As I walked Out is a poetic and intimate blog written by local resident Tom Burgess who lived in central Guildford all of his early life before moving out to Shalford after recently getting married. His blog describes his meanderings around Guildford, musing over the beauty and tranquillity that our beautiful town has to offer. The blog title is a nod to a book written by British poet Laurie Lee called ‘As I walked Out One Midsummer Morning’ which describes his epic journey after leaving the sanctuary of his little village in the Cotswolds.
We had made a good decision to move back to this neck of the woods. As I struck out, morning sun on my back, I savoured that thought. I was walking into Guildford town centre following the river; the simple pleasures like this were making me feel smug. My first week living in Shalford and I was doing all the important things first, like trying to choose my local pub. In this area you are always spoilt for choice, I had narrowed it down to either The Queen Vic or The Seahorse. Do you need to have a local? I had asked myself exasperated. There and then I decided, for me, it would be down to whether I wanted a place to hibernate or a place to summon the sun. It would depend on a whim and the weather.
I continued my walk at a gentle pace, slow enough to relish watching the many butterflies be buffeted by the wind, as they staggered amongst the high grass in a flurry of colour. I smelt the river before I heard it, and I saw it last of all, a steady lethargic sprawl, slow dancing with the green sunny freshness right into Guildford and beyond. It was easy to imagine barges laden with cargo floating past towards the gunpowder wharf at Stonebridge. The cathartic whoosh and rattle of a train going past interrupted that image and reminded me why it was only that. The functional charm of the river celebrated by Daniel Defoe has now been superseded by the ebb and flow of nature’s rhythm and the enjoyment of all who pass through. As I strolled with these thoughts saying hello to others enjoying the river, on bike, boat, barge, kayak and foot it was plain to see the River Wey continues to play an integral part in community life.
By now I had reached the sandy banks leading up to St Catherine’s Chapel. A great place to go for a view and to feel the small cliffs rumble as a train charges through. Easily the best past time there (as demonstrated by several children) is to charge down the sand into the river, staining clothes and skin in a remarkably successful fashion as you go. Having already passed several superior swimming spots and now stood in the shade of the tall trees I was not tempted to have a swim, this time. Although I was not swimming I could sense what Roger Deakin had meant in his book Waterlog when he said,
‘I grew convinced that following water, flowing with it, would be a way of getting under the skin of things, of learning something new. I might learn about myself too.’ Pg3
That was exactly what I hoped to do and I was cheered to think that this would be a regular route for me, helping me to connect to the place and get under Guildford’s skin. Saying that though, my unwillingness to deviate from the river meant I had forgotten to stop off at the 18th century Watermill back near Shalford. It is a beautiful spot, in days gone by managing to harvest water from the Tillingbourne stream without spoiling the landscape but in fact adding to it. Never mind I thought, I could walk back from Guildford via the Watermill by going over the Chantries or St Martha’s, that way taking advantage of the wonderful woodland and the elevation.
After all circuitous routes do run in my family, my Grandfather for instance was well known for his long detours into Guildford on his way to the Quaker meeting. As Guildford Mayor he had championed the footpaths in the surrounding area and the countryside they made accessible. As I approached the lock by the Yvonne Arnaud Theatre, entirely refreshed, I was thankful he and many others like him had done just that and I thought perhaps I could be one of them too.
Tom Burgess