In January 2014 I was ready to walk another 65 miles for my school.
2 years ago I’d walked that distance from London to Chichester for the same school and because I was 62 had declared it my ambition to become like Gandalf: to be capable – though ancient – of hacking it across the Misty Mountains. I loved exploring on foot and it was a way of keeping fit. Well, by February I’d decided to walk across ‘The Shire.’ The county I lived in: Hampshire. In 3 stages:
Disused railways; which would make up most of the trek from Fareham up through Wickham and the Meon Valley to Droxford.
Over hill and down dale. At Droxford I’d join Wayfarers walk which traced a more drunken looking route northwards over the hills and vales of Hamphshire to Arlesford and up to the west of Basingstoke.
Along the Malborough Downs. Wayfarers walk followed the top of them to Walbury Hill. The highest chalk hill in Britain and Berkshire where it extended south. Then it was a short hike up to Kintbury where I could get a train home.
I’ve decided to call what I’ve just done a walkabout for although most of the walk was northwards it curved round the north of Hampshire to the west once it got to the downs.
It had advantages over the last march down the Roman road to Chichester. I could stay with friends along the route on every night apart from the last one; that was one night better than last time. Just as important were far fewer main roads, although there were more hills. There was also learning from hindsight and much more time to prepare. I’d made certain of the time to the point of giving the deadline of the end of January to a man planning a walk from Normandy to Arnhem. I was thinking of joining him for the old British sector of World War 1’s Western Front but when there was no news from him by that time I made my choice. After that there was the fun part of planning it: mapwork.
So to discover I had high blood pressure at Easter was a surprise of the worst sort.
Having already committed myself to the walk I decided to keep the school and my council employers in the dark about this scare – in case I worried either and got smothered by Health and Safety – but my walkabout is now complete so ‘now it can be told!’
I had an average of 150 over 90 the doctor told me and prescribed a pill a day for the rest of my life. The very morning after that the first bit of news on the radio was about a scandal involving drugs company employees leaning on doctors! It’s not that I didn’t have respect for the medical profession but I wanted to investigate things thoroughly before giving in to a life sentence of drugs which – I learned – might have side effects. Meanwhile friends already on them gave me a ‘join the club’ welcome and lets face it we’re old, but though I was 64 I still wanted a more active lifestyle.
Then I found that blood pressure monitors are incredibly innacurate. A doctor friend near Reading swore by calibration and after a hard march from the station to his place we tried my monitor out then his, which looked as though it had survived from the time of HG Wells. There was a 30 point difference! Every monitor was on a different calibration. Having worked a lot with maps this offended my demand for accuracy; crucial with something like blood pressure, especially with the consequences involving serious drugs! It worked in my favour though because the professionally advised monitor I obtained gave lower readings.
“You’re going to make a fight of it aren’t you.” observed the taxi driver I worked with taking the kids to school.
“You’re dammed right I am.” I was determined to cut this problem down to size before it compromised the walk, organising a counterattack on all fronts:-
Water. A basic need and it was surprising how much more I should drink.
Diet. More fruit and vegetables of course and less meat and alcohol. I still managed to enjoy the odd alcoholic evening out and the odd pig out.
Timing of amounts eaten. Another surprise was being advised to have a bigger breakfast, more food at midday and nothing much in the evening. Evening meals could lead to obesity it seemed and I knew 2 guys with pot bellies who had no breakfast. I soon lost a stone.
Exercise. Most days if not every day of course but not first thing in the morning I discovered. The afternoon was best if one was older. Walking’s the best thing but the exercise bike could still come in useful if it was raining. I also occasionally did yoga down at the community centre.
Relaxation/meditation. I bought an American musical relaxation machine.
‘Alternative medicine.’ The woman heading a yoga group I occasionally attended recommended hawthorn tablets for the heart together with a consultant. I outflanked the expense of that by picking up the advised tablets in a few health shops in Gosport.
I’ve no idea what worked best or if one or two things worked at all but I met with success! So I stuck to these tactics. The weekly average kept falling. Until I went back to the doctor’s and got the same kind of reading as the first time. However he said that the readings I’d written down seemed lower than the average I was claiming and there was such a thing as unconscious nervousness in surgeries leading to higher blood presssure. He conceded that I could stay off the pills.
This was no mean feat as by now I’d got sucked into the middle of the kind of war that was just what one didn’t need if one had high blood pressure: a power struggle against a character who wanted to demolish the neighbourhood for a housing estate, mentioned in the last blog entry. It was the evil business of property interfering and pressurising again. To cut a long story short I removed him from my life and others by buying his shares. That didn’t put me into debt but it did leave me out on a limb financially.
Despite that I could say that it was ‘victory on all fronts’ a week before the walk:-
I’d achieved my lowest weekly blood pressure average: 126/76.
The first of those shares were sold to re-imburse me with many more offers promised. It seemed I was making a new career out of being a part time hero, what with this and the next 65 mile trek for a Special Needs School.
4 more photographs made it into that high standard prestigious photolibrary making a total of 8! I was widening the breach.
But what about the walkabout’s preparations? After the last walk I wrote out a post mortem with bullet points. I’ll explain the preparations now in the same style:-
This time I contacted local radio and had a good interview with them. I also announced the sponsored walk on Facebook and had a special email address arranged. Not that it got me any contacts but I don’t mind. The media side of things had been covered this time and money was coming in anyway from 15 sponsor forms I’d arranged or left with the community centre, the leisure centre, a coffee shop, art gallery and sports shop, housing company, the school itself, 2 technical colleges, 2 banks, my council employers, the local surgery, the local SF group. Twice as many as last time.
I’d already approached the local paper that let me down last time to see if the same staff were employed and wound up speaking to the journalist who’d done so much of nothing 2 years ago. Of all people. There was no more involvement with the press.
Old Ordnance Survey maps would be taken with me but also more recent larger scaled ones and research was carried out on Google Earth.
A meeting with my friend in Health and Safety for advice led – when I dared speak out of turn regarding one restriction too many – to my ear being bent on how unfair the public and press were to the Health and Safety profession. I helped end the conversation before its paralysis immobilised me. The silver lining to this cloud was the embarrasing H&S statement people having to sign when coming with me being superfluous anyway. The only person interested in joining me disappeared then emailed me a few days before the walk saying she had too much work.
Charity websites. The most likely one demanded that the school be a registered charity, then passed me on to another charity website described as ‘fantastic.’ I smelt sales talk. The ‘fantastic’ site insisted on the burden of a target which meant me carrying that across the whole of Hampshire with a chance of getting absolutely nothing afterwards. I dropped charity websites from my plans.
I wrote everything down on a piece of paper then for good measure copied that on to the computer.
Recharging equipment was taken for the mobile phone. And camera of course.
Maybe my counterattack on high blood pressure counted as an emergency plan if things went wrong. It was also warm and dry enough to take no sweater and just a light mac rather than the parker in case of rain.
With any journey though there’s the risk of conspiring events coming at one out of nowhere to screw up the schedule or make one feel guilty about going on any adventure, trip or holiday:
The first was the first time I went to an appointment to have my ears syringed and was told by the nurse that she couldn’t do it. Worse than that was a woman who insisted on a double appointment and so couldn’t organise one before the walk. I would have to drop olive oil in my ears throughout it. Didn’t bother with that much, as things turned out. Medical matters were becoming a pain.
If that was irritating the next bad turn made me turn the air blue! The block I lived in had been in dire need of recladding or rendering since 2000 when I’d moved in. The last property maintainance company had been parasites running down the neighbourhood for demolition. The new company were doing their best with trying to get grants but the government kept thwarting them by changing the rules. Including a few days into the walk: resulting the long awaited recladding building inspection suddenly taking place without warning over 1 and a half days at the worst time. Being away for one of those days I could only squeeze this latest property related bollocks into the late afternoon after school broke up delaying the beginning of the walk: a meeting and evening meal with one of my 2 oldest friends who was giving me the greatest support!
I phoned Conservative Central Office and told them why I wouldn’t be bothering to vote in the next General Election. I’d always voted on principle regardless of whether it did any good or not, but this time I had absolutely had it with central government just mucking everyone around. I took care to give them the benefit of my views on property too. Up yours!
Early lunchtime closing day at the school for the holidays. One of the less well off mothers had surprised me by offering a really generous amount of money for my endeavor. Equalised by my driver which took us nearly half way to what I’d gained last time. I informed the Head Teacher when we got in then waited in the hall with the assembling children. There was confusion when I didn’t realise a teacher had headed for the school entrance with one of mine. My driver had to come back and tell me. Hurrying with the other 2 kids I suddenly found a helium balloon thrust into my hands and the female teaching staff gathered round the entrance cheering me! Led by the Head Teacher. The weather had held, it was the start of the holidays and I was being given a heroes send off!
Morning. Breakfast with Jay in a house of similar design to the houses our parents had bought when we met all those years ago when I was 12. It felt well to do now compared to much of my existence and took me back to adolescence. Jay had become a music teacher, married a naval officer and raised a family while I’d become the footloose adventurer. After long absences fortune had brought me to a neighbouring town. She would be picking me up and dropping me off as far north as Arlesford and I was going to stay at her place for 2 more nights. That meant I could travel light for 2 days. With my hero’s balloon. It might attract attention and interest in the walk.
Once we’d all got strapped in yesterday and driving off from school my first thought had been what do I do with the balloon? Might as well let the kids look after it in order of them getting home while I worked out that question. The first boy was soon on the case, critical in his slightly peeved manner that it said ‘Good Luck’ without my name on it. I really wouldn’t worry about that though because he was full of penetrating questions such as why hadn’t I made the planets the same size? The next child was a simpler minded fellow who just considered life to be one big party! The balloon confirmed his point of view. Nothing like children for teaching one how to laugh again.
I picked my way through the labyrinth of outer Fareham gradually leaving my cares behind under a stunning blue sky. London had hit 30° again just like last time I’d walked for the school and just like last time it looked like a heatwave, which was why I’d decided to wear shorts for the first 2 days. It only took one subtropical plant to give a semi desert feel to the suburbscape I was wandering through.
I’d been warned against carrying plastic water bottles because too many of them gave one cancer, apparently. So I’d been sold a new fangled one – or carrier – that looked like a plasma bag and had a tube one could suck water up. I hoped it wouldn’t leak, wrapping 3 shopping bags round it. Wait a moment, since the new fangled one was also plastic – presumably – couldn’t that also give one cancer? Oh what the hell? I’d been to Chernobyl which was worse and guess what? Sooner or later we all……Die! To be blunt. No two ways about it.
After I’d finished the packing yesterday I’d tracked down the young man doing the inspection. That went easily enough although he wanted to see the heating bills. Despite bringing the kids home at lunch I’d not made the bus stop until twenty to five. Later than I would have been on a normal afternoon run. The last walk had begun with a free lift to London, like scoring a 6 on a dice roll. This time I’d rolled a 1 or missed a turn. Oh well.
With some relief I reached the disused railway that led out of Fareham. ‘The Deviation Line.’ That’s what the notice said. I couldn’t suppress the thought of a footpath with that sort of name being a nice place for an evening stroll in fetish gear with a chance of meeting others of like persuasion! If one’s into that sort of thing. The name could be explained by the map as being an branch line curving off only to rejoin the line it had left further north.
It had been a long slog uphill in full kit from the Fareham bus stop to Jay’s place so by the time I’d got there I needed a shower and being unfamiliar with her bathroom wound up having a bath. It had to be quick because she’d said so and I was late because of that bloody inspection.
The disused railway had become a path which some people used for cycling and their dogs. Soon I was under the motorway and under the shade of trees after that. Disused railways are not only level and direct. The trees along it in this sort of weather are an advantage too.
After the bath Jay had revealed that we were going to a meal with a friend of hers beyond Chichester, just as I’d suspected. Sods law operated of course since we were late, with the motorway being blocked necessitating a diversion through Havant, then after picking up the friend a level crossing held us up within sight of the pub.
The Deviation Line ended with a small footpath up to a lane and a bridge over the real railway. The lane was full of ‘Durkin’ vehicles in a hurry for some reason. Knowle was near: a business park and a complex on a low hill that had been involved with mental issues. Hampshire Councilling and Psychotherapy Services still resides there according to Google Earth. Not a bad first stop if one was crazy enough to walk 65 miles. There were private notices making me feel unwanted and irritated but a runner came the other way totally unconcerned. I passed through without incident. There were more trees than I remembered though parts of this place looked unkempt. I sat on an abandoned fridge for a water break and map check.
I’d usually had red wine when Jay and I had meals out but this was lager drinking weather! Also red wine would give me more of a hangover on the morning of the walk. That was what I felt at the pub. Instead of steak I had a lighter meal too, but conversation was spirited as usual. Afterwards there was a surprise when we were settling up at the bar and Jay produced a sponsor form I’d forgotten I’d given her. It had the same amount I’d picked up that morning which meant the total had doubled in one day! Before the walk had started. This looked like mushrooming.
