Tales of the riverbank with my oldest friend and some lovely sights

WHAT a great start to Friday morning.

The sun rises brightly and as I step outside for a breath of fresh air I’m assaulted by lovely birdsong — blackbirds, wrens, dunnocks, greenfinches and blackcaps. Goldcrests and blue and great tits chime in.

Spring has pressed the “on” button and I feel part of nature’s renewal.

I walk round to the park next door to see leaves bursting forth from trees and bushes. How I missed seeing them emerge last year when I was confined to a hospital bed with only imagination as my guide.

Field and Norway maples are in flower while hazels have leaves as green as can be. Silver birch, hornbeam, elder, wild privet, dogwood, guelder rose and elms are reborn.

Returning to my mother’s large front garden, I spy a pair of male speckled wood butterflies (Pararge aegeria) that appear to dance as they fight for territory.

One flutters off so the victor chases his own shadow on sandy-coloured paving stones that reflect the sunlight. They are attractive but fierce little so-and-sos. A holly blue (Celastrina argiolus) flutters by. As usual at this time of year, strong winds tear into the fresh leaves, ripping them away and scattering them on the ground. They will be replaced in due course. Nature is tough.

Today I’m off on a walk with my oldest friend Richard Thomas — we’ve been pals since we first met at St Anne’s Primary School in Caversham 60 years ago. He’s driving from north London to see me — that’s amity for you. Richard arrives early and off we go. He is a successful choral conductor and we discuss music from Shostakovich to Sibelius and Beethoven to the Beatles as he drives along Henley Road on our way to Aston for a gentle stroll and then a bite to eat in the Flower Pot Inn.

This has great resonance for me as this was the pub that I went for lunch with Rosemary after our first excursion to Hambleden Lock nearly five years ago.

As we enter Oxfordshire towards Playhatch, the roadsides as are strewn with wildflowers. Bird cherries (Prunus padus) are laden with ghostly-white blossom.

As the road rises past the Flowing Spring, we skirt Ash Copse on our left at Span Hill.

Bluebells are already in full flower and in abundance, too early for my liking. Nearly everything seems to be developing three or four weeks earlier than normal.

Doughty oaks are coming into leaf all along the way. I love the pale green of their first leaves.

We sail on past Shiplake’s New Cross to find a development of unattractive buildings on our right. Further on, more homes are being built on the site of the former Engbers garden centre. Where is this going to end? Before long there will be no open countryside left.

We pass through Henley and cross the famous old bridge into Berkshire, then take a left into Remenham Lane.

What a beautiful part of England this is and so splendid at this time of year.

We pass Remenham Court — a wondrous house — and onwards past Remenham’s attractive church (St Nicholas) and churchyard, which is a little haven for wildlife.

I point out to Richard how the Thames has moved over the millennia. Just by looking at an Ordnance Survey map it is easy to understand how the old river has moved north into its current oxbow.

We arrive at Aston and leave the car to head down Ferry Lane. The pub opens at 11.30am, which is most convenient.

My friend has never set foot here before and is captivated. Our “track” takes us down to the river. Clumps of red and white dead-nettle line the route alongside cow parsley.

We pass a meadow that is full of chickens and guinea fowl and look up to witness dozens of red kites circling. I have not seen so many together in a long time.

Brimstone butterflies, one of the first heralds of spring, are all around. I wonder where they have all come from as they lay their eggs on buckthorn and I don’t see any of those nearby,

Further on we pass a semi-flooded wood of poplars and assorted willow species and come across many clumps of Loddon lily (Leucojum aestivum), a beautiful, white-flowered native.

At the lane’s end there are great views across the water to Hambleden Place and to the north-west over a vast water meadow to Hambleden Lock.

A solid wooden jetty advertises the Flower Pot. A shallow brook emanating from the swampy wood meets the river here, one of many.

We then turn back to decamp into the pub — and how it has changed. Where once Rosemary and I would eat ham, egg and chips in its no-nonsense guise it has now become a bijou eatery.

My friend and I take a seat outside on the garden terrace as it is warm.

The troupe of house sparrows I remember still chirrup in a nearby hedge. I’m temporarily transported back in time and have to smile.

The setting could not be better. The view across the river to the north is crisp and clear.

I point out to Richard some enormous conifers that tower above the beech and oak on the summit of Ridge Wood, a steep climb from Hambleden village.

As we tuck in to a very enjoyable but pricey lunch, the garden fills up quickly but then this has always been a popular destination. A man comes to our table and congratulates me on my “gaucho” cap. Thanks.

Richard is eager to come again and when I’m fitter I’ll plan a longer walk for us.

We depart and I indicate the route up Aston Lane to Remenham Hill. A male pheasant races across the narrow road and blackbirds dice with death as they barely miss the car’s bonnet. The congestion down White Hill is predictable but we’re soon on our way home again.

Thank you, Richard, for your friendship. I feel so fortunate to have so many folk that really care for me. My grandfather told me that if you could count your true friends on one hand then you were lucky.

vincent.ruane@hotmail.com