Walking the Lea Valley 3: WEIRED-LEA East Hyde → Harpenden → Wheathampstead(4 miles)
Much of the upper Lea Valley Walk has nothing to do with the Lea and everything to do with the valley. That's because the river is frequently sealed off inside private land, and there's no way the owners are letting hikers and bikers tramp across their beloved property. To the northwest of Harpenden the culprit is farmland, with the wiggling Lea hedged off for the benefit of nibbling horses and grazing cows. On the outskirts of the town it's a none-too characterful industrial estate, then the local allotment society who've captured the river for their multifarious vegetative purposes. But the next stretch, around Batford, has been reclaimed for the enjoyment of all. And it's here that the idea of the Lea Valley Walk began.
Back in 1953 a local conservation group sprang up with the avowed intent to maintain Harpenden's Lea-side open space as a "green lung" for the town. Volunteers cleared derelict land, planted trees and reconstructed a series of weirs, transforming half a mile of riverside in the process. They were the Upper Lea Valley Group, and they also inaugurated the ULV Walk from Luton downwards. If engaging in active manual tasks isn't your thing, you can always enjoy the fruits of the group's labours. A series of stepping stones cross the braided river at various points [photo], but step carefully otherwise you'll slip into the raging torrent and look a bit of an idiot. I teetered perhaps rather too carefully beneath the weir, only to be followed across by a nimble pensioner and his unflustered dog.
Then onward via another section of secluded disused railway. I passed a bunch of friendly bird-watchers, no doubt politely fuming that I'd unintentionally disturbed all the wildlife along the strip they were about to walk down. All was going well until the path suddenly stopped at a fallen tree, with no way past other than to clamber high over a slippery ivy-clad trunk. A minute later I passed a cyclist who offered a cheery "Good morning" as he proceeded unaware towards this unseen obstruction. I never saw him return, but I doubt he appreciated the extra frame-humping required to continue on his way.
At Leasey Bridge a cattery has been built across the old railway line, so the walk is forced to climb to a much higher level via the front garden of an unfortunate bungalow. There were pleasant views from one slope across to the other - nothing particularly unusual for a rural valley, but rather special to a contour-deprived Londoner like myself [photo]. Parallel rows of cosy rooftops peeped above the treeline, while two teams of tiny orange ants could be seen playing slanted football in the distance. Regular notices along the farmland footpath warned ramblers that the surrounding hayfields were "private land keep out". Having heard the farmer's wife barking orders at her horse-riding daughters in the upper paddock, I took special care not to venture off the path.
Wheathampstead next - a quaint cottagy Hertfordshire town with several acres of more modern housing estates attached. St Helen's church is particularly fine, its 13th century tower topped off with a twin-tapered Victorian spire [photo]. The Lea Valley Walk crossed the churchyard (busy with communion-goers and grave-tenders as I passed), then descended the HighStreet to the river. A small weir diverted water down a gushing sidestream, while the main flow sped beneath the mill (now home to arty workshops and boutiques) to emerge in a broad pool beside The Bull public house [photo]. Below the bridge was a small concealed quayside, recently added by the town council to allow weary souls (or more likely can-swilling alcoholics) to stop and admire the river's reeds and ripples.
Nomansland: A mile south of Wheathampstead, in the Harpenden Dry Valley, there's an elevated patch of infertile ground stripped by post-glacial meltwater. No farmer would claim it, so it's been grazed as common land since medieval times. Part of it is forest, part is open heathland, and one corner's a cricket pitch. The pub by the crossroads is called the Wicked Lady in memory of a masked 17th century highwaywoman, and it's easy to imagine her on horseback stalking the remote lanes across the common.
These days Nomansland is a pleasant enough spot for an afternoon stroll, but it wouldn't have been worth the lengthy diversion from my Lea walk were it not for one important thing. Because it was here 50 years ago, in a tented village on this unlikely upland heath, that my parents first met. And it seemed only right to make a first pilgrimage to the same-ish spot, given that I wouldn't be here today had events played out differently. The first people I saw on arrival were a courting couple, he wearing spectacles suspiciously similar to those my Dad might have worn in the 1950s, she with a hairstyle most definitely more recent. Elsewhere were elderly couples and families and dog-walkers, all of whom appeared to have met their beloved prior to arrival. I sat down on a bench above the car park and gave my parents a call, just to say I was here, in a simple attempt to link people and place. We're glad I went.
Walking the Lea Valley
Back in 1953 a local conservation group sprang up with the avowed intent to maintain Harpenden's Lea-side open space as a "green lung" for the town. Volunteers cleared derelict land, planted trees and reconstructed a series of weirs, transforming half a mile of riverside in the process. They were the Upper Lea Valley Group, and they also inaugurated the ULV Walk from Luton downwards. If engaging in active manual tasks isn't your thing, you can always enjoy the fruits of the group's labours. A series of stepping stones cross the braided river at various points [photo], but step carefully otherwise you'll slip into the raging torrent and look a bit of an idiot. I teetered perhaps rather too carefully beneath the weir, only to be followed across by a nimble pensioner and his unflustered dog.
Wheathampstead next - a quaint cottagy Hertfordshire town with several acres of more modern housing estates attached. St Helen's church is particularly fine, its 13th century tower topped off with a twin-tapered Victorian spire [photo]. The Lea Valley Walk crossed the churchyard (busy with communion-goers and grave-tenders as I passed), then descended the High Street to the river. A small weir diverted water down a gushing sidestream, while the main flow sped beneath the mill (now home to arty workshops and boutiques) to emerge in a broad pool beside The Bull public house [photo]. Below the bridge was a small concealed quayside, recently added by the town council to allow weary souls (or more likely can-swilling alcoholics) to stop and admire the river's reeds and ripples.
Nomansland: A mile south of Wheathampstead, in the Harpenden Dry Valley, there's an elevated patch of infertile ground stripped by post-glacial meltwater. No farmer would claim it, so it's been grazed as common land since medieval times. Part of it is forest, part is open heathland, and one corner's a cricket pitch. The pub by the crossroads is called the Wicked Lady in memory of a masked 17th century highwaywoman, and it's easy to imagine her on horseback stalking the remote lanes across the common.
