 6:00. This had been a fourteen-mile day and my legs were quite weary as we made our way back to our home base.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: