Return to Dorney Lake

Back in 2015, Commando ran a pre-London Marathon twenty mile event at Dorney Lake, a sporting venue built for the 2012 Olympic rowing events and now owned and used by Eton College. I’d had a wonderful few hours wandering along the Thames towpath to Windsor and back. When he said he had a race there on the last Sunday in August, I was excited to tag along. It was only a 10k this time, not twenty miles. I knew I wouldn’t have time to walk to Windsor, but I looked forward to another walk along the towpath.

It meant an early start, but we reached the lake just before eight-thirty without getting lost once. The grass that had been so lush and green in April 2015 was dry and brown after our hot summer. We parked where the marshals directed and stretched while watching a steady stream of cyclists racing along the far side of the lake. The race before Commando’s was a triathlon. They were obviously at the cycling stage.

The blue sky above us was criss-crossed with mare’s tails and con trails from planes heading for Heathrow. The morning air was still cool, so the fifteen-minute walk to the race start was pleasant. From the rowing centre, we watched the swimming part of the triathlon set off. Then Commando went in search of his South Coast Project teammates, while I queued at the coffee stall for a drink.

Now it was time to find the towpath. After eight years, my memory was a little hazy, but the large shed-like building behind the coffee stall looked familiar and I spotted a path beside it. The path led me to a green wire fence and a gate. I could see the towpath and the River Thames through it, but when I tried the gate, it was locked. Puzzled, I walked back the way I’d come, thinking I’d made a mistake. There must be another gate on the other side of the shed. Sure I was on the right track, I walked back the way I’d come. The coffee stall lady I’d chatted with as she made my drink was sitting on a step outside the shed, having a break. She said hello as I passed and I stopped to ask her about the locked gate.

‘The college locks all the gates now,’ she told me. ‘They had trouble with people coming in and getting up to no good.’

‘So there’s no way onto the towpath?’ I could see my lovely walk disappearing before my eyes.

‘No, this is basically a very expensive prison now.’

Feeling rather miffed, I went to find Commando and his teammates. The Coffee stall lady said there was a natural lake a little way off, so I guessed I’d have to content myself with that. Commando had different ideas.

‘Why don’t you walk to the main gate instead? It’s only about a mile and the river isn’t much further.’

He sounded confident, so I thought I might as well give it a go. As I walked away, I recalled our arrival, the long, winding lane to the gate, the drive to our parking space, followed by the walk to the race start. It felt like much more than a mile, and that was without finding a way onto the towpath. Still, what else could I do? By this time, it was half-past nine. The sun was getting warmer by the minute and the path towards the gate was shadeless. Even the interesting-looking sculpture surrounded by standing stones felt like too much trouble for a diversion.

Commando and his teammates ran past on their warm up, all smiles. I stopped to snap a few photos and carried on, eyes fixed on an enticing patch of shady trees ahead. Thankfully, I’d thought to bring a water bottle with me. It looked like being another searingly hot day.

The shade of the trees was short-lived. Beyond them, another open field of arid grass had two tall stones on the far side. A detour was a step too far in the heat, so I kept walking. I hadn’t worn my Garmin, but it felt as if I’d walked further than a mile and there was still no sign of the main gate. My mind returned to the lovely walk I’d had last time, all swans, lock gates, and Windsor Castle. I’d joked about visiting the Queen for tea and cucumber sandwiches. If the Queen was at home today, there was no way I’d have time to stop and chat.

The race was due to start at ten o’clock. By ten too, I’d still seen no sign of the gate. At the next patch of trees, I turned off looking for a shady place to sit, drink, and consult Google maps. I found a spot and sat with my back against a tree facing a wire fence. According to the map, Commando’s mile to the gate was two and a half miles. Then there was the winding lane to the road. If I ever found the towpath, I wouldn’t have time to walk it. My round trip would be almost as long as Commando’s race. 

So far, my walk had been anything but enjoyable. To be honest, I was feeling rather sulky and sorry for myself. Then a group of ladies appeared on the other side of the wire. They were walking along a trail that followed the fence.

‘How do we get in there?’ one of them asked.

‘I think the only way in is through the main gate,’ I told her. ‘That’s back the way you’ve come.’

‘Oh, we’ve already tried that, but they wouldn’t let us in,’ she said.

