If I hadn’t queued for so long to see Marx’s grave, I’d have had time for more than a quick dash around Highgate West Cemetery. I was lucky they let me in at all. The last entry is supposed to be at four thirty, and I ran through the gate at four thirty-six. The gates close at five. In the twenty odd minutes left to me, I abandoned hope of searching out any of the famous graves, stuffed the map into my pocket and climbed the steep stone steps. What I saw would be whatever I stumbled upon.
When I planned my Highgate Cemetery visit, I’d imagined a quiet, contemplative stroll, stopping now and then to read an inscription on a grave. At the gate of the East Cemetery, it was clear this would be an unfulfilled dream. Thanks to the train delays, I had too much ground to cover and no time. Despite the information sheet and a map of the famous graves, the chance of finding more than one or two seemed slim. All I could do was wander in the general direction of the most famous grave, that of Karl Marx, and enjoy whatever I stumbled upon along the way.
Friday 13 January may not have been the most auspicious of dates for my inaugural 2023 walk, but it was the first non-stormy day that I felt well enough to risk venturing further than the local shops. It was still cold and windy, so I planned a route that gave me plenty of chances to cut things short if the weather turned nasty or my post-Covid tiredness got the better of me. I began with a slow stroll along the cut way beside the old St Mary’s College playing fields. I wanted to see if building work had started on the site since the College closed.
At the end of June, Commando took me along for the ride when he went to a training event at Up and Running in Chandler’s Ford. Obviously, I wasn’t interested in learning about running shoes, but the nearby footpath leading to Valley Park and five (or six according to some sources) parcels of woodland did capture my attention, especially as Monks brook ran through them. So, I waved goodbye to Commando, then set off to find the footpath and make the most of the next hour or so.
Parkrun number 463 on 22 October was my turn to write the run report. In time-honoured fashion, I’d prepared some of it in advance, mostly about the ghosts of Southampton Common and the old gallows because Halloween was fast approaching and I like to add a bit of history to my reports. The rest I would fill in later with any PBs, milestone runs and interesting incidents. Morning mist swirled across the flats as we headed towards the set-up team, and the words of Keats To Autumn ran through my head, Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness . . . When I learned them for my English Literature O Level, I was a Haley and had no idea I’d be a Keates one day.
Monks Brook has been a feature of my walks for many years. Regular readers of this blog will have followed me more than once as I walked beside it from Woodmill to Swaythling or Eastleigh. I have mentioned it in passing when I’ve been at running events in Eastleigh or crossed it, heading from Lakeside to Stoneham Lane. Originally, it was called Swaethling Well, swaethling, being an old English word meaning misty stream, and the modern area of Swaythling took its name from the brook. In the fourteenth century, the water upstream of Swaythling was renamed Monks Brook after the monks of Hyde Abbey near Winchester. The stretch between Swaythling and Woodmill was still known as the Swaethling Well. This is the part of the brook I know best, but I have long wanted to explore more of this seven-mile stretch of water. On 28 September, when Commando said he was going for a run at Fleming Park, I grasped at the chance to follow the course of the brook further upstream. How far I’d be able to get remained to be seen.
Saturday 13 August, and my walk through the Old Cemetery was more reflective than usual. Last Saturday, a good friend, and one of the kindest men I know, ran his last parkrun. The whole running community was reeling in shock. Big Dave Hawkins was a familiar face at local events. He organised the pacers for all the big races, the Southampton Marathon, Winchester Half and the Great South Run. He always had a smile and a cheery word of motivation. It was hard to think that I would never experience either again. Out on the flats, Run Director Kate Budd was giving her pre-race briefing. I could hear her voice through the megaphone, and I knew she would be talking about Big Dave. Hearing her words was more than I could bear, so I scurried off to this place of peace and reflection.
The Common looked glorious as we walked towards the last parkrun of April. Everything was fresh, green and bursting with life. The air was crisp and rich with the smell of spring, freshly cut grass and damp earth. It was one of those mornings that make you glad to be alive. Of course, my main aim for the morning was visiting the dead, like I do most Saturday mornings. I was especially interested in the bluebells I’d heard were bursting out everywhere in the Old Cemetery.
Back in the summer of 2018, when I was having regular torture sessions at The Running School, I often walked across Monks Brook Meadows to Stoneham Lane. It was a place I discovered, back in April 2015, on a nature and history walk organised by a local councillor. Finding this wonderful alternative to walking along Wide Lane felt like a huge bonus, and I took advantage of it regularly. Even in 2018, I knew things were about to change, and I suspected not for the better. On 20 April 2022, Commando had a session at the Running School. It was a beautiful sunny day, so I went along to have a walk while he was being beasted. I hadn’t walked that way since late summer 2019 when Kim and I were training for the Clarendon Marathon, so I was interested to see what had changed.
Saturday 2 July 2022 was Southampton parkrun’s 10th birthday. Sadly, event number 448 did not have the brightest, sunniest weather. The wind was whistling across the flats so much the balloons wouldn’t stay still for my photographs, and looking at the clouds, I couldn’t help wondering if we would all stay dry. The possibility of getting wet didn’t appear to have deterred the runners. As the magic hour of nine o’clock approached, more and more people arrived, and the Common began to fill with lots of smiling faces. Soon the crowds began to gather at the start line.
