A hot one!

18th May 2014

    It was a 5.30 start for Tonbridge and I left Hadlow going south with the Sun and Moon the only objects in the still blue sky. At Golden Green, a mist was settling and at the River Medway, thickening. At the old WWII machine gun posts (never used in anger) by the river, I turned west. The Medway was once a working river; barges and boats plying their trade all the way from the Thames estuary to the wharfs in Tonbridge. The quiet slow river of pleasure craft and barges and fishermen on the banks belies the its busy history. At the Harlake Bridge, there is a memorial plaque remembering the thirty Gypsy hop-pickers and children drowned when the bridge collapsed in 1853 during a flood.. And there is a monument in St. Mary's churchyard, Hadlow, where the victims are buried.
    And I followed the ghosts along the footpath which hugs the riverbank and as the mist was burnt off, the sky and verdure was mirrored on the gentle water. Close to Porters Lock, a young Mute Swan and a white farmyard goose were grazing together at the bank and paddled away when I came, and the unlikely friends floated downstream, a little put out. Mayflower turning pink and Elderflower blossoming on the banks.
    Just before the Town Lock, there was a half submerged boat; its cabin under water and looking sad and neglected. It was a victim of the winter floods I suppose, and in need of rescue. I walked past the new riverside apartments on Vale Road and arrived at Tonbridge Castle as the horn sounded for another group of cyclists leaving for the annual 100 mile ride for charity. I met Dee, who was manning (or womanning) the refreshment tent. She had arrived at 6am to set up beverages and the event was well under way. She poured me a coffee, gave me a biscuit, we had a short natter, and I went on my way. And 750 cyclists went on their way.
    From the castle, I walked through Hildenborough, down through golden meadows of Buttercups and found the Hilden Brook. I sat by the tinkling stream for breakfast and listened to the birdsong.
    The uphill route to Shipbourne took me along the peaceful flower-bordered lane through Coldharbour and Hoad Common and a rest in the bus shelter away from the hot Sun. Two female walkers asked if there were any pubs nearby. I directed them to The Kentish Rifleman at Dunks Green. As they marched off searching for beer, I drank green tea.
    The homeward walk was cool enough in the woods, but through the deep emerald fields of wheat, it was burning hot!