Not really The Dollis Valley Green Walk

I'd had a vague idea of following the Dollis Brook for a while, and few months ago I thought I'd do a section along it's 'greenwalk' whilst killing time prior to a concert in the evening. Just a shortish walk, nothing epic. So this post recounts events from the Autumn as remembered 6 months later. I had last been in Finchley about 25 years ago when I lived there when I was a student at the Polytechnic (later University) of North London. Back then I wasn't even aware of the Dollis Brook or that it flowed through Finchley very near to where I had lived. I'd never explored the area very much at the time. Cursing the young Mr H's lack of perambulatory curiosity, I felt a need to revisit the area. I wanted to find the viaduct in nearby Mill Hill too.

Rather than catch the tube straight to Finchley Central I took the opportunity to have a preliminary drift between Kings Cross and Camden. It was just before midday so I had a good seven hours spare time. The development around Kings Cross has been relentless in the last few years but pockets of resistance and dissent still exist.

Up the road at Euston Station the forthcoming HS2 (High Speed 2) development is destined to have an even bigger and more negative local impact than that at Kings Cross. Residents will be displaced. Relocation is promised nearby but whether this will happen remains to be seen. The excellent Bel Poori restaurants of Drummond Street are under threat. Graves are being exhumed in a public garden destined to disappear and be buried itself under one of the new entrances.

Meanwhile, carrying on towards Somers Town I wasn't sure if this tailor had abandoned the premises or had barricaded him/herself inside.

At number 145 it looked like JR Pottery had discarded the kiln in order to supply emergency blankets. 

Not long after this I got to Camden and caught the tube to Finchley Central. I walked up the main drag, Ballards Lane, taking a diversion into Victoria Park to try and find a convenience. There was one but it was locked. I left the park being too distracted by natures call to explore it properly. I'd never been there when I lived in the area.

Back on the main road I was drawn into a side passage known as Lovers Walk. No sign of anything amorous occurring but maybe that only happens at night. It looked to be in the right direction for the Dollis Brook and there was a possibility of finding somewhere to have a pee.

Lovers Walk

I emerged onto a residential street. A bit further down it I followed the sign pointing down a pathway which was a continuation of Lovers Walk. I guessed this would lead me to the Dollis Brook. But by this point I'd decided I'd drift in whatever direction took my fancy, and if I found the  Brook it would be fortuitous but not longer essential.

Soon I did reach the brook and followed it along until taking a diversion past the Fursby Allotments: 'Best Kept Small Allotment in Barnet 2015'. A worthy accolade, but it was now 2016. Where was the  currently title holder I wondered? Maybe a future walk tracking the allotments of Barnet would be a good excuse to come back another day. As far as I am concerned allotments are magical spaces and in more ways than one. Anyone who has one will probably tell you that upon entering an allotment site you are instantly in a different place physically and mentally. Any stress and anxiety seems to dissipate as you pass through the gate as if you have entered parallel dimension of calm and equilibrium. They are also miraculous in their continued existence given the pressure from developers and land grabbers. But many have been lost including one recently in nearby(ish) Watford. They represent a healthy 'up yours' to the idea of  relentless property speculation as the best use of land...maybe that's another reason it feels good to have an allotment. The resurgence of interest in them among all sorts of people in recent years has been important in helping reduce their loss. It has also meant that they are no longer only inhabited by the stereotypical easy going old men in flat caps, although gladly they are still about to offer their wisdom. 

My memory of events here feels somewhat unreliable - there is a bit of a gap in the photographic record and a cheating look at google maps hasn't helped me really. So I will write as I remember. This might lead to an account not quite on par the reality of the route taken but the one that is in my brain a few months after the event. And therefore a more pure if distorted version of events. I emerged into a green space following the Dollis. This was clearly a popular place to bring children and walk dogs. Not really wanting to be surrounded by either I diverted down a side way leading to a road..possibly the one I had crossed earlier.

I had it in mind that this road would lead to Mill Hill East tube station. I passed a crossroads with a handful shops and a couple of busy cafes. I half recognised this from my Uni days of 25 years ago. The scene sparked a vague memory of trying to walk to Mill Hill East back then and never reaching it. I remembered these shops but never finding the tube station. Again when I got to this place I initially thought I might be at Mill Hill East. It wasn't of course and I carried along the road. Looking at the map now this was probably Lullington Garth but I'm not 100% sure.

Carrying on I soon found myself in what was beginning to resemble countryside. I found a stile into a field and felt compelled to climb over it. There were several mushroom rings in the field, this being Autumn. In European and British Folklore these 'fairy rings' are usually considered dangerous if entered. One legend has it that  'someone who violates a fairy perimeter becomes invisible to mortals outside and may find it impossible to leave the circle. Often, the fairies force the mortal to dance to the point of exhaustion, death, or madness'. While the idea of becoming invisible is quite appealing when doing a walk, I was never much of a dancer to being with. I skirted round the rings just to be on the safe side.

Invisible dancefloor of death

In the distance I could see what thought was the Lloyds Bank buidling in Cockfosters. The tentacles of world finance are never far away even when dodging fairy rings in a field in Barnet. On an earlier walk I did with R, our destination had been East Barnet but we saw the looming white building in the distance and decided carry on until we reached it. It seemed like a beacon in the suburban hilliness of Barnet. It was less palatial and impressive close up than from a distance but still the dominant feature in the immediate environs of Cockfosters Tube. One which seemed to mock our vain efforts to find liquid refreshment at the end of our journey (we couldn't find a pub near the station).

I noticed some of the trees appeared petrified. Maybe they were cursed..by fairies or bankers. Or maybe dead. Or maybe they were supposed to look like that, I'm not much of an authority on trees.

Across the field I climbed another stile and entered what looked like a farmyard. I saw people with children on horses. I followed the footpath signs across another field and into a paddock. This contained a couple of large horses and no apparent way out the other side. Retreating from the paddock,  I retraced my steps as no other obvious pathway presented itself. I have a sort of unwritten rule never to double back on a walk unless there are exceptional circumstances. But horses can be dangerous and I'm a coward. This was an exceptional circumstance.

Back on the main road, I soon saw that the reason for the proliferation of all things horsey was the Frith Manor Equestrian Centre'. A bit further up the road I passed this mysterious obelisk.

Passing Finchely Golf Club I suddenly recalled this road from my attempt to walk to Mill Hill East in my student days. I remember at the time this being a seemingly endless road with trees and fields with an army base or shooting range and possibly a farm  My vague memory was at least part right. Inglis Barracks used to exist nearby but the site has since been given over to a fairly typical looking residential development only remarkable by it's non-remarkableness. Millbrook Park was a result of something called Project MoDel which basically involved the Ministry of Defence divesting itself of sites considered surplus by selling to housing developers. I guess houses are better than war.

It seems even manhole covers have to be called something. I came across this one labelled 'Warrior'. Other names for manhole covers include 'Saunders', 'Aptlas Double' and 'Bulleseye' although these ones are more subtle and dignified, not feeling the need to display their brand to the public. Those who need to identify and deal with the various Thames Water manhole covers safely have this booklet to refer to. These field officers hold the key to an unseen world of underground byways through these portals. Maybe they know the secret of the names given to the covers. But to me they remain as random sounding and unexplained as those given to different models of glasses in Specsavers.

Warrior

Eventually I arrived at a crossroads with some shops and soon after rejoined the Dollis Brook (I think.I didn't bother to check the map).

Probably not an official warning sign

Then I emerged into some streets and followed a footpath to Dollis Avenue.

Somewhere soon after this I passed through a small secluded churchyard  featuring an unusual urn type monument, possibly a grave, at it's centre. Symbolism in graveyards is something I ought to lean more about. According to the Graveyards of Scotland blog, 'An urn is the epitome of elegance, class and style and had soon replaced the skull and crossbones on many graveyards in Scotland and the world'. Not being one to care much for elegance, class and style I think that's something of a shame.

Rested I carried on. Soon I realised I was back not far from where I'd began at Finchley Central.

