Batty in Marlow This is part 2 of a 9 part series of a 150 mile walk along the Thames River starting in West London and ending at the river’s source. Our friends, Don and Pamela and Myra and I completed the self-guided trek over a 17 day vacation. As Don, Pamela, Myra and I continued our way along the Thames River that I now thought of as a ‘yardstick of time’ two women approached carrying daypacks and walking at a leisurely pace. Stopping to chat we discovered they were from California walking the Thames River from source to London instead the other way round as we were. The short one had clear brown eyes with large lids that made her look drowsy. The other was a firmly built woman on the edge of being overweight. This was their third year walking a different section of the Thames River and exploring quaint villages and scenic vista’s as their whim moved them. “Take a detour through Cookham,” the well built woman advised. “It is the loveliest place with quaint pubs, antique shops, and has a Twelfth Century Norman church that’s well worth visiting.” In a low liquidly voice, the woman with large eyelids added, “We were here in July last year and saw the ‘Swan Upping’ celebration. That’s when the royal Swan Keeper marks all the newborn swans while leading a colorful boating regalia.” She seemed to say this as if to prove that her way of walking the river was superior to ours. And perhaps it was. Don asked them, “Do you know who the first Prime Minister of England was?” They gave him a puzzled look, the shapely woman said, “That must have been Cromwell. Yes, I’m certain it was Cromwell.” Of course we still didn’t know the correct answer until the end of our trek when we discovered she was wrong. Pamela could not resist a Norman church, nor could I, so we detoured through Cookham and discovered all the quaintness the California women promised. A plaque on the church stated that Henry VII, because of his role in the murder of Thomas Beckett, paid an anchorite a ha’ penny per day to pray for him. Back on the path we sauntered through a kissing gate (stopping to give each other the required kiss) and entered Cock Marsh, walking on a deeply wetted track with a rich mud smell. Then on we continued sloshing, through Spade Oak Meadow where we could see burial mounds of a Bronze Age site. After awhile a watery sun floated above the sycamore trees that lined the towpath. Several four-person sculls were running down river following the outgoing tide towards London. A motor launch paced the rowers as its captain shouted instructions through a power megaphone. Myra stopped to show Pamela a cluster of wild tulips growing on the riverside of the towpath. The goblet-shaped green-tinged yellow-tepals were opened wide looking like six-pointed stars. They were the only stars any of us had seen since arriving in England several days ago. Don called us all together to share the fact that William Morris operated his famous Kelmscott Press in that large Georgian house. ‘The ugly one,’ he said, as he pointed his gloved finger towards the Hammersmith Bridge. ‘We will visit William Morris’s Oxfordshire House later in the walk,’ Don continued, ‘and Morris liked to watch the water run by the Kelmscott place knowing it had already flowed past his up river house.’ Don’s desire to share his newly acquired knowledge was to continue for the entire walk. Myra said, “I read Morris’s poem Love is Enough as a sophomore. Wasn’t he a socialist?” “Yes,” I answered, “but I'm sure it’s not catching.” The footpath led us through a boatyard past the Upper Thames Sailing Club. Beyond the club we followed the track past Long-ridge Scout Boating Center, Marlow By-Pass and into the Marlow village for a short distance to Mrs. James Bed and Breakfast, our stay for the night. As it turned out Marlow was the depository of a rich past. I could feel the weight of its history as we walked from the B&B through the narrow, redbrick-walled-in, Seven-Corner Alley to dine at Two Brewers Pub. Once again Don was the bearer of the apples of knowledge. He began by telling us that Jerome Jerome often stayed at this very Inn and had written part of Three Men in a Boat while here. Myra interrupted by pulling out a copy of Jerome's book (none of us knew she had it) and read a paragraph from chapter thirteen: We got up tolerably early on the Monday morning at Marlow, and went for a bath before breakfast; and coming back, Montmorency made an awful ass of himself. The only subject on which Montmorency and I have any serious difference of opinion is cats. I like cats, Montmorency does not. When I meet a cat, I say 'Poor Pussy!' and stoop down and tickle the side of its head; and the cat sticks up its tail in a rigid, cast-iron manner, arches its back, and wipes its nose up against my trousers, and all is gentleness and peace. When Montmorency meets a cat, the whole street knows about it; and there is enough bad language wasted in ten seconds to last an ordinary respectable man all his life, with care. Don was surprised by her interruption but remained determined to share his wisdom with us. Quickening his speech to avoid any chance of another breach, he let it be known that the Queen’s Swan Master made this one of his regular stops as he, with the Swan Uppers, progressed upstream checking on the swans. Also, the poet Shelly had lived a few blocks from the Inn over on West Street. It was there that his wife Mary wrote the science-fiction novel Frankenstein. If that wasn’t enough, Don then continued with the fact that T.S. Eliot lived in Marlow at the old Post Office building. By now we were watching him rattle off data with our mouths wide open, all of us awed as we tried to take it all in. He continued saying, that Dr. William Battie’s House for the mentally ill was part of the local scene; which gave birth to the new word, “Batty”. Quickly recovering from Don's onslaught of essential knowledge I joined the educational mood by saying, Mary Shelly's monster, Frankenstein, was a metaphor for the Industrial Revolution. While I enjoyed having the last word in any discussion what I really felt like doing was to rent a boat and row the river’s length once the walk was over.