Good to be back out (thanks to a friend and my new portable seat)

I HAVE been looking forward to this day for an age. My friend Matthew Coome is taking me out on an excursion. It feels like a dream come true.

I have been waiting for nearly a year to emerge from my mother’s house to find fresh air, the scent of a woodland floor, and to feel the trees and immerse myself in nature where I feel alt one with the world far from swathes of an urban landscape.

Matthew arrives in his car dead on time. I struggle to get into the passenger seat and bash my right knee in the process, a drawback of being long-legged. He slides the seat back and off we go.

We are on our way to part of Goring Heath, specifically Gutteridge’s Wood, near the former King Charles Head pub, which is now a private house.

Matthew takes us on a scenic route up Caversham Hill, on to Emmer Green where we head left into Kidmore End Road.

The development on part of the former Reading Golf Club is in full swing (outrageous, as far as I’m concerned — I worry about any digging around the roots of old oaks.)

We head down into a dip, then upwards and onwards. There are some lovely old oak trees along each side of the road, now nearly denuded of this year’s leaves but still a lovely sight.

After passing through Cane End, we turn left down Deadman’s Lane towards our destination. I inform Matthew that College Wood, an absolute beauty, to our right, now belongs to the Woodland Trust. I recommend a visit any time of year.

After a left turn at a crossroads, where once stood an old post office, we are only a few hundred yards short of our target.

Here, too, is a line of impressive, old oak trees. We are driving along an old road, once a rough track.

Matthew parks alongside the woodland edge and I get out of the car wielding a newly acquired contraption, a walking stick with a seat included. I’m rather proud of it. With three extendable legs, it forms a tripod so I can sit down for a breather when needs must.

This predominantly beech-dominated wood, part of the Hardwick Estate, is magical to behold after my enforced confinement.

It also contains some slim-girthed but tall oaks and a healthy spread of holly understorey.

It is near-on misty as we progress through the trees and I’m overcome with a feeling that I’ve come home. It is difficult to explain.

So far so good. A few wood pigeons clap their wings in surprise, a magpie flies off with tell-tale laborious wingbeats.

We then alert a flock of brambling, one of our winter visitors, the tail-end flying above the middle section to become the vanguard, so the flock repeats itself as we move further into the trees.

I’m hoping that I might find some fungi as it is very damp though much cooler than at home. I find nothing but then we are nearly at the end of the season.

It sums up my year really as I’ve not been out in the spring, summer or autumn.

We find some exquisitely formed lichen on fragments of fallen, rotting boughs, a strange, unearthly shade of pale jade. Close up their formations look like fractals. They are strangely scented, or is it the decaying wood or both combined? Like fungi, they are a vital component of a healthy woodland that returns nutrients to the soil.

I’m doing well, having clambered over an ancient boundary, clay with flints.

We stop for a brief moment to listen. There is no breeze and we don’t hear a thing. No people, dogs, fox or deer and no caw, hoot or twittering of birds. It’s weird.

We continue walking. Before we meet a downward slope, I show Matthew how my new aid works as I need a break.

I spread the three legs, the seat levels out and I sit down. Unfortunately, the ground that appeared to be level isn’t.

The leg to my right sinks into the ground and I fall over on my side, my right knee making contact with a large flint in the process, already bruised from getting in the car earlier.

It takes four attempts to get me upright, something I could not have done on my own and I must admit I am shaken up, my heart racing, and, above all, acutely embarrassed.

Matthew tells me not to worry so we perform an about turn and walk back slowly, stopping now and again to look up close at some wonderful mosses and the varied textures of tree bark. It is extraordinary to notice subtle variations within a species like beech.

Back in the car, we discuss all the old Ordnance Survey maps in our possession and the old major routes now minor roads. We decided to take an ancient one. Direct it may be, but dipping, rising and twisting by turns.

We pass Whittles Farm, seasoned old whitebeams to our left, then Cross Lanes, once home to a large, impressive orchard and Hodmore Farm with its roadside pond, then onwards past Caversham Heath Golf Club to join the A4074, Woodcote Road. Red kites fly close above.

Despite my mishap, I have really enjoyed myself, thanks to Matthew. We make plans for another trip.

When I return to my mother’s house I change my muddied trousers to find that my right knee is swollen, my leg a little stiff. I’ll suffer come morning.

In the days before our walk I pay a planned visit to my GP.

On my way back, I admire the health of a laid hedge, the colours of fallen tree leaves.

I’m on new medication now and feeling more as I once was, which is a welcome improvement. I try to reflect on those happy times spent with Roemary.

Waking up the other morning, an old tune was playing on the radio that I first heard when I was eight or nine years old. I liked it then and I love it now.

I did not understand its depth then but it resonates now. It is quite apposite. The song is called Days and was written and sung by Ray Davies of The Kinks and released as a single in 1968. Here are the lyrics:

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I’m thinking of the days
I won’t forget a single day, believe me

I bless the light
I bless the light that lights on you, believe me
And though you’re gone
You’re with me every single day, believe me

Days I’ll remember all my life
Days when you can’t see wrong from right
You took my life
But then I knew that very soon you’d leave me

But it’s alright
Now I’m not frightened of this world, believe me
I wish today could be tomorrow
The night is dark, it just brings sorrow, let it rain

Thank you for the days
Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me
I’m thinking of the days
I won’t forget a single day, believe me

I bless the light
I bless the light that lights on you, believe me
And though you’re gone
You’re with me every single day, believe me.

Here’s hoping I don’t fall over the next time I’m out.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com