West-ward Ho! - a visit to North Devon - 18th-21st February 2011
This year’s spring away weekend, organized as usual by the inimitable Ken, was to Ilfracombe, Devon. About half the group travelled by car, the rest went down by train, taking in the sights of Paddington station en route, travelling via Exeter and Barnstaple to the Dilkhusa Grand, fairly close to the front. Actually we missed the bus stop and went into the central bus station – a fortuitous move, since it took us past Dolly’s Café! Named after the owner’s late dog Dolly, the café provided us with much needed tea and lunch sustenance, together with vouchers for future visits – if only they knew….
With some time left in the afternoon, a few hardy souls walked off the meal by climbing The Lookout, a section of the cliff that ran down to the back of town. We discovered in passing the house of Henry Williamson, author of 'Tarka the Otter'. While the book may be less well known these days, a 180 mile long trail which includes the area of Barnstaple, Braunton and Ilfracombe is called the Tarka Trail, after the otter in the book. We took a look at the harbour, checked out some gone-off dead fish in baskets, and then retired to the hotel for dinner and to plan the next day’s events.
As luck would have it we had a Plan B, as Plan A for Saturday went somewhat askew when the bus towards Woolacombe (Plan A) left on time, before we were all gathered. Nil desperandum! Up to the High Road, stopping off in one of Devon’s excellent pastry shops for lunch supplies, then on the bus eastwards towards Combe Martin (Plan B). The signs told us that the walk back was a mere 5 miles, no problem at all for us hardy walkers, but the day was grey and misty and the paths ... well, the coastal path was quite sticky with a very clay-like mud and this combined with quite a few upward slopes soon proved decidedly more challenging. By the time we hit Watermouth Bay, everyone was wearing mud gaiters! The path went down into the harbour and luckily the tide was out, as we had to cross the mud flats. The Harbour Master then very obligingly informed us that a fallen tree had been cut down and was blocking the path ahead. No problem, we cried, and off we went. Except that the fallen tree blocked a set of stairs, halfway up…. Duncan, adventurous as ever, and much bigger than most of us, scaled around it using the banisters, and we then took it in turns to pass bags round and over and clamber through the railings and up the other side, except for Annick, who erred on the side of caution and went over the tree, somewhat more difficult than it sounds. From then on the path was clear of obstruction, unless you count lots more mud, but it did go up. A lot.
Still, what goes up must come down, and after having to nearly form a human chain to climb one extra slippy section, we hit the downhill stretch at Hele, (not pronounced Hell – we wondered…) where refreshments were partaken at a pub garden in return for the use of the picnic benches – the publican wisely not letting us muddy creatures indoors. The pasties made another appearance, as did some interesting local cider – well earned! After lunch we continued along Hele Bay and up once again to the cliff tops, where the views of the coast were quite spectacular in places – lots of private bays and inlets, the odd sheep or several, some kittiwakes nesting and flapping about on a cliff face and a special view of Ilfracombe harbour in the mist. Its amazing how the speed improves when you see the destination and in not too much time at all we were in Ilfracombe and heading for Dolly’s Café for a reviving afternoon cuppa and toasted teacakes, dirty trousers disguised with backpacks and such so as not to put off the other customers.
By Sunday, the weather was much improved but there was a travel snag, no buses on Sunday. Chairman Jim made some swift arrangements and a cab ferried us to Woolacombe in shifts, with much giggling going on in the back. You know who you are!
Woolacombe Bay has to be seen to be believed – a huge stretch of sandy beach, seen from a long way up the hill, with a stunning head of surf – enough to bring some wet-suited braves out with their boards. Just like Hawaii but with West Country accents! Had the day been warmer there might have been some difficulty extracting people from the beach, but we had a job to do. The first stop en route was at the top of the cliff; a memorial to the American Troops killed having practiced at Woolacombe for the D-Day landing, and a photo op for Chairman Jim! Within a short distance was Barricane Beach, one of the finest shell beaches in the British Isles, and again we got diverted slightly until group leader Ken cracked the whip.
Off we went across a sheep field and at this point the group split, some electing to go up and over the cliffs, others following the path strictly and going round. Poor Annick once again had severe problems with the path and the edges, but was helped by various group members and a passing walker who happened to be going the same way. We met back up at Morte Point and followed the path around and up and down to the Bull Point Lighthouse, wonderfully white against the cliffs and perched on its promontory. A short distance further on and in the face of some biting winds, we stopped at Pensport Rock Cove for lunch - more pasties – and a few trips behind bushes or rocks!
Unfortunately straight after eating there was a fairly stiff climb up the cliffs again and in the face of increasingly stiff breezes. Like all good paths, this one went down again, into a valley where the small village of Lee nestled, but any refreshment facilities were sadly closed so the encouragement of tea was not to be had. Upwards and onwards (again) - though along a road this time so slightly easier going - and across a field to within sight of Ilfracombe. This was a bit deceptive – seeing something from a high point disguises all the ups and downs you have to go through to get there. The last major high point also had two splendid traps – a wind so stiff that some of the lighter people in the group were in severe danger of being blown off their feet – where was that big wind block Duncan when we needed him? Not sooner had we managed to haul ourselves through the gate into a more sheltered field, mainly by hanging onto the hedge and pulling, than the last surprise was sprung. The way down into Ilfracombe was by way of a series of switchbacks with sneaky dead-ends that took far longer than we had hoped. The path came out behind Ilfracombe’s unusually designed theatre, well placed though, for – Dolly’s Café!
In spite of the day’s travails o’er cliffs and through high winds, Annick was not put off by that evening’s entertainment and she proved a dab hand at the snooker table after dinner that night.
The weekend was rounded off before we had to get on the train back to London by our bus ride to Barnstaple and exploring that ancient town’s various delights – an excellent museum, the various old markets, tea rooms and of course the souvenir Devon Clotted Cream – much harder to walk off back home!
For more pictures taken during the trip click here
Sue Ullersperger, March 2011
Dropping In on a Clanger - a visit to the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, 12th February 2011
As part of EFOG’s recent ‘themed walks’ around London’ series, on Saturday 12 February the group visited the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, or the Church Bell Foundry as it says above the door, the oldest manufacturing company in Britain. Founded in 1570 during the reign of Elizabeth 1, the company has been in continuous business ever since then and is in the Guiness Book if Records for doing so. Throughout World War II the Foundry was at work, not making bells though – it went into production for the war ministry and survived the bomb that destroyed the nearby St Mary’s church, the white chapel that gave the area its name. The Foundry buildings that we visited were originally a coaching inn called the Artichoke, hence the slightly odd arrangement of the rooms. The Foundry moved in from the north side of the Whitechapel Road after the acquisition of the buildings by Thomas Lester in the early 1700s. As our guide for the day, Works Manager Rob pointed out that it is quite likely that the business is even older as a link was established to Master Founder Robert Chamberlain who operated in Aldgate, just down the road, in 1420. Beat that!
The tour started, without any of us noticing until it was pointed out, that surrounding the entrance we had all just passed through was a cross section pattern of Big Ben, the largest and probably the most famous Bell cast by the Foundry. The museum had numerous photos of other famous bells that the company has both produced and hung – they do all of the process from start to finish, wherever the bell is to finish up. Our resident American and current Chair, Jim Carroll was particularly interested in the change ringing peal of bells provided to the National Cathedral in Washington DC, and of course, the Liberty Bell, that famous symbol of American Independence. The Liberty Bell, like Big Ben, is famous for being cracked. It was, however, delivered in good order and the crack was acquired when it was first struck. After some amateur messing about, the Americans recast the bell and it subsequently acquired another crack. In 1976, the Bicentennial of the USA, a group called the Procrastinators Society of America mounted a mock protest outside the Foundry, complaining their country had been sold a lemon (how daft were they – it was obviously a bell, not a piece of fruit) and requesting a replacement. The Foundry said they would be happy to replace the bell – if it came in its original packaging!
Enough of the history though. So - how do they do it? Moving through the courtyard, we were able to view a number of bells, some newly cast and others now unusable due to various forms of damage. All the bells, no matter what their size, are made of bronze, a combination of copper and tin, which is very brittle and cracks can be made which seriously affect the tone of the bell. Instead of the nice, sharp, ding, the sound becomes more of a dull thud.
As we moved through into the casting room, the whole process becomes clearer. First you make a mould. Bell moulds are made with loam, a combination of sand, clay, goat hair and horse manure – inspiring to come up with the joke ‘What noise does a bell make? Dung!’ The Foundry has a large supply of the goat hair – ten years worth that they are still working their way through. Whether the bald goats have recovered in the meantime is another story. This mixture is used to make bricks, which are piled to make the approximate size of the bell then the fun begins. Dobs of loam are thrown at the bell shape, then the excess scraped off and thrown again. The reason for this, we were told, is to get the air out – air bubbles being a no-no. So there are days when the workers can be found happily flinging the loam, scrapping and flinging…. Until they have an outline. All bells have a ‘pattern’, a half bell shape with a spike in the middle around which the core of the bell is formed. The spike can be spun around to scrape off any excess loam and a perfect outline of the inside of the bell is thus moulded. The pattern is then inverted into what is essentially a giant upside-down bucket and the inside of the bucket is loamed, using the pattern to scrape off the excess again, to form the Cope. Both the cope and the core are fired in a huge, low oven, and the results are then checked. Tina, spotting a cope decided to try this out for herself – it is not a clean business! Any imperfections are covered in graphite to ensure a pristine pour, then the core is inverted into the cope, to form an invisible bell – it is the gap between the two into which the molten bronze is poured. Moulds for the small hand bells are done in the same way, except the core is of sand, much like a sand castle. Our guide told us that sometimes it goes perfectly and other times not – with the smaller bells especially a whole mornings work could turn out to be deemed unsuitable by the ‘magic ears’ of the tuners, so it’s a case of melt it all down and start again. None of the materials used are wasted – all the loam can be recycled, as can the bronze.
Tuning really is done by ear. Although there are instruments to measure the resonance, the sound of the bell - the fore note and the actual note - are achieved by polishing away the inside of the bell bit by bit, stopping to check the sound, polishing, checking and so on until the right note can be struck. Finished bells can then be taken to the shed where they are fitted with the braces that fix them to the pulley system. Back in the day, bells were made with loops on the top for this purpose as the machinery to drill through bronze and put bolts in did not exist. Bells are fitted with wooden ‘wheels’, the mechanism that allows them to swing in the tower and prevents the ropes from tangling. The wheels are made on the top floor in the woodworking room, a space for short people as the door-frame is only 5ft 8 inches high. This room also has small commemorative plaques to the workers from the Bell Foundry who have died in the last two hundred years or so – remarkably few people as the same people seem to work at the Foundry their entire careers.
Below the woodworking room is the polishing and fitting room for all of the hand bells produced. Rows of lathes and other exotic tools for polishing the bells line the benches along the walls. Hand bells are polished to mirror finish and fitted with premium leather handles and muffled clappers – the very tiny ones have clappers made of rubber as anything else would be too large. We were told that if you had a mind to put the bells one at a time as your purse allowed to make up a full set, they would still be a perfect set even if it took you years to get them all – they are made to a standard that doesn’t change.
Feeling quite inspired we all trotted into the gift shop for a souvenir. It’s not often that you put yourself in the position of someone from four hundred years ago, see what they were doing and know that it is still being done the exact same way. Bells are made here for the whole world. So, next time we here Big Ben on the 10 o’clock news or the church bells on Sundays, well all be quite a bit wiser!
Sue Ullersperger, February 2011
For more photographs, click here
A walk from Chinatown to the outer reaches of the Home Galaxy, 6th February 2011
After the Copped Hall evening-walk-and supper the night before, 7am Sunday was bit of a hardship for me, but at least it wasn't as dark.
It was also a bit of a numbers game, because tickets had been booked for a show at Greenwich, and some were walking there (almost) from Westferry near the Isle of Dogs, and some were meeting us at the show-house.
The initial some were 13, and essentially by means of two separate DLR trains we arrived at Westferry (originally known as Chinatown) to depart therefrom on Susan B.'s Sunday Walk. Therefrom isn't a word and is thus underlined in red on my word processor, but I don't care.It was a breezy walk, too – enhanced by the proximity to the Thames; indeed, the River was a major player in this walk. One of our first details of note was a reproduction gate in a purposeless wall beyond which was dock that served the lime house from which the area took its name. You can't actually use the gate – it's a bit like a film set where the camera crew just go round the edge of the scenery whilst the actors go through the door; in this case, we were the film crew. Still – it all looks quite quaint, with the remains of warehouses alongside the dock and mud in it.
Holding onto our hats, (some of us had hats) we walked along the Thames Path until. Inevitably - as is the way with the Thames Path - we were detoured inland, in this case towards number One Canada Square (Canary Wharf Tower - 770ft), which enabled us to look at some traffic lights. If I'd been driving I wouldn't have known what to do; apparently they're some sort of sculptured tourist attraction. Walking away from the river here, though – depending on your take on these things – is something of an experience. The range of architecture and building styles (if these can be separated?) is quite astounding. From the Canary Wharf area developments based on New York through to Victorian terraced housing – and pubs, fire-stations and chapels – these intermingle and change from street to street and view to view. Particularly outstanding, perhaps, was the lovely Italianate chapel, once a Presbyterian Church, now a social centre and café. The last aspect of present usage encouraged a few of our number to grab a hot drink.
We regained the Thames soon after, to view the original timber balks that formed the slipway down which Brunel's ship “The Great Eastern” was launched. I find it strange that a ship was named after a railway company, and am somewhat dubious about the ship having been launched here – sideways or otherwise – because there is a road in the way. Still, to press on – adjacent to the launch site there is the remains of Burrell's Wharf, where the ship was built (I suppose this does add some credence to it). I don't mean remains in the sense of dereliction, because as is common here, new – and expensive – housing has been built and sometimes adapted from older building. The glory of the old here were the somewhat Italianate Gantry House and Mast House buildings and a magnificent octagonal chimney stack.
The sign says that the island's oldest building is the Ferry House Pub in Ferry Street, of 1722 - but there are a couple of mysteries here. Firstly, it doesn't look like something built in 1722 and secondly - even it it were - how comes the other claim that it served the likes of Samuel Pepys when he died in 1703? There is an odd time anomaly here, perhaps something to do with Greenwich being the other side of the river. Nearby is Johnson's Draw Dock which still gives valuable and easy access to the river itself. Some of us took advantage of this by having a paddle until a police launch arrived and Lynne frightened me by saying it was all my fault. The ferry boat of course no longer plies across to Greenwich, and instead a foot tunnel doesn't at present provide an alternative, so we resorted to a one-stop trip across on the DLR. The DLR, by the way, is a very heavily used toy train.
Greenwich is south of the river, so by its very nature is weird. It is quite interesting, though, and still does everything it can to maintain its maritime heritage. It's exactly like the Isle of Dogs in that way, except that on the Isle of Dogs it's housing and docks and in Greenwich it is naval and shops. Greenwich is also uphill, whereas the Island doesn't have any (except at the mudchutes – and they are artificial). Oh – and they also do Time here, as well.
With the latter aspect of our journey probably completely out of mind for most of us - except for what time the show was - we proceeded uphill to the observatory complex, and didn't waste any time doing the usual east-west thing. We were also too early for the show, so we separated into three or more sub-groups for toilets, inside snacks and outside snacks. I chose the outside snack option, complete with starlings. These weren't part of the show but were doing a busking act: singing lustily to encourage the offerings of a sandwich or a cuppa.
At last the show-time came; we took our seats – preferably near the back as Susan advised - and lay back to enjoy the performance. I was awake through most of it, but that was probably because other members of the group were snoring - and I enjoyed it immensely. We were taken on a journey from Greenwich beyond one of the outer arms of a somewhat insignificant spiral galaxy to a point in space (and time?) where we could view not only our galaxy but quite a few others. On the way we were shown how “the ancients” had devised names for apparent clusters and groupings of stars that really have nothing to do with each other at all (except on a somewhat universal level). The ancients must have had either really very different eye-sights from me, or were vastly more artistic in their interpretations, because – apart from perhaps three exceptions – none of the things like bears, crabs, teapots and umbrellas looked anything like any of those things. Blimey – if a group of stars doesn't even look like an umbrella...!
Anyway – mustn't knock it – nobody came out saying they didn't enjoy the show and it was nice and warm and comfortable and interesting. It wasn't nice and warm and comfortable outside, though. I forgot to mention – and won't play about with moving the paragraphs around – that we had by this time picked up a few more EFOG'ers who had met us at Greenwich, so our numbers had increased by four.
The numbers were not to last long, because people began disappearing into various watering-holes (or noodle-bars), or churches – and one even mysteriously disappeared on visit to a ticket-office! There were horses to be fed and homes to go to, so trains and people came and went, and numbers dropped and then picked up again at Stratford where reunions were made with the lost. Those were soon broken with the arrival of an Epping train, and I was left alone amongst the delayed crowds on Stratford Station until Louise and Ian turned up. The last I saw of Susan's Excellent Sunday EFOG Walk were two of our members heading for Ilford.
Paul Ferris, 6th February 2011
Evening Walk and Fish and Chips at Copped Hall, 5th February 2011
We met at 6 p.m. at Copped Hall for one of the EFOG favourites - a short walk in the dark (a couple of miles or so), finishing with fish and chips in Copped Hall. Peter usually leads these walks. Unfortunately, due to muscle damage in his leg, he was unable to lead it. It was down to me to keep the tradition of our Copped Hall walk going!
Peter and I had worked out the route, trying to avoid what we knew were the most muddy sections of the footpaths round there, and had managed to check some of it out that morning (mostly going from A to B by car because of Peter’s injury). Would I manage to get the Group round without getting lost? Of course - I’m an optimist (although not when it comes to map-reading, and I don’t have much sense of direction!!). I do know the area quite well, so I decided I was confident! It actually looks very different in the dark, though, so I’m not sure how confident I really felt!
Eighteen EFOG and three dogs (Katie, Eddie and Serena) left Copped Hall, where Duncan, Peter, Cliff and David P. were to stay and light a fire for our return. The first part of the walk went quite well, through the forest and field from the entrance gates of Copped Hall, and we didn’t have any problems on the very small section of road we had to go along at Upshire. This also avoided the smelly dead deer Peter and I found near there that morning! Along the wide grass verge we suddenly ended up in quite a bog! I shouted “mind the mud”, but heard the screams behind me as they ended up in it! The intrepid walkers continued, and as they all love to chat, hadn’t noticed I had cut diagonally across a field and they were walking round the edge! I kept an eye on them to see how long it would take them to notice I wasn’t in front of them, and then gathered them all together again. Herding sheep is probably easier!
All was well until we got to the section behind Copped Hall, some of which is private. Where was the footpath sign? We decided to carry on down the road, regardless of the private sign, until we got to another section which was obviously the route we shouldn’t take. I knew the footpath was in the adjacent field - somewhere!! In the dark it was difficult to find, but I knew the direction we had to go, so we plodded on regardless! Over the style at the other side, and a short walk up the small road which leads back to Copped Hall. Luckily, everyone avoided falling in the pond at the side of the road! Relief - I had got everyone back in once piece! This was probably thanks to Jim who was back-marker to make sure we didn’t lose anyone in the dark.
A lovely fire and tea and coffee greeted us in Copped Hall when we got back, and Peter and Parviz went for the fish and chips, which always tastes better at Copped Hall than at home!
