TADS #67:Bletchley to Leighton Buzzard (or Walk Like An Eggington).

Spring sprung. The sun was out for St David's Day and the sun was out for TADS as they embarked on their second perambulation of 2025 from Bletchley to Leighton Buzzard via my spiritual home of Eggington (a place I'd never visited before and in fact only discovered a couple of years ago). We may have been reduced in numbers, just Shep, Adam, and myself, but we made up for that by upping the mileage and the steppage (42,473 for me - a 2025 record), and, more importantly, upping the laughter. It was a good day and gives me hope for yet another solid, and enjoyable, season of TADS walks. There are eight more still to come.

 

I'd woken up super early yesterday morning and was out of the house pretty early too. Picked up a copy of The Guardian at Sainsbury's, took the Windrush from Honor Oak Park to Whitechapel, the Hammersmith & City line to Euston Square, and then made the short walk to Euston where the surprisingly quick train to Bletchley was waiting on the platform for me.

The early morning fog was lifting to reveal a glorious yellow sun illuminating the green and pleasant English countryside. The train gently snaked through Hemel Hempstead, Berkhamsted, and Tring without stopping and arrived in Leighton Buzzard where we'd end up later that day before making the short hop to Bletchley itself. A short hop on an intercity train, a bit more of a schlep on Shanks's pony.

 

I had time to kill before Adam and Shep arrived (I like to joke when it's just the three of us on a walk it's like Last Of The Summer Wine - but if all three men were Compo) so I had a quick look around the centre of Bletchley which, it has to be said, looks rather forlorn these days. Like, I guess, so many small towns up and down the country.

The Park Hotel, which I'd sat outside with my friend Rob H about eight years back, was now boarded up as were many other shops along Queensway which appears to be Bletchley's high street. The local 'Spoons, however, had the curious name of Captain Ridley's Shooting Party. Luckily, one place that was open was our planned brunch stop - Top Diner - so I took a seat, availed myself of their facilities, ordered a cup of tea and waited for Adam and Shep to arrive.

Which they did very soon. They were, not entirely surprisingly, running early too. It was a long walk so it was good to know we were already making good time. Shep had a veggie burger and Adam and myself had a pretty large veggie breakfast (halloumi, mushrooms, hash brown toast, and beans - all great - but I was too full for the egg or the disappointing looking sausage and I passed my tomato over to Shep) and we caught up on both our own news and the news of the world. Not least Donald Trump and JD Vance's utterly despicable and shameful behaviour in their Oval Office meeting with Volodymyr Zelenskyy the previous day. A moment where Trump, Vance, and their arselickers parroted Russian propaganda and ultimately all but announced to the whole world that they are on the side of Russia and that America is now an enemy of Europe and an enemy of democracy.

Bletchely (population, approx. 37,000) is now a constituent part of Milton Keynes but was first recorded in the 12th century and the Anglo-Saxon origin of its name is said to mean "Blaece's clearing" though it went through a few changes (Bicchelai, Blechelegh, and Blecheley) before settling on its present spelling.

Once a minor village of lesser importance than nearby Fenny Stratford and Water Eaton, the arrival of the railways in 1838 saw that change. Brickmaking became Bletchley's major industry (though Bletchley Brickworks closed in 1990) and in 1993 a campaign for a "Bigger, Brighter, Better Bletchley" (try saying that after a few lager shandies) saw the town campaign for just that.

One company who did arrive was Marshall Amplification but in the 60s/70s Bletchley suffered a blow when it failed in its attempts to become the centre of the new town of Milton Keynes. It is, of course, best known for Bletchley Park (where, I found out yesterday, Adam's grandparents met while working there) which was home to the Government Code and Cypher School during World War II.

Where Alan Turing and others worked, successfully, to crack the Enigma code. The mansion itself was constructed in 1883 in a mix of Victorian Gothic, Tudor, and Dutch Baroque styles for the financier and Liberal politician Herbert Leon (1850-1926). Nearby Wilton Hall was used as a government meeting place during the day and as a dance venue at night. Later it saw concerts by The Rolling Stones and Lulu and these day it's put to use a fancy wedding venue.

We strolled with purpose down Queensway, cut through the pleasant Leon Park and the evocative graveyard of the St Thomas Aquinas church before Sycamore Avenue took us to, and over, the Grand Union Canal whose towpath we would follow for a fair few miles. First through Waterhall Park and then over the Water Easton Brook.

Under cute bridges, observing mallards and a swan on the water - and a dead fish we were unable to identify floating on the surface, admiring the reflections of trees on the still canal water, enjoying the different styles of narrowboat and their designs and names, and having fun with a bridge that provided an almost perfect echo.

