It seems like a lifetime ago that I last sat here writing a blog post. Now I’m here I hardly know what to say. So much has happened since I told you about my wet walk around the medieval walls with Kim, and our desperate search for coffee. That day seems like a world away and a lifetime ago now. If we’d known what was ahead would we have appreciated the rain a little more, or the freedom to walk in and out of shops with never a thought of masks or social distancing? We could never have imagined what lay ahead, or believed that a Saturday morning at parkrun, followed by a chat over coffee in The Bellemoor would become a distant memory. Neither could we have known that one of us would catch a deadly virus and survive it. Perhaps it was better that we didn’t know. We wouldn’t have enjoyed our walk at all if we had.
Would we have felt differently about that parkrun back in February 2020 if we’d known there wouldn’t be another that year? Would the spring flowers in the Old Cemetery have seemed more beautiful, or the cold damp Common felt more welcoming? Maybe not. Who can say? We lived in blissful ignorance and it was probably better that we did. By now, you may be wondering what I did when the world was put on pause. Where did I go? The answer to that is complicated and paradoxical. Everywhere and nowhere, everything and nothing. Unlike Kim, who works for the NHS, I had time to reflect. While she was on the front line fighting and catching COVID19, I was free to think and roam, to walk alone, both literally and figuratively. Where I went, what I saw and did, are stories for another day. For now, I will share just one.
It was a July morning, almost a year ago. The sky was blue and, for reasons that will become clear later, I’d been thinking a lot about my grandfather. He was born in Witney, Oxfordshire, and came to Southampton around the time of the Great War. I’d recently discovered that his first home in the town was in Northam. In fact, he lived in Radcliffe Road, two doors down from his brother Harold. The houses they lived in are long gone but I thought I’d take a little walk to see where they’d been and try to imagine what it had been like back then. I knew the house number and, from searching Kelly’s directories, I knew roughly where it had been. When he was in the trenches in France Pappy must have thought of that little terraced house backing onto the railway line often. Sadly, there is nothing left now to show it was ever there.
A little wander further along the road gave me an idea what the houses must have looked like. It made me smile to think that my father had grown up in a humble little terrace like these, with a tiny front garden and a privy out the back. Much has changed since then but it’s nice to see that some of these houses still stand and to imagine my dad, Eric, running down the road with his cousins and friends.
Their house was not far from the bottom of the road, near the river and the notorious timber ponds. These ponds were constructed back in the late nineteenth century on the mudflats between the bottom of Radcliffe Road and Northam Bridge. Huge piles of wood were stored in the river to season and the young lads in the area would often walk out onto the logs as a dare. Occasionally, things ended badly and a boy slipped between the timbers and drowned, but, boys being boys, this probably only added to the thrill. Whether my father ever took this risky walk is a mystery, but the floating logs and the old Northam Bridge would certainly have been a big part of his childhood. I’m pretty sure it would also have been something my grandmother, Mary, worried about incessantly.
I walked down to the bottom of the road, aware that the shore was far closer to the houses in those days. According to the old Ordnance Survey maps, the little industrial estate I passed through to get to the water’s edge stands on land reclaimed in the 1930’s. The bridge I looked out at was not the same bridge either. The old iron bridge with its criss cross struts was replaced in 1954. The new bridge, the one I’d walked over earlier, was the first major prestressed concrete road bridge to be built in the UK. It cost an eye watering £600,000, including the compulsory purchase of the land it stands on and the construction of the embankment. A few of the tall wooden poles that kept the logs in place can still be seen today but the timber and the danger to local boys has long gone. The mothers in the houses on Radcliffe Road must be glad about that.
My walk that day was short and sweet, a little like this post. I left the timber ponds and the memories behind, crossed the boardwalk and took a slow, hot stroll back home. There was one more thing to make me smile before I reached my own front door. Will Rosie’s mosaic, on a wall in Bitterne Park, felt like a sign of the times, which is probably exactly what he’d intended.
If you’re wondering what else I’ve been up to in the last eighteen months I promise I will tell you more later. For now, keep watching this space.
If you like what I write and would like to help me keep doing it, you can now buy me a virtual coffee by clicking on the little orange coffee cup at the bottom right. If you’re interested in my historic novels, Plagued is available now on Amazon.
How very strange, I was only thinking about your blog yesterday and wondered if you were still walking, something must have reminded me! I started to follow you a while ago as I was born in Woolston and lived there for 20 odd years. Now in Chandlers Ford but visited very often to look after my mum until a few years ago when she died aged 103. Your walks bring back many memories. Thank you!
Thank you for the warm welcome. My husband is working in Chandlers Ford at the moment. Maybe I’ll get to have a walk there soon.
I’m so glad you’re back. I think about you every time I run along Western Shore, which isn’t that often these days, but I used to do it every week. I saw Commando on the Common this week or last week (who can keep track of time), which was the first time in ages and thought of you then, as well.
I shall be a volunteer at the first Parkrun as I was at the last, but this time the hi-vis jacket will fit me, or be too big.
Thank you April. I am so looking forward to the return of parkrun. I know Rob, the ED, has been working hard behind the scenes. Hopefully, I’ll see you there. Well done on the weight loss too. I’m not sure how you managed that during lockdown. I certainly didn’t.
I ran a lot. A few days after I saw you on the Common in September I started training for a marathon, which I did in December. I still run a lot now.
Well done on the marathon. That is some achievement. No wonder you lost weight.
Lockdown taught me that I like running long distances. It’s not something I thought much about before.
I think we have all gained a different perspective during lockdown.
Well done on the marathon. That is some achievement. No wonder you lost weight.
Ah, lovely post Marie. What a weird year it has been for all of us.
Thank you Ruth. It certainly has been. Hopefully the worst is behind us.
I remember your LONG walks and the photos you shared. This is marvelous.
Since our encounter, I have written my memoir and am still blogging. Come visit me some time.
By the way, I admire your keeping physically fit by walking. I walk, but not nearly as far as you do, and practice Pilates to keep toned and mobile.
Good for you, Marie!
Thank you Marian. Well done on your memoir. I will try to have a look when I get the chance. Sadly, the lockdown curtailed the long walks, so I’m not as fit as I was, although I am still walking when I can. I’ve been keeping very busy though and, hopefully, the fruits of my labours will pay off soon.
So pleased to see a post from you, a nice walk and lovely photos, I have wondered on and off whether you were ok. Lockdown has been strange for me but much easier than for many people. I live in a lovely part of the world, was able to walk my dogs round the village every day and was able to order groceries online and have them delivered. So nothing to moan about.
I think lockdown has been difficult for everyone in different ways. For me, it has meant a lot less walking, as many of the pretty places I like to go have been crowded. Most of my walks have been on the quiet streets, so there hasn’t been a great deal to write about walk wise. However, I have been keeping myself very busy with other projects so I can’t moan either.
Hi Marie, Glad you’re back – we’ve missed your walks and explorations around Southampton, and the areas i grew up in.
Thank you Richard. Sadly, there haven’t been as many walks as I’d have liked due to the pandemic and another project i’ve been working on. I promise there will be more post soon though.
So happy to read your blog again.I was only telling my girlfriend a few days ago about not seeing a blog from you for sometime.As interesting as always!
Thank you
You’ve been missed…………..welcome back.
thank you
After what we’ve all been through, hearing from you again means that a little bit of our “normal” has returned. Absolutely lovely to hear again of your perambulations in and around the city that we grew up in – I was somewhat earlier than you though!
Thank you and do keep writing.
What a lovely thing to say. The restrictions have certainly made walking far more difficult that it used to be for lots of reasons but I have done what I can to adapt. Hopefully, things will soon be slowly getting back to normal. I’m looking forward to revisiting some of the places I’ve missed for sure.