Love and landmarks

10 February 2014

Commando and I don’t do Valentines Day. There are no hearts and flowers, heart shaped chocolates or fancy, expensive cards in our house. That is not to say we are not romantic, we just don’t need a special day to show how much we love each other. In the spirit of St Valentine though, I thought I’d revisit a landmark from our past for my Tuesday walk. As the germs going round the office seemed to have settled in my throat and chest the fact that it wasn’t too long a walk was a bonus.

Back on a cold night in late January or early February 1980 I took a walk down to The White Swan at Mansbridge with a friend, Bonnie. It was a bit of a girls night out, a few drinks and a drunken walk home was the plan. The White Swan wasn’t a pub either of us usually went to but we were both avoiding ex-boyfriends so we decided on somewhere off the beaten track.

The regulars turned out to be a crowd of young lads of about our age and, as two young women alone we attracted a fair bit of attention. One of the lads offered to buy us drinks and, before long, we were sitting at a long oak table being introduced to the gang. One quiet lad, sitting at the space invaders machine, caught my eye but he was too busy trying to beat the high score to notice me. He was tall and slim with long brown hair that curled down over his shoulders. Plenty more fish in the sea, I thought when he paid me no attention.

Fast forward a year or two and I had moved to Woolston. The Swan was too far away to be a regular haunt and I lost touch with most of the ‘swan crowd.’ Fate took a hand and I bumped into Commando one day when I was buying a newspaper. We got to chatting. He lived nearby. The rest, as they say, is history.

The White Swan is somewhere I walk past more often than go inside these days but, for my Tuesday walk, I thought I’d pay this landmark from our past a visit. So I walked down along the river thinking about all the water that has passed under Mansbridge since that night in my teens when I first set eyes on my Commando.

Once I’d crossed the bridge and the pub came into sight I was glad to see the river wasn’t too high and the sign was outside meaning the pub was open. Outside the door they were advertising Valentine’s menus and inside a table decorated with hearts and flowers greeted me. This time last year the place was flooded out and closed but they’ve done a wonderful job of refurbishing and redecorating. Of course a lot has changed since those far off days. Back then it was all dark beams and brickwork. It’s much lighter and brighter now, altogether more modern but keeping the character of the old building.

The pub has been around in one form or another since the early 1800’s but time and floods, not to mention a fire back in the 1980’s, have seen it undergo many transformations. Back in the early 80’s there would be a long line of motorbikes outside every night and the place was always full of young people in  jeans and black leather. These days it’s a rather upmarket carvery and, during the day, a place walkers and fishermen like to stop off for a drink and a snack beside the river.

One thing they do rather well is coffee. Obviously this endears me to the place even more. As mine was being made I chatted with the bar maid. Inevitably the subject of floods came up and I confessed to peeking through the windows at the damage this time last year.
“The defences seem to be holding so far,” she said. “The river’s been above the path a couple of times but we’ve stayed dry.”
“Fingers crossed it stays that way,” I said.

Of course I took my coffee out into the garden. If there’s a pleasanter place to sit sipping a latte I can’t think of it. The burble of the river, the birds singing, all it lacked was the orphan cygnets I thought I might have seen out there but the area was a swan free zone for a change. Come to think of it I hardly saw any swans along the river at all on my walk but spring is not far off so they could all be gathered somewhere looking for mates. In the past I’ve seen huge gatherings on the river in early spring, like a kind of swan spring ball. Mind you, the cygnets are too young yet as they don’t begin to mate until they’re about four years old but they could have gone along for the party.

All too soon I was leaving the Swan to make my way up Gaters Hill. This was my usual route home back in the old days so it seemed fitting I take it now. There were still no swans as I made my way up towards the mill. In the distance across the river and fields I could just make out the Itchen Navigation path in the tree line. When I reached the mill I stopped for a moment to check for swans but there were none there either.

Maybe it was all the thoughts of first meetings and Valentines but, on the walk up the hill and along Cutbush Lane it seemed everywhere I looked I saw hearts. It began with the pansys in the hanging baskets outside the pub, I noticed each velvety petal formed a perfect heart. On Cutbush lane it was the cuckoo pint leaves, just beginning to poke through the leaf mould and unfurl. Later, as I puffed my way up the steepest incline, one perfect ivy leaf jumped out at me and I swear I even saw a wonky heart in the knarled roots of the tree that seems to be hanging in mid air close to the top. Maybe I’m more or a romantic than I thought.