HENLEY REGATTA
[Illustration]
Who can ever think of Henley without its regatta? And yet Henley
is very well worth thinking of at all times of the year. It is a
pleasantly-built, middle-aged, red-brick town. Its history does not
reach back so far as that of Abingdon or Reading. It boasts neither
abbey nor cathedral. Near the esplanade above the bridge, there are
one or two of the tumble-down, out-of-perpendicular style of cottages,
which invariably add so much to a river scene; but the main part of
the town, which is, of course, of red brick, has a homely air of the
seventeenth century about it. The solid and stately Red Lion Hotel,
close to the bridge, is one of the most historic houses in the place.
Charles I. stayed here in 1632, when, after severe dissensions, he
was trying the method of ruling England without a Parliament, and
when the terrible fate that was to befall him had not yet "cast its
shadow before." It is doubtful if he paid his bills, for he was in
chronic want of money; but he left a memento behind him which has more
than repaid the hotel, for it forms a perennial source of interest.
This is a large fresco painting of the royal monogram and coat of
arms over one of the mantelpieces, and from the date it is evident it
was done at the time of this visit. It was not discovered till 1889,
having probably been hastily concealed during the troublous days of
Cromwell's ascendency. Being on one of the principal coaching roads,
Henley received more than its share of celebrated visitors. On July the
12th, 1788, George III., with the Queen and three of his daughters,
had breakfast at the Red Lion; George IV. once dined here; and the
celebrated Duke of Marlborough regularly kept a room here that he might
use it in his journeys from Blenheim; his bed is still preserved. After
these associations, that of Shenstone, who wrote a poem with a diamond
on a window-pane, comes as an anticlimax. The poem begins:
To thee, fair Freedom, I retire,
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott or humble inn.
And the last verse, which is often quoted, runs:
Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Whate'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.
In summer the red brick of the hotel is almost hidden by the creepers
which embrace it; especially noticeable is the glorious wistaria, most
lovely of all the climbing plants.
[Illustration: RED LION HOTEL, HENLEY]
The bridge was built in 1786, and is of stone. The keystones of the
central arch are adorned with sculptured masks of Thame and Isis.
They were the work of Mrs. Damer, a cousin of Horace Walpole's, and as
such falling within the limits of the great man's kindly appreciation.
Behind the hotel and well seen from the bridge, is the church, with its
four corner pinnacles.
At the time of the regatta, and for some weeks before, it is impossible
to get accommodation in the town anywhere. Of all the river regattas
Henley is by far the greatest, and comes even before the Boat Race in
the estimation of some people. The races used to end at the bridge,
and so the lawn of the Red Lion was in the position of a favoured
grand-stand, but now the winning post is a quarter of a mile short of
this, opposite the last villa on the left bank. The starting point is
near Temple or Regatta Island, and the reach certainly makes a fine
one for the purpose. The course is railed off by piles and booms,
and all the hundreds of craft which gather to the scene have to cram
themselves in somehow, so as not to cause obstruction. It is well not
to select an outrigged boat for such an occasion. The best and most
commonly seen craft are punts, worked by means of canoe paddles; for
the punts are too solid to collapse easily in the pressure that may be
put upon them, and the paddles, requiring little room to work, are less
dangerous to one's neighbours than poles. But all kinds of skiffs and
canoes appear, and some are even bold enough to tempt fate in Canadian
canoes. On a brilliant day, when the light sparkles on the water,
and there is enough wind to set the pennons and streamers flying, the
scene is undeniably gay and pretty. All the luncheon tents on the green
lawns near form a bright adjunct. Salter and Talboys, from Oxford, and
other boat-builders, have landing-stages for the week, and the various
clubs entertain largely. Chief among these is the Leander, whose fine
club-house is on the right bank not far from the bridge; it also has
a lawn further down. Not far off are the grand-stand, the Grosvenor,
and the New Oxford and Cambridge Clubs, and one large lawn is taken as
a clubland _pied-à-terre_ for the use of any members of London clubs
in general. But beside these there are the Isthmian, Sports, and Bath
Clubs on the left bank, and Phyllis Court, with smooth lawns; and
then a long line of house-boats begins, continuing past Fawley Court
on to Temple Island, with just one break for the lawns of the Court.
Bands play, luncheons are consumed, flags flutter; everyone is gay and
lively, and the scene is one that can hardly be described justly in
mere word painting. At noon the first race is rowed. A bell is rung
to clear the course. All sorts of boats and canoes have slipped out
between the openings left for them, and they must hurry back and crush
into the already tightly wedged mass; in a moment everything else is
forgotten in the excitement of the special event. On the last evening
of the regatta there is a grand firework display and a procession of
illuminated boats; and, as may very well be guessed, the real success
of Henley depends greatly upon the weather, which, even in the first
week of July, when it takes place, is not always kind.
[Illustration: HENLEY REGATTA]
As we have said, the surroundings of Henley are of a sort to attract
attention, even without the additional glories of the regatta. Above
the bridge is a long ait, and high on the right bank rise the woods of
Park Place. Here the brilliant green of the beeches is diversified by
the dark blue-greens of fir and cedar. The Place was once the residence
of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and the grounds were greatly improved by
Field-Marshal Conway, a cousin of Horace Walpole. A long glade is cut
through the wood. It runs under a bridge made of blocks of stone taken
from Reading Abbey, and over this passes the road. From the river a
peep of the striking vista can be had. Higher up again is Marsh Lock.
[Illustration: HAMBLEDEN]
But the influence of Henley extends down as well as up the river.
Phyllis and Fawley Courts both at one time belonged to Bulstrode
Whitelocke. Fawley was wrecked very early in the civil wars; but
Phyllis was strongly fortified, and some of the earthworks may still be
seen. Henley was a Parliamentarian stronghold, and was annoyed by the
neighbourhood of plucky little Greenlands at Hambleden, which, "for a
little fort, was made very strong for the King."
It belonged in the time of the Stuarts to Sir Cope d'Oyley, who was a
staunch Royalist. When he died his eldest son held Greenlands for the
King, and his house was battered by the cannon of the Parliamentarians
from across the water. In the nineteenth century the Rt. Hon. W. H.
Smith lived here, and his widow took from the village the title he
himself never lived to enjoy. In Hambleden also there is a fine old
manor house, and some of the clipped yews in the gardens of private
houses are very remarkable. High above the place rise the woods
near Fingest and Stokenchurch. The weirs at Hambleden are the most
attractive on the river. Long curved bridges run across them from shore
to shore, and are open to the public as a right-of-way. The curves
strike off at different angles, and every moment the point of view
changes. Whether we are passing over tumbling weirs, where the water
glides across long mossy planes, or over sluice-gates where it bursts
through, the enchantment is the same. Flags and tall yellow irises and
the greenest of green tufts grow in the water and about the foundations
of the bridges. Looking back at the mill, we see it reflected in the
calm, deep water above the weirs as in a polished looking-glass. There
are old cedars and red-roofed cottages, and plenty of Scotch firs and
yew hedges in the background. Away up the river is the white mass of
Greenlands with its pierced look-out tower.
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