August 12, 1990: Shiplake to Tilehurst
Shiplake Lock
On Sunday, August 12, I made my way to Paddington Station, accompanied only by an eager Toby, and met Gavan at 9:20 at the ticket booths. We purchased day returns for Tilehurst and had a sit-down on some red plastic seats while Gavan recovered slowly from a hangover. He was wearing his UCLA t-shirt, an overshirt, and shorts today. In exchange I was wearing my Trinity College Dublin t-shirt and shorts. Dorothy was nursing her sinuses at home; it was only a week or so since we had returned from a week at Lake Buttermere.
Our train left at 9:40. At Ealing Broadway I could see the Lees scrambling aboard a compartment several sections before our own but they did not look up to see me waving wildly at them from my window and we did not rendezvous until Twyford. By this time Gavan was fully recovered from his night of dissipation with his friend Suraj and two Italian girls.
The Henley conductor sold us tickets to Shiplake and we were soon off, arriving at 10:49. I took advantage of some shade, for the sun was already making its presence known, and arranged my maps and the new guidebook from the Ramblers Association in my map case. Then we were off, Toby still on lead, for a stroll down Mill Road. The flowers of the Lashbrook cottages were quite lovely, particularly at the old-folks home, but the grass had turned a sullen brown everywhere. Drought had come to the Thames Valley and it certainly took some of the savor from today’s prospects.
We turned off into the driveway of the Red Cross ‘s Andrew Duncan House, crossed a little bridge, and descended a stile into a yellow field. Here Toby was allowed to run free, finding his way under several stiles as we headed toward Mill House. Beyond it we reached the Thames at Shiplake Lock. The water was high enough and the river was full of craft, some better suited to the high seas than to a quiet country waterway it seemed to me. There were innumerable Sunday strollers and their dogs about and the fishermen were sprinkled on the banks engaged in hopeful nonsense. I never saw anyone catch anything today.
Our path followed the north bank along reedy, overgrown paths that kept close to the river. There were nice wildflowers along the margins of the water and enough shade trees to keep us relatively comfortable. Toby, however, had difficulty finding access to the river; whenever there was an open space permitting a descent he lapped at every pool, including some rather brackish backwaters. He seemed to do all right on this liquid diet.
After an hour or so of this progress we began to see the rooftops of Sonning across the water. This was just as well because Tosh was bugging me about how far away our pub might be. In fact I wasn’t quite sure, although the guidebook did promise refreshment in Sonning. We crossed a footbridge, from which local youths were diving. In a giant willow more boys were stationed nearby; it seemed to be a scene from A Separate Peace. At the end of the footbridge we reached tarmac and used it to cross over Sonning bridge and into the village. I recognized a number of corners here, having visited the Levys so often in 1973 – but the drought again cast a pall over much of the scene.
We tried a restaurant but they weren’t serving outside and were too posh for our party anyway. We were directed, however, up through the churchyard, to the Bull. Here I found a shady table and we had pints and a nice buffet lunch. Tosh and Gavan were getting along quite well, although I think they both started with doubts about one another. Toby had some biscuits and some water from the yellow cap of my canteen. I took so long finishing my pint and daubing myself in suntan cream that Tosh went in and got a second drink, an orange and soda. It hadn’t been too pleasant eating in the parking lot.
We left at about 1:30 and got as far as the churchyard before Tosh remembered she had left her pack behind. Then she used another path to rejoin us but Harold had meanwhile gone off in search of her. When we were all together at last we returned to the warm sun at the riverside and headed west, enjoying the shade of trees on occasion, but losing this cover the closer we got to Reading. After forty minutes or so Tosh paused to put on her shorts and the rest of us found a tree to hide under next to a pool where Toby chased a few sticks.
From this time on we edged forward slowly, moving from one shady spot to the next. Near the Caversham Lock we rested beneath trees in parklike surroundings – Tosh speculating on the nearness of ice cream. At the lock itself we found a kiosk on the other side of the lock bridge and made our purchases. I reminded everyone that we needed to re-cross the bridge quickly or get trapped on the wrong side. This we did, licking and sucking our way west, passing under the Reading Bridge and continuing in a very urban setting toward the Caversham Bridge. There was a pub here, but at 3:30, it was just closing.
Tosh wanted a second ice cream so the Lees and Gavan waited in line at a kiosk opposite a funfair. I had just a sip from one of Gavan’s Cokes as a drunken Irishman tried to figure out what the lion on the Trinity College t-shirt symbolized. We tried to find a little shade near the riverside for our rest, ending up next to a family of picnickers – including a naked little blonde boy with the face of a troll who petted the docile dog several times.
It was suggested that we could find a better place to rest than this so we started forward again. In fact I could see that we could not make the 4:10 from Tilehurst and there was no need to rush. We could have gone into Reading but this would have made too long a Thames Path stretch for next time and when I told Tosh that she could return from here but I was going on, she insisted on accompanying the rest of the party. We therefore walked between shady patches in the grass of the riverside parkland until it came to an end – and here we plopped down for our last rest.
We were here longer than I had planned because, in fact, I fell asleep on my back. The Lees did too but they were awakened by the horn of a passing ship while I dozed on. Gavan inherited the attentions of the dog during all of this. Finally the Lees began to grumble about moving on and I woke up. Soon we had left Reading and its crowds and litter behind us.
The Thames takes a turn back to the north at this point and the scenery was lovely. There was sufficient shade at last and the temperature seemed to go no higher than the low 80′s mark it had reached at noon. Eventually the railroad embankment joined us on the left and I began looking for an escape up it to the Tilehurst Station. The guidebook suggests that the gate to the station is usually locked but Tosh announced we were going to climb the gate.
I found the turnoff point, near some picnic tables, but a sturdy fence discouraged us from climbing up the embankment to the locked gate. So we had to continue to the north, following the advice of two boys on bicycles, well past the station, and up to the turnoff to the Roebuck Inn. I was seriously worried about missing the 5:10 now, but I urged Tosh and Gavan, who were in front, to climb up to the road, turn left, and, without breaking stride, continue south to the station.
This they did, often disappearing from my view as I trotted on with the dog while a tired Harold brought up the rear. I became so dehydrated that I had to pull the canteen from its perch in the back pocket of the red knapsack. We pulled abreast the station at last, went down to the nearest platform, climbed the steps to the bridge over the tracks, and descended onto the far platform. They had a digital clock here. The train was due at 5:10 and it was 5:08:40. In fact the train was about a minute late but this had been a very close shave indeed.
We had only one stop to Reading, where this train terminated. Gavan had time to get us Cokes (somewhat cooler than the ones that had given several of us food poisoning at Wembley a week earlier). Then we hopped aboard a fast train for Paddington, with the Lees leaving us at Slough. Tosh wished Gavan well at college, which he would begin in a few weeks. She was beginning a year’s sabbatical and would soon be off to Canada for a month.
Toby had a lot of time finding a comfortable place on the floor for a rest. He also tried my lap, giving the final touches of filth to my shorts and t-shirt. We were back at Paddington at 6:05 and I said goodbye to Gavan. Everyone had acquired a nice tan on today’s nine-mile jaunt.
The next day of our walk was a London section: