Flow River Flow

Sweet Thames, run softly..... 

The Source of the Thames, May 13th 2026 13.58

All he wanted was just to be free.

And that's the way it turned out to be.

Flow, river flow, let your waters rush down.

Take me from this road to some other town.

Flow river go, past the shady tree.

Flow river flow, flow to the sea.

Flow river flow, flow to the sea.

The Ballad of Easy Rider

Roger McGuinn

Since my wife, Amanda, was diagnosed with dementia in 2013, I have been on a number of fundraising walks for charity.  These included a strenuous hike from Stonehenge to Avebury and a very strenuous stretch of Hadrian's wall, organised by Alzheimer's Society.  I then walked the South Downs Way, 100 miles, from Winchester to Eastbourne in five days, with my friend Ken.  Cumulatively, these efforts raised £7,444....

The Infant Thames, May 13th 14.32

As Amanda's condition worsened, we were advised and monitored by Jonathan Schott, Professor of Neurology at the Dementia Research Centre, UCL Queen Square Institute of Neurology, and I switched my fund-raising to the National Brain Appeal, which provides funds to support The National Hospital for Neurology & Neurosurgery and the UCL Queen Square Institute of Neurology – together known as Queen Square.

Before Amanda died, I walked a stretch of the Norfolk Coast Path from our home, and then last year, on the anniversary of her death, I completed 60+ miles of that path from Wells-next-the-Sea to Yarmouth, and, together with sales of books and calendars I created, these raised over £10,000 for the NBA.

Thunder clouds gathering, May 13th, 18.36

So this year, despite some trifling health concerns (and having now passed three score and fifteen years on this planet) I decided, after consultation with my close friend, to tackle the first part of the Thames path, aiming to complete seventy miles in approximately four days, starting at the source and finishing with a lap of honour round Oxford. At the time of writing this has raised £2,225.....

Inglesham Church

The Thames Path is now, since 1996, a National Trail, and is well marked and maintained. It is, also, not surprising, principally downhill. I was lucky with the weather, only getting really wet on the first afternoon, and blessed with cool breezes and cloudy skies, so didn't feel the heat....

Ha'penny Bridge, Lechlade, May 14th 13.40

The initial stages too are rural and relatively undisturbed by roads or habitation. I spend a night in the modest town of Cricklade, then have some refreshment on the route in Lechlade, where the river begins to show more boating activity.

Father Thames, commissioned in 1854 for the Crystal Palace, moved to St John's Lock in 1974 

But it still isn't busy. I walk through buttercup meadows, and the river is fringed with reeds and umbelliflorae, sedge warblers cheering me on:

One surprising feature is the Stop Red Line succession of concrete pillboxes, built after Dunkirk to protect the industrial midlands from waterborne invasion. These lonely blocks, with their crumbling exteriors, seem almost medieval now, and were never used in action.

Other notable features of the development of the river are the various locks, with their associated moorings.  

It is a sign of the times that many of these are now unmanned, self-service, establishments, in spite of the rather lovely lock-keepers' cottages and gardens. Some are staffed part time, and at least are well-maintained, but there are signs of frustration (note the sign in the door here: Warning, NO STUPID PEOPLE beyond this point.....)

And always, alongside the locks there are weirs and sluices, indicating, even in this time of little rain, just how powerful and indomitable the flow of water can be:

I walk alone, my thoughts swimming with memories of my wife, and our daughters. Inevitably it is a sad pilgrimage, though I know it is worthwhile.  

The river keeps on flowing, though, a symbol of life finding its way, the watercourse way, whatever the obstacle.....

Kelmscott Manor, May 14th 16.00

I spend a night at the Plough Inn, near William Morris's Kelmscott Manor, a place that Amanda and I visited before the decline, so there are ghosts on the stair.....

With my ghosts, Kelmscott

Though I know she loved the tapestries and designs:

And I love the flowers that grow between the stones:

Back on the trail the river opens up, reflecting the uncertain skies.  My feet hurt - blisters and corns; my shoulders ache as my bag is too heavy; my thighs are tense. The plodding is unrelieved by scenic features or architectural attractions.....

May 15th, 09.26

I try to distract myself by photographing swallows diving to the river surface to drink. But apart from their speed, I find I have been watching martins anyway....

Above me a larger flying beast churns its way through the air. I think it is an Atlas C.1 (A400M), a massive four-engine turboprop that can carry up to 37 tonnes over 2,000 nautical miles. It is a reminder that the world is not at peace, and that there are many far worse off than me....

But back on terra firma the river flows on unconcerned, with its quota of peaceful migrants moored by the banks, and bridges occasionally demonstrating the metaphorical ability mankind has devised for solving problems....

While the burnished silver finish of the river's surface reflects an atmosphere that is far greater than any individual's breadth:

May 15th, 17.47

And then I am under the concrete structure of the A34 Thames Bridge, the rumble and roar of traffic filling my ears where bird song and breeze was before....

Before turning into the overcrowded Trout Inn, apparently a favourite of both Lewis Carroll and Inspector Morse [Did they know each other?  Did John Thaw know Alice Liddell?  Ed.]

The Trout Inn, May 16th, 14.12

Then, on the home strait I pay my respects to the ruined Mother Superior of Godstow Nunnery:

Godstow Nunnery

And then steam past Port Meadow.....

Port meadow, Oxford

To reach my destination, and then, to the cheers of an enthusiastic crowd, to perform my lap of honour, to bring my total miles to approximately one for each of the years Amanda would have lived were there a loving god....

Folly Bridge, Oxford

The Thames leaves me behind.  I let it go..... I know many of the lower reaches: Marlow, Henley, Windsor, Hampton Court, Barnes, Putney and all the way to Greenwich.  I have come far enough, and I am tired.....

The Bridge of Sighs

Under Hertford's Bridge of Sighs, which my dad left to go to war in 1941....

The Radcliffe Camera

And in the centre of the University, bright young things gather for their May Balls, full of hope and promise:

While I wonder at a portable triptych in the Ashmolean Museum, the end of my journey. This gold and translucent enamel treasure, created in the mid fourteenth century, was designed for private devotion and is thought to have belonged to Mary Queen of Scots.  

Hey!  My thoughts fly up.....  The river flows; life goes on; we all have our crosses to bear.....

We go downstairs, and out into the rain.....

The Ashmolean Museum, May 17th, 11.45

As I walked out tonight in the mystic garden

The wounded flowers were dangling from the vines 

I was passing by yon cool and crystal fountain 

Someone hit me from behind

Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’

Through this weary world of woe 

Heart burnin’, still yearnin’

No one on earth would ever know

Ain’t Talkin’

Bob Dylan

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Should you wish to support the National Brain Appeal and help others in the long term, then please click on this link:

https://www.justgiving.com/page/richard-gibbs-8?utm_medium=FR&utm_source=CL&utm_campaign=lc_frp_share_transaction_fundraiser_page_donation_received_-_nth_donation

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In my father's footsteps: The Turf Tavern, May 16th 17.38

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And, if, by chance (I hadn't got my usual distribution list with me on the walk) you didn't see my earlier piece about the Thames Path, which told of Amanda's illness and decline, then please follow this link:

https://www.richardpgibbs.org/2026/05/the-thames-path-warning-contains.html

That piece was harrowing to write, and it was hard to share some of the pictures, but my intention was to raise awareness of the suffering that dementia may cause, and perhaps to promote research, and support, and to help people understand what may sadly be in store....

With love

Richard

May 2026

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With sincere thanks to all those who have supported me, especially my dear friend CJ

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PS, should you like to see more pictures of Oxford, unrelated to these pieces above, then please see:

https://www.richardpgibbs.org/2013/10/oxford.html

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Whitstable

Nothing is what it seems.....

I am staying at the Palace Flop House, Whitstable.  Don't ask.  But, trust me, it's OK.  

It could have been worse.....  

I could have been staying at the Premier Inn.....

The Duke of Cumberland was full.  

Or so they said.....

There's a touch of the Caribbean about Whitstable, 

if you look hard....

And there's a spooky, Dickensian fog about the place as well.  I am buzzed by paraplanes near the Old Neptune.....

A pub that reeks of pitch and pine, not built for the flying age....

The machines rise, their motors sadly contrary to their imitations of the birds....

But they are almost the only things that move in this eerie dusk by the muddy shore.  

I am transported....

There are reasons to be in Whitstable.  One could be to pay tribute to Peter Cushing, famous for his appearances in various Frankenstein and Dracula films, (though possibly best remembered for repeatedly trying to get due payment from Morecambe and Wise) who lived here until his death in 1994.  

Another could be to indulge in the quintessence of the sea, by eating oysters.  A yellow tractor scurries about on the mudflats carrying baskets of the molluscs to the trucks on shore.  I watch, the salt spray mingling with my saliva....

Sadly the Royal Native Oyster Stores, incorporated by the Royal Free Fishers and Dredgers in 1793, is closed, but I find Wee Willie Winkle busy at the shuck in his kitchen and a poem comes to mind:

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,

"Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed—

Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,

We can begin to feed."

But what is this?  Here I am in Whitstable, and what do I consume?  

Aw, Shucks!  My filter-feeding bivalves have swum here from Carlingford!

(They are delicious though)

(And I did buy, and eat, them in Whitstable.....)

Nothing is what it seems.....

But I digress.  My true reason to be here is to pay homage to David Rodney Aubrey Pearce, (otherwise known as DRAP)  who for 33 years taught English at my school, so was, in part, through his early involvement in my love of literature, responsible for what I am becoming (though I hold no grudge!)  

He died almost exactly two years ago, and, in belated homage, I have come to this modest seaside town clutching his wonderful book of poems, entitled The Street. 

David was born in Whitstable, and would recognise much of its quirky geometry, and signs of the past.  His poems take their title from a narrow promontory of shingle, shell and pudding stone which stretches a mile or more out into the sea here, entirely submerged at high tide, but enticingly exposed at low water.

Sheppey's bluff across the bay
Is sharper in the evening ray,
While eastwards to Reculver towers
The stacked onset of darkness lours,
And lights around the estuary
Half ring my patch of open sea.
Nor light, nor dark, nor sea, nor land:
Between uncertain worlds I stand.
One day, not now, I may not hide
From Time's encroaching, Night and Tide.

David was not only my teacher.  He was a friend, and a very good friend of my parents too.  He was also, in later years, a joint founder of the Graham Greene Birthplace Trust, which now enables an annual Greene-fest in Berkhamsted.  One of the last times I saw David was at a rare showing, at one of these festivals, of Dr Fischer of Geneva  (1984) a tv film of one of Greene's stories, starring James Mason, Alan Bates and Greta Scacchi.  Greta, in person, was with us at the screening, and it took an immense presence of mind for David to elude the sinuous advances of the diva.....

I don't think I could have resisted.....

Respect....!  Such mindfulness!

So..... I'm in Whitstable:

Pocked limpet rocks and puddingstone; concrete

Debris of the 'Invasion' scare; starfish

Stiff orange-fingered in the shallow wash - 

Are my boyhood remembrance of 'The Street',

Which at low tide thumbs our a mile to meet

The sunsets firing over Sheppey hills.....

David Pearce

'The Street', Whitstable

29th September, 2014

In the morning it is time for quiet contemplation and prayer, and I find myself seated in the chapel of St Edmund's School, Canterbury, just up the hill from Whitstable.  Here, just after the second world war, David was a pupil.  We stand to sing an advent hymn, and I hear his voice beside me:

O come, Thou Dayspring, from on high,

And cheer us by Thy drawing nigh;

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,

And death's dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.....

Nothing is what it seems.....

In Memoriam, 
David R.A. Pearce

September 24th 1938 - November 11th 2016

[All pictures taken on my iPhone between 14.47 and 15.23 on Tuesday, December 4th, 2018]