TWIN VILLAGES
[Illustration]
When two villages stand facing one another across a bridge, it is
inevitable that comparisons, however impertinent, will be made. And it
may be said at once that Streatley, for all its old church, its pretty
hotel, and its mill, cannot dispute the palm with Goring, which has
an older church and a more charming mill, and many other advantages.
Streatley church is singularly vivid in colouring. Rarely is there
to be seen a deeper green-gold than that made by the lichen on the
red roof, and when the sunshine flashes out upon it the effect is
positively startling.
Not less attractive in its way is the red-roofed hotel with its backing
of thick, green foliage, its tiny grass plots on the river's edge, and
its gay flowers. The flour mill would be a valuable asset in the beauty
items of any place not eclipsed by so near a neighbour.
There are islands in the stream, and the bridge which runs across them
is singularly picturesque. This is one of the few old wooden bridges
remaining, and it is doubtless destined soon to be replaced by one of
iron, as has been done at Pangbourne. At this one can hardly cavil,
for delightful as are the long slender wooden piles to look at, they do
seem as if they might give way unexpectedly at any minute.
[Illustration: STREATLEY]
If we stand down by the lock there are numberless views in all
directions, each good in itself. It is a hot day in summer, and the
vivid scarlet and the deep carmine of the lock-keeper's geraniums
literally strike one's eyeballs with their colour. We do not, alas!
hear the wash of the water tumbling over the weir, for weirs in summer
often run dry, or give only a small trickle, though it is just the
time when their gay music would most appeal to the heart of man. The
lock-keeper has stories to tell of the days before the "pound" locks,
as they used to be called, were made. What we call the weirs were then
the "locks." The great barges had to be towed up the weirs by means
of rope and capstan; and sometimes, when the water ran low, they had
to wait for weeks for a freshet that would enable them to get up. The
lock here is only five-eighths of a mile below that at Cleeve, and
these two are the nearest together on the river, except those of Temple
and Hurley. Beyond Cleeve there is a long stretch of six and a-half
miles before the next, Benson Lock. It almost seems as if the powers
that deal with locks had in their justice tried to make things even by
multiplying them in the beauty spots, so that those who want only the
best have to pay for it by the worry of passing locks; while those who
are content with something less can have it without bother. Some locks,
however, have been done away with as unnecessary. There used to be
one between those of Cleeve and Benson, and another at Hartslock Wood,
below Goring; but these have disappeared.
The ancient road known as the Icknield Street crosses the river at
Streatley; it was used by the Romans, but made long before their time.
High beyond the bridge, and, rising above it, as we stand at the lock,
is the grand sweep of hill locally known as Greenhill, in distinction
from Whitehill on the Goring side.
To the right, on the top of the heights, are the golf links, and
the small white road winds steeply up, carrying with it a touch of
melancholy, which the sight of a far-away and steep road always gives,
a suggestion of a journey that winds "uphill all the way."
Reading has now established a regatta to keep its own folk in its
own neighbourhood on the August Bank-Holiday; and a great boon this
has been to the quiet up-river places, for they are not now invaded
by launches full of rollicking, bottle-shying crowds, such as are
characteristic of the neighbourhood of all great towns, and on these
occasions apt to become remarkably prominent.
[Illustration: GORING CHURCH]
Goring stands high among Thames villages, literally and figuratively.
Its main street runs winding up-hill to the station, and though there
are few of the genuine old cottages left, the small houses which have
replaced them have been mostly built in the best modern river style,
with exterior beams, porches, projecting windows and ornamental gables.
Creepers flourish abundantly. From the river the church is easily seen.
A small and narrow backwater leads under a bridge to within fifty yards
of the tower.
The building is very old, and was originally the church of the
Augustinian priory. It is partly covered with rough stucco, which
is peeling off untidily in patches. The tower is Norman, and has a
bastion turret, which greatly adds to its appearance, and, what is more
uncommon, the east end is an apse, though we are bound in honesty to
say an apse rebuilt.
Close by the church is the mill, which eclipses that at Streatley in
appearance, and shows adaptability in applying its power as an electric
generating station, while Streatley remains conservative, and still
grinds the sweet-scented white flour. But the electric charging has
not spoilt the mossy roof, gleaming green and russet alternately, or
the pretty pigeon-house from which flocks of white pigeons often sweep
round over the glistening water and the low islands. A very large and
neat boat-house lies below the bridge on the Goring side.
Between this and Pangbourne we have at first rich well-covered heights
on the one side, and high, open chalky hills on the other, dotted with
the neat circular clumps usually associated with chalk uplands. But
after a while these are replaced by the famous Hartslock Woods.
