Chapter 10
Tuesday 27th Sep 2011
A fresh start at Reading it seems an interesting Town that could do with some more investigating but I wish to move onwards as I am staring my actual walking later each day. This is due to length of time the bus and trains take to my start position each new walk day. First of I need for my small camera some batteries. I bought a pack of six batteries from a pound shop, for guess how much? Yes! You guessed right £1.00 I did not believe they actually men’t every item pack was only a pound. I shall never cease to be amazed with this world.
Talking of amazement a young lady on the Hammersmith and circle line, if not amazed me, at least entertained me and others. She was happily listening to her i-pod rocking to the music as she sat bopping and moving in her seat, then when she stood up for her stop, she was all but dancing doing a couple of steps, then standing still, then swaying, then a few more dance moves as she awaited the train to stop and doors to open. When she left the carriage a couple of us smiled at each other, I said, “Well some one was enjoying their train journey” one man with a big grin agreed, then carried on reading his paper. Some time observing is far better than reading.
After securing my batteries, I wondered of to find the flowing waters of the Thames, it did not take long, basically follow the signs to it, that normally works.
The Reading Rock festival has long been and gone so I walk to the sound of my own internal drum. I walk down "Thames Avenue" [not the first on this journey] and there he lies, flowing in his undeterred way, as I walk against him. I keep wanting to say her but it is after all “Old Father Thames” is it not? So it is a he! not a her, sorted!
Talking of rocks, myself and Anne, my sweet lady, have not long retuned from camping in Dorset, along the Jurassic coastline, absolutely beautiful. We also went to Avebury in Wiltshire, a lovely small village. It is famous for its Stones Circles, the oldest known in the world, far older than Stonehenge and as far as I am concerned more impressive. You must go there it has a strangeness about, it and is on a Ley-Line apparently the most famous in the world which spans from the tip of Cornwall to the Norfolk and Suffolk boarder, crossing the Thames just below Oxford, I shall have to find out where exactly! If I can that is. It is strange how later on in my walk when I arrive at Swindon I am not far from this magnificent Stone Circle but did not realise at this point and have added this fact in the future 5th Nov 2013.
For those of you who may not have heard of Ley-lines they are energy spots or lines, quite often, important places are built on them. Be-they stone circles, churches, castles or large Abby’s. People who are susceptible or in tune with earthly vibes and energies, can feel great strengths or power at such places.
It doesn’t take too long to leave Reading suburbs behind and I am out into farmland and the countryside again. Now my holidays are over with we have hit a wonderful spread of hot weather. Today being no exception late September is hotter than our high summer. For almost half way of my walk today the Thames path makes a big loop away from the river, due to private ownership I guess. I can decide to go to Tilehurst Station, which I am near or keep going to Pangbourne Station. Even though it is very hot I decide to keep going.
The arrows direct the way through some pretty ugly and uninspiring urban sprawl. I trudge past small housing estates that’s only saving grace is they are not far from the Thames. I photograph a sign that reads “Welcome to West Berkshire.” hum! There has been no shade on this concrete jungle, which takes about forty-five minutes, I am pleased to be returned to the cool waterside not far from Mapledurham lock.
I walk with the river on my right and a long embankment wall on my left, which the Oxford to Paddington trains runs on. This wall affords me plenty of much desired shade. Also the wall is a canvas for an artist who has painted on the wall one of my favourite murals the C.N.D. symbol. Tucked away here I wonder perhaps was it a practise run by the spray painters, or just to use up the last of their paint, then again before the trees grew so thick it was probably viewable from the river.
I reach Pangbourne Station, knackered, hotfooted ready, for a sit down. On the other platform opposite are three, can you believe this, three, train spotters, two of them youngsters about sixteen to twenty years old and an elder chap in his late fifties, as I would guess. They are absorbed in their timetable books and showing each other, with their good quality digital cameras, previously snapped shots of fast moving trains. It seems the freight engine is the most sort after photos and logging of numbers. They get all excited when one streams past rattling, at a fair old speed, pulling at least fifty wagons, off it flashes bye, off gone into the distance. Okay I can understand and appreciate the engineering of a steam train but the ugliness of a diesel baffles me, let alone the waiting around for goodness knows how long to see it flash past!!
No there is know doubt, they are amongst the fisherpersons list of the un understandable, which may be a double negative!! Now they are also a curious bunch the user's of double negative lot.
Monday the 3rd October, weather still great, autumn at its best leaves crisping up, the trees wearing a new mantle of colour, sun still bright, wind strong but coming from warm lands so is very pleasant. I leave the train at Pangbourne, the train spotters had eventually gone.
This is where in the novel"Three Men in a Boat"the tale ends, at the Swan P/H and also where Wind in the Willows started. For Kenneth Grahame lived both in Cookham and in Pangbourne, in Church cottage for part of that time. This was after he retired from being the secretary of the Bank of England. You can understand where he was inspired for his story of Ratty, Mole, Badger and the incorrigible Mr Toad, for the River between both villages is a delight. Where the banking comes into it not sure! then again the pompousness by certain characters was probably from that world. Wind in the Willows and further tales of Toad are books to be read by young and old alike.
This leg of my journey, kicks off by crossing the Thames into the village of Whitchurch, vehicles or at least their owners have to pay a toll for the privilege of using the bridge. It is a delightful village of thatched cottages. The arrows for the Thames pathway take you ever upwards and away from the Thames but be not afraid, for it will be all worth it, I am still in loverly countryside. Leaving the village behind, turn left until a few hundred yards you turn left again onto Hartstock bridle way. It is a metalled road that seems to stretch forever and you feel “Am I on the right way, did I miss a directional arrow?” The road is tree lined with occasional home or farms with horses grazing, to brake the monotony, a good word for scrabble, although ixia is even better, its a South African plant of the iris family "hum" maybe thats a name so not aloud! okay try xebec a small mediterranean sailing ship also known as a zebec that should get you some points!
Just before you reach a forest high up, you have to stumble down a steep slope into a valley then back up the other side. Someone had recently thoughtlessly spread loose chalk type gravel on the down side which had got wet and slippery, thus encouraging, with the help of gravity, for me to slide ungainly down. I grabbing for barbed wire topped fence post to stop myself skiing face down to the bottom, just missed impaling myself. "Do some thing dangerous every day,” is prerequisite to living so some say!!
Still it’s worth every curse, as at the top of the next rise you enter a forest on the hillside of the Chiltern Hills, which in brakes in the tree line offers you outstanding views across the valley and down to the River below. The footpath clings to the edge of the hill, within the forest, gradually slopping down to the rivers edge while running parallel with the water. Of course this is where my small camera decides to pack up on me, yes a few more superlatives pass my gritted teeth. I shall carry my cannon camera, from now on no matter what the weight.
The river along with its canal boats or occasional cruiser floats lazily past heading east as I walk west into the Goring gap. At Goring Lock I cross the river yet again. I am now heading towards Wallingford I believe I can make it today, if not can always get the train at Cholsey. After many sheep filled pastures where you play “Dodge The Pooh Piles” which is nothing like playing “Pooh Sticks” [doesn’t it just though]
I have taken to soaking my feet in the refreshingly cool water [sod the fish I’m sure they can survive the smell] it is a treat to stand wiggling your toes as the steam rises “Ahhh” is the only real phase that comes to mind. I stride, newly refreshed, across Cholsey nature reserve out onto the road, past a very tempting pub on the rivers edge called “The Beetle and Wedge” for those who have the money a great place to stay overnight, but not for me.
Again you are drawn away from the river, this time the peace of riverside walking has gone for a mile or so, as the directions take you beside a busy A. road, until you reach a decision, making crossroads. To the right back to the Thames and onto Wallingford or left to Cholsey station. Realising Wallingford shows no railway let alone a station, wisdom and weary feet send me towards Cholsey. Incidentally where Agatha Christie is buried in St. Mary’s Church yet another capable writer bites the dust along the Thames.
 |
| part of stone circle at Avebury amazing site |
For those of you who may not have heard of Ley-lines they are energy spots or lines, quite often, important places are built on them. Be-they stone circles, churches, castles or large Abby’s. People who are susceptible or in tune with earthly vibes and energies, can feel great strengths or power at such places.
It doesn’t take too long to leave Reading suburbs behind and I am out into farmland and the countryside again. Now my holidays are over with we have hit a wonderful spread of hot weather. Today being no exception late September is hotter than our high summer. For almost half way of my walk today the Thames path makes a big loop away from the river, due to private ownership I guess. I can decide to go to Tilehurst Station, which I am near or keep going to Pangbourne Station. Even though it is very hot I decide to keep going.
The arrows direct the way through some pretty ugly and uninspiring urban sprawl. I trudge past small housing estates that’s only saving grace is they are not far from the Thames. I photograph a sign that reads “Welcome to West Berkshire.” hum! There has been no shade on this concrete jungle, which takes about forty-five minutes, I am pleased to be returned to the cool waterside not far from Mapledurham lock.
I walk with the river on my right and a long embankment wall on my left, which the Oxford to Paddington trains runs on. This wall affords me plenty of much desired shade. Also the wall is a canvas for an artist who has painted on the wall one of my favourite murals the C.N.D. symbol. Tucked away here I wonder perhaps was it a practise run by the spray painters, or just to use up the last of their paint, then again before the trees grew so thick it was probably viewable from the river.
 |
| one of the many delightful tunnels of trees on my walks. |
I reach Pangbourne Station, knackered, hotfooted ready, for a sit down. On the other platform opposite are three, can you believe this, three, train spotters, two of them youngsters about sixteen to twenty years old and an elder chap in his late fifties, as I would guess. They are absorbed in their timetable books and showing each other, with their good quality digital cameras, previously snapped shots of fast moving trains. It seems the freight engine is the most sort after photos and logging of numbers. They get all excited when one streams past rattling, at a fair old speed, pulling at least fifty wagons, off it flashes bye, off gone into the distance. Okay I can understand and appreciate the engineering of a steam train but the ugliness of a diesel baffles me, let alone the waiting around for goodness knows how long to see it flash past!!
No there is know doubt, they are amongst the fisherpersons list of the un understandable, which may be a double negative!! Now they are also a curious bunch the user's of double negative lot.
Monday the 3rd October, weather still great, autumn at its best leaves crisping up, the trees wearing a new mantle of colour, sun still bright, wind strong but coming from warm lands so is very pleasant. I leave the train at Pangbourne, the train spotters had eventually gone.
This is where in the novel"Three Men in a Boat"the tale ends, at the Swan P/H and also where Wind in the Willows started. For Kenneth Grahame lived both in Cookham and in Pangbourne, in Church cottage for part of that time. This was after he retired from being the secretary of the Bank of England. You can understand where he was inspired for his story of Ratty, Mole, Badger and the incorrigible Mr Toad, for the River between both villages is a delight. Where the banking comes into it not sure! then again the pompousness by certain characters was probably from that world. Wind in the Willows and further tales of Toad are books to be read by young and old alike.
This leg of my journey, kicks off by crossing the Thames into the village of Whitchurch, vehicles or at least their owners have to pay a toll for the privilege of using the bridge. It is a delightful village of thatched cottages. The arrows for the Thames pathway take you ever upwards and away from the Thames but be not afraid, for it will be all worth it, I am still in loverly countryside. Leaving the village behind, turn left until a few hundred yards you turn left again onto Hartstock bridle way. It is a metalled road that seems to stretch forever and you feel “Am I on the right way, did I miss a directional arrow?” The road is tree lined with occasional home or farms with horses grazing, to brake the monotony, a good word for scrabble, although ixia is even better, its a South African plant of the iris family "hum" maybe thats a name so not aloud! okay try xebec a small mediterranean sailing ship also known as a zebec that should get you some points!
Just before you reach a forest high up, you have to stumble down a steep slope into a valley then back up the other side. Someone had recently thoughtlessly spread loose chalk type gravel on the down side which had got wet and slippery, thus encouraging, with the help of gravity, for me to slide ungainly down. I grabbing for barbed wire topped fence post to stop myself skiing face down to the bottom, just missed impaling myself. "Do some thing dangerous every day,” is prerequisite to living so some say!!
Still it’s worth every curse, as at the top of the next rise you enter a forest on the hillside of the Chiltern Hills, which in brakes in the tree line offers you outstanding views across the valley and down to the River below. The footpath clings to the edge of the hill, within the forest, gradually slopping down to the rivers edge while running parallel with the water. Of course this is where my small camera decides to pack up on me, yes a few more superlatives pass my gritted teeth. I shall carry my cannon camera, from now on no matter what the weight.
