In the sticks (Thames River Ramble Leg 5–Oxford to Newbridge)

Yesterday I spent most of my day “in the sticks.” The 14 miles between Oxford and Newbridge are the most rural I’ve encountered so far. About halfway into the 14 mile ramble the path diverts off the Thames and makes its way through miles of sheep pasture. It was unexpectedly delightful, a nice diversion from the miles of riverfront I’ve covered so far. In one of the pastures I had a nice conversation with a retired American couple from Colorado who were hiking the path from the Source to London. Their hike will take them 18 days. They encouraged me to check out another trail that runs from coast to coast, about 200 miles all said. I’m intrigued, but I know that such a hike is not in the cards for me this semester, if ever. I was frankly impressed that a couple in their 70s is hiking these distances. This is another thing that I’m intrigued by, but also something that I doubt is in the cards for Tara and me. But one can always hope.

At the beginning of the day I did not expect I’d be going to Newbridge. I woke up at 5 AM intending to make my way back to Henley-on-Thames for a 15 mile ramble to Maidenhead. Arriving at the Oxford station around 5:30, the monitors were flashing warnings of electric line issues between Slough and London that were holding up traffic to Paddington station. “No problem,” I thought. I’m only going as far as Twyford. I hopped on the first train to Reading, got seated, and then got word that the train was terminating in Oxford due to traffic around Reading. Thirty minutes later I got on the next train. The same thing happened. At that point, I got a refund on my ticket and made my way back to the flat. “Maidenhead will have to wait for another day. Today we are off to Newbridge.”

I know that some of my friends have already watched the Facebook live video I took at the beginning of my ramble, which featured a harrowing moment when I was charged by a bull in Port Meadow. I wasn’t injured, and the memory makes me laugh now. It was a most startling way to begin the journey. Update on my feet: they have improved a great deal, though I have given up on my hiking boots for the remainder of the ramble. I had no problems with my athletic shoes on the hike to Newbridge, which is flat and was generally not wet. I began my ramble at Port Meadow, making my way north toward Wolvercote, past Binsey (the hamlet connected to Lewis Carroll that I described in an earlier post), stopping off at the ruins of Godstow Abbey.

In the early 12th century, Godstow Abbey was a nunnery. Rosamund Clifford, the mistress of King Henry II (1133-1189) was educated here. Her relationship with the king ended eventually, so she returned to live at this Abbey, dying around 1176 before she was 30 years old. After her burial at the abbey, her tomb became a shrine visited by locals. In 1191, the Bishop of Lincoln, troubled by the adulation being given the former king’s dead mistress, ordered that her remains be removed and buried outside, “with the rest, that the Christian religion may not grow into contempt, and that other women, warned by her example, may abstain from illicit and adulterous intercourse.” Her grave location is now lost to us. The Abbey itself was destroyed in 1539 during King Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries. (Note: other pictures of the ruins are available in the complete folder of pictures from this leg of the ramble, preserved on my Facebook page)

Beyond Godstow, there is surprisingly little civilization in this leg. What happens on the path toward the source is the opposite of what happens as you head south. Heading toward London, towns become more frequent, and the urban feel of civilization encroaching on the pastoral scenery becomes more prominent. Heading north, you feel like you are leaving civilization. I encountered very few fellow travelers on this leg. One local couple from Wyndham was taking a leisurely stroll down the path bird watching. They pointed out a beautiful heron near the water’s edge. We discussed the red kites that were roaming the sky, a scavenger bird that was once nearly extinct but was reintroduced in the early 1990s and is beginning to thrive in the Oxfordshire region.

From Godstow, the path makes its way west past the Wytham Great Wood, to Swinford Bridge and then Pinkhill Lock. I went off the trail briefly at Pinkhill but managed to reroute myself with a little help from a local passerby. The highlight for me was Bablock Hythe. From the 13th century, Bablock Hythe was a narrow crossing in the Thames with a ferry. Ferry traffic continued from this point until 1959. Bablock Hythe is referenced in a famous poem by the Victorian poet Matthew Arnold, “The Scholar Gipsy“. The poem speaks of the experiences of an Oxford student who leaves his studies behind to join a band of “gipsies”. As he spends time with them they teach him the many secrets of their ways. The pastoral imagery of the first half of the poem evokes images of this mysterious figure, this scholar gipsy, who haunts the riverbanks and pastures near Oxford. At Bablock Hythe, the scholar gipsy is seen by Oxford ferry riders on their way home on a summer night:

Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe,

Returning home on summer-nights, have met

Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe,

Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet,

As the punt’s rope chops round;

Matthew Arnold, “The Scholar Gipsy”

Reading Arnold’s poem, I’m drawn to the pastoral imagery of the first stanza, the shepherd tending to sheep those “bawling fellows,” the reaper working late, binding the sheaves. Arnold speaks of life “above Godstow Bridge… Where black-wing’d swallows haunt the glittering Thames.” The Cumner Hills “Where at her open door the housewife darns” are within view of the river. Walking the Thames Path to Newbridge, it’s hard to not hear and feel the poetry that surrounds you. Arnold’s poem quickly turns into a reflection on the monotony and stifling character of modern life. The scholar gipsy is a free spirit whose example is to be emulated. Unbound by time, the scholar gipsy survives even today, though the poet warns him to avoid those mortals infected by the ills of the modern world. “Wave us away, and keep thy solitude!”

My ramble on this day ended at Newbridge, one of the oldest bridges on the Thames River. Dating from the 13th century, the Bridge was the sight of an important battle in 1644 during the English Civil War, the Battle of Newbridge. Along the banks of the river, Parliamentarian forces sought to cross in order to surround Oxford and capture King Charles. They were defeated here.

Ending my official ramble at Newbridge did not end my hike. The most harrowing part of my day was actually the two-mile hike south from Newbridge to Kingston Bagpuize, the closest town with a bus stop that could get me back to Oxford. After a 14-mile ramble, I didn’t think that adding 2 miles to my walk would be a big deal. The distance itself was not a problem. However, the walk was on a very narrow two lane road, with traffic whizzing by at 50 mph and very little space for me to get out of the way. The road was clearly not designed for pedestrian traffic, so I slowly made my way down the edge of the road, darting into the bushes and trees when necessary to avoid oncoming traffic. I made it to the bus stop, but it was nerve wracking.

My update: with this 14 mile ramble added to my tally, I have now covered just over 65 miles of the Thames River Path. Tomorrow (Thursday, 9/22/2022) I am going to return to Henley-on-Thames with a goal of getting to Maidenhead. After yesterday’s ramble, I am trying to figure out how to solve a conundrum I’m facing as I head closer to the source. Busing does not get easier as I head away from Newbridge. To the contrary, I don’t see a reasonable bus option for me to and from Lechlade-on-Thames, the next stopping point on my northward journey. I’m puzzling out how to do this part of my journey. I have fewer worries about my southward journey toward London, where bus and train options are plentiful.

I’ll close with this picture, taken on that two-mile walk from Newbridge to Kingston Bagpuize. While I have no idea what is entailed by a competition of this sort, I do take this as further evidence that one does not need to travel far from Oxford to find rural country. Yesterday I truly was in the sticks.