Speaking of the valley of the Thames between Goring and Henley, in his
introduction to the _Flora of Oxfordshire_, Mr. G. Claridge Druce says:
"We may wander for miles through verdant alleys whose groundwork begins
in early spring with the glossy gold of the smaller celandine, followed
by the pale stars of the wood anemones and myriads of primroses, these
giving place to sheets of hyacinths, 'that seem the heavens upbreaking
through the earth,' the blue being here and there relieved by the
yellow archangel or brightened with stitchwort; still later on the
bluebells are replaced by masses of the fragrant woodruff, and these
by the more sombre colouring of the bugle. Then come the creamy-white
flowers of the helleborine, the dull, livid spikes of the bird's nest
orchis and the blue forget-me-nots, giving place to a galaxy of summer
flowers, brightening in later months into the brilliant yellow of the
ragworts and the purple of the foxgloves. The grassy downs, too, in
spring are resplendent with the milkwort in all its purity of colour,
whether of that typical blue which rivals the Swiss gentian in beauty,
or fading into white or blushing to pink; while mixed with it are
brilliant patches of rich orange yellow hippocrepis. Later on appear
the rosy crimson spikes of the pyramidal orchis and the pale lemon
flowers of lady's fingers, and the drooping blue-flowered campanula. If
perchance the land have remained fallow, the bright flowers of iberis,
sometimes suffused with rich purple, the glaucous foliage of rare
fumarias, the deep crimson petals of the hybrid poppy, the bright rosy
pink spikes of sainfoin and yellow toad flax, combine to form a varied
show."
[Illustration: GORING]
Before reaching Pangbourne we pass acres of osier beds on the right.
Pangbourne and Whitchurch stand to each other in the same relation as
do Goring and Streatley, but in this case it is the southern side to
which the palm must be awarded. At Pangbourne the old wooden bridge
has given place to an iron one, but the deed has been carried out in a
manner that reflects credit on the doer, for the new bridge runs in a
graceful curve, and its sides of latticed ironwork are painted white.
Seen in glimpses between the islands, the new bridge does not detract
from the charms of Pangbourne, but rather adds to them.
There are numbers of islands at Pangbourne, and they lie in a great
basin between and beneath the weirs, which are small and frequent. The
pool is full of beauty. The trees grow freshly and well, and throw
a veil of tender green over the water, which is, on a summer day,
brilliant in hues of blue and green, cobalt, sea-green, pale apple,
indigo; these can all be traced lying in strips and sections where
the riotous torrent from the weirs frays out its inquietude and loses
itself. In one corner by a pretty cottage is a splash of vivid crimson,
an arcade of roses. Near the bridge great launch works are a blot
and an eyesore, but it is so seldom we find our ointment without the
proverbial fly.
[Illustration: PANGBOURNE FROM THE SWAN HOTEL]
Pangbourne village is quaint and pleasing enough, but it is not so
beautiful as some of the villages along the Thames side. No village
built haphazard, with a little river bridged over in its main street,
with a brick-towered church, with dark evergreens, and a fair amount
of creepers, could fail to be attractive in some sense. But there is
too much new brick in Pangbourne. The river Pang is a tiny streamlet,
and the winding ways do not hold that charm which can be felt even as
one races by in a motor. Further up the river a row of neatly-built,
red-brick and white-balconied houses stands up against a high chalk
bank overlooking the river; behind this, in a deep cutting, runs the
railway line. Above the bridge there is a landing on the Whitchurch
side close to the church, which is a well-kept flint building. In the
chancel there is a monument to the Lybbe family, dated 1599. Whitchurch
is mostly built of red brick, and is neat and clean, but without any
very great attractions. Before reaching Mapledurham a fine old house,
Hardwicke, is passed. Charles I. stayed here and played bowls. The
house itself is well protected by trees, but it stands in rather open
country, amid bare chalk uplands, where sometimes may be seen a curious
opaline glow in pale sunshine.
[Illustration: WHITCHURCH LOCK]
Mapledurham is greatly spoilt by the churlishness of its main landlord.
The lock-keeper is strictly forbidden to ferry anyone across the
river, and though the crossing would be but short, and would involve
only a walk of a few seconds along the bank to the mill, it is not
permitted. As the nearest bridges on each side are those of Pangbourne
and Caversham, it is necessary for anyone going by road to keep to
the north side of the river between these points if he wants to see
Mapledurham. The place certainly is worth some trouble, but it is
small, and the restrictions are tiresome. The fine old Elizabethan
house is a real mansion of the good old sort; one could imagine endless
stories of romance connected with it. It was fortified during the civil
wars by Sir Arthur Blount, governor of Reading, and is still held by
the same family. The principal entrance is by an avenue of elms nearly
a mile long, but the house is perhaps best seen through the gates from
the churchyard. The church is small, and Perpendicular in style, with
the exception of the tower, a modern addition in flint and brick. There
is within a Blount chapel with many family memorials, including an
altar-tomb.
[Illustration: MAPLEDURHAM MILL]
The mill at Mapledurham is also a great delight to look upon, and
numbers of artists sketch it from every point of view. The islands
lying in the swirl of the weir-pool afford many a quiet nook in which
to anchor, though landing is forbidden. From this it may be judged that
if Mapledurham is a Paradise, it is sternly guarded with notices, which
meet one on every side with the persistence of the flaming sword.
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