Hilden Brook

23 June 2013

  There is only one thing to do on a Sunday morning: go for a long walk. Dee arrived (and Maisie too) at around 8am, for a walk along the River Medway and over the Hilden Brook. The weather looked reasonable and the forecast was for showers. We took a route through Golden Green to the Medway and at the old World War 2 pillboxes by the lock, we turned toward Tonbridge. Every few metres, there was a fisherman, each with carts and bagfuls of equipment to cover every eventuality. They were discussing the merits of homemade ground bait and other such things of import. Very different from the rod and line and bread paste of my youth.
  The mature growth at the river bank was flattened by the weather; Skullcap and Yellow Archangel prostrate. But Stinging Nettles stood proud and firm and out to get the unawares. Damoiselles fluttered and flitted among the reeds. At the Town Lock, Dee saved a life: a Bumble bee was struggling on the surface tension of the water in the lock. Dee took my walking pole and offered it to the bee which promptly climbed on and was put down gently on the bank.
  We arrived in Tonbridge to music and crowds for a carnival, featuring dragon races on the river with canoes stuffed with men like sardines in a tin, ready to paddle furiously. We left the hubbub behind as quickly as we could for the Hilden Brook. The Sun had peeped out and the temperature rose as we arrived at a peaceful spot by the brook and sat in the long grass with Cuckoo Spit and White Dead Nettle, to drink tea and coffee. The meadow was alive above with swinging and swooping Swifts and Swallows and clouds of midges dancing in the sunlight. Here, there was Grass Vetchling, scarlet droplets among the Buttercups.
  Bordering the meadow, Elder was in blossom, the flowers like plates of clotted cream and Dog Roses tumbling down the hedgerows, making up for lost time. We left this idyll for Coldhanger and the long ride through copses to Dean Park Woods. The Horse Chestnut blossom is suddenly gone and now the immature nuts are forming a conical mace. We were caught in a sharp shower near Tinley Farm and as I had removed a layer, my back was liberally soaked. At this time, I received a text from Kay, saying that Dee had left her car door wide open. Dee said, oops! And I said, what a plum!
  In Dean Park Woods, the boles and twisted arms of the Hornbeam were moss covered; dark, damp and mysterious in the shadows and the ponds were green with Duckweed. In Clearhedges, the path was dappled in sunlight and we were led to the Skylarks and home.