Tales of the riverbank
I approach my copilot with list in hand: Windsor and Eton, regatta-mad Henley, monastic Abingdon, dreamy Oxford, inland port Lechlade and, finally, the source of the Thames.
“The Victorians had it right,” Seán mutters. “They just messed about on boats and supped in riverside inns.”
Condemning my list to the recycling, he books a pitch at the Thames Head Inn and a canoe expedition. We pull onto the friendly pub campsite from Fosse Way – once the Roman Empire’s western boundary – before following walking signs through a field of oxeye daisies, common vetch and the yellow tongues of bird’s-foot trefoil to the Thames Path. A red kite rides on thermals above the dried riverbed, more in keeping with Andalucía than Gloucestershire.
We cling to branches, foraging from the riverbank’s wild cherry trees, before emerging into the blue haze of a wild chicory field. Backtracking a mile, we stand by the source’s stone, the remains of a Roman well at our feet. Supper in the Thames Head is a steak and kidney pie for him and pesto-topped salmon for me.
At Lechlade we leave the ’van in the roomy Cotswold Water Park’s Riverside Park before checking in at Cotswold Canoe Hire. Mayhem then ensues as Seán instructs, “Left forward, back right,” as I’m directionally challenged.
