Sometimes you just want to go for a nice walk, nothing too taxing, leafy shade, river valleys, wildlife-adjacent, pretty views, a bit of heritage, a bit of a stroll, won't take all day. So here's a scenic loop some distance from the centre of London, not excessively arduous but a nice walk all the same.
The start of the walk should be marked by an information panel but it's gone missing, typically, even though I search all over. I cross the grass in case they've moved it and even check the other side of the flowerbed, dodging the bloke asleep on a bench, but all trace is alas gone. There is still time to top up on refreshments before setting off should you have come unprepared, although I don't recommend getting sweets from the corner shop. Start your watch, we should be back here within three hours.
The walk starts in a southwesterly direction down a narrower track between two buildings, noticeably downhill, past a gentleman wielding a leaky hose. I spy the first official waymarker confirming I'm on the right track, although a number of those ahead have been stolen so I'll need to keep my wits about me. Just as I enter the first large open space the bells of the local parish church ring out, just as they have for centuries, it being Sunday morning. Those two ponds look a funny colour although at least they still have water in. The tree-lined descent continues to a brief road crossing where I pass a man in a Linkin Park t-shirt with an illegible 6-letter word tattooed down his leg. The section through a temporary building site is somewhat awkward for its lack of pavement but beyond is a traffic-free bridleway (with no current evidence of horses) and a high ivy-covered wall watched over by CCTV.
Ahead is one of the finest green spaces on the walk, several acres with a full right to roam, although our designated path sticks to one side. I spy ducks, geese and swans, also five birds with larger bills, and take care to dodge occasional fallen branches. Someone's put a lot of effort into their cottage garden with hollyhocks and sunflowers all ablaze, also pristine vegetable beds boasting runner beans, rhubarb and marrows. Mind the nettles beside the path. Now that's unfortunate - an old red phonebox with a jammed door and a broken glass pane through which has been posted an ugly pile of bottles and other litter. A waymarker atop a pole confirms I'm on the right track but also exudes an air of local irrelevance, also the map at its foot has faded since Neville installed it.
Another parish church intrudes, easily overlooked, as the clock on the tower ticks round to ten past ten. In its churchyard all the horse chestnut blossom has fallen, the dandelions easily outnumber the gravestones and the poppies shine. I make progress beside a privet hedge towards the green where cones of purple buddleia boldly announce the arrival of summer. In a nigh-empty playground a small child is discovering the eternal joy of a roundabout to spin on. And eventually we reach a narrowed bridge, still with Covid 'keep your distance' stickers on the tarmac, for a teetering crossing over a local stream. Upstream a small brown dog is splashing in the water while its owners look on, hoping to stay dry in the inevitable fur-shake. We'll be following these banks for a while, more or less, because nothing beats a good river walk.
Full steam ahead past plants with spiky fronds, also a squat conifer where bees hunt nectar deep in its bright pink flowers. I wouldn't have known that tree was a Mediterranean oak if it didn't have a plaque underneath. A family cycles by with what looks like a picnic scattered across their collective baskets. Occasionally there are raised benches to sit on, generally empty, but also an abandoned pushchair and what looks like a septic tank so best walk on. Someone's written "Big Dave Foxcroft - LEGEND" on the wall, also "Wilma is one of a kind" - she gets two mentions. For wildlife watchers a lone seagull sits on a post, a crow swoops off with a beakful of something, a butterfly emerges fom the undergrowth and the lamps have a patina of spider's web. Across the stream is a large house with what sounds like an alarm blaring non-stop.
It's a hot day to be out walking and one ginger lad has brought two bottles just in case, one flavoured and fizzy, one still. We're approaching a potential refreshment stop where the chief draw appears to be how much sugar they can squirt in your coffee. Keep your eye open and you may spot a dozen horses. This section of the walk is blessed with fine gardens flowering with some kind of large daisy, also something purple and heatherish, also deep holly but no barbecues please. The water's edge is littered with half-bricks and half-pipes, meanwhile the water ripples with occasional twigs and bottles. A phone mast is visible in a gap between the rooftops on the horizon. My favourite passing t-shirt is 'Made In The North, Forged In Gravy', just ahead of 'Catzilla Ate My Hamster'.
A dog scampers by, thankfully dry. Someone's left a Linda Robson novel on a table, also some Danielle Steeles and a Dandy Annual. The graffiti on the concrete uprights mentions KEOS, SLATT, TAR and various other names the taggers clearly didn't want anyone else to read. It's been a while since I saw a waymarker, maybe a couple of miles, but now thankfully they reappear. Someone's painted their shed pink, someone else blue. I spy pawprints in the sand, also a young woman on her knees digging with a trowel. Ahead the tree cover finally breaks and opens out into oppressive sunshine, a shock to the system but also offering views of foliage and buildings well over a mile away. A sign warns 'Wild Flowers - Do Not Strim'. Ahead is a yellowing field with silver birches along three sides, then it's time to cross back across the water with a fine panorama downstream towards distant hills and three ducks bobbing briefly beneath the bridge.
The path broadens on the far side as it approaches a quiet road with a seemingly-unnecessary pedestrian crossing. The subsequent climb looks like it's approaching another churchyard but bears left prematurely past a cluster of Christmas trees to skirt the back door of the building instead. Spring's flowers may have faded but the hanging baskets here are a persistent riot of colour as the path drops gently into a separate river valley. Don't expect to see any water this time, not in the current climate. The pub by the crossroads offers a choice of proper roast or Vegan Wellington. The largest open space is of course pencilled in for commercial development, even out here. It is indeed a properly scenic spot but the majority of Londoners live nowhere nearby.
The final ascent passes a sundial and a Grade II listed building before ducking again beneath tree cover and encountering an ancient parish boundary stone. Around 12 noon a Lancaster bomber flies over and the landlady of the local pub walks out and asks me what all that was about, which because I read the Ian Visits blog I am fortuitously able to tell her. The path weaves more contortedly now, eventually entering a large field with holly hedges, shady oaks and group of friends enjoying a summer picnic. On the far side I pass a man dressed as a monk, also two sturdy men in Iron Maiden t-shirts, before crossing the busiest road on the walk so far. The whiff of sewage is intermittently apparent, also an outburst of shrubbery, also an ambulance sadly on call. Three agricultural carts have been repurposed and topped with potted plants which I consider to be very pleasant.
Threading onwards passers-by now outnumber trees and hedgesparrows are less common. I have to hand it to the walk's creators, I don't think I've been down this alleyway before despite coming mighty close, although I don't like how it smells of wee. Initially I miss the penultimate alley because the waymarkers have failed again, or maybe I just wasn't looking carefully enough. On the final approach a lemon has made a bolt for freedom, also I swear those sunflowers are fake. And on returning to my starting point I see someone's now arranged a rows of deckchairs across the grass where I expected the information board would be so how would anyone know a walk starts here? They launched this circuit with such high hopes but I bet I'm the only person to have followed it today, which is a damned shame given the inherent glories of this corner of the capital.