The river along with its canal boats or occasional cruiser floats lazily past heading east as I walk west into the Goring gap. At Goring Lock I cross the river yet again. I am now heading towards Wallingford I believe I can make it today, if not can always get the train at Cholsey. After many sheep filled pastures where you play “Dodge The Pooh Piles” which is nothing like playing “Pooh Sticks” [doesn’t it just though]
I have taken to soaking my feet in the refreshingly cool water [sod the fish I’m sure they can survive the smell] it is a treat to stand wiggling your toes as the steam rises “Ahhh” is the only real phase that comes to mind. I stride, newly refreshed, across Cholsey nature reserve out onto the road, past a very tempting pub on the rivers edge called “The Beetle and Wedge” for those who have the money a great place to stay overnight, but not for me.
Again you are drawn away from the river, this time the peace of riverside walking has gone for a mile or so, as the directions take you beside a busy A. road, until you reach a decision, making crossroads. To the right back to the Thames and onto Wallingford or left to Cholsey station. Realising Wallingford shows no railway let alone a station, wisdom and weary feet send me towards Cholsey. Incidentally where Agatha Christie is buried in St. Mary’s Church yet another capable writer bites the dust along the Thames.
Another day.
Paddington to Cholsey Monday 10/10/2011 did you realise next month there is a 11/11/11 day or be-time you read this, the other month, last year, there was a day that was 11/11/11.
Paddington to Cholsey Monday 10/10/2011 did you realise next month there is a 11/11/11 day or be-time you read this, the other month, last year, there was a day that was 11/11/11.
No blue-sky day today grey as ever, yet surprisingly warm with a torrid wind that bashes myself and the treetops, the dry leaves are making it sound like waves crashing on a beach as I battle with my flapping jacket. Which boringly reminds me of the story of the Wind and the Sun if you have time. I have retold myself this story umpteen times on my walks so now it is your turn, which may release it from my meandering mind, it goes like this.
The Sun and The Wind do Battle.
The Sun was shining blazingly down, when the proud wind from the West, popped up with, “Hi sun, how are you today?’
The Sun replied “Very well thank you just doing what I do best.”
“Oh I see well I do everything best, better than anyone or anything else.” added the West Wind.
Now Sun had heard all the posturing, buffoonery and plain exaggerating, from wind many times before, but for some reason Sun had had enough of it today.
“So are you really all you crack yourself up to be? Are you as strong and fierce as you say you are?” enquired Sun.
“Bu Bu but of course I am, why even stronger than you Sun.” Wind scornfully returned
“The I guess a little wager to prove it would not be amiss,” asked Sun nonchalantly.
“Anything, anyyyything, I am up for it” retorted Wind
“Okay then, let me see, ah yes, there is a man walking alone down there, not far from Old Father Thames, can you see him?” asked Sun.
“Yes I have him in my eye of the storm.” said Wind.
“Then our wager is to see which of us, with out harming him, who can force off his jacket?” informed Sun to Wind.
“Pah, too damned easy, but as you say, so shall I do,” said a blustering Wind “It’ll take seconds with a puny humane.”
The Wind began to blow, flapping the coat this way and that. The man grabbed at its edges holding tight about his body, wind blew harder but the coat stayed on the man. Wind gathered in his three brothers from the North the South and the East they joined forces. Cold north wind leading, but the man buttoned up his coat as the cold hit. The turbulent south wind, that had gathered the mistral winds from France on his way over, pounded the man. But still the jacket stayed on. The East wind from Kurdistan joined in, together all four harried, buffeted, gusted, tore at and generally harassed the poor man, but still his coat stayed on his body, although his hair flew in all directions. As he swayed along he leant into the fierce winds wondering, “Where the hell did they come from.” Then at one point the four winds blew from their direction making the man unable to walk any which way, but to stand stock still.
At last the Sun said “Enough, enough I think you have given your best, without actually blowing the man inside out.”
