September 29, 1990: Tilehurst to Cholsey
The Thames from Hartslock Wood
Four weeks later I returned to Thames walking – but this time upstream again. Gavan, some three weeks into his first semester at Harvard, was obviously unavailable as a walking companion and Dorothy had to work. So Toby and I started out from Maida Vale alone on the morning of Saturday, September 29. It was a grey day, but I expected no rain until the late afternoon – and temperatures were supposed to rise to the mid-seventies.
Before long we were in Paddington station. There wasn’t much of a line but Toby squeaked noisily over the presence of another dog in the booking hall and I was glad to return to the main concourse. I had been planning to take a fast 9:00 train to Reading but I noticed that there was an 8:47 bound for Fishguard that would do the job just as well. We leapt aboard and soon the countryside was whizzing by us. What an improvement over the local to Twyford we had used last time.
At about 9:20 we were wandering around Reading Station. I stopped to buy a coffee and a chocolate breakfast roll. These I consumed on the Banbury platform while Tosh and Harold, who were waiting for us here, held the dog. I was surprised to see that it was drizzling but it looked about to brighten up as we boarded our local to Tilehurst, only one stop away.
When we got off the train Tosh went in search of a loo and I put my rain jacket on, having lost confidence in the weatherman altogether. When she came back we proceeded up a road that paralleled the rail line, passing the Roebuck pub and eventually turning off into a new suburban estate on the outskirts of Purley. I had to use the new Rambler’s Association guide, which I had in my map case, to navigate through the streets of this subdivision; a bit of the wording was ambiguous and a man walking an Airedale stopped us as we were about to make the wrong turn onto Hazel Road – reminding us that the way to the river, the future route of the national trail, was still blocked.
We had to continue on for a few more blocks, at last turning back to the river after using an overpass to cross the rail line. We then took a little lane than lead us to a weir-side field at Mapledurham Lock; Toby was allowed to run free here while I took a picture or two. The mist continued to descend as we re-hooked the dog and approached the kiosk of the lock keeper – who waved. I used the loo, amid complaints from you know who that only the gents had been provided for. There then followed a long curving stretch of towpath in very lovely surroundings.
There was much interesting bird life about today: mallards, coots, swans, and several magnificent herons. Toby chased a small group of ducks into the water, submerging himself to the armpits in the process. He was having a splendid time rushing about on this day, sorely in need of a good run. At the same time he was very obedient, waiting for me when I called, returning when I whistled. He barked at none of the horses and cows that often stood in the fields we had to cross.
I was doing most of the school gossiping on this day, since Tosh was on sabbatical. But she had just returned from a month in Canada and had several interesting tales to tell about what she had seen. All this time a light rain was falling – it had been a long time since a day walk had turned out this way. It was not even warm, as predicted. Harold and I had our rain pants on but Tosh had forgotten hers and frequently complained about being chilly.
We left the towpath at Pangbourne but instead of visiting this lovely village we turned to the right to cross a toll bridge into Whitchurch, also an attractive place. Pedestrians are not required to pay a toll so we turned off along the mill stream and continued on to the church. It was too dark to take a decent picture here. Around the corner was the Greyhound pub; I had convinced myself that a pub named after a dog would be certain to discriminate against these fellows, but dogs were quite welcome – on lead. This was just as well because we were longing for some escape from the rain.
We had lagers (well, Tosh usually drinks a bitter shandy) and ordered some hot food, steak and kidney pie and lasagna. Toby had some bread and some biscuits. He remained quietly below the table while we spread out our wet things on adjacent chairs. The proprietor was, according to Harold, ex-military. Tosh made him exchange her tepid cup of coffee with a hot replacement. Several of the locals came in and we conferred with one chap on the likelihood of still finding pubs open in Goring. It was still early; we must have reached Whitchurch at 11:30 or thereabouts.
Everybody used the loos and I took a picture of the Lees and Toby in front of the pub. Then we headed up the street, with one narrow passage in which we had to dodge the traffic, and turned off onto a lane that we followed northwards for almost a mile; this was a puzzling stretch because there was a tarmaced road paralleling our route just a few yards to our left, over a private fence.
Eventually we left the track for a thin path that wound up and down over several Chiltern combes, a very lovely stretch with its real contours, its views of the river off to our left, its fall colors. The weather was improving too, and we were drying off a bit. When I stopped to take a picture Harold opened up his digestive biscuits and Toby snapped up two that fell onto the ground. There were some huge horses in an adjacent field and I hooked the dog as we neared them – but Toby paid no attention.
After we had cleared Hartslock Wood the route returned to the riverside, now heavily populated with anglers. There was only one more inland diversion here, but we walked a little too far toward Gatehampton, a mistake I noted when I looked into the guidebook again, and we had to return about sixty yards to a gap in the fence – where a path lead down across a footbridge to the riverside again.
The towpath was very crowded with fisherfolk and trippers (and one chap asleep in his sleeping bag on the trail) as we reached the posh stretches near Goring; we were able to walk into this village about 2:40. The Miller of Mansfield was open and the barman said he quite liked dogs. We each had a half, some cheese cake, and another cup of coffee. This pub hadn’t been open when I had last come through Goring in 1981 – at the end of a stretch on the Ridgeway.
I had hopes of making the 4:53 from Cholsey so we didn’t dawdle too much, leaving the grannies in their walking frames and the alimony-wounded husbands behind us at 3:10. We had to walk across the bridge to Streatly, with its wonderful view of the weir, and turn into the church lane where a wedding was just concluding. The bride (no, not all brides are beautiful) was pushing people into the right spot for the photographer. Perhaps she wanted to avoid the next shower for the weather was certainly turning darker again.
We returned to the towpath and pressed on past Cleeve Lock. There were fewer people about now but we were startled to see a dummy on the porch roof of a pub in South Stoke across the river. At least we assume it was a dummy; it didn’t answer our waves. Tosh began to complain about a full bladder again and disappeared bend some bushes. I too took advantage of the last of the riverside woodland and managed to pee all over my rain pants.
We left the river at the Beetle and Wedge. I posed Harold in front of a riverboat tied up here because this marked his 900th mile. We had to walk up Ferry Lane, passing a little girl who was crying her eyes out while two adults clucked – reaching the A329 and heading north. Fortunately there was a sidewalk for us to use. We made good time but I still had my doubts about the 4:53. Tosh and I had just stuffed our pockets with chestnuts when she spotted, just over the railtracks, a short cut to the station that brought an end to our road walking.
I had to pause once to put my rain jacket on during this uphill hike (and yet the sun was out too; we actually saw our shadows). Every other minute I asked someone for the time (my watch was buried in my other pocket) and soon I could tell that we would make it on time. We climbed onto the platform of Cholsey Station at 4:50. I’m glad we didn’t have to wait long because it was windy and cold.
The ride back to Reading took about 25 minutes. I said goodbye to the Lees on the platform and hopped aboard another fast train to Paddington. Toby sat in my lap, perhaps to keep warm, for the entire journey. We got home about 6:00, walking through the park at the end of a successful twelve-mile day.
To continue with the next stage of our walk, again a London section, you need:
Day 10: Tower Bridge to Putney
To continue from Cholsey you need: