I left London Bridge station and power walked down Tooley
Street, past the Hayes Galleria, and then onto a pathway next to the Thames. I
needed to cross Tower Bridge and then find the entrance to The Tower Hotel to
meet a chap called Charles who said he would be wearing a West Ham cap and a
yellow National Geographic T-shirt.
‘You’re doing well for a pensioner!’
I turned around. It was Sarah, who was in her mid-sixties. As well as Sarah
and Charles, I was introduced to Chris, Mary, Fiona and Tina. As we all chatted
Charles took a register using a small notebook. Just as we were ready
to set off, Charles wandered off to look for ‘stragglers’. He
returned minutes later with a final group member, a Spanish girl who was in her
late twenties. It was time to go.
I had walked sections of the Thames pathway before, but had
never walked along the north side of the river: this was a new adventure; an
opportunity to visit new places. We navigated our way through St Katharine
Docks, onto a path, and then onto a series of roads, where we ambled past
warehouses that had been converted into luxury apartments. After negotiating a
route through a private car park I got chatting to Charles. I asked him about
his group. It was only two months old.
‘I’ve moved back to London and I looked on the groups to see
if there was anything I wanted to do, and the events didn’t really fit with my
schedule. So, you can’t come to something, then let them come to you. I think
this is the fifth event I’ve run’, he explained.
‘I used to live in South Africa for thirty five years,
running various businesses; I ran a transport business for schools, and then I
sold it – I thought it was time to come back. My house and daughters are out
there. I’ve got a job as a personal carer, which is great; you’ve got your own
accommodation paid for, but it can be tough’.
We chatted about different things we liked to do in our
spare time. ‘I love comedy’ he said. ‘I’ve done a bit of stand up. When I was
in Cape Town, I belonged to this theatre group and I did what you might call
‘an old persons rap’!’
We chatted about different groups, and I told him about what
I was doing. ‘You must meet that lady… Marie? She runs a group.’
We stopped in front of a pub called the Prospect of Whitby. Charles
wanted to show us something. He pointed towards a sign that had been put on the
wall. It read: ‘London’s oldest riverside inn – built circa 1520 in the reign
of Henry VIII’. What followed was a list of kings and queens, and the dates of
when they reigned.
I got chatting to Marie. Marie’s group was a daytime social
group for people over fifty. She had been a member of ‘Fifty, black and
fabulous’, but the group had imploded due to differences of opinions and the
lack of a charismatic leader. Marie had bag loads of charisma and infectious
exuberance.
‘You’ve got to admire people like Charles who set up these
groups, haven’t you? I mean, they get people together, and that’s an amazing
thing isn’t it? They don’t have to do what they do, but they just go ahead and
do it. He’s a great host, don’t you think? He’s making sure that everyone is okay;
he’s talking to everyone, counting everyone, not leaving anyone behind. I think
that’s amazing. It’s easy not to do anything; you can just stay at home, can’t
you?’
I told Marie about my quest, and that I was nearly at the
end.
‘And what have you learnt from doing it?’
I thought for a moment, and then I had an answer: ‘that
people are kind, and generous, and accepting. I’ve always known this, but this
has emphasised it. And it’s taught me about London, about different parts of the
city. It’s taken me to areas that I have never been to before. It’s also taught
me that I needn’t be worried about talking to a group of strangers; that people
are people, and I’ve learnt that I love talking.’ I paused for a moment. I
never used to love talking. I would never talk to strangers. Instead, I
preferred to hide away and not say anything. ‘I’ve seen that there are many
selfless people out there’.
‘Selfless…’ Marie repeated. ‘Yes. Selfless… That’s what it
is’.
We stopped again at another pub, called The Grapes. Charles
pointed at a blue plaque that had the date 1583. ‘These are great pubs along
here…’ explained Charles, almost teasing us that we were not stopping until we
got to Greenwich.
The walk took us past Canary Wharf, and then past countless
apartments. As we walked, I wondered who lived in them, and what they did. I
caught glimpses of ‘toddler paraphernalia’ on balconies; chairs and plastic sit
on cars; a reflection that this was also a place for families.
We stopped for a photo opportunity. I could see The Shard,
The Gherkin and the Walkie-Talkie. In the foreground, a London Clipper, the
passenger catamaran, was making its way from Greenwich to London Bridge and
beyond.
As we negotiated further car parks and pathways, I chatted
with Fiona, who used to work in the oil industry. She wasn’t quite retired, working
only two days a week. She lived in Clapham and had a roof terrace. It sounded
idyllic; a place to sit out on and see the city, a place to also sit down with
a glass of wine and read a detective novel.
Eventually we made it to an area called Island Gardens, and
to the entrance of the Greenwich foot tunnel. When we had all gathered, we
began to walk down a steep spiral staircase. When we got to the bottom, we
could see the length of the tunnel reaching out before us, dipping in a slight
incline as it buries its way underneath the river.
One of our group walked ahead, keen to get out of the
claustrophobic space. In the distance, a busker played his guitar
energetically, enjoying the echo of the extraordinary acoustics, and an
occasional cyclist cycled past us, despite the obvious and constant ‘no
cycling’ signs. At the other end, I
decided to climb the corkscrew steps, and quickly became dizzy.
With the walk over, and the sight of the Cutty Sark in front
of us, we wandered over to a well-known brewery. We sat in the beer garden,
drinking Pilsner, cider and wheat beer. We toasted the walk and Charles’s
success at getting us all together.
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