December 4, 1988: Richmond to Hampton Court
Approaching Hampton Court
On Sunday, December 4, 1988, Chuck Sidman and I returned to Richmond, once again on the underground, to slide in another day of walking along the Thames. Dorothy was at a college presentation so it would just be my old Alternatives partner and our two dogs. We were promised mild temperatures and only a hint of rain so we decided to chance it. I was especially anxious to break my December duck – for today would be the first walk ever undertaken in the twelfth month of the year – and only January remained in the unwalked column. This surprising late addition to the year’s totals created two new milestones: twenty days of walking and 194 miles both being new yearly records.
There was a light drizzle when we emerged from the Richmond underground so I paused to put on my cape. Toby got all twisted in his lead, a complication pointed out to me by a passerby in front of the station. We crossed the street and retraced our steps along Hill Street, returning to the riverside along a walkway by the restored old town hall. We passed under Richmond Bridge and very soon we were on quiet paths next to the grey river. There were far fewer oarsmen about today and the joggers and bikers were a bit thinner on the ground as well.
We passed a shrouded Ham House as we left the Richmond traffic behind. The dogs were unleashed to begin their day of fun, their endless peeing and sniffing, and dashing about. Again Toby was quite content to let the younger and larger Chelsea lead him into all sorts of interesting places. Fortunately he escaped a nip from an Alsatian who was being exercised in a nearby field. Chelsea wasn’t so lucky.
At Teddington Lock we paused to have a look at all the gates and levers. Here the Thames loses its tidal nature and becomes a fresh water stream. We didn’t really make many pauses, perhaps not knowing when the weather might worsen, so we kept up a very steady progress along the muddy towpath. I was able to take my rain cape off for a while but as we neared Kingston I had to put it on again. The damp meant that I didn’t get in many photo opportunities today.
Fishermen were oblivious to the occasional drizzles we endured. They were sprawled all along the bank today, under their umbrellas in their green livery. Such patience for so meager a reward!
We had been averaging between 25 and 30 minute-miles when we pulled into Kingston itself. We had started at 9:30 so once again pubs were not quite open. Downtown Kingston, even on a Sunday, was full of traffic making its way through an extended construction site. We passed through this and into the market area, with its narrow streets and mall-type shops. There were several pubs about but every time we found one that was open it wouldn’t take dogs. There was even one pub, the Bishop’s, which excluded children!
Somewhat downcast we decided to try the other bank, our route here crossing the Kingston Bridge anyway. On the opposite side, Hampton Wick, there were several pubs and the White Hart welcomed not only young adults but dogs on lead. Here was stationed ourselves at a table near the darts and ordered some hot food. I had sausages, beans, and chips, and we each downed a pint of K-2 lager while Chuck charmed the proprietress out of a bar towel for another of his collections. The dogs got plenty of biscuits, although I didn’t approve of the way Chuck tossed them down for consumption on the darters’ rubber throwing strip, and surreptitiously brushed the crumbs away from this sacred spot.
I had started the day with some dryness in my throat and by this time, with the lager not helping, I could tell I was coming down with a cold. And what a cold – although I never missed any school I was still coughing up mucous two weeks later. I made two trips to the loo before we packed up. The bar lady wished me a nice stay in her country.
We now had only three more miles to go, along the north bank for a change. The parkland here sported its complement of fisherfolk on one side of our path and on the other side of our route we could see the golf course and gardens of Hampton Court. We completed our day-long gossip about the school and Chuck spent most of this last stretch worrying about the progress of his son, Chris. Many interesting dogs and their owners were waking toward Kingston on this stretch and we paused for several chats. There is no doubt that all the googly eyes, the oohs and ahs, were directed at the doe-eyed Labrador. Toby couldn’t get any decent attention when Chelsea was about.
The sun emerged for our last mile or so. We came right up to the entrance of Hampton Court, a spot I had not visited since 1973. There was a bit of a wind picking up, though – on the whole – it had been more breezy on our previous outing in November. After eight miles we crossed the bridge over to the Hampton Court Station, arriving at about 2:30.
I asked the guard if the dogs needed tickets. “Technically, they do,” he replied, “but why don’t we just forget it.” We had only a ten-minute wait before boarding our train. It was supposed to take us, I thought, all the way to Waterloo, but we had to change at Wimbledon. The second train was very crowded and it was hard to get in any definitive snoozing. We took the Bakerloo line at Waterloo and were home just before 4:00. It was not yet dark.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: