March 31, 1990: Marlow to Shiplake
Near Frogmill
It was on a beautiful Saturday, with temperatures in the 60′s, that we returned to the Thames for a sixth day of walking along the riverside route. It was March 31 and the opportunity to have such a glorious sun-filled day so early in the year was most welcome. We needed to keep our legs in shape because the Lees and I were about to depart on another four-day stint on the Cornish Coast Path.
Dorothy accompanied us today, her first walk since the previous May. She has been suffering from a bad back, an eroded disk that was playing havoc with her sciatic nerve, and it was unclear how well she would do, that is, how far she could go without favoring the affected leg and foot. In the event she did quite well, though I made sure she carried no pack.
She and I and Toby departed from Paddington at 8:40, not 8:35 – as BR had told me the previous night on the telephone. We had some doughnuts and a large cup of coffee into which I plopped two saccharine tablets. The result was that the top half of the cup had no sweetener and the bottom half was too sweet and Dorothy turned up her nose.
The train was very slow, stopping at stations and at other less than scenic spots for unexplained reasons. I was growing more agitated by the moment because we were supposed to rendezvous with the Lees at Maidenhead in time for the shuttle to Marlow. We arrived a few minutes after the latter was supposed to have departed, but evidently this happened so often that they were in the habit of holding the Marlow train. I was hoping that they had actually held the train just for us, for Tosh had spoken to the driver, but I suppose this was not the case.
We arrived at Marlow shortly before ten, passing the parking lot where I had left the car three weeks earlier, and moved on past the Jolly Fryer. Toby did the first of several trailside doo doos (the problem was that he continued to do these, even inside the house, the next week).
When we reached the high street we crossed over into the park, used the loos, and looked for the tourist information center. I wanted to find out if I was correct in remembering a new footbridge from the left bank to the right near Temple. We couldn’t find the place ay first, but we soon met a dog-walking lady and she confirmed this crossing for me.
So we continued at a very leisurely pace into the morning sun; indeed we managed to walk into the sun all day today, or so it seemed. In the morning I wore my ASL rugby sweatshirt but there were a number of times I was tempted to take it off.
The footbridge was a most attractive wooden structure. Thames Water tried to take major credit for its construction but it should have been erected when the ferry disappeared from this spot just beyond Temple Lock in the fifties.
On the right bank we reached a second lock at Hurley, with footbridges leading us onto and then off of the lock keeper’s island. Toby was put on lead here but he was able to run free most of the day. He soon became adept at dashing down to the river for a sip.
Danesfield dominated the opposite bank for a while as we paused at the head of a large riverside meadow for grapes and chocolate. I got out some biscuits for Toby. It was of course very easy to make progress on level, dry, well-trodden paths.
The river meandered south, then north before heading in a westerly direction. There weren’t any fisherman today, perhaps because there were so many private fishing signs. There were plenty of kayaks and skulls about. Down river the Oxford-Cambridge boat race would taken place this afternoon (and a poll tax riot in Trafalgar Square).
I suggested that we stop for lunch before leaving the river so we found a pleasant perch above a bank and got out our food. Dorothy had brought some baps, and some salami, and some Westphalian ham. I made one sandwich from the latter but when Dorothy asked for the meat I discovered that the dog was quietly gnawing it behind my back.
After lunch we headed inland, across a field and along a road to a nursery. Ahead on our left was the very attractive facade of Culham Court, an elegant 1770 structure equipped with topiary and steps down to the river. The daffodils were profuse in this region and we were high enough above the river that we had the loveliest view.
We continued forward to Holme Farm, where the inhabitants were dining alfresco, and turned into the village of Aston. Here we headed for a table in the crowded back garden of the Flower Pot pub. The Lees had coffee, Dorothy a ginger ale, and I had a pint of Stella. At one point there were no fewer than six dogs in the garden. I now took off my sweatshirt and spent the rest of the day in my Detroit Bad Boys t-shirt.
After passing lovely Flint Cottage the girls turned off slightly before we got to the river and passed in front of a row of cottages. I could see that they had actually discovered a shortcut along a roadway occupied only by one jogger and two cyclists. This now lead us back to the river and into the crowded scene of kayak competitors negotiating the white water of the Hambledon weir.
Toby, who had been away from his drinking bowl for about an hour, jumped down a steep five foot bank to get at the river. I was trying to figure out how to get him back when he scrambled up the vertical face in one go. We were very impressed.
There followed a long, not very interesting straightaway, with Henley church tower beckoning us through the haze. We passed Phyllis Court, where we had once viewed the boat race, and the Leander Club, which even had a sawhorse in Leander pink. At the end I knelt down to pluck a wayward Frisbee from the river for some kids. Here Toby had to go on lead for the perilous crossing of the A423.
I found a good break in the traffic and we all started forward. Just as we were about the reach the safety of the far curb another couple started out, blocking our path. The woman also had a dog on lead and it almost knocked Dorothy over; unfortunately it had a bandaged leg and its mistress set up a defensive hue and cry which produced derisive laughter from my Mrs. It seems that it is now impossible to complete a day’s walk without incident.
We did not go into Henley. The pubs were closed at 3:30 and there didn’t seem to be any other convenient form of refreshment. So we continued in a southeasterly direction past the many picnickers and amateur sportsmen. We even passed the spot where we had picnicked with cousin Bernard and his relatives after climbing from his boat many years earlier.
I noticed a kiosk and we went over for ice cream and Diet Cokes. Another Schnauzer was being walked by a little old lady and Dorothy took Toby over for an introduction. A father was feeding ice cream to a baby using the flake bar from his 99 as a spoon.
We now had about an hour to go, a very pleasant walk along the left bank again. There were a great number of swans about. For the last time we saw the white tail of the dog bobbing over the lip of the bank as he took a sip. Then we turned inland and followed paths and lanes into Shiplake. One house had extensive trackways for a model railway out in front. In an empty field some little kids were driving a car in endless circles.
A Henley bound train was just arriving and Tosh asked the guard when he would be back. We had almost thirty minutes to wait and the local pub was closed. So we sat on benches in the last of the sun, sitting happily until some yobbos in the car park turned on their radio.
We left Shiplake at 5:03; a few minutes later we were changing trains, after only a brief wait, in Twyford. There followed another maddening start and stop journey back to London, with the Lees leaving (to Toby’s distress) at Ealing Broadway. We bought Turkish takeout on the way home. Both Dorothy and I had picked up a lot of color on this delightful day.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: