February 12, 1989: Hampton Court To Staines
Evidently all the swans on the Thames belong to the Queen.
On Sunday, February 12, 1989 Chuck and I returned to our Thames walk, celebrating the beginning of our week-long winter holiday with an outing that pipped my old record for earliest starts to the walking year by four days.
Only Toby and Chelsea came along as company this day, a wonderful expedition for them. We met in the park at about 8:10 and continued to the tube stop where we traveled only as far as Paddington. I had noticed that our December 10th train had passed right through Wimbledon so I decided we might as well head there first. We had only a short wait for the right District Line train and, with no further changes, arrived in Wimbledon just before 9:00. Here we paid for our journey on the underground, Maida Vale’s offices having been closed as usual. There was a marvelous stuffed dog on the BR platform at Wimbledon. Here we had only a few minutes to get down a hot drink before the Hampton Court train pulled in. We were back at our old quitting point at about 9:35.
Chuck was short of cash and we stopped first at a Nat West bank – but it had no cash dispenser. On the corner was a Tony Roma’s, a long way away from its usual site in Covent Garden. We crossed over to the embankment, keeping to the southern side of the river for the first half of our walk. It was still grey but not too cold. I was wearing my new UCLA sweatshirt (its pouch containing the RA guide) my tan bomber jacket, my boots, and my Tiger cap. Chuck was also wearing his duck boots and sporting a navy Notre Dame cap.
We passed through the forecourts of several boating clubs, each buzzing with activity, and reached a nice path on which the dogs could run loose. Chelsea, still a puppy at heart, pretended to “lie in wait” for approaching dogs, and every now and then was rewarded with a romp. Bruce, a Golden Retriever, followed us for some distance – his mistress waiting patiently off in the distance. Toby saved his energy. He seemed to have conquered his lust for ducks – for whenever he was tempted to charge waterfowl (which included geese and swans as well today) a word of warning from me was sufficient.
We passed Molesey Lock and pressed ahead at a dignified but unflagging pace (about twenty-five minutes to the mile on this very flat terrain). The walls of the Molesey Reservoir system hemmed us in on the left as we approached Sunbury Locks. The miles just melted away as we examined every facet of school life (appointments for next year, shifts in personnel, the troubled early retirement system, campus personalities, Chris Sidman, Chuck’s love affair with Florida, the International Baccalaureate). I stopped once half a mile before the Walton Bridge to add some tape to a twanging toe.
Unfortunately the pubs weren’t open hereabouts because it was only 11:30. I hooked Toby for a journey over a narrow girder bridge at the outlet of a small marina. We passed beneath Walton Bridge, with many cars about, and walked on grass next to a road until reaching the start of the Desborough Cut, a ship channel opened in 1935. Walton Bridge was a spot for taking stock. In order to reach the continuation of the route on the north bank you could cross the bridge and proceed by road for several miles but the RA guide dangled the possibility of a ferry further ahead and Jebb’s guidebook mentioned a proposed footbridge. It was the triumph of optimism over realism that led me to hope that either of these two options would be in place if I continued on the south bank. In any event, detailed if complex instructions for making your way to Chertsey without any crossing were described in the the RA guide, and I was actually hoping that we would be able to accept such a Chesterton-like challenge if all else failed.
My first decision was to disdain the narrow slit of the Desborough cut and keep to the old river bank, which meanders in and out at almost twice the distance as it approaches Shepperton on the opposite bank. On our left half a dozen rugby matches were in progress on a school playing ground of immense size. Two lads were inviting one another to retrieve the ball from the brambles as we passed by. A bicyclist skidded up behind me as I was taking a woodland pee. The usual army of Sunday fishermen were also dotted along the shore. Toby had to be reminded that the gear of these chaps was not an appropriate target for his pee. We met a man walking a Doberman just as someone with a Standard Schnauzer passed us in the opposite direction.