The winds ceased there howling and blowing and retired into the air buffeting and blaming each other. Meanwhile Sun said “I guess it’s my turn now.” So he just sat in the sky and beamed down his rays gently warming the man until he began to perspire, the man thought, “Few eh its hot now, what ever next?” Then slipped of his coat flinging it over his shoulder and continuing on his journey.
Sun smiled at Wind, Wind grimaced then all four fled to a cave, high up somewhere, in a South American Andes mountain. Where they argued for a month before carrying on with their duties as before, but a lot less boastful this time. In the meantime Sun shone, man walked on.
The End
Moral of the story, know your origins, know your strengths, but let others choose to raise your profile, if they so desire, not you. Or maybe just don’t be fooled into a bet no matter how proud you feel about yourself. Or don’t go reading anything into anything its only a story.
 |
| A man I met along the way "no socks with sandals" is all he would say. |
I had got off to a late start from home today, it was one o-lock before I headed up Papist Way away from the station and thinking of lunch I walked until 2 p.m. found a good tree to lean against, sat on my versatile black rubbish sack and ate one of my ever-faithful cheese salad sandwiches, while I watched the river flow green and clear. The river permeates your mind running free, Question, which is the River ? the water or channel it runs through?
I think about it's travels, since the ice age had departed, and the years it has flowed. Thousands upon thousands of gallons of water have passed along this vale, the fish that have swam, the humans that survived because of it. Then I thought of the enemies who floated up it, to cause devastation to villages and hamlets.
There are many concrete Pill Box sentinels dotted here and there, which still stand guarding against invaders, be they Saxon, Roman or who ever might try it on again, but mainly they are used as toilets or for the occasional rough sleeper as a home.
Hateful tactics are different now, we taught them well, we gave them anger, poverty, miss-trust we took there oil and lands and now they just choose a train carriage that is full or bus packed with normal people, add a little explosive! Well enough said on a lovely autumn day.
Walingford does not take long to reach it is a very ancient town back to Saxon times at the very least. The pathway leads you through the very pretty town square, you may wish to linger have coffee visit the museum, but I wish to press on to Dorchester, that is my end goal for today. Just on the outskirts of the town, on reaching river side again, are a couple of benches as per normal dedicated to a person or a couple that shared this spot or strolled here about. I always thank them for having been and therefore offering me a seat. As I sit to finish another sandwich, I spot riding across the stone bridge two horse and carriage or stagecoaches, there have four horses to each, pulling the coach and at least six men purchased on top. The drivers are in full livery. I manage to snap off a few photos before they pass. It did indeed look like a scene from the past, apart from one yellow high vis waistcoat on one man. I am sorry I never did find what it was in aid of, I just enjoyed the spectacle.
At Benson Lock you are directed back across the river where again you leave the rivers edge, strolling along the road I almost miss the arrow back across a field to a lovely path towards Dorchester. I come across a very nice young lady on her narrow boat hanging out her washing, she has two delightful little children with the longest, blondest, curliest hair, I have seen. Their hair is gossamer like and made more so by the constant wind tossing it about. I stop and chat with them. This is their home, until they move on somewhere else, we both wish each other a grand life, the children with dandelion hair, wave goodbye. I know as soon as I turn my back they will enter back into being fairies, then off on some adventure to save children-kind from some evil, or just to collect teeth who knows.
I would love to have taken photos of them all but it would have felt intrusive, my daughter has found the knack, as both a professional photographer and a women, to do this with out being intrusive, yet catching a most wonderful insight of her subjects be they friends or strangers. I am more at home with views.
Further down the path I stop to talk to three women who I guessed were also walking the whole path, they are using the same system as me, they tell me of another two ladies not far behind them doing the same, we wish each other well and move on. Just before heading into the beautiful town of Dorchester I meet the other two ladies, again we chat about pathway walking then like river barges passing in the night we move on.
When I return to carry on I will spend some time in Dorchester they have a fine old abbey and cathedral, as well numerous pubs and again those so English thatched cottages of beauty and style. But for now it is to stand on the car thundering by-pass, to catch a bus back to Reading, which takes an hour even before I start my train journey, life is like this, "go with the flow" as the River will say.
Please see page 5 to continue walk with me, when it is posted that is which will be soon, very soon, you must be tired by now, go to sleep!
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