Capital Ring Day 3 (24th March 2007) - Part 2

(c) Hanwell to Horsenden Hill Visitor’s Centre

We were due to meet Dave at the A4020 in Hanwell, but arrived rather earlier than expected. We thought we might have fitted in a swift jar in the local hostelry, but a phone call to Dave revealed that he was also going to be earlier – in fact he arrived just a minute or two later. We skipped our proposed pint and rejoined the Ring as it passed under a tunnel beneath the road. The river passed through a separate tunnel to our right, and it was clear that the footpath tunnel was regularly flooded too – it was boggy there even today (when flooded you can actually go “over the top”, cross the road and rejoin on the far side of the tunnel. Ahead, the magnificent Wharncliffe Viaduct stretched across what for want of a better word we’ll call a valley.

Passing under the brainlessly-graffiti’d arches bought us to a change in the landscape, as the Ring and the Brent entered Brent Lodge Park, and the first parakeets since Richmond (we’d missed the noisy blighters). It was clear that the river was now free of the constraints of the canal; where before it had been artificially straightened (using prize-winning piling) it now meandered wildly between wooded banks. Unfortunately the Ring followed every one of these twists, but they were still more than welcome after the boredom of the previous stretch.

After crossing a golf course we came to another straightened stretch of the river; once again it seemed dead, dank and dark compared to the section through Brent Lodge Park. In fact, it was one of the blackest sections of water I’ve seen. A conservationist wandering the river in his waders, presumably trying to stir up some sign of life, but frankly we felt he was on a lost cause. Just to add to the sense of desolation, the field we were walking through was called Bitterns Field – presumably it had once housed these birds, but was now barely recovering from having been used for landfill.

We finally left the Brent behind at the B455 in Greenford. It was strange to walk on tarmac again – it had been about 4 miles since our last flirtation with the hard stuff back in Brentford, a most impressive stretch for the Capital Ring. It wasn’t long though before we had turned off the road, and into Perivale Park – despite its name, this is actually yet another golf course. As a few spots of rain fell (fortunately they didn’t develop into anything more sinister), we saw an excellent tree house in the back garden of one of the houses to our left – basically a large shed with windows tossed into a tree.

There was little to note in the rest of the park, other than to let you know that what looks like a public loo at the far end is in fact just changing rooms. Beyond there, the path bears half left and across a convoluted footbridge over the stupendously busy A40. After a brief stroll up a residential road we came to Cayton Road Sports Ground. We fondly imagined that this would be the next green bit, but unfortunately the Ring was sent round the edge on an enclosed tarmac path. As far as we could see though, there were gaps in the fences at both ends of the ground that would allow you to walk across it if you wished.

The long Bennets Avenue gave us ample opportunity to contrast, compare and criticise the minute variations in porch construction. The cold and the bitter wind were finally starting to take their toll, and we were desperate to find somewhere sheltered to eat our sandwiches – preferably near somewhere that served steaming mugs of tea. First though we had to traverse the remainder of Greenford. We followed the A4127 beneath a railway, before bearing off to the right into the Paradise Fields Wetlands nature reserve. In the chill wind it didn’t feel like paradise to us; it certainly wasn’t paradise for the frog that was being bashed against the ground and devoured by a crow. Admittedly there was a bench, but it was situated on a raised lump of ground in the blowiest position possible, so we decided to continue our search.

It appeared that the “nature reserve” was actually waste ground (or planning “gain”) left over from the construction of the nearby Westway Cross shopping mall, a huge glass edifice dominating the near horizon. I thought I might not tell my wife that there was a big out-of-town Next store…! We followed the trail on down to another section of the Grand Union Canal – we hoped there would be some sheltered benches down there, but there weren’t. Instead we looked enviously across at a couple of fishermen sat on the opposite bank next to a roaring fire.

On the map ahead we could see that we would soon come to the Horsenden Hill Visitor Centre (on an “official” alternative route), and felt we would be able to find a lunch spot there along with a cup of tea. Unfortunately it was closed for winter. We sat at a moderately sheltered picnic table in a courtyard, and ate our lunch as quickly as possible whilst freezing half to death and longing for a cup of tea. Even Jim’s chilli crisps couldn’t bring a hint of warmth to our chilled bodies, and we were eager to get moving as soon as possible.

(d) Horsenden Hill Visitor Centre to South Kenton

We had some difficulty escaping from the visitor centre. We knew from the guidebook that the path headed out the top of the centre, but we simply couldn’t see a way out. It turned out to be a very private-looking gateway, just to the right of the Horsenden Hill Rangers’ houses. This took you through a tiny and even more private looking yard, before you finally escaped on a woodland trail running uphill behind the houses through a carved wooden archway. The path soon turned left along the hillside to rejoin the main Ring route on a fairly gentle trot to the top of the hill.

I had been looking forward to this hilltop. The guide said it was one of the best natural viewpoints in London, and the map showed impressive concentric ring contours (by London standards, anyway). Climbing the hill there were reasonable views behind us, but as they were merely of the Westway Cross mall they didn’t hold our attention. At the top I ascended the trig with a little difficulty, as my bad ankle is still playing up. I had hoped for good views across central London, to the south-east, but the flat, golf course-crested hill prevented this, at least from the trig point. To the north, though we could see the path to come – an ascent of Harrow-on-the Hill.

We descended the north slopes of the hill into Horsenden Wood, pleasantly soft underfoot before the intrusion of a tarmac path (once again, I have to ask why?) which lead us past a spectacularly hollow tree. Unfortunately this was to be the last bit of “green” for a while, as we now started our transit of Sudbury and Harrow, Dave’s own stomping ground.

The suburbs of Sudbury were as unappetising as their town’s name. We hurried past decaying shops, crossed the A4090 and eventually sped through a narrow and rough grass strip between blocks of flats and a railway. Groups of chavs mooched past, their ill-fitting shellsuits hanging unflatteringly over pierced chip-fat bellies; their knuckles barely lifted from the ground; their chewing-gum masticating mouths uttering unintelligible grunts and squeals, interspersed with swearwords. Their very survival seemed an affront to Darwin.

We were glad to leave Sudbury for the more affluent Harrow-on-the-Hill. The path became nicer almost immediately, following a rough track called Green Lane. By Ring standards it was surprisingly steep, and bought some warmth to our bodies for the first time since before lunch. No doubt the gradient also contributed to the strategic placement of several benches at the top, where we were glad to have a quick water break before continuing on up the road to Harrow-on-the-Hill. Now Dave could really come into his own as our local tour guide.

Harrow-on-the-Hill is most famous for being home to Harrow School, one of the posher of our public schools. It’s produced such famed luminaries as Winston Churchill, Lord Byron (more of him in a mo), Richard Curtis and – ahem – James Blunt. The school was to dominate the trail for the next mile or so.

The after passing various minor school-linked buildings entering the town, the centre turned out to be a tiny open triangle surrounded by attractive buildings, one oddly featuring a carving of fruit halfway up the facade. All were clearly reliant on trade arising from the school, or its pupil’s parents. There were school outfitters, posh restaurants and scores of elegant tea rooms which, we felt, were unlikely to welcome the intrusion of two scruffy ring walkers – Dave may have got in though!

Leaving the town centre we headed into education central, as we passed one after another of the main school buildings. Dave, our local guide, came into his own, leading us briefly off the Ring up a side street towards St Mary’s Church. On the right a magnificent semi-circular building, which is Harrow School’s speech hall, dating from 1872. My wife’s school (not Harrow!) used to have their annual prize-giving here, and she was once given the prize for “most improved pupil”.

However, the reason that Dave took us off the trail was actually to see the church itself. For one thing, part of the church dates back to Norman times – you can easily see the patch of original stone in the back wall. Secondly, there’s a viewpoint at the back of the churchyard with a topograph and what would have been a fine view westwards from the surprisingly steep hillside had it not been for the murky conditions. The main draw here though is what some people fallaciously call Lord Byron’s grave. The stone slab, now protected by an iron cage, was actually someone else’s grave that the young and obviously rather morbid Byron used to lie and compose his early poems whilst at Harrow School. In the circumstances I thought I’d better track down a poem of his that mentions walking:

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

We had thought Dave would leave us here, but he decided to continue. Returning to the trail we turned off the so-busy-it-almost-ruins-the-town main road and headed down Football Lane towards the school sports fields. Just before the junction however, was a small plaque commemorating the sad spot where the first ever death in a car accident occurred. Our local guide was on hand to tell us that the accident had actually happened at the bottom of the hill, and the location of the plaque had been based more on visual prominence than geographical accuracy.

On the way down Football Lane we passed the school’s music department, strangely fronted by a couple of – presumably modern – monoliths. Nearby there was an admirable little modern extension, built in a style closely matched to the rest of the school. Unfortunately behind was a truly hideous and unsympathetic block – one wonders how many council palms were greased by the riches of Harrow School to gain planning permission for this monstrosity. As we glared at it a tiny girl belted down the hill on her bike, before energetically cycle back up to her parents at the top so she could do it all over again. I’d hoped to see the new Wembley Stadium from here – it was hosting it’s first ever event today, an under-21’s international. However, the arch was barely visible against the leaden skies.

The playing fields at Harrow are stunning. Frankly I think there’s no need to build the whole Olympic shebang out at Stratford, they could just host the games here. The gleaming athletics track and tennis courts would not have looked out of place at a major tournament (apart from the lack of stadia). Still more seemed to be under construction – the school clearly has a fairly aggressive expansion policy. So much ground was being chewed up by construction vehicles that it was difficult to follow the “temporary” diversion of the Ring. Whilst we pondered the map and guide a helicopter took off noisily on the far side of the playing fields, and we wondered idly what millionaire it contained.

We eventually gave up looking for a path, and followed grass around the edge of the construction site to find a surprise well hidden in trees at the right-hand end of the rear boundary. It was a stile, apparently the only one on the entire Ring, and rather a high, awkward one too. Beyond it was the A404 – I commute on a different part of this road every day (from Wycombe to Reading) and it was strange to encounter it here on the Ring. It was almost as busy here as on “my” stretch, and it took some time to cross it.

We soon wished we hadn’t bothered crossing the road. The woods behind Northwick Park Hospital were some of the filthiest we’d ever seen, chock full of refuse, some of it clearly medical waste from the hospital. Even the trees seemed putrid and near death, and the two longed-for lakes on the map were invisible behind rusting, overgrown fences. We were glad to escape from these dank woods onto an open, sandy path that ran along the edge of a golf driving range with ridiculously high perimeter fences.

Previous Ring sections had seemed like a tour of the playgrounds of London, but when we emerged into Northwick Park Playing Fields it was besides the first playground we remembered seeing today. We swiftly marched through the park and a couple of residential roads later we were at South Kenton tube station. Half an hour later, at the ridiculously early time of 4pm, we were back at Dave’s house - my wife and her Mum Maureen were both shocked to see us back so early, but we were just glad to get in out of the cold and warm up.

Dave was well chuffed at having walked nearly 10 miles, the furthest he’d walked in years. I have to admit though that this section was probably my least favourite so far – possibly the miserably cold weather had been the main factor, but there had also been little of interest in the long river walk between Brentford and Harrow-on-the-Hill. It had in fact been the built-up areas that had been the highlights, proving to us yet again that urban walking can easily compete with rural trails.