As well as talking absolute bollocks - as was only to be expected considering the personnel on duty. After a few miles, and much sooner than normal, we reached the first pub and it was simply too pleasant a spot not to stop. So we did. Shep had some kind of half-lager, half-ale thing, Adam a non-alcoholic beer, and I had a pint of blackcurrant and lemonade as it was the first day of what I hope to be a month off the pop. Hopefully they will all be as lovely as yesterday.

The Three Locks (which is either in the village of Stoke Hammond or the village of Soulbury - depending on which source you believe) had a very friendly barmaid and lots and lots of lovely terraced seating overlooking the canal, expanses of green fields, and - of course, a local golf course. We only spent about half an hour there but managed to have a good chat about postcodes (we were in MK but we would soon be in LU) and prime numbers. In fact the maths chat got so interesting (for me and Adam, absolutely not Shep) that we soon found ourselves discussing Graham's number, busy beavers, and the concept of a googolplex. Not that we understood it. Where's Hannah Fry where you need her?

Leaving the pub we navigated the very lovely Lock 23 (now there was a number, and a lock, that Shep could get excited by) and continued for another 2.5k along the canal (passing some grazing sheep on the opposite bank, a boat called Cushty, and - best of all - a boat that seemed to be expecting me which of course I posed next to). My back was a tiny bit sore after I had a fall (tripped over a sign left lying on the pavement in Brockley three weekends back but got away with scratches and bruises rather than any breakages) but I was not going to let that stop me enjoying a day out I had much been looking forward to.

Coming off the canal, we followed (briefly) Old Linslade Road across the river Ouzel (a tributary of the Great River Ouse that flows twenty miles from the Chiltern Hills to Newport Pagnell) and cut into a footpath that followed the river to the edge of Leighton Buzzard. We were on the outskirts of 'the Buzz' but the walk as only about halfway done.

At first the path was muddy but it soon ascended to a cleaner, prettier, path with beautiful trees and flowers flanking us as we slowly made our way to Firs Path and began zig-zagging through the edgelands and estates of Leighton Buzzard. The sun was still out and moods were still, and remained throughout the entire day, positive.

This stretch of suburban zigging and zagging seemed the most likely part of the walk to take a wrong turn but, for once, I'd done my homework and was on top of my game (even though Adam was on hand with GPS to back me up just in case) and we passed through various pleasant, if not fancy, residential areas, crossed the Clipstone Brook, and took in the lines of the Leighton Buzzard Light Railway which, it seems, is not put to use at this time of the year.

The heritage railway was built after World War I to serve sand to local quarries and closed commercially in 1969. Since then it has been reopened as a tourist attraction and John Travolta visited with his son in 2013. Among the locomotives you may find choo-chooing along its tracks are Chaloner, Pixie, Doll, Elf, PC Allen, Nutty, Gertrude, and Peter Pan. Internal combustion engines working on the line include Falcon Pam, Madge, Arkle, RED RUM, and PETER WOOD.

I'd quite like to have a go one day. We also passed the Clay Pipe pub which I'd earmarked as a stopping point for those that didn't want to do the full walk. It might have been okay to 'park' several people in the Clay Pipe for a couple of hours but, to be honest, it didn't look the place to leave just one person, and one person specifically, on their own too long. I'm sure it's an ok place but our minds went into overdrive imagining what certain people might do if we left them there too long. Let's just say there was a mudbath and a fictitious plasterer called Shane Whelan involved and it didn't end prettily!

On reaching the A4012/Radcliffe Road (and passing lots of cats, 'bonus cats' even) we found it to be closed so we had to loop back round, across the heritage rail line and then followed that road out of Leighton Buzzard (past some very nice black wood style houses). A brief unpaved stretch along a road led us to a footpath that took us, via a rather shonky and lopsided stile, through a very specifically muddy field.

It wasn't wet mud but it hadn't dried out in the sun yet. Somewhere in the middle and that resulted in seriously mud caked boots that needed some pretty vigorous scraping. Boots with that much mud attached can feel pretty heavy after a while. We came out of the muddy field (and another slightly less muddy field) and made our way into the village of Eggington. I was getting a photo of myself by the sign there and no mistake.

Eggington (population, approximately 190) has no pubs (REVOKE THE NAME NOW!) but it does have an Eggington House which was built in 1696 for the Sheriff of Bedfordshire, John Reynal. When John and Joan Hodgson lived there (1918-1936), Sylvia Pankhurst was a regular visitor as Joan was Emmeline Pankhurst's secretary. Eggington's Whitehouse is a former parsonage that housed London's elderly blind during World War II. But Eggington's greatest claim to fame is that Bob Monkhouse, lived and died, there. Later on we would speculate on some rather inappropriate game shows that Bob Monkhouse, in an alternative universe, might have presented. Anyone for Bob Monkhouse's Spunk-House?

There's also an Egg Shack in Eggington, a timetable for a bus that runs once a week on a Tuesday, and plenty of photo opportunities for anyone who may have been called Eggy, Eggers, or Eggington at any point in their life. A young couple pulled up in their car to ask if we knew where the local farm shop was. We didn't. Shep wondered why people that young would spend their Saturdays visiting farm shops but, hey, each to their own.

Leaving Eggington, and putting the - ahem - most eggcellent part of the walk behind us, we traipsed through two muddyish fields back into the outskirts of the Buzzard, renavigated the earlier diversion (but this time in reverse), and followed Hockcliffe Road into the centre of the town where it was, of course, time for another pub stop. Amazingly, it wasn't even 5pm yet. We'd put in a shift.

 

We repaired to the Picture House pub, a kind of sports bar but not too much of a sports bar - you can hear each other talk and they were also showing Wallace & Gromit, where we shot the shit and I sipped another blackcurrant'n'lemonade while Adam tried his first ever 0% Guinness and Shep took a lager. It still wasn't dark when we were done so we decided to do one more pub and then go and grab a curry.

Leighton Buzzard (with an approximate population of 42,000) has a name that is something of a mystery but is, it seems, nothing to do with birds of prey. Theories relate to old dioceses and the Dean of Lincoln - Theobald de Busar - and frankly aren't that fascinating. Of more interest, is that the town's Barclays Bank is in a building, the Bank Building, that was designed by Alfred Waterhouse (more noted for London's Natural History Museum) and that the Pizza Express is in the former town hall, a neoclassical building from 1851.

Leighton Buzzard has a long history with the Rothschild family and The Great Train Robbery of 1963 took place just south of the town near Bridego Bridge. Other notable Buzzards include the Olympic gold medal show jumper Charlotte Dujardin, former Tory MP Sir Nicholas Cosmo Bonsor (I once saw a train named for him), Borrowers author Mary Norton, and two musical legends in The Barron Knights (who, amazingly, formed in 1959) and Kajagoogoo (though Limahl himself hails from near Wigan).

Ooh to be ah! This was information we could take with us into the rather lovely, and quite busy, Black Lion pub. Complete with roaring fire. There was a festival of stouts, porters, and other dark ales on but we didn't indulge. Shep had a Cruzcampo, Adam a lime'n'soda, and me a lemonade (this time no blackcurrant) and we enjoyed our brief stay in The Black Lion. I had a feeling that if I lived nearby it would soon become my local but who knows? There may be far better pubs we hadn't (yet) discovered.

From The Black Lion it was a short walk to The Lime Tree (one of LB's many Indian restaurants) where we enjoyed a decent selection of dips and pickles with our poppadums and I had a chilli paneer, a paratha, and some of Adam's pilau rice washed down with a couple of mango lassis. 

All very agreeable. Staff were friendly and because we'd arrived at about 6pm the restaurant was, to begin with, emptier than normal. We were done and dusted by not long after 8.30pm and we all seemed pretty content with the state of affairs - though obviously we stayed for our complimentary mints and hot towels.

 

Leaving the Lime Tree, I bade farwell to Shep and Adam who were driving back and crossed both the Ouzel and Grand Union Canal one last time before arriving at the station just in time to miss my train by about one second. Not to worry, it wasn't cold and I only had about twenty minutes to wait so I paced round the station and upped an already impressive step count before jumping on the train to Euston and catching the 63 bus back to Honor Oak Park.

I arrived back home - stone cold sober. Listened to a few New York Dolls tracks in tribute to David Johansen (the news of whose death came through while I was in the curry house), watched the news (hold the front page - Trump is still a cunt), and went to bed before midnight. Happy and full.

Next month it's Mr Ouse from Balcombe to Haywards Heath via the Ardingly Reservoir and the Ouse Valley Viaduct. Be good to see lots of the gang out for that one but as we proved yesterday TADS can work even in smaller numbers. Thanks to Shep and Adam for joining me. Thanks to Shep for some of the supplementary snaps in this blog and thanks to Adam for his extraordinary generosity in treating (recent) birthday boy Shep and myself to a free curry - as well as the map in this blog. See you soon.