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These were the things we saw when we took on the tenth, and possibly toughest so far, stage of the London LOOP and if we arrived in Borehamwood with blisters, chafed undercarriages, or sore hamstrings to find a fairly unspectacular high street full of grotty pubs and overly lit Turkish restaurants that should in no way suggest that the day was either not worthwhile or not fun.
Because it was certainly both those things. On an unseasonably hot October day, not just sunny but warm - it was t-shirt weather, I met Pam on the tube and then Neil, Bee, Eamon, and LOOP newcomer Catherine joined us where we finished last time - at Moor Park tube station. We had to wait a bit longer for Shep as he'd made the schoolboy error of taking the wrong arm of the Metropolitan line and ended up taking a diversion via Rayners Lane!
Catherine now lives in Wales but she used to dwell very near this area so some of her local input helped to colour in the history of the area. We began the walk by crossing Sandy Lodge Golf Course where Catherine's nan has a memorial fountain near the eleventh tee. As we cut a diagonal path between greens and fairways a passing golfer asked if we were on our way home from a nightclub. Hard to know if it is was a compliment or not but only in the world of golf could a group of people aged in their forties and fifties appear to be youthful clubbers!
The views across the Colne Valley were impressive here - a theme that would mark the day - and as we ascended gradually hill after hill we soon realised that that would be another recurrent motif of the day's trek. It certainly felt to me like the hilliest section of the LOOP so far.
Through the open parklands of South Oxhey Playing Fields we soon came out near a row of shops situated on a quiet crescent and made our first stop of the day at the Happy Cafe. The staff were pleasant enough but didn't strike me as being particularly happy. Nor quick. Nor too bright.
They took an ice age to serve us and then managed to get my order wrong. I don't mind coffee but I did order tea. My cheese on toast looked pretty anaemic too. Though when dipped in enough tomato sauce it did the job, filled a space in my tummy. We left feeling it was far from the best, or happiest, cafe we've visited on our LOOP adventures and no amount of Madonna, Cher, or The Ting-Tings could change that.
A path took us into Oxhey Woods, a surprisingly large and remote feeling forested area that my friend Simon, who grew up in the area and said he'd join us on the walk but didn't, has told me about playing in as a kid. Autumn leaves rustled under our feet, horse chestnuts fells from the trees and joined said leaves and an abundance of crab apples. These, too, would became almost constant companions for the next six hours or so.
Vapour trails had created a cross in the sky as we exited Oxhey Woods in to the grounds of Pinnerwood Farm where soon we'd meet the first horses of the day. Pam, our resident horse whisperer, was on hand to distract them so we could get through the gate without them escaping and, on the other side of the farm, we took a higgledy-piggledy path that was flanked with a beautiful cottage, a rustic barn, and the stately looking pile of Pinnerwood House sitting serenely behind a pond and some overgrown hedges.
Pylons replaced horses as we walked along the B2542, Little Oxhey Lane, to reach another golf course. Grim's Dyke Golf Course was nicely manicured and seemed to be attracting a younger set of golfers. We skirted the egde until we came out on to a reasonably busy road with a name nearly as good as Grim's Dyke, Old Redding.
There was supposed to be a path leading through a thicket but we couldn't locate it so we took the road instead, pausing only to marvel at the aforesaid abandoned Monster Munch. We were all ready for a sit down, a glass of water, and/or a pint and luckily we'd soon get all three.
This area is on the former grounds of Grimsdyke House, its former resident W.S.Gilbert (the librettist for such hits as H.M.S.Pinafore, The Mikado, and The Pirates of Penzance) so loved his country estate that he claimed he wished to die on a summer's day in his garden. A wish that was granted in 1911 when he drowned in his newt filled lake whilst giving two local girls a swimming lesson. A clearly not very good swimming lesson.
I like to imagine he enjoyed the spectacular vistas afforded from the beauty spot of Harrow Weald. Most of London is set out in front of you with the foreground dominated by the spire of the church in Harrow-on-the-Hill. It was so warm by this point we could have sunbathed. We craved an ice cream but there was no ice cream van.
So the pub it was. The Case is Altered didn't just have a fantastic name but was a fantastic pub. The small front garden adorned with pansies of various colours and the decking out back looking out to a large beer garden and kid's playground and, again, a marvellous panoramic view of London.
It turns out there are a few pubs called The Case is Altered and most trace their name back to a licensing decision by local magistrates but this fine example prefers another origin myth. They propose that it comes from a mispronounciation of Casa Alta, the Spanish for 'high house'. Certainly the location backs that up. I had a Wildside pale ale and wondered it I could stay there all day.
Much like the thirsty Peninsular War soldiers on the pub's sign, I, alas, could not. From the pub we headed into Harrow Weald Common, Muntjacs roam this area but we were not fortunate enough to see one. Our next stop was Bentley Priory Open Space. We were certainly seeing lots of different terrains in this varied and slightly challenging walk.
A concrete path lead us on a circuitous route through the 'open space' which now serves as Air Force property and was used as Fighter Command Headquarters in the Battle of Britain. The double barbed wire fence, security lights, and even a pillbox told us in no uncertain terms that this place took its military status seriously. The level of security made a viewing, and a photograph, of the Italianate tower of the Victorian Bentley Priory house trickier than I'd have liked.
There was now a confusing little stretch that took us past a cricket pitch, a selection of curious brown cows, and through a gated community where mock-Tudor mansions mixed with municipal looking piles and even the odd architectural gem.
Shep was getting tense as he'd not had his fix of waterfowl for the day but the lakes of Stanmore Little Common proved a remedy for him as a team of ducks relaxed as far from the algae as possible. This was a pretty little area and it opened up into a part of Stanmore that was unimaginably pretty. Gravel roads, Toytown houses, a little castle, cottages, and another pond gave the whole area a slightly unreal feel. Who knew Stanmore was this pretty?
There was supposed to be a pub, The Vine, there and it would have made a tremendous location to stop but the pub, like so much, has now been converted into flats. We chatted with some local dog walkers before heading off down the prosaically named Public Byway No.6 and out into open fields, more horses, and, via my favourite house of the day, Purple Haze, up a fairly steep hill to reveal a view of the M1 in front of us. Shep, who was leaving the rest of us behind, caught up with two young ladies who were also walking the LOOP. We realised they were the only other LOOPers we'd met in this entire, ten days long so far, walk!
Once underneath the M1 we walked for a while along an uninspiring stretch of road, car boot sales and prefab industrial units, until we reached the edge of Aldenham Reservoir and another pub, The Fishery Inn.
5pm on an October evening and it was still warm enough to sit outside. The pale ale went down well too but we realised we were losing the fight against the light. We had to deviate from the prescribed route and follow the main roads into Elstee and, eventually, Borehamwood. I was walking like John Wayne at this point. A John Wayne who'd just shit himself.
The skies darkened, a crescent moon appeared, and the walkers stretched out as they crossed the rollerocoasteresque final stretch into Borehamwood. Borehamwood was pretty busy. We tried the Wellington pub but there were no seats and no ale on tap. The people in there, almost all men, stared at us as we walked in and one made a snide comment about us using the toilet and not buying a drink. Even though nobody used the toilet. It was a pleasure not to stay but, in some bizarre way, good to know shithole pubs like this still exist.
The Alfred Arms wasn't that much better. Banging out loud, and not very good, music to a crowd of very refreshed looking men and advertising Indian food even though not a soul in there was eating it. A guy from Sunderland at the bar took a great interest in Shep's order of a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale (there was no ale on tap) and we found a seat in the corner and shouted at each other over the noise of pub.
It would have been apt to finish our day 'On the Buses' but we didn't. We jumped on the train south. The Uxbridge contingent changed at Mill Hill Broadway and Shep and I at Blackfriars, popping in to The Ring for another, possibly ill advised, drink, leaving Pam on the train which, fortuitously, took her all the way home to Streatham.
It'd been, as ever, a tiring but fun and interesting day on the LOOP. The next stage sees us reach the most northernly point of the entire LOOP as we walk from Elstree to Cockfosters - and if you're smirking at that name even now, after all these years, then good work. You're the kind of person who should join us.
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