That was when I abandoned my walk to the gate. Even if I found the towpath and had time for a walk, I wouldn’t be able to get back into Dorney Lake. The coffee stall lady was right. This really was a very expensive prison, and I was stuck inside it.

My side of the wire had a path, too. With the high fence beside it, it wasn’t the most enticing trail, but it was relatively shady and it had to lead somewhere. I thought I might as well walk back towards the race start on it, rather than on the burnt grass beside the tarmac road in the blistering sun. Perhaps I would find the lake the coffee stall lady had told me about.

As I walked, the occasional cyclist passed on the trail beyond the fence, but I saw no one on my path. At first, this seemed like a good thing. Gradually, the path grew narrower and less distinct. There was a low barbed wire fence abutting the tall fence now. Why would they need two? The barbed wire seemed like overkill. It made me think again of prisons. Then the path petered out. The trees to my right met the fence to my left and there was no way forward. I’d been walking a path to nowhere all along. No wonder I was alone. There was nothing for it but to turn back and head for the last small clearing I’d seen. It was turning out to be a frustrating morning.

In the clearing, I saw the two tall standing stones I’d passed earlier. I walked towards them, curious to find out what they were. As I got closer, I saw words inscribed. Perhaps they’d explain the mystery. More frustration followed. The script on the stones was in Latin, as far as I could tell. It meant nothing to me. One stone had some English words – T S B Card 1931 – 2001 Pupil Master Housemaster & Vice-Provost. It was a memorial. Later, I found a little more about Timothy Stormont Bardsley Card. He was, as the stone implied, a pupil and master at Eton College, and also a writer. Born in Lichfield, Staffordshire on 19 November 1931, he became Vice-Provost in 1988 and died at Blandford Forum, Dorset, on 13 September 2001.

I found another trail, bounded on either side by long grass. Despite a sinking feeling that this was also a dead end, I followed it. It was, at least, leading in the right direction. Commando would be running now. The lake and running track were not far to my right, so if worst came to worst, I’d head that way and watch the race. The ground beneath my feet was so dry and parched that large cracks had appeared. They reminded me of the summer of 1976.

In next to no time, I was in another large open field. With the sun getting hotter by the second, it wasn’t where I wanted to be. A plane flew overhead, and I shaded my eyes to watch it, thinking of all the times I’d been up there circling Heathrow. The lake the coffee stall lady had mentioned must be somewhere ahead. If I skirted the field under the shade of the trees I might find it.

I hadn’t gone far, when two deer burst out of the trees and ran across my path. By the time I’d fumbled with my phone, they were nothing but red dots moving in the distance, but I took a photo, anyway. Seeing them made my bad mood evaporate. This might not be the walk I’d envisioned, but it wasn’t so bad.

I found the lake on the far side of the field. There was a shady bench to sit on and look out over the reflections of hazy sky in the calm water. Unfortunately, this was one of the few places with a view of the lake. Almost the entire perimeter was enclosed by trees, so although I could walk around it, they mostly hid the water from view. Yet another disappointment to add to my growing list.

Within twenty minutes, I’d circled the lake and come back to the tarmac path, near the spot where we’d parked our car. When I saw the sculpture and standing stones, I thought I might as well have a closer look. Later, I discovered this was the Armillary Sphere and stone circle, which also serves as a sundial. The gravel extracting consortium that constructed the Olympic lake presented it to Dorney Lake in 2006. The Latin inscription was devised by Eton College scholars and reads, ‘Homines contra homines hic inter harenam acquamque saxumque sed omnes contra tempus contendunt’ meaning ‘Men against men here amongst the sand and water and rock but all struggle against time’. 

By this time, I was struggling against time myself, so I thought I’d better head towards the finish line before Commando beat me to it. When I saw his friend Dan running past, I knew I wouldn’t have long to wait.

Within a few minutes, Commando came past too. He looked hot, but strong. I hurried along behind him, hoping I wouldn’t lose him in the finish line crowds.

He was almost happy with his time. We waited around until all the South Coast Project team had finished, took a team photo near the shed and the locked gate, and then headed back towards the car. It had not been the morning I’d expected, but it hadn’t been all bad. The Thames Path and a walk to Windsor Castle would have to wait for another day.

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