Rambling Man Walks the Thames Path

Rambling Man Walks the Thames Path

Andrew Bowden

Text and photographs ©2017 Andrew Paul Bowden

All rights reserved

The right of Andrew Bowden to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

Originally published in parts on the Rambling Man website (ramblingman.org.uk) between 2013 and 2017

First published as a book 2017

Published by Rambling Man

ramblingman.org.uk

You'll always get there in the end

Table of Contents

Introduction

Stage 1: Thames Barrier to Greenwich

Stage 2: Greenwich to London Bridge

Stage 3: London Bridge to Vauxhall

Stage 4: Vauxhall to Putney

Stage 5: Putney to Kew

Stage 6: Kew to Teddington

Stage 7: Teddington to Hampton Court

Stage 8: Hampton Court to Shepperton

Stage 9: Shepperton to Staines

Stage 10: Staines to Windsor

Stage 11: Windsor to Bourne End

Stage 12: Bourne End to Henley-on-Thames

Stage 13: Henley-on-Thames to Tilehurst

Stage 14: Tilehurst to Cholsey

Stage 15: Cholsey to Culham

Stage 16: Culham to Oxford

An evening in Oxford

Stage 17: Oxford to Newbridge

Stage 18: Newbridge to Lechlade

Stage 19: Lechlade to the Source

Epilogue

The Thames Path Extension

Planning a Thames Path Walk

About the author

Discover other books by Andrew Bowden

Introduction

They say having a baby changes your life. People come up to you and proudly tell you oh you know that thing you really love doing? Well you won't be able to do that anymore. Oh no. The baby will get in the way. Better just accept it. The child is all that matters. I used to like doing such and such a thing. Haven't done it once since my child arrived.

And you sit there, listening to their doom laden missive, feeling frankly miserable. Not necessarily because you believe them but because they're the fifth person to utter such remarks to you that day, and you're not entirely sure you can cope with such depressing talk.

Not everyone tells you such things. Instead, there are those who nod sagely, and tell you more reassuring things. Of course you can do the things you want to do, they say. You just have to approach it a little differently. It gets a bit more tricky, that's all.

A new parent listening to such things has to choose. Which route do you follow once that baby arrives?

The pessimistic take the former. They decide that their own life is essentially over; that their prime directive now is simply to look after the child and live entirely by its whims and wishes. They believe it to such an extent that some people pretty much give up on everything they once held dear. All their hopes, dreams, goals and ambitions are buried away, never to see the light once again.

The optimistic shun such an attitude. They know that times will have to be different, but where there is a will, there is most certainly a way. That having a child is not about giving up on your passions, but that you now have an additional person to share them with.

When Samuel was born on a cold autumn evening in 2012, there was no argument over which way we'd approach life.

The Thames Path isn't really like any other major official long distance walking route in the UK. In most cases a trail which features copious amounts of concrete and which spends a substantial amount of its time wandering around highly urbanised areas, would be considered a complete and utter failure. Most trails are rather phobic about such things. They know that the average walker tends to want to get away from things; to see a bit of countryside, to escape the grime and noise. Even trails which run through the densely packed South East of England, such as the North Downs Way or Ridgeway, do their uttermost to avoid large conurbations, preferring to pass through villages and hamlets instead.

On the other hand though, none of Britain's other official long distance walking routes follow the course of one of the country's most famous rivers. The River Thames is the longest river completely in England (the Severn is the longest in the UK but spends part of its time in Wales), and one which has had the biggest impact on the country. The waters of the Thames flow through the United Kingdom's capital; a city which probably would never have grown to the size it is now had it not been for the power it derived from being a major port. At one time the river was vital for trade; goods from around the world filled warehouses on its eastern banks, whilst its western section was a valuable trading route for transporting commodities to the capital from across the country.

In more recent years the railways and roads took over from water transport inside the UK, and containerisation – where commodities began to be transported around the world in large metal boxes that could be quickly unloaded from cargo ships by giant cranes – saw London's ports slowly close down. The old docks and harbours simply weren't suitable for the new way of shipping goods, and one by one they closed down with business moving out to new mega-ports out at the east. After centuries of use, the Thames began to fall slowly into decline.

But even in the late 19th century, thoughts were turning to giving the Thames a new role; recreation. The increasingly redundant tow paths could, it was suggested, be used for the purposes of leisure. It would take many years but finally in the 1970s the Ramblers Association and the relatively young River Thames Society persuaded the powers that be to commission a feasibility study on a new long distance walking route. It took some time, and 16 miles of new tow path route had to be built, but the Thames Path National Trail eventually opened fully in 1996.

And it's all there waiting for people to come and walk on it. And many people do. If the Thames Path isn't the most used National Trail in Britain, then I can't think what is. True, most of the people using it aren't doing the whole thing, but it's busy all the same. The section through the capital is regularly packed with tourists who take a stroll along the South Bank on a sunny day, and take in all the sights: Tower Bridge; the Tate; St Paul's; the Houses of Parliament. It's rare to walk along the banks of the Thames in London and not find a tourist eagerly having their photograph taken with an obliging police office at least somewhere.

