May 28, 1989: Staines to Windsor
Lutyens designed these gatehouses near Runnymede
On the Sunday of the second May Bank Holiday Dorothy, Toby and I set out at 8:40 to complete another stretch of the Thames Walk. Chuck Sidman, who had been my companion on the three previous outings, had begged off at the last minute – but for the rest of us it was too nice a day to waste.
We made slow progress on a troubled tube system and arrived so late at Waterloo that, with a long line ahead of us, there was no way we could make the 9:41. I tried to buy return tickets to Windsor but I was told I wouldn’t then be able to complete the return journey via Paddington (a shorter distance!) so I settled for one-way tickets to Staines. (I had stopped buying tickets for the dog on these local jaunts; no one had ever queried this.)
We had to wait for the 10:20, and both of us used the opportunity to spend ten pennies and wash some of the grime of the Maida Vale tube stop’s banister from our hands. Then we had coffee and doughnuts and watched the passing scene, which was full of the usual types: drunks, punks, mums, prams, hikers, bikers. We boarded our train at about 10:10; it filled up with American tourists on their way to Windsor Castle. Some of them would not shut up and wanted to tell their life histories to innocent passersby. We pretended we were British; this was not easy for me – since I was wearing my Lakers T-shirt.
We arrived in Staines shortly past 11:00 and I had no difficulty retracing the route that Chuck and I had used to get from the river to the train station. Indeed, we almost went too far back toward the river because the route required an inland detour through an area devoted to parking lots, civic structures, and shops before it crossed the Staines Bridge to the west bank.
We then descended to the towpath through a construction site and Toby was unleashed with a warning not to pay too much attention to a group of ducks who were heading toward us in search of a handout. He was able to run loose most of the day and did quite well, in spite of the occasional lofting of his right rear leg, a worrying habit he has picked up lately. After a few minutes we crossed beneath the M25 and the A30 bridges, the latter a Lutyens design defaced with an NF swastika.
We were looking for a comfortable place to sit down for a snack but we had to leash the dog to pass beyond Bellweir Lock and this stretch was followed by private houses (each of which we evaluated as we passed). Sprawling space did not offer itself until we had reached a public park at the beginning of the Runnymede greensward. Here we paused for fruit, cheese and crackers, and some water. Dorothy lazed in the sun and Toby marked out his territory in the grass. The place was crowded with young couples, toddlers, family picnics, and lots of other dogs.
We continued after a while as the river made a dogleg to the left. There was a breeze but it was very warm and sunny and the British, unaccustomed to such glorious weather, had crowded the park with their sun mats and barbecues. It took us a while to pick our way though this mass of sprawling humanity. For a while we were actually heading into the sun, Dorothy’s favored hiking position, but eventually we turned north again and followed the verge of the A308. Toby soon sensed how to find his way down to the river in little gaps of the hedgerows. Of course he disdained a swim but he did have lots of drinks.
There was an unpleasant stretch along an endless car park. Toby stayed close to us and we could call him in at short notice but some of the cars were driving along this dirt patch at unsafe speeds. At the end of the section I took a picture of some Lutyens-designed gatehouses. There followed another riverside stretch and, at the outskirts of Old Windsor, a section on pavement. In this fashion we approached the Bells of Ouzeley pub.
Dorothy and Toby took up a position on the garden grass and I fought my way to the bar in order to get us some lager. Outside we ate some of our own crisps and had a good rest – me in the shade, Dorothy in the sun. Once again we were surrounded by a busy sunny Sunday afternoon pub scene.
After visits to the loos (the pub was even more crowded the second time) we dashed back across the street and continued north. The section to Old Windsor Lock was a nice sylvan ramble. One chap on a vintage bike passed us three times and on the river I swear I saw American School colleagues Dick Tener and Paul Morton chugging by in a small boat.
Dorothy, I noticed, was begging to lag. She was tired but also out of sorts because we were walking instead of sunning ourselves – and the direction of the Thames, over which I was now expected to have control, continued to avoid a head on collision with the sun. After we had crossed over the Albert Bridge she sat down behind me without warning and turned to face Old Sol himself. I suggested there must be better places than the verge of the B3201 and after a while we proceeded into Datchet, driven away from the river by the Royals, who wouldn’t let the public use the towpath along Windsor Home Park.
In a small park facing the Royals Dorothy deposited herself for another rest a few minutes later. I was made to understand that my obsession with walking from point A to point B was seriously undermining her encounter with the rays. When we continued we were able to escape the road by walking along the edge of the Datchet golf course. This we left in favor of the road – just as it crossed over to Victoria Bridge. A lady stopped to ask us if she were heading in the right direction for Eton but I had to turn her around. Indeed, ahead of us we could see both the castle and Eton College chapel off in the distance.
We climbed back down to the riverbank and continued north. “Hello, Paul,” I said as we passed a sunning Paul Morton a minute later. What a surprise! We had stumbled across a whole boatload of ASL people: Dick Tener, Chris Siegfried, Dave Sutherland and his wife, and Paul himself, out for a cruise on the “Kathy” from his Sunday-home base in Staines. We sat down with them for a while and had a good natter. Dorothy let them know how much more sensible their afternoon was compared to that being provided by her husband. Toby had a really good time chasing around; he followed Chris a long way as she went to retrieve Dick and Dave at the archery targets.
After half an hour we continued north, briefly heading back into the sun as we turned to the west under Black Potts Rail Bridge – and began inching our way along tarmac back into Windsor.
There was a train waiting at the Eton and Riverside station so we decided to take it instead of going on to Windsor Central. I dashed in to buy tickets at about 4:10 but I was buying them for the 4:06 and the train almost left without us. We jumped aboard the first coach and continued on to the next car where there were two surprising developments. Another American woman announced that she had a Schnauzer and almost at the same time we encountered Maria Junquera, ACL’s Director of Admissions and therefore Dorothy’s colleague, returning from a day out with her visiting mum. There were also people we nodded to now who had been on our train this morning. Everybody looked flushed with sun and tired out but only my party had walked eight miles.
To continue with the next stage of the walk (Windsor to Maidenhead) you can see my entry for the London Countryway:
Then resume these accounts with: