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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
Lifestyle
Jill Mead

A year on the River Thames, part two – in pictures

Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimms and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimms and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

I’ve fallen behind with my Year on the Thames project. Life, and death once again leaving me out of my depth and floundering around in July and August, not exploring places I’d planned.

For the Queen’s platinum jubilee I was warmly invited to join a boat called Old Guilder on the Thames. The riverbanks from Shepperton to Sunbury were lined with people waving. Riverfront gardens hosted little parties or solitary figures standing formally, one saluting the cardboard cut-out of the Queen we had on deck. I was standing next to her for much of the journey and found myself waving back, emotional at times, indeed almost believing I was royalty.

The Murdochs and extended family on Old Guilder. Platinum Jubilee River Pageant from Shepperton Lock to Sunbury Weir and return.
The Murdochs and extended family on Old Guilder. Platinum Jubilee river pageant from Shepperton Lock to Sunbury Weir and return. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • The Murdochs and extended family on Old Guilder. Platinum Jubilee river pageant from Shepperton Lock to Sunbury Weir and return.

Cardboard cut-out of HM Queen we had on deck
A cardboard cut-out of the Queen we had on deck Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
Vic Stacey on board the Old Guilder
Vic Stacey on board the Old Guilder Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

It was still light when we finally moored up and I decided to cycle along the Thames path to Kingston, then catch a train to Waterloo, near home. On the way I met four lads who were floating in a boat. Despite the fact they didn’t have any oars and the engine had run out of battery they were in buoyant spirits. By the time I’d waited to see if they capsized and took some photographs, it was almost dark.

I was cycling to Kingston when I saw these four friends in a boat. No oars and the engine battery had run out. It was a miracle they all managed to get to shore without getting soaked.
I was cycling to Kingston when I saw these four friends in a boat. No oars and the engine battery had run out. It was a miracle they all managed to get to shore without getting soaked. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

I continued along the towpath. Between Hampton Court and Kingston my face was bombarded with thousands of insects. I probably ate 200 flies and my eyes were peppered with legs, wings and bodies. It was truly horrific. Approaching Kingston, I could see a gathering on the bank. The mayor of Kingston was on a boat, preparing to light a beacon for the jubilee. I politely asked if I could climb on board to take a photograph for this project but was declined. So I took a rubbish photograph from the bank, headed to KFC near the station to cheer myself up, bought a chicken meal and ate it on the train. I thought: “I know real royals don’t experience this. How lucky I am.”

Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

I confess I never thought I’d attend Henley royal regatta again. The first time I was 19 years old and nannying in a gap year.

My ‘charges’ were two young boys called Charles and Andrew. (I’m not making this up.) There is a strict dress code at Henley and no exceptions would be made for me, a dungaree-wearing, Kicker-booted, messy-haired tomboy.

Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony.

Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

Wearing a calf-length dress, a ludicrous hat and hideous shoes felt as alien to me back then as suddenly not talking with a Yorkshire accent. I was so awkward and uncomfortable. When, not an hour after our arrival, carrying one-year old Andrew in my arms, I felt the damp warmth of wee down my dress, it was actually a relief and I relaxed.

Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

This time around I’m wearing trousers, the dress code has thankfully caught up with the 21st century and the initial surprise that a photographer from “the lefty rag” has turned up is more amusing than irritating. Everyone I talk to is kind, generous-natured and good fun. Maybe it’s because they’re tanking back large flagons of Pimm’s, betting on winners or perhaps just simply adoring rowing.

Henley Regatta in all its excessive Pimm's and ceremony.
Henley regatta in all its excessive Pimm’s and ceremony. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

I am mesmerised by the whole event, escorted round by a wonderfully tolerant press officer, and I absolutely love it. I meet a family who were steeped in the tradition of it all and which, way back, crewed a winner, and a man with half a moustache drinking neat vodka from a jug who spots me later, some distance away, from a boat with his friends. They all yell, whistle and holler like drunken sailors.

Chris and Purita Gasson lives nearby but this was their first time at Henley Royal Regatta. They often come into Henley to walk their dog called Nikon. He is named after Chris’s love of photography, despite using a digital Canon.
Chris and Purita Gasson lives nearby but this was their first time at the regatta. They often come into Henley to walk their dog called Nikon. He is named for Chris’s love of photography, despite his using a digital Canon. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • Chris and Purita Gasson lives nearby but this was their first time the regatta. They often come into Henley to walk their dog called Nikon. He is named for Chris’s love of photography, despite his using a digital Canon.

Cath and Robin, and a large hat box.
Cath and Robin, and a large hat box. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

I am fascinated by how many hat boxes I see. Such unwieldy objects to carry around or place on deckchairs, like the Henley equivalent of towels on sun beds. Despite owning a Canon, I enjoy a good chat about photography with Chris, who has a dog called Nikon. Some ladies confess to me that they aren’t wearing knickers. I only watch one race. Everything else is too interesting.

I hope I’m invited back.

Children of Bisham School in Marlow early in the morning asking questions to the swan upping team
Children from Bisham school in Marlow asking questions to the swan upping team Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • Children from Bisham school in Marlow asking questions to the swan upping team

Swan Upping the annual census from Sunbury to Abingdon in July
The Queen’s – now King’s – swan uppers travel along the Thames over the course of five days to round up and ring the birds before releasing them again. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • The Queen’s – now King’s – swan uppers travel along the Thames over the course of five days to round up and ring the birds before releasing them again.

The same goes for the colourful spectacle of swan upping, the annual census of the birds’ population on the Thames from Sunbury to Abingdon in July. What an honour to share an afternoon with the Vintners and the Dyers, all volunteers, taking holidays from their day jobs, which are almost exclusively river-based. After applying liberal amounts of suncream and sharing out sweets they casually cruise the Thames looking for birds. Some riverside residences traditionally host afternoon tea parties for them, and on the day I join them there’s a grand lunch, as befits their status, at Henley’s historic Leander private members club.

The source of the River Thames at Kemble.
In Trewsbury Mead, three Israeli brothers on a reunion enjoy a rest on the almost impossible to read marker stone at the source of the Thames. The river has dried up at its source near Kemble. It will be interesting after more rainfall to see if it will return again. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • In Trewsbury Mead, three Israeli brothers on a reunion enjoy a rest on the almost impossible to read marker stone at the source of the Thames. The river has dried up at its source near Kemble. It will be interesting after more rainfall to see if it will return again.

I was keen to see the source of the Thames, paradoxically in a drought. Rain was forecast and winging it, as ever, I set off with my friend Michael, regretting not booking bike spaces on the train from Paddington to Kemble, squandering two hours waiting for a one that had room for us.

A wise old Badgers face has been painted on a tree stump near Kemble, on the footpath to the source of the River Thames
A wise old Badgers face painted on a tree stump near Kemble, on the footpath to the source of the Thames Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
Fallen leaves blanket the dry riverbed at the source of the Thames at Kemble.
Fallen leaves blanket the dry riverbed at the source of the Thames at Kemble. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian

After heaving my bike (and child seat) over the fourth metal kissing gate on the Thames path, I cursed taking it and pushed it instead along the riverbed, somewhat alarmingly, completely dry until Somerford Keynes, a village about five miles from the source. There was a distinct autumnal feel in late August, dry yellow leaves blanketing the ground.

A view of Day’s Lock
A view of Day’s Lock Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • A view of Day’s Lock in Oxfordshire.

I didn’t explore some places I’d planned this summer, but on the Thames trips I did manage I witnessed its comforting rise and falls, and up river, hardly discernible mere ripples, acutely aware that without rain and replenishment it will disappear.

Golden moments are a complete joy. A gentleman towelling down after an early evening swim, two brothers fishing, Moldovan friends forever. Bella pushing elderly Blanca in a pushchair, a boatyard still open at 9pm. A surprise birthday picnic for Patsy and unexpectedly crashing another birthday bash, being handed a burger and marshmallows, as well as offered a lift to a station which I almost regretted I declined. The Chilterns isn’t the easiest place for transport links.

On wildly beautiful little Penton Hook island some lads initially refused me a portrait, but then one by one clambered up from a little wooden jetty, lined up and struck a pose in a fashion only teenage lads can. And just round the bend, fishing the river since he was 10, was 64-year-old fisher Bob from Hammersmith. “It’s one of the greatest rivers in England,” he said.

The little inlet round Penton Hook Island feels like a Mississippi bayou and a favourite spot of 64-year-old Bob, from Hammersmith. “I’m an old Thames angler and I love the river because there is a wide variety of fish there, and you never know what you’re going to catch. It’s one of the greatest rivers in England. It always surprised me every time I fish. It’s really underrated.
The little inlet round Penton Hook island feels like a Mississippi bayou and a favourite spot of Bob, 64, from Hammersmith. ‘I’m an old Thames angler and I love the river because there is a wide variety of fish there, and you never know what you’re going to catch. It’s one of the greatest rivers in England. It always surprised me every time I fish. It’s really underrated.’ Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • Bob, 64, from Hammersmith, at Penton Hook island.

While “mum’s looking after the kids”, Lisa and Billy bubbling away an hour in a whirlpool bath. Peony walking through buttercups. Runners under Runnymede Bridge. Blokes on a barge fitting new fenders near Tower Bridge. I’ll never figure out why the Barge Driving Race from Greenwich to Westminster isn’t more widely celebrated. Those barges are unwieldy vessels that literally weigh 30 tonnes.

The Great River Race was cancelled due to the death of HM Queen Elizabeth but a memorial river procession was held instead
The Great River Race was cancelled because of the death of the Queen, but a memorial river procession was held instead Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • The Great River Race was cancelled because of the death of the Queen, but a memorial river procession was held instead.

Waterloo Bridge proved an excellent vantage point for the Great River Race, slowed down to a memorial procession for the Queen. As did HMS Belfast, with 150 sea cadets all standing proud as a slow drift of illuminated boats passed by like fireflies against the colour-drenched dappled water.

150 illuminated boats, including the Queens barge ‘Gloriana’ sailed from Chelsea to Tower Bridge as a tribute to the Queen, making a river of light. The ‘Reflections’ Flotilla was originally planned to celebrate the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee but instead honoured the late monarch after her death on 8 September 2022.
150 illuminated boats, including the Queen’s barge, Gloriana, sailed from Chelsea to Tower Bridge as a tribute to the Queen, making a river of light. The Reflections flotilla was originally planned to celebrate the Queen’s platinum jubilee but instead honoured the monarch after her death on 8 September 2022. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • 150 illuminated boats, including the Queen’s barge, Gloriana, sailed from Chelsea to Tower Bridge as a tribute to the Queen, making a river of light. The Reflections flotilla was originally planned to celebrate the Queen’s platinum jubilee but instead honoured the monarch after her death on 8 September 2022.

The oldest boat race in the world, Doggett’s Coat and Badge was cancelled because of hot weather so I set out to cycle on the Thames path to Windsor. I’d had a Facetime call from Dad, who was very frail and in bed. I jokingly teased that I was going to have a swim and he was smiling. Moments after I saw a group of horses and their riders on the bankside. They’d all been in the river.

Family and friends from north London, east London and Kent cooling off, with their horses, in the River Thames at Laleham.
Family and friends from north London, east London and Kent cooling off with their horses in the Thames at Laleham. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • Family and friends from north London, east London and Kent cooling off with their horses in the Thames at Laleham.

“Would you like to go?” one asked.

“I’m fully dressed” I replied. “Yes please.”

I played Dad the video of me sitting on a horse, swimming in the river, on the day he died.

Tom Jones boatyard near Windsor assisting a late customer.
Tom Jones boatyard near Windsor assisting a late customer. Photograph: Jill Mead/The Guardian
  • Tom Jones boatyard near Windsor assisting a late customer.

It was dark when I arrived in Windsor that day. Dad always said the Queen would outlive him.

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