Back to locks and Olympic rings

5 April 2015

With a quick look behind me to make sure I wasn’t being chased by royal guards wanting to chop my head off, I walked back past King Henry VIII’s Gate towards the street. Once I was sure my head was safe I slowed down and looked around me. The spectacular floral display on the corner was the first thing that caught my eye. On the way up I’d been so intent on the castle I hadn’t really noticed anything else. Now I could see Windsor had a lot more to offer. It was a pity I didn’t have more time to explore.

Almost every building seemed ancient and even the most mundane, every day things were extraordinary in their splendour. The Harte and Garter Hotel and Tower restaurant looked like a fairytale castle and are actually an amalgamation of two fourteenth century inns. Lloyds Bank looked to be in an old tudor building in wonderful muted colours and an array of slightly mismatched windows that gave it a lovely quirky feel. Restaurants, souvenir shops, pubs, even a branch of Starbucks were places that, anywhere else, would have stood out.

As I turned the corner and began to make my way down the hill a crooked little coffee house almost had me crossing the road. Time was not on my side though so I passed by thinking I’d grab a quick take away in the Costa on the other side of the bridge and run. There were so many outstanding buildings I had to rein myself in and put my phone in my pocket. It was with regret but it had to be done. At the bottom of the hill I stopped for one last shot of the castle, sillhouetted against the sky and made for the bridge.

An arrangement of bikes in front of a wonderfully contorted tree at the base of the bridge had me fishing my phone back out. Then it was the view down river along with one of the planes that had been flying overhead towards Heathrow with monotonous regularity. At the halfway point I was leaving Windsor and entering Eton again. Until 1990 the Eton College boys were not allowed to cross this bridge into Windsor unless they were wearing a jacket and tie. One last look back at the castle and all the people on the bridge and I left it all behind for the towpath.

Soon I was back on The Borcas turning as yet another plane flew over the castle. It made me wonder if The Queen ever got annoyed with living on a flight path. A tourist boat was making its way up river and, as I followed it, another swan took flight. I watched as it made a rather inelegant splash down thinking I’d seen more flying swans in one day than I’d seen in the previous year.

On the other side of the field were trees and, behind them, Windsor Railway Bridge. On the outbound journey I’d noticed a long low viaduct but had been too busy thinking about castles to pay it much attention. Now I could see it stretched into the distance on either side of the river. Looking at it took me back to my recent viaduct adventure and I couldn’t resist walking through one of the arches rather than under the bridge. Of course it is much lower than the viaduct at Hockley and it’s still in use so there would be no walking along the top.

Through a mass of teasels I saw Elizabeth Bridge appear and, turning round, realised I could see both bridges at once with just the turn of my head. They’d seem much farther apart going in the other direction. A barge came under the railway bridge as I stood there and, when I stopped to capture the bright celandines on the bank, it slowly passed me. For a moment I wondered if it would go through the lock but, when I went off the trail to try to get a picture of the Chinese Bridge from the side I thought I’d probably lost it. Then I stopped again to capture a swan’s father caught on a cobweb on the bridge rail and knew it would be long gone.

A bench I’d passed before without paying it much attention suddenly caught my eye. There seemed to be an inscribed stone beneath it and, at first, I thought it might be a boundary stone. In actual fact it was a memorial. Hiatt C Baker presented the bench and the shore to Eton College as a swimming place for the boys in memorial to his son. John Lionel Baker was an Eton boy and he loved to swim in this spot. Sadly, he was killed in a flying accident in 1917, while still an Eton boy. There is also another sign instructing the boys, who swam naked, to stay in the water or hide behind screens should a boat containing ladies pass by. On Sunday there were no bathers, naked or otherwise.

Unbelievably, when I reached the next bridge, the barge was still in sight. Obviously I wasn’t dawdling quite as much as I thought I was.  Now I hurried along, hoping it would go through the lock and I’d get to see it. As luck would have it, I got to the lock just as it was passing through the tail gate. The tourist boat was already in the lock and there was almost a little happy dance. As the massive gates slowly closed I walked towards the lock head to watch the water rush in. It felt very exciting to sit on the stone steps and watch the water and the boats slowly rise.

Slowly the head gate opened and the boats left. Another boat was making its way down river and I’d have liked to stay and watch the whole thing in reverse but I wanted to get back and see if I could spot Commando while he was still running his laps so, with regret, I left my sunny spot. The experience took me back to The Nile and Esna Lock where I’d been on a Nile cruiser going through and made me want to hire a barge to go up and down the river through locks all day.

In no time at all I was at the boathouse and turning the corner towards Dorney Lake with one last look back as my barge finally left me behind. As I walked towards the lakes I could see runners slowing for the water station set up in front of the jetties. I could hardly believe my eyes when I realised Commando was one of them. Talk about perfect timing. He held up one finger to tell me he had one lap left and then ran on past.

Knowing a lap was four miles I realised I had half an hour give or take. There would be no time for any further exploring so I found a spot on the grass and settled down to watch the runners until Commando came round again. It was encouraging that he still looked quite fresh sixteen miles into his run and the sun was out again. It was a pleasant wait, especially when a swan flew high overhead. Never have I seen a swan so high in the sky. I was transfixed. The Windsor swans really seem to be fond of flying, unlike the Itchen ones.

Soon after I was gazing up at a different kind of flying object as another plane flew overhead. Then I thought I saw Commando in the distance. I was right and, in no time at all he was running past me towards the finish line still looking remarkably good for having run twenty miles. I walked up towards the finish line and met him on the way back. For once he was pleased with himself, having beat the time he’d set himself.

We took a little cool down stroll back to the Olympic bridge while he told me about his race and I told him about my walk. It felt as if it had been the perfect day.