Family Matters 3

Last Sunday, Roy’s sister Lyndsay Clemmow and her husband, John, brought their mother, Leila Titchmarsh (93), to have lunch with us on Karanja. Marianne and Phil came down from Welford-on-Avon, too.

Though we’d been keeping Leila up-to-date with our barging exploits and shown her all the photos, it’s never the same as actually seeing it for yourself, is it? In the end, though we’d been unsure about how difficult boarding the boat might be, it was no problem.

The weather could have been warmer, but it was good enough to allow for a short cruise up and down the Thames.

Not only did Leila stand up next to Roy at the wheel for a better view, but after lunch she also managed to negotiate the fairly steep steps from the wheelhouse into the saloon. Thank you, everyone, for a lovely and most satisfactory day – especially the appointed (press-ganged?) drivers, John and Phil, who forwent champagne in favour of coffee. Nespresso, yes, but still.

Henley-on-Thames, Reprise

All shagged out after a long squawk – our one-day VHF radio course at Bisham Abbey Sailing and Navigation – it was time for Roy and me to resume our new lives of leisure with a celebratory cruise. Where should we go? Henley-on-Thames again, we decided.

A light wind was behind us, as was the summer’s final Bank holiday weekend, so conditions on the river were perfect. Few other boats were out there, but several groups of summer-happy kids were swimming, camping, barbecuing and generally having a jolly time. Sonning and Shiplake locks comfortably negotiated, we found a convenient mooring very close to town, just 300 metres from the bridge.

By Dinghy to “The Bull Inn” at Sonning, and more

I’d been wanting to try The Bull Inn at Sonning ever since I read Jerome K. Jerome’s description in his comic masterpiece Three Men in A BoatNot to mention the dog (1889): “If you stay at Sonning,” he advised, “put up at ‘The Bull’.”

Built in the 16th century, it is still owned by the neighbouring St Andrew’s Church (which rents it to Fullers).

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The Bull Inn at Sonning

Mapledurham Food Festival

Summer in the UK is festival time! In the immediate run-up to the big Reading Festival (from 24 August), tiny Mapledurham village has just hosted an enjoyable food festival in the grounds of the 16th-century Mapledurham House – with everything from artisanal cheeses and locally produced rapeseed oil to Provencale rosé, South African biltong and the fruit scones I’m scoffing right this minute with butter and tea.

Running and Cycling from Wallingford to Shillingford

 Like the bear that went over the mountain, what often keeps me going is the urge to know what’s coming up ahead. So wherever we stop to moor up, I can’t help wondering what the next lock or village looks like. (Whereas Roy, apparently, has no such interest.)

Fortunately, the place that’s ahead is often close enough for me to be able to gently jog there along the towpath. Here’s what I saw on the 10km route from Wallingford to Shillingford and back, via Benson lock.

A Tale of Two Villages – Wallingford and Crowmarsh Gifford

Along the Thames, it’s common for a bridge to immediately link two separate towns or villages, one of which is obviously more flourishing than its neighbour. Goring has Streatley, Pangbourne has Whitchurch, and Wallingford has Crowmarsh Gifford. (Sounds straight out of Harry Potter, doesn’t it?)

It would be rude not to at least take a stroll through the bustling metropolis of Crowmarsh, especially as we’re moored on its side of the bridge. Apart from boasting an impressive total of two builder’s merchants, the village is perhaps most memorable for:

Nice Day for a Murder

Waking up to the English rarity of a clear blue sky and warm sunshine, murder – nay, multiple and grisly murders! – was the first thing that crossed my mind.

You see, Wallingford is one of several villages featured in the TV series Midsomer Murders; it was Inspector Barnaby’s home village of Causton. Both the Town Hall and the Corn Exchange (now a theatre) were used in the episodes “Death of a Hollow Man” and “Death of a Stranger”.

View from Wallingford Bridge to the Boat House
View from Wallingford Bridge to the Boat House

Upstream to Wallingford

“Wallingford is lovely!”, all our friends at the Thames & Kennet Marina agreed. So we set off  in our Dutch barge Karanja to take a look at this ancient market town, and ended up spending six nights there.

Anyone with a boat wants to be out on the Thames during summer weekends – especially when the weather plays along. There being so many marinas downstream from Reading, plenty of craft come out with the sun; and though it never really seems over-busy on the river itself, it can be at the locks. Coming back from Henley-on-Thames a couple of Sundays ago, lock queues sometimes meant a long wait.

Not being restricted to weekends, luckily, it was 9.30am on Tuesday morning before we left, uneventfully passing through five locks (Caversham, Mapledurham, Whitchurch, Goring and Cleeve) before the open 5km stretch to Wallingford.

Arriving at 2pm meant we were lucky to get the last mooring on the Riverside Park bank of the Thames, cheekily encroaching on the clearly marked “Private Mooring” reserved for a passenger cruiser. (Not too big a one, fortunately; it came along later and managed uncomplainingly to tuck in behind us. Next day, we moved along as soon as a space opened up.)

Neighbours-for-a-night Claire and Jeremy from Happy Chance, another beautiful Piper-built Dutch barge, asked us over for drinks. Having the boating life in common – especially when you’ve ordered your vessels through the same company – means there’s always plenty to talk about. They’d just returned from two rainy weeks on a hired boat in France, starting from Migennes as we plan to do next year; so they had some very useful information to share about the experience. I only wish I could remember more of it… Happily, we should have another opportunity to chat at the annual Piper get-together at Henley, in September.

Lots to do and see in Wallingford

Ship to Shore – Communications

It all started a few days before we left Singapore, with a sudden urge to phone my mother. Registering that our landline phone had been packed for Perth, I asked Roy for his mobile. “No,” he said bluntly. “Use your own. Now that I’ve retired, there’s no company paying the phone bills anymore.”

“But I can’t afford international calls!” I wailed (embarrassingly, in retrospect). “Especially long ones.”

“Neither can I.” Then, it being 11pm and time for a retired gentleman to retire, he went off to bed.

What was to be done? Sulking was unlikely to be effective, especially in the absence of the sulkee. Clearly, the time had come to enter the new age of telecommunications. Hmm… what had Wendy and Blaire said they were using to call us? Something internet-based, cheap enough both for youngsters with mortgages and for struggling pensioners like ourselves… Skype!

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