An homage to those guardians of local history (Thames River Ramble–Leg 3: Wallingford to Tilehurst)

Yesterday I completed the third leg of my Thames River Ramble, a 15.4 mile hike from Wallingford to Tilehurst, a suburb on the outskirts of Reading. The hike was smooth, though I’m still not hitting the 3 MPH goal I was setting for myself. I left Oxford around 6 AM, started from Wallingford around 7 AM, and made it to the train station in Tilehurst a bit after 1 PM. The weather was great for most of the journey, save for the last 3-4 miles, which I hiked in a steady drizzle. All told, I’ve covered just over 40 miles of my Thames River Ramble over three days. I have posted a complete set of pictures on my Facebook page for anyone interest in more pics than I will share here.

Over the last week I’ve been thinking a lot about the local histories that we encounter every day. It’s not hard to think about this in Oxford. Every stone you see, every spire, every street has a story waiting to be discovered. Those stories make up the stuff of travel guides and travelogues. Americans like me are stunned by the sheer age of those stories that surround us here.

When I first arrived in England I assumed that locals fully appreciated the richness of the local setting. Living in England, how can you not be constantly inspired to dig deeper, to learn more about your own history? Last week while walking to Dorchester, Gary (see my Leg 2 post) made me realize that there are a lot of small towns filled with people who don’t know much about their local history. These are “normal towns,” where “not much happens.” Thinking about Gary, there is a part of my that wants to scream out and say, “Do you not see it? Do you see how lucky you are? You live in a place filled with the stuff of legends! I would dream to live here, to walk paths that have origins in the Middle Ages, to immerse myself in local history, to learn how to tell the stories that surround your home town! Do you not see it? These are hallowed grounds!” Beyond Oxford, there are small towns everywhere with their own stories waiting to be discovered and told. I fear that too many people are blind to these treasures simply because they are too close to them.

I am being too hard on Gary, to be sure. He spent most of his life in Oxfordshire, living in towns “where not very much happens.” Ahh, how I can relate to that. I grew up in such a town, a small community in rural Western Pennysylvania. Gary and I are not all that different. Growing up in Brookville, I knew little of our stories. If some foreigner had asked me to tell him something about my hometown that he couldn’t learn from a guidebook, I would have said exactly what Gary said to me when I asked him about Dorchester: “Well, I don’t really know. Nothing much of interest happens around here.”

Which is not true, of course. There are interesting things happening all the time, and there are small, capable groups of men and women dedicated to reminding us of the richness of our past and present. They are the guardians of our local history who reminds us to look more deeply at what surrounds us, and do so with pride and joy. I pay homage to my grandfather, Bill McCracken, one of these guardians, who spent years of his life building a replica of one of the first 4-wheel drive vehicles ever built, a Twyford motor car, built in Brookville PA.

I pay homage to David Taylor, a champion of local history in Brookville, PA whose capable leadership has helped to grow a vibrant history center in my hometown dedicated to reclaiming the stories of the past for the present.

I pay homage to Carole Briggs, an elementary teacher of mine in Brookville who nearly 40 years ago was championing history day projects that inspired young kids to learn more about our local history.

These men and women are our heroes. Our small towns need more people like them.

As for the ramble, I’ll share two quick standout things from the long journey. First, I am obsessed with World War II pillboxes. During leg 2 I ran into one structure that I thought was a pillbox. This alerted me to be on the lookout for them. During leg 3, I discovered five WW II pillboxes between Wallingford and Tilehurst, but there may be more that I overlooked. Here is a cool one that sits right on the river. The property owner repurposed the structure, turning it into the bottom floor of a boathouse.

The four other pillboxes I captured on camera were in various states of disrepair. There was one that I was able to get very close to. Walking behind the pillbox, I was able to go inside the back. I discovered a tattered bed mattress, refuse, graffiti, and a large collection of beer bottles. Clearly this pillbox has been used for camping.

Other pillboxes have been boarded up, or have warning signs telling people to keep off of them. The World War II history here is fascinating. In order to prepare against a potential land invasion by Germany, England constructed a 300 mile long line of defenses, including pillboxes along the strategically important Thames River. A land invasion never happened. Remnants of these defense preparations remain.

Second impression from leg 3: I couldn’t resist capturing this picture of Mill Cottage in Goring-on-Thames:

This cottage is located along the Thames River (this picture is from the backside, away from the Thames). For those of you more familiar with Eighties pop music than medieval English history, let this sink in: this cottage was once owned by George Michael, pop singer of the 80s group, Wham!. This is the house that he died in, in 2017. There are so many other things I want to share about my ramble, but this post is getting long, so I will resist.

Tomorrow is leg 4 of my ramble. I’m heading for Henley-on-Thames and, depending on how I feel, may push myself to get as far as Marlow, a 20-mile day. My ramble is all that I dreamed it would be. Around every bend of the river, across every lock, in every one-pub town, there are stories lurking, hidden, waiting to be found and told.

Thank you to those of you who collect and tell them.

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