Rather than head back to Ballards Lane I took a pathway which ended at the entrance to Stephens House and Gardens, a place I'd never heard of. This contained a memorial to the comedian Spike Milligan who had lived in the area and been involved in the Finchley Society.

The statue is called 'a conversation with Spike' and you are encouraged to engage in one and while taking in the various elements of the bench. These include elephant heads, statues of characters from the Goon Show and fairies. Spike apparently had a fascination with fairies and convinced his children they lived at the bottom of his garden. Hopefully they didn't fall foul of the mushroom rings. I did sit for a few minutes and wondered what bizarre anecdotes he'd be able to tell me about the environs and characters of Finchley in the early 70s. I'm sure he had plenty but he remained silent.

Also in the gardens is 'the Bothy'. A Victorian folly under renovation. One of the first non-Roman concrete structures in Britain. I'd never really associated the Victorians with concrete but the view of one of its towers from outside the garden had a definite proto-brutalist feel to it.

Heading South, away from Finchley, I passed this green in what was otherwise quite a built up area on Regents Park Road. I was surprised to see cows in this setting but they were defiantly there.

Over the road this building featuring  'danger of death' dates from the days of Finchley Borough Council. This organisation disbanded in 1965 when the Borough of Barnet and swallowed up Finchley. I wondered what the faded white rectangle symbols represented. Had always only been an electricity room or had Finchley Borough Councillors had utilised it for other purposes.

After crossing the North Circular Road I realigned with the Greenwalk for a bit in the direction of Hampstead. Hampstead was my destination for the evening so I wanted to avoid going there for now.  I thought I might be able to skirt round it's edges and head towards Kentish Town to obtain liquid refreshment for the concert later. I had been advised there would be an interval and to 'bring what you like to drink'. I planned to visit the Clapton Craft beer shop to obtain supplies and visit the excellent Pineapple Pub for a relaxing post walk pint before heading to Hampstead, by bus or train.

I was soon in Little Wood nature reserve..another place I had no idea existed. I'm not sure if I passed through Big Wood. I've since learned Little Wood contains an open air theatre, still in use. I missed that but did stumble upon evidence of  premature Halloween shenanigans -it was October 22nd, not the 31st.

Possibly the people of Hampstead Garden Suburb consider their Winter Fair of greater significance and Halloween is pushed back a week. I misread the notice below at the time. I thought it implied visiting the event would reduce stress which seemed a bit of a bold claim. It turns out Combat Stress is a charity for helping war veterans with post traumatic stress disorder and other stress related afflictions. 

This bizarre letter box was on  the wall surrounding a particularly big house, even for round these parts. The Lion is a symbol of 'strength, courage and majesty' used since Roman times and is  a popular design for door knockers in the UK. The letter box reminded  me of the Green Man or foliate head carvings found /in churches as much as a Lion.

Eventually I was out of Hampstead Garden Suburb and heading towards Swiss Cottage. I don't recall much of the walk between the two except that by this point I was beginning to regret wearing new boots. I had only planned a shortish walk but I hadn't turned out that way and my feet were beginning to feel it. I passed this ghost sign for an optician on the main street having left the foliate suburb to pass into a more down to earth albeit less leafy area.

I'd not anticipated passing through Swiss Cottage. I was an area I'd only ever really passed through by bus in the past. I often wondered what the Swiss Cottage building was that I could see from the top deck. I was happy to find it was a pub belonging to Sam Smith's Brewery- Ye Olde Swiss Cottage. Several years ago a friend suggested trying to visit all the Sam Smith's pubs in London over the course of a few visits. There are quite a number of them. We somehow never go round to that but someone else has done and also produced a map. It may or may not be complete and up to date..maybe a Sam Smiths walk is needed to find out...

At Swiss Cottage tube station it was nice to see that beverages were not being provided by the usual suspects. The Star Box Coffee stand, painted telephone/postbox red, seemed defiant to the blandification and homogenaity usually found.

From Swiss Cottage I headed towards Camden and Kentish Town. I passed this high rise in a street mainly made up of older houses. Having never been inside a high rise flat I wondered what it would be like..the higher floors of these flats must afford spectacular views across London, in the direction of Primrose Hill and Regents Park. I don't know the demographic of this particular block but, although this block is not quite Belfeon Tower or Trellick Tower and probably not a target for the National Trust, I would guess the story is (or will be) similar.  One of the original people it was built to house being displaced by those with more money.

After a while I found myself on Prince of Wales Road heading into Kentish Town. This vaguely familiar territory for me. The Polytechnic/University of North London had a building there..an ex school I think. This was a bit out of the way of the rest of the Poly/University based mostly in buildings on or near Holloway Road and I only went there about three times. Probably the most famous Alumni of the Poly is Jeremy Corbyn who left/got thrown out after several disagreements with his tutors before finishing his course. There was quite a bit of left wing student politics going on when I was there, so maybe he left his mark. The only other famous alumni I can think of were the band Lush who had left just before I arrived in 1991. It had been turned into flats by the time I next returned to the area just after the turn of the millennium, when I stayed in a B&B over the road. I'd picked Michael's guest house from the Yellow Pages. Can hotel booking really have not existed then? It is now called Camden B&B and it looks a lot smarter - if not a little odd-from the outside, painted white with coloured stripes.

I had not bargained on encountering the Drinkers Paradise shop. Here I stocked up on a couple of beverages for later. I was attracted by the display of decent beer in the window. The Fosters lager logo and 0171 number, displayed on the old sign,  would have been contemporary of  my time at the Poly.  The old and new signs seemed to represent both an increase in the availability of decent beer (hooray!) and rampant gentrification (boo!) that has happened since the era of the 0171 number - I suppose I have to grudgingly accept that the former is a symptom of the latter. 

As I'd reached Kentish Town with plenty of time. I headed to the aforementioned Pineapple for a pint and to rest my feet which were now feeling it, mostly because of my poor footwear choice. Following the side street off the main drag of Kentish Town brought me to the stark contrast of the quiet road of smartly and brightly decorated houses on which the pub is located. I found a quite corner and escaped from the world for a while.

I had intended to get a train from Kentish Town West but that seemed in the wrong direction, and I decided to walk towards Hampstead. This part of the walk was not that eventful..I was weary and was looking out for a bus to take me to Hampstead. I made it to Gospel Oak after passing through this tunnel and the dolls shop below. I'd been past the dolls shop before and had assumed it was closed up. The bizarre objects in the window looked like it had been abandoned years ago and were covered in dust. It was reminiscent of a combination of the shop from the children's TV programme Bagpuss and The Victor Wynd Museum of Curiosities. On that occasion it was Sunday but this time it was very much opened for business, although the cage was kept up on the window. I've since discovered a couple of short films about the shop and it's eccentic octogenarian owner, Kristin Baybars. 'The Little Shop in Gospel Oak' and this one from the London Film School show what I missed  by not going in.  'We do not exist, but of you think we do please knock' reads a sign on the door. I wish I had.

No sign of Professor Yaffle

I caught the overground train at Gospel Oak, a feeble one stop to Hampstead but I was knackered. I was a bit early so visited the White Horse pub. I remembered the name as a place that used to put on gigs back in the day by bands like Silverfish. There was no trace of anything as energentic and rawkus as that happening here now. I headed up to the Rosalyn Hill Chapel to the concert, and treated myself to a posh pork pie to go with by beer at the interval, from a posh deli/butcher shop nearby before going in.

28 days later...

The Dollis Brook Greenwalk would have to be done properly another day. Possibly.

Morden to Hersham

We’d done a walk with a couple of other people to Hampton Court and had planned to carry on to Hersham. In the end that turned out to be a bit optimistic so we didn’t. We knew nothing of Hersham except that Sham 69 wrote a song about it.  Morden was a place I knew only as the southern terminus of the Northern Line. It looked within walking distance of Hersham on the map- roughly 12 miles- so it would do nicely as a starting point.

Outside Morden Tube station only hint of the rampant hipsterfication found elsewhere was at the  Wimpey. where their usual fayre is now being offered on wooden boards instead of plates.

The ‘bender in a bun’ looked more vile than ever being half exposed. Coincidently the day after the walk an article on Wimpeys appeared here. The franchise owner of a Wimpey interviewed says he’s eaten it every day for 31 years.  With the at least 3 grease cafes in the vicinity we weren’t tempted to start following his example.

South London -which I’m less familiar with - often feels a bit like a parallel version of North London. A bit off kilter, like a place in a dream that’s supposed to be somewhere you know but isn’t quite right. One feature we noticed here and on a previous walk following the Wandle is more extensive suburban-ness. The endless 1930s pebble dashed and mock Tudor houses reminded us of the settings for 70s sit coms.  We wondered about mapping locations of London based sitcoms across the city. The Civic Centre in Morden is a quite bizarre building incorporated into a curved block of flats or maybe offices. I could imagine it as a scene in the (probably deservedly) forgotten 80s comedy ‘a Small Problem’. 

The other feature is the abundance of parks and green spaces which feel more extensive, deserted and wild than in the North. We had a detour through the strangely elongated and deserted Kendor Gardens, and alongside a field we thought was Merton Park but I’m not certain. Not sure if the Merton Parkas -an 80s mod revival band I had a badge of when I was a kid but to this day have never heard- ever hung out there. Morden Park was a much larger concern where following the first and more benign of two close encounters with dogs, we took a diversion through some woods and had the first of several sightings of the parakeets of South West London. Exiting the park we passed something labelled the ‘Bow Lane Screen’ 

This marked the end of the above ground part of a stream (unidentified). We passed the headquarters of the ‘1^st Lower Morden Scout Group and Sharks Explorer Unit’ – well, normal scouting did always sound a bit boring. Was Jaws lurking streams and tributaries in Merton Borough? Maybe the Bow Lane screen was some sort of safety device…

Writing this a few weeks after the walk, looking at my photos for the next part of the walk they seem out of sequence with the way I remember it. Not sure if it’s the technology at fault or my memory. I’m going to blame the technology and relay events as I recall them.

We passed the Morden Brook – the first pub we had seen but it was a bit early for a pint. Nearby was something called ‘The Firework Factory’.  Not sure if it had any connection to the one that exploded in Southampton back in May last year but we thought it best not to hang about.

We went past this odd painting/mural in someone’s front garden just before Morden Cemetery. There’s obviously a nautical theme but beyond that it made no sense.

Morden Cemetery was pleasant enough but I have no significant memories of it. We came out into a park which I think was the Sir Joseph Hood Memorial Park. A quick google search reveals it’s named after a Tory from Ashby De La Zouch- a place I’d previously only associated with the character Adrian Mole and have visited with my work. It’s got a good Thai Restaurant and no train station. From the park we could see the three gas rings- a dominating feature of the area of Motspur Park.

R and me are a bit to old/cautious/worried about getting nicked to embark on any closer inspection but others have been a bit bolder (it’s a young man’s game!) and some closer views are available here.

The area Motspur Park was apparently the location of the sit com ‘Brush Strokes’. It  featured a character called Jack played by a bloke who went on to be in adverts for Flash floor cleaner. And music by the bloke from Dexys Midnight Runners. More impressively -if true-apparently George Clinton of Parliament/Funkadelic lived in the area which trumps Merton’s third division Mod Revival musical connection hands down.

Back on a main(ish) road we passed pub number 2 – The Earl Beatty.  Quite an impressive looking (from the outside at least) 30s style boozer. It’s claimed on the pub website that it’s in New Malden rather than Motspur Park. New Malden is famous for its Korean restaurants and has a large Korean community but none of that was evident here.

We passed the gas rings again beyond a house as we crossed the boundary into Kingston borough. And at some point according to google maps we had passed over the first Thames tributary of the day, Beverley Brook but I can’t say I recall seeing it. Manor Park featured  a row of pylons following a railway track and this 70s public information film style sign on the gate. 

We saw no sign of small girls encouraging small boys to fly big Peter Powell kites near pylons and leading them to certain death.

I’m not sure what this area is known as-  the Park is cited as being in New Malden on some websites, Old Malden in others. I found this from the ‘Worcester Park blog’ which suggests part of the park at least is/was owned privately and in 2013 being trashed deliberately to make whatever development was planned seem an attractive option.  Where Worcester Park fits in geographically I’m not entirely sure. But soon we were somewhere defiantly signposted as Old Malden. 

Nearby was a green space through which the Hogsmill river flowed (second Thames tributary of the day). Maybe this was where the shark hunting scouts who’s hut we had seen earlier would find what they were looking for.

Past here on a pretty unremarkable residential street we saw the trade van of the unadvisedly named ‘Splashback’ bathroom fitters. And in the distance loomed the Tolworth Tower.

A quick google had revealed The Toby Jug pub  had played host to some top names in the early 70s. David Bowie, Led Zeppelin, Atomic Rooster. It’s not there anymore. Just the other side of the underpass from where it once stood is one end of the Broadway. This is dominated by Tolworth Tower which is a shopping centre with offices above.  Its reminded me of a cross between a less sophisticated version of the  JG Ballard’s High Rise and the hemmed- in- by- ring- roads location of the office in the film Bartelby. On the Broadway we passed the Broadway Bar café. We weren’t sure if this counted as a pub but given the depressing infrequency of them up to this point we called it pub no.3 of the walk. 

We stopped for coffee in an Italian café  where the radio was broadcasting ‘Radio Jackie’. R was intrigued that a radio station should cater solely to the readers of a publication for pre-teenage girls It’s not- but a former pirate turned commercial local station broadcast from the Tower.  We cut through some back streets. A sinister looking tower (hospital? we never found out) loomed over the roads of 1930s looking houses. 

Soon after passing a dilapidated offy we ended up back on a bypass and next to the site of the former Ace of Spades roadhouse. In the 30s Roadhouses allowed the middle classes the opportunity to drive to a large pub for food, drinking and dancing ‘til late before a drive home after a skinfull. Acceptable middle class drinking and driving is unimaginable these days-as is such an establishment being on this site. Now it is a row of shops including the Ace of Spades café. We were disturbed to see another establishment with links to fireworks. It was probably around 2pm when we got here and mysteriously everything was shut and the area devoid of people. 

We crossed the underpass across the A3.

Having cut the corner by taking a side road through a slightly posher residential area we ended up on yet another bypass type road. This led along the side of a park/rec and the Hook and Southborough Parish Hall and then pub no.4, the North Star.  We still maintained temperance.  This was an area well off the mental map. I’ve never heard of Southborough, and only Hook because of a quick google search the night before. We wondered whether we were still truly in London. We were still (just about) on the A-Z, bus stops still had the London Transport sign and we were still inside the M25, although for martial arts experts at least we were in ‘North Surrey’

Not long after turning the corner near this establishment we were in what was beginning to look like the countryside. We passed the ‘Junior Livery Yard’ then Chessington Equestrian Centre and ‘The Dell’ which also featured a mobile home park. No sign of horses-only empty fields.There was a substantial amount of discarded beer cans, plastic bags and fag packets in the bushes opposite showing a particularly strong disregard for the country code. There was a lot more than could conceivably have been thrown from car windows we thought.

A bit further along we were heading towards the village (suburb?) of Claygate - slowly- down a muddy horse track which was as close a thing available to a proper footpath. The sight of an abandoned mattress by the side of the road appeared to mark a proper boundary between town and country- and beyond this it felt like we had properly left London. A sign pointed out  ‘Cameras Operated by Elmbridge Borough Council’ and we were now off  the (A-Z) map. 

I’d never heard of Elmbridge Borough or it’s council but having passed their sign we began to feel like we were somewhere we might not be allowed to be. The proximity of Sandown Racecourse close to the nearby village (suburb?) of Esher sort of explained the paddocks/horsiness of the vicinity. But this changed as we passed the entrance to a  Ruxley Heights- ‘PRIVATE ESTATE’ ‘NO HORSE RIDING’. A bit further along behind some houses suddenly loomed up what looked like a bizarre folly or water tower. 

We took a diversion to get a closer look. The street/cul-de sac it was in was even more ‘private -keep out’ feel about it-we were surprised nobody came out of their house to ask what we thought we were doing or called the police. The building with the tower turned out to be a private residence – Ruxley Towers-which has associations with Queen Victoria, Cliff Richard and Ronnie Wood. The later apparently trashed the place leaving coffee stains and fag burns everywhere allegedly costing the landlord 75 grand. I wonder if  the landlord was the same woman trying to sell it in this ever so slightly nauseating article from  Surrey Life.

 

R asked a woman walking two dogs how to get to Esher. This was a brave move on his part considering his usual relationship with dogs is one of allergic reactions and fear. The larger of the dogs growled and barked and had to be restrained. The woman clearly though we were of unsound mind and that Esher too far to go on foot (probably about two miles at most I think). This encounter as well as showing R had developed a previously unseen ability to remain calm in the presence of growly dogs, demonstrated the gulf in perceptions regarding a reasonable distance to travel by foot between us and most other people. This encounter did nothing to ease the feeling that we were intruders.

A bit further into Claygate and in an area that looked less inhabited by the ultra-rich we asked a bloke for directions to the station. This seemed a better option than explaining where we were really going given the dog walkers reaction earlier. We needed water so asked if there were any shops-we’d seen none so far. He looked surprised and seemed a bit shocked-‘We’ve got loads of shops’. Before we saw any shops we arrived a Pub 5- The Foley. We crumbled at this point-thirsty and in need of a sit and a pee. On the way to the loo it was necessary to pass a large picture of the Queen Mother pouring a pint of Young’s Special. The pub was I think also a hotel, and was probably more somewhere that tolerated drinkers than welcomed them. Although they did well to tolerate the loud bloke with the Mike Read accent holding court at the bar. We only had to for the time it took to drink a half and relieve ourselves.

There were indeed several shops near the station-most on the upmarket side. They didn’t interest us much be we noted the bus stop that confirmed we were still in the London transport area. On the way out of Claygate we passed a BT Telephone exchange opposite a Christian Science reading room – an unusual building with another London bus stop out the front. The Christian Scientists believe illness is an illusion which can be corrected by prayer alone. While I’m not one to take headache pills and have avoided going to the doctors for about 15 years it’s only because I haven’t been I’ll enough to have to. When I’m inevitably succumb to the maladies of old(er) age it will be the doctors (or possibly Dignitas) that I will seek assistance from, thanks all the same.

Soon after this we passed pub no.6, The Swan Inn, a telephone box (modern, not red but still a rare sight these days), and a white post bearing a London Corporation insignia. This puzzled us as we were at least 12 miles from the City of London. Not long after the walk a Londonist article appeared which explained this was a coal duty post-to do with the London and Wine Duties Continuance Act 1861. The Act is no longer in force but many of the posts remain encircling London.

After Claygate we took a diversion through Claremont Park. I had used the last charge on my phone to check google maps and this seemed a better option than the Esher bypass. There was no indication on the map that it was a private estate with a mini golf course, not a normal park. At the way out we could see a gate which appeared shut and possibly locked. It opened to let a car in from the other side and we made a run for it before it closed again. Just prior to this was probably not the best time to have been discussing ‘The Burglars Guide to the City’ which R had recently read. The place did have an air of somewhere the public were not allowed or were regarded with paranoid suspicion. But we might have just been a bit paranoid. We got out onto the main road unchallenged.

Soon after this we passed Pub No7,  Prince of Wales in Esher and then crossed a park to the River Mole. As it turned out there was no way to get across so we had to double back onto dual carriageway to get across.

We finally reached the sign telling us we had arrived at Hersham as it was beginning to get dark. We reached the Barely Mow pub-only the 8^th pub we had passed on a 12-14 mile walk.  Musical entertainment was available in the form of Chinese Elvis Night in the restaurant across the road. Not quite Sham 69. We didn’t see much more of Hersham due to it being dark and because we needed to catch a train back into London to meet a mate. The Archway Café over the road from the Station looked like it would have been an ideal starting place had we done the walk the other way round-so maybe we will return.