Yet despite living in London for fourteen years, the Thames Path was a trail I'd barely touched. A few miles here, the odd stroll there. Every now and then I'd suggest walking the whole of the route to my partner Catherine; sometimes in jest, sometimes seriously. But we always came to the same conclusion. Why head out on the Thames Path when there were proper walks to do? Walks with hills and fine countryside. Walks with cute little villages with thatched cottages and hanging baskets, and a pub that serves a massive ploughmans served with lashings of pickled eggs. Not that the Thames Path doesn't have these things in some parts – especially as it makes its way to the source of the river – however you have to go through the urban jungle too.

But then something changed. Sam was born, our first child. And hill walking with a recently born baby isn't particularly the easiest thing to do. You can't push a pram up a Wainwright after all. The West Highland Way just isn't going to work if you've got a baby strapped to you in a Baby Bjorn. The Thames Path on the other hand, well that is pretty good for prams and buggies. Lots of nice flat pavements and riverside views.

So we poured over the maps and guidebooks and came up with our plan. We'd start off at the eastern end of the Thames Path, at the Thames Barrier, and walk to the source. For the London bits where there would be excellent paving, we'd push Sam down in his pram, and later his buggy. Then when we got to the more rural sections, where perhaps the grass would get in the way of the buggy wheels, we'd opt for some sort of back carrying device. Or whatever. We'd work it out when we got to that problem.

We'd start with the easy bit and get harder. We'd learn on the bits close to our home how best to walk with a small baby, and keep on learning as he got bigger and bigger and bigger.

We had a plan. A plan for a walk we'd be able to do together as a family. True, only being a few months old, Sam might not particularly remember this when he got older, but he'd be able to say he'd started his first National Trail before he could even walk. We were sure that when he grew up and learned about this, he'd be very proud.

Probably.

Stage 1: Thames Barrier to Greenwich

Thames Barrier, a white elephant, a former white elephant, crying baby and a brewery. Battenburg anyone?

In many ways, the Thames Barrier is a curious place for the eastern end of the Thames Path National Trail. It makes no real sense. The western end is obvious, being at the source of the river as it makes its 215 mile journey from the Cotswolds towards the sea, but ending the trail at the Thames Barrier, well that is less so. The River Thames itself still has another thirty miles to go until it reaches the estuary at Canvey Island. So why does the Thames Path National Trail start, or end, at the Barrier?

Every now and then there's talk of extending the Thames Path all the way to the estuary; of connecting up a myriad of existing rights of ways down the river and allowing the walker to connect source and sea together. Indeed, there's already an official yet unofficial 13 mile extension from the barrier down through Woolwich and on to Crayford Ness. It's official in that it appears on signposts named as the Thames Path, but unofficial in that it's not formally part of the National Trail itself, and has its own logo of a Thames Barge rather than the standard acorn.

But for now the idea of extending the route all the way to the sea is just that: an idea. The official trailhead stands firmly at the Thames Barrier, and that's not changing anytime soon. On the other hand, the Thames Barrier is perhaps one of the most majestic structures on the Thames, and is certainly a sight to behold. With its row of piers, each topped with a large metallic shell shaped construction which gleams and glistens in the sun, the Thames Barrier looks like something out of the future. The addition on each of the nine piers of a bright yellow crane-like contraption, adds to the whole mystique, making the whole caboodle look almost unreal.

Spanning the third of a mile width of the Thames and completed in 1982 after eight years of building work, the barrier is the second largest movable flood barrier in the world. Only the Oosterscheldekering barrier in the Netherlands beats it, with the movable section of that barrier coming in at two and a half miles long.

Naturally this all means that behind the Thames Barrier's shiny façade is some serious power; the power required to hold back huge amounts of water. Yet, standing on the banks of the Thames looking out at it, that power is mostly hidden. The barrier gates spend most of their time resting on the bed of the Thames, only coming into view when circumstances, or routine maintenance, requires them to be raised.

Whilst an individual gate can be brought up to the closed position in around fifteen minutes, it's not actually possible to close the whole thing so quickly; to do so would risk a massive tidal wave hitting the capital which, for some reason, those in charge don't think is a particularly good idea. In fact it takes many hours before the gates can be raised safely. Shutting the gates is a slow process with many steps. Shipping needs to be alerted and secondary defences along the river activated first; the Barking Barrier, the Dartford Barrier and the Tilbury Dock Gates to name just a few. Only once every step on the ticklist has been checked off can the barrier be safely closed.

When all is said and done, the Thames Barrier doesn't look like something designed in the 1970s. The 70s is, after all, a decade best known for geometric shaped skyscrapers and brutalist architecture, and one where concrete reigned supreme. Indeed when the barrier was being designed, it must have felt to some that it would look incredibly out of place. With its sleek curved metal, and bright yellow cranes, it must have looked like a shining beacon from the distant future; revolutionary in fact. Either that or just plain weird. Now, all those years on, the Thames Barrier seems to fit in more neatly with the 1990s; maybe even early 21st century. In terms of style, it was ahead of its time and doesn't seem to have aged one bit.