Another good outing with EFOG, and a first for me leading, and not losing my way on the walk!!
Stratford to Waterloo Riverside Walk, 23 January 2011
Just got in from Jim's quickly-configured 6-78 (sic) mile walk along the channels and navigations of Stratford and Bow, and the great river of London.
When I say I've just got in, in fact now I've been in about an hour, having slated my aching ankle on gin-and-coke (yes, I know – something to do with tonic – but try it before you knock it, and if you don't like, don't bother to drink it or knock it). I've also slated my hunger – which wasn't extreme – with a cottage pie.
So – now for the walk. My day started with an approach to Manor Park Station, where waiting at the bus stop en-route for Beckton was a long-time-back walking companion. Don't remember her name, but we exchanged the day's walk details briefly, and only after I'd got to the platform for my train thought I ought to mention EFOG to her. She'd probably appreciate that, so I went back, told her about it, but in the short minutes available was unable to write down the details. She no-web-access, me no-business-card.
Stratford had eventually 10 people assembled for set-off, with one more catching us up after a few minutes.
We found our way off the High Street onto the paved footpath towards Three Mills, usefully signposted as things change so much so quickly hereabouts. For those (few) interested I mentioned that a mediaeval bridge used to be visible here, where the Channelsea River passed under the main road from London. This would have been one of the very early “Bow” bridges – but reconstruction work at the very least covered this in, and more probably destroyed it. The pathway is still being developed, but actually runs along the course of the Channelsea. We also passed an early sign of Spring in the form of bright hazel-catkins.
The Channelsea was one of many channels that provided routes through what once had been Stratford Marsh, a wild area which effectively divided the County of Middlesex from the County of Essex. We tend to forget that places like Stratford, Forest Gate – even Wanstead – were very much part of Essex. These channels – more recently called the Bow Back Rivers – are a complex of navigable, un-navigable, overgrown and overbuilt waterways.
Our route chose to take us past a row of very impressive Victorian terraced houses with lovely chimneys, set below the Northern Outfall Sewer and adjacent to the “Cathedral of Sewage” – one of the grandest buildings in London. The whole - the Cathedral and the N.O.S. - was designed by the engineer Joseph Bazalgette to enable sewage from a vast area of London north of the Thames to be collected and dealt with. His idea was that all cesspits should be closed and that house drains should connect to sewers and empty into the Thames downstream of London. The outcome was that the incidents of diseases such as cholera was drastically reduced, and the foundations laid for our present sewage system. From an outdoor point of view, his plan also included that the huge sewage pipes that led to the Thames in the vicinity of Hackney, Stratford and Beckton should be covered over with a walkway to provide a promenade in the open air for the people that lived in the poor and heavily polluted areas that the east of London had become. That walkway – and cycleway – is now known as the Greenway – and is very much that.
Soon we picked up another of the channels – one which as an urchin I was told crocodiles lived in. Now we found that it was a haven for the narrow-boats that had been evicted from their green moorings within the Back-Rivers to make way for big games. Nearby are the two remaining mills of the Three Mills area – House Mill and Clock Mill. Although Clock Mill is the more spectacular of the two, with it's “Oast House” cones, this is listed as a Grade 11 building, whilst House Mill is Grade 1– for it is is one of the most important buildings of the early industrial revolution. This is an impressive grading. Less obvious – except for painful ankles, that is – the very cobbles over which you walk here are Grade 11 listed!
Our walk then took us between two waterways: on the left is the deep channel of the tidal Lea – the waters of which powered the mills – and on the right the gentle hardly-flow of the Lea Navigation. This is the waterway which at one time carried wood one way and paper the other between London and Hertford, on barges towed by steam tugs. Not a narrow-canal, this, but a once-busy, wide and deep water. Bow-locks is the junction of the tidal and the non-tidal navigations, and a great tide-lock still enables passage between the two. At present, the tidal Lea down to the Thames is not accessible for pedestrians, but branching off to the left, the Limehouse Cut now is. I say now is, because now there is a platform walkway passing under the wide road that is the Blackwall Tunnel Approach from Hackney (if you listen to traffic reports, Gillender Street figures highly!). There never was a towpath under here, so even were it possible to walk the Limehouse Cut, to get between it and Bow Locks was somewhat inhibited by the approach-road. The walkway shows what can be done to accommodate walkers, and cyclists.
