Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham – 2011

Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham: Saturday 27 August 2011

Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham

Here with just a few minor changes is the post I wrote in 2011, still available with many more pictures on My London Diary, though I’ve added some useful links here.

Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham

The question most people reading this may well be asking is ‘Where the **** is Eynsham?’ and fortunately the answer is ‘Not very far from Oxford‘ and one of its main attractions is the good bus service taking you back there.

Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham

However had you been reading this web site a thousand or so years ago (tricky because I don’t think those Anglosaxons were too hot on internet protocols and although the avian-based RFC1149 would have been technically feasible it was only published in 1990, more or less as Tim Berners-Lee was inventing the web) the question you might have been asking was ‘Where the **** is Oxford‘, a rather less significant place until it got the idea of a having a university.

Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham
Alice in Wonderland began here, as Dodgson and another Rev friend rowed up the river with three young girls

As we found when we got there, Eynsham had a huge abbey, though the only real sign we saw remaining of it were its fish ponds. But that was at the end of our walk, shortly before I mutinied and made for the Red Lion.

They brought Alice and her sisters to Godstow Abbey for a picnic. Earlier it was best known as the final residence

Our family walk started at the station and we made our way to the Thames, where our Thames Path book (the official guide, now in a new edition, but others are available) seemed to show the path on the wrong side of the river.

of the ‘The Fair Rosamund’ Henry II’s famous mistress, buried here around 1177.

Years ago, before we had a Thames path, I remember getting quite excited about the draft proposal for it, and even making a few suggestions. Of course there was a tow path next to the river except where some less scrupulous riparian owners had stolen and enclosed parts of it, but it did have an unfortunate habit of jumping from one side to the other at remote places where until around the 1930s there had been a ferry.

Most earlier visitors seem to have carved their initials on the Abbey, but I couldn’t see C.L.D loves A.L anywhere.

Now I’m not so sure that such ‘long-distance paths‘ are such a good idea. They encourage people to approach walking in a very competitive and one-dimensional way, ‘bagging‘ stages of the route in what are more route marches than enjoyable.

My kind of walk tends to go a quite a slow pace overall, stopping to look at and photograph things that take my interest, diverting from the path to look at what seem interesting features on the map, not worrying about getting any particular distance. But of course outside the city there are certain practicalities about finding a bus stop or station from where you can get home. My companions are usually rather more heading for the goal, and you will see the backs of two figures in the middle distance in some of my pictures, though not me running after them to catch up.

Some dead trees provided a useful seat on which to eat our sandwiches, and it was now warm in the sun

But at least this was a fairly short walk, and we did have time to look around Eynsham, a large village with around five pubs and a post office, as well as a heritage trail around the extensive former abbey grounds which we did around half of. The others were also keen to look for traces of the former railway, an extremely thirst-making and largely fruitless task, serving largely as a reminder of how short-sighted we were in abandoning way-leaves on what might by now have seemed a very suitable route for lightweight community transport.

The final picture was taken from the top of the bus on my way home as it went over Swinford Bridge, with a view along the Thames to Eynsham Lock. The bridge is a local traffic bottleneck, with long queues at the rush hour holding up traffic for around 20 minutes or more as motorists have to stop to pay the toll. Although the toll for cars is only 5p – cash only – that nets around £175,000 a year and, under the Act of Parliament granted in 1767 the income from it is free of income tax – which had not then been invented.

A long campaign (at least since 1905) by users continues to get the toll abolished, most recently with a petition to their local MP, a Mr David Cameron, who you think might be able to do something about it. But the owner of the bridge, who bought it in 2009 for £1.08 million remains anonymous, and could well be a considerable donor to Conservative party funds.

Thames Path: Oxford-Eynsham


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A Week In Iona – 2008

A Week In Iona: In August 2008 I stayed a week on the remote island of Iona, a small island of the southwest coast of Mull in the with a long and illustrious history.

A Week In Iona
St Oran’s Chapel, the oldest building on Iona (c 1150) is in the ancient graveyard of 48 Kings of Scotland

The island is well-known as ‘The Cradle of Christianity’ in Scotland, where Columba landed with his twelve companions in AD 563 and began to spread their Celtic Christianity through the islands and across Scotland.

A Week In Iona

St Columba founded an Abbey here, but later it was destroyed by Viking Raids. Benedictine monks came here around 1200 but after the Reformation their Abbey became a disused ruin.

A Week In Iona

The Abbey was still in ruins when the 8th Duke of Argyll gave it to the church of Scotland in 1899, and some rebuilding took place in the following years. But it was the Iona Community, a Christian group started in the 1930s in working class Glasgow by George MacLeod, who brought together unemployed craftsmen and young ministers which did most of the work, starting in 1938 and only completed around 1965.