At last a track lead up to a bridge over the opposite end of the Desborough Cut and we descended some steps to keep to our riverbank. I was just beginning to think about pubs again when, much to my surprise, we chanced on the ferry landing! A sign indicated that we could summon this boat every half an hour, even in winter, even on Sundays and Bank Holidays. It was 12:23 so we didn’t have long to wait. Chuck clanged a bell at 12:30 and a lad emerged from a marine establishment across the river and boarded a flat, awning-covered boat with an outboard motor. He was across in no time and we four had scrambled aboard. The dogs didn’t have to pay anything but Chuck and I each paid 50 pence. The ride couldn’t have lasted more than a minute and a half but what a convenience for walkers. Of course I was a little put out that we wouldn’t be floundering around in the Wey Navigation or on Chertsey Mead but I was certain that close to an hour had been saved by this turn of events.
We passed Shepperton Lock and a posh restaurant/pub. Here a little girl had a Miniature Schnauzer on lead but Toby wasn’t interested. We continued on a road, dodging traffic for the next half mile in suburbia. Then the towpath separated itself from the road and we continued forward along the edge of a large grassy meadow and, via a kissing gate, into an immense field. The dogs were able to approach the river easily here as the Thames makes a deep loop to the south. What fun it was to see them lapping their drinks directly from Father Thames, toe deep in the shallows next to the strand. The sun had emerged at last and blue skies were shining overhead. “Hey, Toby,” I said, “When they privatize Thames Water you’ll have to pay for that drink.”
Off in the distance we could see Chertsey Bridge and I used this as a bearing to cut across the huge field, straightening out the river’s loop. Unfortunately there were huge cow pies and I was beginning to worry about Toby’s passion for these muck piles when the dog spotted the cows themselves lying in the grass nearby. This settled the issue and he and Chelsea finished the rest of the field on lead; they remained attached as we crossed the bridge and headed into Chertsey, the village to which Bill Sykes brought poor Oliver Twist for a night of mischief. Bill also had a Toby on his team on that occasion too, Toby Crackit.
Chertsey had been one candidate for our terminus today but, as we had reached it at 1:15, I wanted to go on to Staines, where rail connections were much easier. There were three pubs to choose from here but we ended up without a drink. The Galleon served no food; the posh hotel was serving a fancy lunch for £7.00 and no doubt would have sneered at dogs and the Cricketers banned them without ceremony. We ended up at the Texaco station, where Chuck had some microwaved chips and I bought a cheese and onion sandwich. We returned to the riverbank and sat on a bench to eat these and some other snacks, with the dogs finishing off a large supply of Shapes. It was a bit chilly now, and the sky was clouding over. I put on my MSU scarf and Chuck and I had several swigs of Metaxa, which I had brought in my hip flask.
At about 1:40 we re-crossed the bridge, turned left at the piano bar, and headed north. We were forced to walk pretty close to the road on this stretch and there were a number of moments when we had to put the dogs on lead for safety’s sake. We passed beneath the M3 and watched a young lady winching open Chertsey Lock laboriously. There were still many other dogs about – many people seemed to be taking advantage of the relatively mild weather for a stroll. We passed the site of Laleham Abbey and eventually the road left us so that we could continue on to Penton Hook Lock without the traffic. We were getting tired and, after three and a half miles, the sight of the Staines railway bridge was reassuring.
When we reached Staines I lead us away from town center and off in the direction of the railway station. This I found, after traversing a car park and ducking through a tunnel. It was 3:30. I had to pay for Chuck’s ticket but we were promised only a ten-minute wait, that is until we got to the platform when we were promised a twenty-four minute delay – due to a power failure in Sunningdale.
Toby tried to sit in my lap as we sat on a windy bench on the platform; he insisted on the same position on the train itself, which brought us into Waterloo at about 4:40. We took the Bakerloo home and trudged our way along Elgin Avenue, arriving happily home at about 5:30. It was the end of a most satisfying outing.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: