The London LOOP. Part XV:Harold Wood to Purfleet (Will the Circle be Unbroken?).

We did it.

We finally did it.

After sixteen months, countless pubs and curry houses, slipping over in the mud of Happy Valley near Coulsdon, getting covered in snow just outside of Shirley, and burning up in a deserted tech park by Hillingdon we finally did it. We walked all ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES of the London LOOP. From Erith right round to Purfleet heading as west as Uxbridge, as south as the aforementioned Happy Valley, as north as Enfield Lock, and as east as, er, Purfleet actually. Truth be told, with wrong turns, pub stops, and general nosiness we probably clocked up well over two hundred miles.

It was neither an auspicious start nor an auspicious finish (where were the adoring crowds flanking the streets of Purfleet?) but along the way we saw some wonderful, totally unexpected things, and I'm really glad I took on this challenge. Even more so that I/we completed it.

Expecting a fairly lengthy trek (Sharp & Saunders's trusted tome had underestimated distances before) Shep, Pam, and I convened at 10am at Harold Wood (where we'd finished last time) and as the Station Cafe was very closed (and Pam had had an iced finger anyway) we set off straightaway for what we'd been told would be a thirteen and quarter mile stretch and what we'd guessed would be more like sixteen!

Down a wide gravel road, we soon reached the Ingrebourne for the first (but certainly not the last) time of the day as it flowed through Harold Wood Park and Pages Wood and, eventually, into the Ingrebourne Valley. Wooden sculptures of water voles, dragonflies, hedgehogs, and toads flanked us as the sun came out giving the whole region a very pleasant feel. One only slightly ruined by "a little shit in a pork pie hat" telling us to "get out of the way" as he rode his trike past us at some pace.

The area become more densely forested and we climbed a few stiles before coming out on to a wide green expanse and, possibly (there are many contenders), the most peculiar sight of the LOOP so far. Two white haired goats lazing on a table in the sun. Mr Goat stroked himself with his horn and both seemed utterly unperturbed by our presence.

This took us to Hornchurch to the bustling, efficient, friendly, and reasonably priced Cafe One 2 Two for, in my case, a can of Coke and a plate of cheese on toast. So much better than the anaemic fayre served up in The Happy (!) Cafe in South Oxhey earlier on the LOOP!

With a pub, The Windmill, nearby it ended up being a double pit stop. As seems usual with Essex the range of ales was limited (or non-existent) but it was a pleasant enough 'comfort break' even though we were disappointed not to see the sails of the nearby Upminster Mills, a windmill which my friend Neill Fuller's father worked on (I think).

Instead we cut down to Hornchurch AFC's ground and when we arrived at the Hornchurch gig we were met by a hard-working groundsman who'd been filling the long jump pit with sand all day and made us feel like comparative slackers.

So we continued on. Purple ribbons were everywhere and we weren't sure why but we'd read of a murder in the area recently and couldn't help putting two and two together and coming up with a number that may or may not have been four!

Leaving Hornchurch into Hornchurch Country Park, part of the Thames Chase Community Park, we picked up the Ingrebourne again and spoke, very briefly, with a guy trying to get us to set up a direct debit with the RSPB. A lovely organisation (except for the 'R' bit) but not something I can afford to get involved in at the moment.

It's a very beautiful part of the world, really quite wild, full of lakes and reed swamps, and surely great for twitchers. Apparently when floodwater fills the area in winter it forms the largest freshwater marsh in all of London

Past Albyns Farm Lake and a selection of concrete pillboxes left over from the Battle of Britain (the Royal Flying Corps defended London from Zeppelin raids here and the Hornchurch Spitfires fought with bomber fleets thundering up the Thames estuary). This opened out into the unimaginatively named Forest Park and, for the first time, in my life, Rainham.

Eschewing the Cold Blooded Reptile Centre (Iain Duncan Smith is local to the area) for a pint, ok two, in The Phoenix where I charged my phone up, avoided the sport on tv, and Pam put some decent music on the jukebox so Shep wouldn't have to listen to Elaine Paige.

We crossed over the Channel Tunnel Rail Link into Rainham Marshes and as the sun started to set the pylons took on a majestic aspect, the discarded bog seats less so. Right up until the 19th century Rainham Creek was navigable for sailing barges and a wealthy sea captain, one John Harle, made a small fortune on them which he invested into Rainham Hall.

We passed under the Thames Gateway Flyover and followed a path surrounded by six foot reeds until we reached some industrial estate and, against our wishes - but following the book's advice, headed into it.

Turns out that Sharp and Saunders knew what they were doing. From one of the most unpromising positions on the entire 150 mile walk we suddenly reached a wall with a plaque saying something about a Pilgrim Ferry. We looked over it and there, to our complete surprise, was the mighty, and mightily broad, Thames. Muddy, bathed in late afternoon sunlight, and eerily quiet. We were nearly home and dry and it looked like the last three miles or so were going to be an absolute delight. Pam put some ska tunes on to celebrate!

It was quite a stretch past the Tilda Rice plant, a broken up old motorbike, some feral urchins who looked almost Dickensian and were quite keen to tell us we weren't in London anymore, and, soon, the bizarre sight of a series of concrete barges!

First towed across the channel as part of the Mulberry Harbour that supported the D-Day landings of World War II and then used again, in 1953, for shoring up estuary flood defenses. Today they sit sad, abandoned, covered in moss and rust, yet somehow still mighty.

Inland, in an area styled Pirate's Cove, there are a series of mocked up graves featuring the likes of Bob the Bosun, Lofty the Lookout, and Korky the Ship's Cat. Fun for the kids? To teach them about the death? Art? Who knows. Certainly the one with the slogan "don't laugh. You're next" elicited a grim smile.

The Queen Elizabeth II Bridge came into view, nearly as grey as the sky, it almost faded just as quickly, and if we got our bearings right we could make out the flood barrier on the Darent we saw back in December 2017 when we started this project. A sense of achievement was coming over us. The ska continued.

Past a former shooting range, the Crossharbour Point navigational beacon, a couple of black cats, and some odd signage we edged closer to our final destination. The entire area around Rainham, Wennington, and Aveley Marshes used to be a military firing range but in 2000 it was acquired by the RSPB and converted into the Rainham Marshes Bird Reserve. Closed by the time we got there.

We crossed a 'graceful' bridge over the Mar Dyke to reach Purfleet and immediately, almost our first sight, was a burnt out car. Other than the long brick shed, Magazine Number 5 - all that's left of the once extensive Royal Gunpowder Magazines, Purfleet seemed a sorry place but it didn't matter. We'd made it and we were having a celebratory pint no matter how shit the pub was.

The Royal Hotel wasn't that shit but it was pretty shit. We asked a drunk guy to take a group shot (while he waited for his chips) and we nursed a pint while perusing a menu that had nothing for veggies except said chips. There are no Indian restaurants in Purfleet and the pizza joint, it turns out, is a take away so, train booze, in hand we headed to Purfleet station for one last little surprise before this epic adventure was over - and I'm not talking about Shep nearly breaking his ribs in the train station automatic doors!

Throughout all fifteen days of LOOP walking we've met about two other walkers doing the same route. All of a sudden, an hour after finishing, we met seven landscape archaeologists (no, really) who'd finished the same day and were, also, celebrating with train booze. We chatted about the LOOP to them (a really nice bunch) before they got off at West Ham and Pam, myself, and Shep continued on to Fenchurch Street for a paneer shashlik I hardly touched (bad guts? stressed?) served by a grumpy waiter in Sripur on Great Tower Street before heading for one last pint in a chain bar near the Monument and taking the train home from London Bridge. An odd, understated, way to end an epic walk. It was an odd walk too, but definitely not an understated one. I fucking loved it.

Thanks to Shep for coming up with this great idea and joining me all the way round, thanks too to Pam who walked the last seven stages and to everyone else who joined us along the way - Neil, Bee, Eamon, Catherine, Adam, Tom, and Kathy.

We did it!

Capital Ring next?