In my early-walking-years explorations of the London canal systems, I once managed to access the cut from Limehouse Basin. This was before it was opened up to pedestrians, and I had to do this by a long jump down from a hole-in-the-fence to the overgrown towpath. There was no way back up again, so I walked the whole stretch to Bow-locks end in the hope I wouldn't be stranded for ever there. A locked gate was my greeting at Bromley-by-Bow, but I managed to climb over a wall, and hence survived. It is now a popular strolling and cycling route.
We missed some of the impressive and historic buildings around Limehouse, and the Basin itself, but went directly to the Thames Path. From the canals to the Thames is a sudden jump in scale, and certainly Pam would not believe that the wide waterway before us was the Ching Brook. But the Thames Path is also a bit of a lie, because much of it isn't and that that is is often locked to protect the inhabitants of the apartments that line the river. This is obviously vital, for here was the notorious Ratcliff Highway – easily the most most violent and murderous region in London. Here poor dwellings of dock-workers and Thames boatmen were situated just streets away from the elegant houses of merchants and sea-captains – and the press-gangs recruited some of their finest seafarers. Many of these elegant houses, and some of the poorer terraces, still remain just off the Highway or Wapping High Street, along which we continued. Here too is the remains of one of Hawksmoor's great churches: St. Georges in the East. We'd passed another at Limehouse: St Anne's. These are two of just twelve in London, and it is Hawksmoor's design that gives us our traditional “wedding cake” design.
By this time, there seemed to be a trend in the walk to reach toilet facilities, so the cobbles were traversed at a sprightly pace until we reached St. Katherine's Dock. Along Wapping High Street are two very well known historic pubs, the Prospect of Whitby and the Town of Ramsgate. They may well have been given their names to encourage seamen on the coastal trade route from the north of England and fishermen from Ramsgate coming into London to feel a contact with home; a bit of clever early marketing. An interesting collection of boats are berthed at St. Katherine's Dock, with millionaire cruisers and yachts cheek-by-bow (or whatever the maritime expression may be) with sailing-barges out of Maldon and Harwich. Also here is a pub which has a quirky history. The Dickens Inn looks like some modern re-creation of something traditional, but is actually something traditional re-created. In 1972 a warehouse was being demolished when within its brickwork was discovered an 18th Century timber building. This was cleaned-up, and the old frame was moved on rollers to its present position and re-established as a modern version of an ale-house. Re-opened in 1976, it is already a listed building.
Half the group had a coffee/hot chocolate break and lunch whilst the other went off to foray for toilets. They were gone a long time, and on returning, they required lunch whilst others required a toilet break. So there was another break, near to the Tower which – for those who didn't require the loo, turned out to be somewhat chilly.
We reached the south bank of the Thames by way of Tower Bridge and again picked up pace along the easy riverside walk. Considering what has been done by means of the platform walkway at Bromley-by-Bow, it is a shame that some means could not be found to at least allow access under London Bridge rather than up the stairs and across the busy road to pass behind Southwark Cathedral. The Thames walk still has a lot of off-Thames parts to it, even though there may have been opportunities when more recent developments were and are undertaken. Still, it's vastly different to what it was.
Suddenly we were at Waterloo Bridge, and Jim told us that was it and I went back on the Jubilee Line from Waterloo Station with Fred and Ann.
Now, my aching is telling me we did 6.5 miles, but working it out more accurately I find that it was actually 7.45 miles.
(Sorry - didn't take any pics. but have put some archive ones in to brighten things up - all views we may have had)
Paul Ferris, 23 January 2011
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