Thames Path at Temple Island
MONDAY, MAY 22
Grace Kelly was my mother, Lola Ricketts’ (nee Kelly) favourite actress and today, Marie and I enjoy a drink in a pub visited by the great American, during the Henley Regatta. The pub is the ‘Angel on the Bridge’, right beside the 250-year-old bridge, which crosses the Thames here and funnels traffic into Henley’s business district. Marie and I are to spend the next three nights here, after two nights in Windsor and three in London. In Windsor we had stayed with David and Linda Howes, who kindly drove us to Henley today. We are staying in a lovely upstairs apartment, looking over a small park which was once the turntable for trains. At first we can’t get in, because we do not have the code. We leave our luggage with architect, Christian Cox, who is only too pleased to help out a couple of colonials. Christian is Commercial Director of West 11 Design Ltd.
The lady in Henley’s Tourist Office is a delight – ever so helpful. She visited Australia in 1989, on her honeymoon, her trip coinciding with the airline pilots’ strike, and she had to fly in a Hercules, within Australia. We walk the Thames to Marsh Lock, and the river scenes are beautiful on this fine, sunny day. There are parents walking their little schoolgirl daughter home, the dad sucking on a can of Stella. Not a good look. We have a drink at ‘The Old Bell’, the oldest pub in Henley, dating back to 1325. Then we move on to The Angel on the Bridge, where my beer of choice is the local Brakspear Royal, while Marie has a Salcombe Gin. The Brakspear Brewery now operates out of Witney. We had stayed at Salcombe in 2015. At the Old Bell I had a Shipyard Pale Ale from Portland USA. At ‘The Angel’ a biker male and female, and another chap, talk ever so loudly. The male biker is wearing a Stevie Wonder Tour t-shirt.
TUESDAY, MAY 23
Marquees are being set up along the Thames, in readiness for next month’s Henley Regatta. Marie and I walk the rowing course past Temple Island to Hambleden Mill, and then cross the fields to the village of Hambleden, with a friendly cyclist directing us away from the busy roads, to a footpath we didn’t know existed. Lunch at the Stag and Huntsman Pub is excellent. Marie has soup of the day, while I tuck into battered haddock, chips and mushy peas. The bus stop back at the mill is shut because of road works, but a local farmer says the bus should still stop for us, if we wave it down, and he proves correct. We arrive in the busy Thames town of Marlow just as school finishes, and students spill out, onto the streets, a group in front of us talking things scientific, and not bothering with smart phones. How refreshing. At the old suspension bridge over the Thames it is great theatre watching vehicles trying to squeeze through the bollards, which are designed to stop heavy vehicles from using the bridge. Back in Henley, we have drinks at the Row Barge, a pub recommended by the real estate agency which lets our apartment. It strikes me as a real locals’ pub, and reportedly does an excellent roast meal. We settle for a cheese platter in our room. The sign outside the pub shows Princess Anne being taken up the regatta course in 1977 in a replica of a royal barge that was built for the film ‘A Man for All Season’, which I saw at Murwillumbah’s Regent Theatre.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 24
Another huge walking day, this time from Henley to the National Trust property, Grey’s Court, in the Chilterns, via country paths and rights of way, with a holidaying hiker from Caversham, near Reading, helping us with directions at a crucial juncture. Lunch at Grey’s Court cafe, which is called the ‘Cowshed’. The volunteer guides in the house are helpful, giving us details on the furnishings as well as the Brunner family, who were owners of the Tudor mansion, and are forever linked with the chemical company, ICI, which I associate with the famous rugby league town of Widnes. Widnes were known as the Chemics, before being rebranded the Vikings. Marie loves the wisterias in the garden. After getting hopelessly lost on the return cross country journey (our phones had died) we were overjoyed to stumble across a bus stop, and caught a double decker back into Henley, where we had drinks and dinner at the Argyle, a pub which features in Midsomer Murders. Marie has crab cakes, while I tuck into bangers and mash.
THURSDAY, MAY 25
David Howes drives us to our next destination – Painswick, in the Cotswolds – where we check into the Falcon Hotel, which was once the scene of cock fighting. We shout David to lunch, which is the least we can do, for all the hospitality he and his wife, Linda have shown us. David and I both choose the ham and chicken pie, while Marie has parsnip soup. Thumbs up all round. I can’t say the same for the locally (Stroud) brewed Tim Long Organic Bitter, which is quite possibly the worst beer I’ve ever had. I am always dubious of any drink labelled organic – not so organic food.
After lunch Marie and check out the village of Painswick, before walking just out of the village, to the Rococo Gardens, where the resident wood sculptor is doing her stuff, as we enter the grounds. The gardens are quirky, and worth a visit, but I wouldn’t put them on the ‘must visit’ list. Dinner at the Falcon – pea ravioli (moi); the ham and chicken pie (Marie) is excellent, accompanied by wine from the Balfour Estate, which owns the hotel, as well as nine or 10 other establishments in the south of England.
FRIDAY, MAY 26
My first black pudding of the trip – part of the full English breakfast served up at The Falcon. The Falcon has its own lawn bowls club next door, reputedly the oldest continuously operating club in the UK, dating back to 1554. This coming weekend is a promotional one by Bowls Engand, which is trying to get more people into the sport. When Marie and I check out the green at the Falcon, one of the members tries to convince us to have a game. He tells us of the history of the club, and declining membership around the country. In Painswick there are two bowls clubs, which seems ridiculous. The Falcon has 40 odd members. There is a music quartet rehearsing in 14thC St Mary’s as we poke our heads in. Marie and I enjoy coffee and cake at the village centre, where a mum and daughter (I think) provide excellent service. The mum reminds me of Mary Leslight (nee Connelly) from Murwillumbah. In other words, she is a beautiful woman. Mary is the widow of former Brothers’ prop, Brian Leslight, a prop from the old school.
The village of Slad is the destination of our country walk. We leave Painswick, via one of the town’s old mills, and force our way through nettles, up Ticklestone Lane, into the Frith Woods, emerging at Juniper Hill, where there are sensational views. Other walks (him from Sussex, she from Stroud) point us in the right direction, after we take a wrong turn. Drinks and lunch at The Woolpack, Slad, where author, Laurie Lee, author of ‘Cider with Rosie’, was a patron.The menu is quirky, and Marie has beetroot soup, while I settle for a cheese toastie, given I had such a big breakfast. My beer of choice is the local Uley Bitter, which is certainly a major improvement on the organic stuff I had in Painswick. Marie has Pheasant Plucker cider, which she thoroughly enjoys, and is still able to pronounce at the end of the drink. The pub is busy, with a lot of tradies coming in for knock-off drinks, one of them a stone mason, who tells us he will never run out of work in this region because of the abundance of historic Cotswold Stone buildings. Also chat to two keen golfers who are holding court at the bar, one referring to how hard it is to be ‘male, pale and stale’. One of them has family in Victoria, and married his (Aussie) first wife at Deniliquin in New South Wales. He now lives at Painswick, the other bloke at Windsor. They are both cricket fans, and have tickets to some of the upcoming Tests. The bloke with the Aussie connections has a lovely dog – Sophie.
Check into St Anne’s Bed and Breakfast in Gloucester Street, Painswick, where Iris greets us with Elderflower water and flapjacks. We are also greeted by Billy, a sheep dog rescued from the wilds of Romania. True. An Alaskan couple – from Fairbanks – are at the communal table. They are walking the Cotswolds Way, after having walked the entire Thames Path on a previous visit. When Iris shows us to our room, I am a bit concerned there is no toilet or shower. Turns out they are hidden away in the wardrobe, in the corner of the room. Dinner at The Oak pub, which is busy. Marie and I share haddock and chips. Cheltenham Gold is my choice of ale. Two gay chaps opposite us appear to have had a spat. One says there is no way he would go to see Beyonce.
Our grand daughter, Evan goes to Prep open day at Ayr, back in Australia. ‘Are you looking forward to Prep next year,” asks her dad, Damien. “I’ve already done Prep, Today, Daddy,” says an exasperated Evan.
SATURDAY, MAY 27
Parisian, Flo shocks at breakfast by declaring Australia is essentially a cultural desert. She has been to Sydney, where, it seems, there is no theatre. I had to disagree, particularly as she says this over breakfast in front of the Alaskan pair, who ask if this is true. The Alaskans ask how far our Aussie ancestry goes back, and are shock to learn 1850s or ’60s. I think they believe all Aussies (except for the Indigenous, obviously) are descended from far more recent arrivals. And then they want to know if we are descended from criminals!
Marie and I tackle the leg of the Cotswolds Way from Painswick to Coopers Hill, much of it traversing the Painswick Golf Club. It is another beautiful day. We turn around in the woods at Coopers Hill, to return to Painswick by a different route. If we had gone just a bit further, we would have seen the rehearsals for the annual cheese rolling event. We have a drink at the Black Horse Pub, Cranham, which is to soon pass from private hands to the community. Long serving (37 years) publican, Phil chats to us about his love of cricket, and how he was hosted to a fine lunch by Angus Fraser on a tour of Lords. Phil has two lads who play, or have played cricket, one at Gloucestershire youth level. Phil loves Australian comedian, Billy Birmingham’s take on cricket. Another patron of the Black Horse tells Phil of another village where the community are set to take over the pub, but the price is the sticking point. The village has valued the pub at 500,000 pounds, but the publican wants 900,000.
From Cranham we get lost trying to find our way to Sheepscombe, and, after taking directions from a couple of young lasses on horse back, I am forced to swallow my pride and turn on roaming. We mainly follow quiet country lanes. There is a dead badger in the middle of one lane, and I mistake it for a cat. When I tell a couple out walking their dog there is a dead cat up ahead, they panic, thjnking it might be there’s. “It was a badger, you idiot,” my wife says. So much for the great Aussie bushman.
Lunch at The Butcher’s Arms in Sheepscombe, a fine pub, with a big menu. Marie and I share a plate of tacos, as I consume a Bruscombe Bitter from Bristol. We get back to our room in time for the last 10 minutes of Saracen’s win over Sale in the Grand Final of England’s Premier Rugby Union competition. ‘Just Stop Oil’ protesters had disrupted the game earlier. Owen Farrell, son of former Great Britain rugby league skipper, Andy Farrell, is captain of Saracens. Retiring Sale skipper, South African Jono Ross, says the club’s excellent season was a boost for the game in the north. He didn’t add, where rugby league is king. The best player in the Grand Final wins the Peter Deakin Memorial Medal, named after former rugby league journalist and promotions man who put Bradford Bulls on the map, before taking the bigger money on offer in the 15 man game. I had a bit to do with Peter and sat beside him once, on a flight from Brisbane to Auckland, where we had a great chat about rugby league, his first love.
SUNDAY, MAY 28
Wake to episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. At breakfast, we chat to a couple from London, here for a wedding. They are originally from Hamburg in Germany, and he had lived in Australia (Sydney and Melbourne) for 10 years. I didn’t ask him what he thought of the culture. An American mum and daughter (San Francisco) join us. They are walking the Cotswolds Way. The mum says lots of businesses are leaving California and relocating to places such as Texas and Florida, for more favourable tax environs. The London lady (ex-Hamburg) sarcastically quips that they might be leaving because of the forest fires. No doubt she was making a point about climate change, and also having a go at the US lady’s capitalist views. The US lady, who was Cambridge educated, describes homelessness in California as an industry. All four of our co-diners have vegetarian breakfasts. I have full English breakfast, which includes superb local bacon. As we check-out, Iris and Greg comment that we deserve to be commended for voting out a conservative government in Australia. Why is it that people assume you have voted a particular way? We could be the most ardent conservatives on the planet.
Marie and I get a cab to Stroud with our driver, Ron Goddard talking lawn bowls for most of the journey. He is president of the Falcon club, and his garage sponsors the club’s teams. In Stroud, we stay at the Clothiers Arms pub, which has DJs in the beer garden all afternoon and into the evening. We explore Stroud central, and then walk a stretch of the Thames/Severn Canal, having morning tea and lunch at excellent The Snug at Wallbridge Lock. To our toom in time to see Israel Folau score for a World XV against the Barbararians at Twickenham, Fellow convert from rugby league Semi Radradra is also in the World side, and makes excellent ground every time he touches the ball, in what is a very loose game.
Footnote: In Painswick we had intended to stay two nights at The Court House, but, at the last minute, they told us the place was being shut for renovations. We booked through Booking.Com. A number of people in Painswick raised their eyebrows when we mentioned The Court House.
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