A Week In Iona

The Abbey is now looked after by Historic Scotland, with the Iona Community now tenants who run various events here and in a more modern centre a couple of hundred yards away.

I was fortunate to be able to stay in the Abbey together with a group of friends as guests of the Iona community, and joined in with the daily services and had to take a part in the running of the centre, serving food and setting and clearing tables, as well as chopping vegetables in the kitchen – including more onions than you can imagine. As I commented, “although I enjoyed my stay, Iona to me will always be remembered as a place of tears!”

Iona is a small island – around 1.5 miles long and under a mile wide, with some isolated crofts and open ground with beautiful beaches and bays. Although its small permanent population – now stated as around 170 – is augmented by large numbers of tourists in the summer months, a short walk from the main street still took us away from it all.

This peace and quiet was only interrupted for a couple of hours during our week there, when a large cruise ship came up and anchored off the island, with small boats ferrying hundreds for a short visit. They set foot on the island, took pictures of the Abbey and left – without really experiencing the island at all.

We did something of the same on one day of our visit, taking a boat trip on a powerful fishing boat to the island of Staffa – around 8 miles away – on 13th August. Fortunately the sea was fairly smooth, though the small boat ploughed through the waves with enough motion to make some feel seasick.

On the journey we passed close to the shore of Mull where seals were basking, and a couple of sharks put on a display as we stood to look into the giant caves in the south cliffs from the sea.

The largest of these, as I wrote in 2008, was named by “the great naturalist, Sir Joseph Banks, whose former house in Spring Grove I used to cycle past daily on my way to school who named the largest of these Fingal’s Cave, linking them with the Irish giant who in legend constructed a causeway starting from similar hexagonal basalt columns in Ireland across to Scotland.”

“Previously it had been known in Gaelic as ‘the melodius cave‘ (Uamh Bhin) from the sounds made by the waves lapping in its 150 foot channel, echoed by the roof like a giant natural cathedral. Later as I approached the cave on foot, the melodies I heard were distinctly female, but it was truly disappointing to find they came not from mermaids but the a cappella singing of my fully dressed wife and a few women friends.”

A weekly event we were able to take part in was the weekly pilgrimage around the island organised by the Iona Community which goes from the Abbey and around the island to various key sites, including the marble quarry, the beach on Columba’s Bay where he landed and the Hermit’s Cell, one of the few places on the island where midges were very much more than troublesome.

Visitors are generally not allowed to bring vehicles to the island – and there is very little in the way of roads outside the village where the ferry lands. It was good to get away from traffic and have a week of peace and quiet.

Many more pictures on My London Dairy:
Fingal’s Cave and Staffa
Iona: the Weekly Pilgrimage
the island
the Village (Baile Mór)
the Abbey
the Journey


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Iona – the Abbey

Every time I peel an onion, something I do several times most weeks, it reminds me of our stay at Iona. As paying guests of the Iona Community at the Abbey we took our part in the daily chores which kept the place running, and each morning after breakfast I went with the other ‘Otters’ – the work group to which I had been assigned to the kitchen to prepare vegetables. My part in this job seemed always to be one of two or three of us peeling onions – and you need a lot of onions to cook vegetarian meals for around 50 or 60 people.

There are a lot of dodges that people advise to avoid tears when peeling onions, and I think I tried them all. They may help if you are only peeling one or two, but none help if you have a mountain of them to get through. You cry, and crying only makes it worse. Still, I think I preferred it to cleaning the lavatories and washrooms that my partner was assigned to.

The Abbey is essentially a twentieth-century reconstruction carried out by teams of volunteers from the Iona Community after the site with its ruins was gifted to the Church of Scotland by the 8th Duke of Argyll in 1899, with more modern living accommodation built alongside it in a matching external style.

The Duke is still present – in marble, lying beside his wife.

As well as the abbey, alongside it is a small church, the oldest building on Iona (c 1150) with an ancient graveyard where 48 Kings of Scotland were buried. They were joined more recently by Labour leader John Smith; a boulder marks his grave with the message “An Honest Man’s The Noblest Work of God”.

There are ruins of another chapel in the grounds, as well as those of a former Bishop’s House, and splendid views across the sound to Mull, enough to drag me out of bed for a short walk before breakfast (and onions.) And of course there were a number of short religious services, optional but an important part of the experience, though with too much unaccompanied singing for my taste.

More pictures in and around the Abbey from our visit 12 years ago on My London Diary.