Uxbridge's Millstreams and the Canal.

By now I was getting bored and I drove around to the other side of Uxbridge, parked up and had a walk through the water courses.

Uxbridge is a big town full of office blocks and shops but underneath (and I mean underneath) there's a network of streams, rivers and canals.

This is the heart of 'The Colne Valley' which ends up at Colnebrook, the River Colne by us and then at Staines Moor before it flows into the Thames.

Except it isn't one river, its a collection of streams that split and combine all over the place.

At Uxbridge there were once a series of Mills, most of which have been converted to offices or restaurants. Underneath, the streams still flow even if some go through pipes every so often.

I've even tried to follow them on a map or Google Earth and failed.

Some end up flowing into The Grand Union Canal which is where I ended up walking along the towpath.

Many of the narrowboats still have traditional designs like this fine lettering;

The canals were built in the 18th century, had a short spell before the railways came along and took most of their trade.

In the 1920's, the Grand Union was created by merging several canal companies into one in an attempt to get big enough to compete and modernise.

The main branch is from London to Birmingham but this is the Oxford branch which runs through Slough and Uxbridge on its way to Town.

I stood a while on the bridge by the lock, watching the water squeezing through the lockgates;

The guy in the blue boat wasn't too sure of himself. As he left the lock he collided with the boat on his right then bounced back hitting the wall of the lock before colliding with the lock gate as he emerged.

Meanwhile he forgot about his partner who had been struggling the lock gates for him so he had to reverse into the bank which involved another collision so that he could get her back on board. She wasn't too happy about it.

Of course, I wouldn't be any better myself but it was very funny.

I like the idea of these lost streams, just as I like following the course of London's many lost rivers; The Fleet, The Tyburn, The River Moselle, The River Westbourne (Westbourne Grove!), Stanford Brook, meanwhile in South London which I don't know so well there is The River Effra (Effra Road).

Most ended up in underground drains, some are in pipes which you sometimes see when you are travelling on the Tube, under a bridge or you hear them bubbling under metal grates in the road.

Sometimes, you just see the damp in the walls of a building!

In medieval times they were important water courses, used for drinking water, sewerage or a way to catch a boat.
Life went on around them or was about getting over them without getting wet.

Now they usually end up as a drain coming out of a wall in the Thames Embankment.

Neil Harris
(a don't stop till you drop production)

Home: helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com
Contact me: neilwithpromisestokeep@gmail.com

First day of freedom.

 

 

I spent the morning getting my Mum into respite care . It was traumatic but it's 2 weeks holiday for me, the only break I've had in three years. Two weeks freedom.

After lunch, Robyn and I went for a walk on Staines Moor.

Here we are standing on one of the bridges over the river Colne;

 

 





It was beautifully sunny, a last day of summer, almost. We walked back along the clear bright river as it winded its way over the moor.

We passed the grazing cows and horses and then we found that the banks were lined with wonderfully fresh, spicy watercress;

                            

 

Mmmmmh, scrummy!

 

Neil Harris

(a don't stop till you drop production)

 

Home:   helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com

 

Contact me:  neilwithpromisestokeep@gmail.com

 

 

 

Wandering through hollow lands.

I’m looking fairly foolish, I’m all alone in the middle of nowhere with a big white feather in my hat and my fingers purple with blackberry juice.

Robyn got a couple of days of lousy work and is worn out while I’m trying to cope with the un-copable and losing.

So in the evening I stole an hour or two and went out to Staines Moor on my own. It isn’t a moor at all, more like a marsh which dries out in the summer. I only discovered it a couple of weeks ago; when I’m ill again I’ll write it up properly, it’s got an interesting history.

Anyway, here it is;

 

On one side is a reservoir, then on the other is the Staines Bypass and then there’s the M25 motorway. It’s a forgotten piece of country in an urban mess.

 

This is the river Colne which wanders through the meadow, flooding in the winter. It flows from beyond Uxbridge over gravel so it's clear and bright; there are streams of weed swaying in the current and timid fish hiding in the shadows.

The swans have a couple of kids from this spring and where they were grooming on the river bank – that’s where my white feather came from.

The grass is almost waist high now, brown from the August sun. Every now and again my steps disturb waterfowl who fly up angrily as I pass.

I walked to the far end of the moor and over to the motorway where there is a deserted railway line overgrown with trees and brambles.

 

The blackberries are ripe, sweet from the August sun and so ripe they pick themselves. That's where my purple fingers come from.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

                                               by W. B. Yeats

 

I went out to the hazel wood,  

Because a fire was in my head,  

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,  

And hooked a berry to a thread;  

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,  

I dropped the berry in a stream  

And caught a little silver trout.  

  

When I had laid it on the floor  

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,  

And someone called me by my name:  

It had become a glimmering girl  

With apple blossom in her hair  

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.  

  

Though I am old with wandering  

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,  

I will find out where she has gone,  

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,  

And pluck till time and times are done,  

The silver apples of the moon,  

The golden apples of the sun.

 

It’s an early summer; these are elderberries which normally ripen in September.

 

And there is a feel of September in the air, as though summer is already over.

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)  

Home:  helpmesortoutstpeters.blogspot.com

Contact me: neilwithpromisestokeep@gmail.com