September 1, 1990: Charlton to Tower Bridge
The famous Thames Barrier
On Saturday, September 1, I met Gavan again – this time at the top of the escalator in Waterloo Station. We were about to enjoy our final walk together for some time, for Gavan would leave for Harvard the following Thursday. Toby, recovering from the vicious attentions of a Rottweiler, remained at home with Dorothy. Tosh was by now in Canada.
Gavan was a few minutes late, at 12:05, because he had absent-mindedly gotten off the Northern Line at Embankment. He then had to get some money from a cash dispenser. We walked over to Waterloo East and bought tickets from a machine for Charlton. (We did all this because Charing Cross was undergoing repairs.) We had only about ten minutes to wait for a train that, in spite of many stops, took us to our destination in twenty minutes. We were thus able to head for the Thames at about 12:40. It was a late start but today’s walk would be an easy nine miles. I was, in fact, starting the Thames Walk for a second time for, since my original departure from Putney in 1988, the Countryside Commission had announced its intention to begin a national trail at the Thames Barrier and the Ramblers Association had come up with a new edition of their guide book with two more London days of walking included.
We dodged lorries and yellow taxis as we made our way along Anchor & Hope Lane to the riverside. The riverfront had been paved in brick and there was a splendid esplanade leading up to the barrier buildings, where we paused for some snapshots and slides. The silver bullets of the barrier were very impressive and there were a number of trippers taking in the panorama.
Then we retraced our steps up the esplanade, forsaking it for some road walking in an ugly industrial site. The route today would be a mixture or sordid decay and building rubble on the one hand and posh yuppie frontage on the other and we were now walking along a stretch that looked like it would be suitable for scenes from some sinister Bob Hoskins flick. The walkway seemed to have been ransacked by someone who needed a lot of red bricks. It petered out altogether as we headed down an alley, pausing to sample some ripe brambles growing through a fence.
The alley lead us back to the river, where a chap asked us to help him get a rowboat over a low wall, where he had a waiting dolly. “I have to get it out of here,” he said, “because of the vandals.” After we had tugged it into place Gavan wondered, however, if we had just helped commit or prevent a crime. Another old gentleman, walking two dogs, was gazing sorrowfully at the thin ribbon of sand at the shoreline. “In the twenties, it all used to be sandy,” he complained.
We turned a corner at the Tideway Sailing Center and began a temporary inland stretch that took us past the Pilot Pub and then on some twisting dusty streets past a gasometer and a weighbridge and out to the A102. Gavan was full of complaints about the circuitous spiral ramp we had to take to get us across this busy road (with cars disappearing into the Blackwall Tunnel on our right) and about the awful industrial smells that issued from the factories and silos as we neared the river again; the fumes reminded me, however, of the El Segundo oil refinery smells of my California youth.
Gavan was spending a great deal of time talking about his recent visit to the Michigan music camp, Interlaken, and his reunion with campers he had known for years. I predicted that he would not take a job as a counselor there next year – simply because it didn’t pay enough. We also discussed plans for a walk on the West Highland Way at the end of next summer. I was hoping that in Gavan I would finally have a companion for challenging summer jaunts every year, a role that Jay had once fulfilled.
We reached the Cutty Sark pub at about 2:00 and had pints of Carlsberg and some food. I had chili and garlic bread, both excellent, and Gavan had a ploughman’s. We sat in the sun, facing the river; it was in the 70′s but there was a breeze and, in the middle stretches of our walk, there were lots of clouds about. Once or twice I though we might get a touch of rain, but this was not to be the case. We had a nice leisurely meal. Across from us a girl was wearing a UC Santa Cruz t-shirt with a yellow banana slug (the “team” nickname) attached.
We then continued toward Greenwich, passing the Trinity Hospital for retired gentlemen of this town, and coming up a road opposite one side of the Royal Naval College. Then we passed the impressive grounds of the College and reached the wonderful Cutty Sark itself. Tourists were swarming all over the ship, which I had never seen before.
Shortly after this crowded scene we turned left at a barge mural and entered into some more road walking, including an unpleasant stretch on the A200. A very sordid back alley called Stowage came next; we were so happy to escape its scrap yards that we overshot Deptford Green, where – behind us – we saw our next landmark, death’s head gateposts leading into the St. Nicholas churchyard.
We were beginning to encounter quite a bit of housing, much of it new, much of it council, and some of it – particularly facing the river – very posh indeed. Just before reaching the main road in Deptford the guidebook sent us into some public gardens, and then on to Pepys Park. I later noticed that somewhere in this vicinity I had reached my 1800th mile on British footpaths.
Leaving Pepys Park we wandered under some giant council tower blocks before heading back to the river on a lane called Foreshore. The name of this lane was, not for the only time today, readable only in chalk that someone had kindly added to the street corner brick. What a contrast when we reached the riverside again. We were now on the esplanade of the Dockland Heritage River Walk, a splendid frontage full of modern sculpture and chic condos. We had to turn away briefly from the river twice to cross the inlets at South Dock and Greenland Dock. Across the river the UK’s tallest building, the Canary Wharf tower, still surrounded by giant cranes, was nearing its apogee, while in the foreground we could see the Daily Telegraph buildings on the Isle of Dogs. A very impressive panorama – and all quite new for me.
We kept to the riverside terraces one posh apartment building too many and had to retrace our steps to go inland to the Ship & Whale pub. Here we had a choice of routes. Since the riverside route was incomplete and described by the guidebook as a “dusty, unhappy experience,” we decided – after a quarrel on how to set off – to follow the inland route via Russia Dock Woodland.
We climbed some steps to Finland Street and passed under a road to enter the woodland park. Here there was an interesting compass rose embedded in the pavement and pointing at all the ports formerly visited by local ships. Things were a bit dry in the park, it seemed to me, but after following the sign pointing toward Stave Hill we discovered a mini mound to surmount (the only uphill of the day) and on top there was a wonderful panorama in all directions.
We climbed down some steps, Gavan complaining that the chrome bannister was dirty, and walked along Dock Hill Avenue through another new development (sadly in need of more grass and less gravel) to Surrey Water. A red bridge put us back on Rotherhithe Street, the two routes now having become one again.
We passed a garden with some unusual rope sculptures, one of which someone had tried to untie. We were on an interesting back alley that had the Mayflower pub and a wedding party being photographed in front of the St Mary church. As we reached a riverside terrace, almost our last, I spotted a loo that a desperate Gavan, disappointed that all the local pubs had closed until 7:00, was grateful to use. We could now see our objective clearly, the wonderful Tower Bridge.
As we passed the Cherry Garden Pier we again walked past our turnoff and had to get around a party of local youths, sitting in front of their council houses, passing the time by pelting one another was handfuls of sand. Our route now took us away from the river through a fascinating district made up of narrow back alleys and old wharves and topped by tarted-up buildings housing fancy apartments, design and film studios, advertising agencies and, as we reached the river for the last time, the Design Museum; the paint was peeling off the walls of the latter.
Now we could head past the last of the posh apartment buildings and up to Tower Bridge. I recall that Gavan used these last few minutes of our walk to quiz me about love; when do you know you are in love, do you keep in touch with old flames, etc. We walked over the bridge, past the tower, and headed for Tower Bridge tube stop, which we reached shortly after 6:00. We rode together as far as Embankment, where we parted, after making plans for a farewell meal on Monday.
I had found this unusual day of footpath adventure (impossible without the guidebook) to be quite interesting, even worth doing again some time. I was home by 6:45.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:
To continue from Tower Bridge you need: