After a relaxing holiday with the Bain family in the beautiful Yorkshire Dales — walking (of course), drinking a lot of wine and playing mahjong — I need a quick hiking fix before setting off for Iceland at the end of the month. The Thames Path fits the bill, and a 5 am start finds me back at Reading in the early morning sun, where Egyptian Geese await breakfast.
The Reading Festival prepares for 90,000 fans, as a tall perimeter fence shadows me for what feels like a mile. A temporary footbridge will be installed to allow access from the campsite on the opposite bank.
Laura Croft watches over the captain sawing wood, although his fearsome guard dog says it’s in charge of security.
The Grade II listed Whitchurch Bridge maintains the tradition of a toll bridge since 1792.
I’m short on change, so sneak across.
The path veers north, away from the river, through lovely woodland and hillside, including an unexpected steep valley.
WWII pillboxes are dotted along the banks, part of a defensive line along the Thames to slow down the expected German invasion.
At least 12 red kites are circling high above the approach to Wallingford. A sign warns against feeding them after reports of the birds swooping down and stealing food from parks. I’m keeping my ham roll firmly under wraps.
I spend a frustrating 20 minutes trying to find the entrance to the castle and gardens, using my OS map rather than simply checking a town map. The park is pretty enough for a picnic but the castle remains are not worth the effort.
Things are going rather pear-shaped as it’s not possible to cross the river via Benson Lock and there’s an unwelcome road diversion in place over Wallingford Bridge. To make matters worse, it’s hot, and I can’t find an ice cream shop, cafe or bakery on the high street stretch from the castle to the bridge!
I cross the river for the final time at Little Wittenham Bridge, famous for hosting the World Championship Pooh-sticks race for many years. Hard to imagine over a thousand people clustered round the tiny bridge.
The walk finishes with a flourish, approaching Wittenham Clumps, a pair of distinctive wooded chalk hills, topped with the oldest beech tree plantings in England, dating to the 1740s.
In the fading early evening light, the trees on the summit of Round Hill whisper this is their place. I step forward, hesitate, and leave them alone, making a respectful circuit of the crown.
‘The country about and about is marvellous – Grey hollowed hills crowned by old, old trees, Pan-ish places down by the river wonderful to think on, full of strange enchantment… a beautiful legendary country haunted by old gods long forgotten.’
Paul Nash (1911)
The slightly lower Castle Hill is the site of an Iron Age fort. I’m a little weary and the day is ending, so skip the climb.
It’s a typical cross-field patchwork route to Didcot, all overgrown paths, stinging nettles, and shorts-wearing regrets. The evening light is lovely though. After a couple of miles, I’m slumped into the most welcome, sleep-inducing train seat for the long journey home.
Walk distance: 30 miles.
Total distance: 137 miles.