Monday 27 July 2020

A walk into The Shire

A walk into The Shire: 22nd May 2020

On the evening of the 22nd of May, we went for a very long walk with my cousin’s step son, Harry. It feels a bit technical and impersonal to call him my cousin’s step son, and because he refers to me as his uncle, I should probably call him my nephew. When you’re one of three gay siblings, you take what you can in terms of younger relatives!

Harry lives in East Finchley, probably less than a fifteen minute walk from our house, and, ever since his wonderful mother died last year, we’ve tried to see him as regularly as we can. He’ll always be an important part of our clan.

It was his idea to go for a walk. One of the joys of walking with people during lockdown was that you could cover some serious distances because the very act of walking was the sole thing which was allowing people to legally be together. In the very early days, just sitting on a bench for a breather was viewed with great suspicion. I once watched a tired dog-walker being moved on by an over-zealous policeman. I remember having a furtive sandwich on one occasion, sitting on a wall in a secluded street in Hampstead with a friend, looking around us like we were doing an illicit drug deal! But the bottom line was that if you wanted to be with someone whilst staying within the rules, you just had to keep on walking...

Harry’s visit, therefore, was the perfect opportunity to head down to the Dollis Valley Green Walk, to see what kind of adventure it could offer us.

As I’ve written recently, this North-London, ten-mile footpath follows Dollis Brook from Hampstead Heath deep into the Green Belt. The Green Belt, by the way, is a 7-10 mile wide area of green space which entirely surrounds London. No one is allowed to build on it, so it stops the city from sprawling whilst giving city dwellers a “girdle” of open space in which to breath clean air.

Nathan and I had hitherto only walked a couple of miles along the stream, and we were keen to see where else it would lead us.

Dollis Brook really is the most wonderful little stream. Parts of it seem to be winterbourne, or, at least only active after a decent amount of rainfall. It has, of course, been a particularly dry year, so perhaps it’s of slight concern that the brook is empty in several places. I always panic about the fish. I wonder if they have a sense that a river is drying up and manage to swim to safety down stream. Perhaps they simply end up floundering and panicking in ever-shrinking pools; a ready-made meal for a passing kingfisher.

The brook is entirely lined by tall trees, all of which change colour with the seasons from lime green to orange and brown. Sun glints on the surface of the water like diamonds, and shines through the branches of the trees to create intricate and beautiful lace-like patterns on the pathways. The birdsong is intense. Magpies, crows and parakeets squawk, caw and croak tunelessly (and yes, there are many parakeets in North London), whilst robins, thrushes and blackbirds show off their virtuoso vocal prowess. On one magical occasion, I heard a cuckoo. It was so clear and cuckoo-like that I thought it had to be fake! In May, the whole pathway is lined with wild garlic. Delicate white flowers tumble down the banks of the stream whilst the air hums with the scent of Italian cooking! Next year I shall make pesto.
Wild garlic near Dollis Brook
The brook snakes up through suburban housing estates, allotments, golf and cricket clubs before splitting into two separate streams. The right-hand fork, which is officially Dollis Brook, heads up to Totteridge and Whetstone, flanked by the designated Green Walk. The left-hand fork is known as Folly Brook. The path is a little wilder and less well-trodden, so it was this fork which we decided to explore with Harry.

The further north you walk, the more the suburbs peter out. Playing fields and bramble-bedecked wooden fences and walls give way to scrubland and then heathland, and then, through the dark trees which surround the brook, you see open fields with horses and cows. Most non-city dwellers reading this blog will be doing so with quite a healthy dollop of “so what”, but when a Londoner like me realises that he can walk from his house into the actual countryside, he gets a little excited. It reminds me of my childhood. I grew up in a fairly rural environment, always aware of the changing seasons. Things were difficult when weather became inclement. When the mists rolled in from the fens, or the snows fell, or the Nene flooded, or winds took trees or electricity cables down, we knew about it. We couldn’t get to certain places. We’d have power cuts. In the city, by and large, things just carry on as normal.
The open fields of the Green Belt

The greatest thing about Folly Brook is that it suddenly enters a sort of woodland, which resembles Middle Earth. The path takes you through entirely enclosed walkways of shrubs, and gnarled, twisted hawthorn branches which feel like secret passageways. Fallen trees have become stiles and bridges. Ferns grow tall. Everything is green, verdant, Jurassic almost, and utterly magical. Rhododendron trees with pink, purple, blue and white flowers thrive in the marshy ground. And climbing up a steep ridge, you suddenly find yourself standing by the beautiful Darland’s Lake. A lone heron perches on a log waiting for fish to pass. Leaves rustle in the trees. The mayhem of London is another world away. There’s no traffic noise. You could be in the middle of nowhere. In any period of time.
Darland's Lake
Turn right at the lake and you’re in an area of open heathland scattered with gorse, buddleja and butterfly-laden wildflowers. A steep, wind-swept hill takes you up towards Totteridge Village. If you stand on the hill and look behind you, you can see nothing but green, rolling countryside. The odd Merchant Ivory-style, grand manor house pokes its head above the trees, and, back in the direction of the city, a few distant cranes are all that could ever remind you that you’re not in the middle of the Chilterns in the 1930s.
Harry in the heathland looking back towards the city
Waiting at the top of the hill is the famous Orange Tree pub, which was not open back in May, but will be now. When a global pandemic isn’t raging, it’s the perfect place to sit and eat a hearty plate of grub in a pub garden. We went there with Nathan’s Mum and Ron about a year ago. The only issue was the wasps, which we trapped in bottles of lemonade. 

Our journey back to Finchley found us following Dollis Brook itself, after walking along the road to Totteridge and Whetstone. It’s a less magical, but still very pleasant walk which takes you through a water meadow, which is rather romantically called Whetstone Stray.
Whetstone Stray
Over the following months, we have walked variants of that particular trip on countless occasions. Brother Edward came up to Finchley on the 16th June, on the 30th of June, Nathan's birthday, we had a very pleasant walk with his sister, Sam, his nephew Lewis and their dog Ginny, and on 11th of July, Nathan and I turned left at Darland’s Lake, and found ourselves walking out of the Tolkien novel and entering the world of Lewis Carroll. Steep paths lead up and down the hillsides in this part of the greenbelt, many of which are lined by incredibly tall hedges, just as I imagine the garden in Wonderland.
Brother Edward by a rapidly-drying Darland's Lake
So, in a very peculiar way, we have to thank Covid-19, because, I think, it has encouraged many of us to explore our local areas in almost forensic detail. For the first time ever, I have thought, “I wonder where that path leads?” and instead of walking on, I’ve merrily headed down the path to take a look. As a result, I have found great beauty, little hidden pastures, absolute peace and tranquillity - and, a week ago, 2kg of blackberries!

Ginny and her family by Darland's Lake
Nathan, Lewis, Sam and Ginny in Middle Earth

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