The lane beyond Knowle brought me out into the open and into the heat. One photo a mile would supply proof that I’d done the walk, but I must have gone camera happy by then because I was taking photos of everything including pylons! Although the camera was the heavy Nikon. When I had the blood pressure scare I didn’t want to lug that along so had tried to find a lighter waterproof one; the Nikon not being waterproof. The photolibrary wouldn’t allow that though so I took a chance in order to get photos that might pay.
I reached Wickham and crossed it’s car parked square that was turning into a micro desert under the hot blue sky, to get a long awaited orange juice at a restaurant. Wickham was to host a big folk festival but I caught no sign of it. Back to the shade of the trees along the next disused railway. I was actually entering into the National Park covering the South Downs and – it seemed – half of Hampshire. I would not be leaving it until Arlesford.
It was mostly a green tree tunnel. Not much in the way of views but they’d come later. No it was better to be under these trees on a day like this. When I emerged to photograph a field the edge of the shadows felt like a division between jungle and desert. Lee on Solent was 32°! According to rumours. If it was anywhere close to that heat I was doing the right thing: getting a direct, level, easy shaded walk for the better part of the 11 miles of the first day, while getting used to the footslogging. What my driver calls ‘boxing clever.’
Some of Wickham and further afield had similar ideas. People and dog walkers were around, thinning out the further one went northwards with cyclists going further afield. I had a long rambling conversation while walking with a man named Percy who was another keen photographer venturing further afield, before he had to get back to his wife.
It seemed there was only the occasional bridge to tell me where I was. Like neglected relics of a departed fraught civilisation. That’s what they looked like from below with the old iron or brickwork and odd plant or dangling creeper. In a way that’s what they truly were, for this line was useful as a route to the south coast ports during the war and was used by Churchill.
Once in awhile though there was the humdrum hum of traffic on a main road. I’d grown to loathe that sound 2 years ago but now it was welcome, a navigational aid. Once there was the raucous row and sight of a nearby sawmill too, visible as an unusual complex of grey on the map. Wasn’t sorry to get away from that, back into my quiet easygoing green gloom.
Not far from Droxford I came across ‘a tree surgeon’ up a tree and got permission for a few photo’s. No need to pose just work away I assured him. People didn’t always like being photographed by a stranger and it was simpler to indulge in my love of landscape and natural forms. Sometimes though people made a shot by giving it scale or character and on this walk I learned to be sneaky, taking shots from the rear, or on zoom, often both.
There was also the Meon River. A couple of times it had shown up in the shadows like jungle pools and it was getting nearer again on the approach to Droxford. There was the chatter of people enjoying themselves beyond the trees and through a break in them I could see through the zoom that they were summer bathers in the river across a field.
There was just one little snag where the disused railway was crossed by the lane to Droxford. No obvious way off the railway. That’s the way it looked on the map and also at the bridge when I reached it. I was in a cutting through temperate jungle with no way up to the left. Would I have to trek another mile north before heading back again? Pretty undesirable on the closing stage of a days walk. No wait. There were small steps up into the foliage to the right. Like long forgotten steps to a lost temple. This was where it was vital to have my build of not being too overweight plus sustained persistence; for I had to inch my way up this between the bridge and a pipe through the undergrowth like a slow motion Indiana Jones before weaving my way round and out.
I emerged from darkest Hampshire on to the lane. The final footpath to Droxford should be just beyond the river. Time to phone Jay on the mobile.
The crystal clear sandy bottomed river just cried out to be bathed in. The footpath almost disappeared in what looked like the backend of a farm but the map I had was large scale enough to show fields and the configuration was right.
There was a hike through parklike meadows. Where the strap on a bag I was carrying broke. After tying a knot in that I squeezed down a path at the back of a hedge and came out at a church. Wayfarers Walk. I was now on it for the sign said it was crossing the village here. The main road through the village was ahead and the pub should be back a bit. As soon as I got out on to the road I could see Jay.
The pub was lovely and so was the beer. The balloon excited some comment and Jay took a photo of me. And that was about all to report for the first day really.
Driving home there was no sign of the route I’d followed. Hidden by woods and cuttings it seemed as though the disused railway running parallel to the road belonged to a parallel world. Compared to the roads I was now on it was as though I’d followed a mysterious trail created by rather large animals.
After getting cleaned up there was another pub nearer Jay’s. “I’ll have a San Miguel because that reminds me of the Philippines and this is like the Philippines.” I exclaimed to the chuckling barman. Outside the heat I was referring to was mellowing down into one of those long golden summer evenings that makes one feel privileged to be British.
© D. Angus 08 14