I stood at the barrier, trying to show Sam this, although at three months old, his vision wasn't particularly good. No doubt he could make out some strange grey blobs in the distance, but to be honest he seemed far more interested in squinting at the small fluffy red elephant attached to his pram.

The Thames Path sets off from a simple sign next to the barrier and above a subway tunnel. 180 miles to the source, it says. Come on, what are you playing at? Time to get walking, it might as well add. The subway takes it all a bit more seriously, showing a map of the river and all the places that those who follow it could visit.

The first few paces on the trail are a reminder, should the walker ever need one, that the Thames is a working river. On the other bank, the mighty Tate and Lyle refinery stands; opened in 1876, the massive site specialised in sugar cube production and sugar refining continues here to this day, even if it's no longer owned by Tate and Lyle themselves. It's the Americans who own it now after Tate and Lyle sold off their refining business in 2011.

On the south side, things weren't quite so sweet. Aggregate recycling is the principal business here, with huge piles of rock and rubble piled up waiting to be sorted before being taken away by ship. Some of it still travels by river from nearby Peartree Wharf; peering through a fence I noted that one barge was busily being filled up as we walked by.

It didn't take too long for the Thames Path to change in nature. Turning a corner, the path takes the walker past the glamorous world of the Greenwich Yacht Club, one of whose buildings stands on stilts on the Thames, surrounded by moorings of its members. Nearby, the Greenwich Peninsula Ecology Park provides some greenery. Sitting on what was once the polluted site of a large gas works, the park now contains two large ponds and meadows with a thriving eco-system

It's a story that is repeated throughout the river in London: one time undesirable land, tarted up for those with lots of cash. Whilst warehouses and wharves once filled the banks of the river, now huge swathes of it is taken up by residential properties. Hosting luxury apartments with riverside views, the so-called Greenwich Peninsula, with its fine views of Canary Wharf, City Airport and a sugar refinery, offers plenty of options for those that can afford the premium prices. Every few years someone erects some more apartment blocks, allowing more people to spend their hard earned cash for their spot near the water.

Yet as we walked on, it was noticeable how the river was also an obstacle too. It was only a short hop to the north bank in terms of distance, but those wanting to cross the river would face a significant detour. For years the nearest crossing was the busy Woolwich Ferry a few miles away. Only in 1999 did the tube arrive, with the Jubilee Line connecting Canary Wharf with the new Millennium Dome, which loomed up ahead from us. However in 2012 another option arrived in the form of a giant cable car spanning the Thames.

Mockingly nicknamed the Arabfly Dangleway by one prominent London blogger, and routinely derided by both the press and Londoners alike, the Emirates Airline has a capacity to transport 2,500 people an hour, yet as we walked past in spring 2013 its ridership was a mere 4,500 people a day. Recent headlines in the local press had screamed that the system had just a handful of regular passengers and it was mostly being used by tourists wanting a view of the river and nearby Canary Wharf. Initial proposals claimed the system would be built entirely through private finance, but in the end the taxpayers of London had to stump up half the cost.

Like many I'd always seen it as a massive white elephant, created by Mayor Boris Johnson who seems obsessed by high profile projects with limited value. But despite my views on its worth, there's no denying that the Dangleway is a mighty and imposing sight on the Thames. Spanning a 1km distance, its three pylons tower over the river; the tiny cars moving over the water at a height of 90m. I'd never ridden it, and had no need to today given the Thames Path stuck distinctly to the south side of the river, but as the sun came out and glistened on the river, it was, for a moment, tempting. We could shell out a few pounds and make those passenger totals up to 4,503, no problem.

Just how do you do a walk with a three month old baby? It was a question we'd pondered before setting out. The paved nature of the London stretches of the Thames Path had certainly given us options, and our first trip out proved to be a time for experimentation. We'd taken no chances, providing young Sam with the option of moving in a baby carrier, a baby wrap carrier or a pram. As we approached the Dome, now long renamed The O2 Arena, he was travelling in his pram, fussing around and making a lot of noise. So much so that the entire of the Greenwich Peninsula could hear his screams.

It had been a while since he'd been fed so we wandered up the riverside path looking for a bench, eventually finding one at the rear of the Dome, next to the odd sight of a cross section of an old ship, moored in the river.

As Sam fed happily, I took the opportunity to admire this strange monument. The cut up ship is a piece of art called Slice of Reality. The artist took an old ocean-going sand dredger, and carved a vertical slice from it, focused around the habitable sections of the ship. About 85% of the ship was discarded, leaving the poop deck, bridge and engine room moored up on the Thames. Part of it has been screened off, creating an inside room encased in clear perspex, and as Sam powered up we sat and watched as people played on the pool table inside.

Slice of Reality was created and installed for the Millennium Dome, along with a number of other art works dotted around the local area. When the Dome closed up, all the art was supposed to be removed, and most was. However the Slice of Reality remained after artist Richard Wilson pointed out that it wasn't on the Dome's land and that therefore they had no rights to insist on it being removed. Clearly the stubborn type, he arranged for an extended mooring license and his bit of cut up ship has remained on the river ever since.

The slightly