Ha! Surely you did not think I’d milked my recent travels to their full extent? No, no, dear peeps, that is not the case. So: a final post (hmm) about my recent adventures along the Thames, and let’s start with saying hello to Windsor.
To me, Windsor is all about the castle, perched atop a magnificent outcrop many, many feet above the river. Before the conquest, there was a fortified royal manor on what is now called Old Windsor.
“Pah!” William the Conqueror said. “This is not the right place for a fortress, not when there’s that magnificent cliff some mere miles away!” And so William built a motte and keep atop the rock, and since then, Windsor has been a royal castle. Well, more of a fort initially, which is why the Norman kings were happy to continue using the old royal manor a short distance away. Not that William had much time to spend at either his new fort or his hunting lodge (he had rebellions to crush, a duchy to visit, an unwelcoming country to tame) but his youngest son, Henry I apparently did use Windsor as his main residence. If nothing else, the views must have been stunning, plus I imagine a medieval king would feel quite safe what with the protection offered by the river and the cliff.
These days, Windsor is very, very much about tourists. Huge groups of peeps who descend on the castle, not because they’re necessarily genuinely interested in medieval castles – or even castles in general – but because it’s a must-see attraction. A tad frustrating for those of us who really do want to consider the original motte and keep construction as well as the position of the gates to, respectively, the outer, middle and inner bailey. Fortunately, I’d sorted that particular issue on an earlier visit many years ago.
A lot of Windsor Castle is out-of-bounds, this due to the fact that it is still a royal residence, almost a thousand years since Henry I moved in. But you can visit the Staterooms and, of course, there’s the magnificent St George’s Chapel! It wasn’t always St George’s Chapel. The original chapel was dedicated to Edward the Confessor and was built by Henry III.
Of that structure only the magnificent red medieval door, the Gilbertus door remains (one of several in the original chapel). Henry III’s construction was much smaller, effectively the size of the Albert Memorial Chapel today. And then, along came Edward III with his fascination with St George. . .
From my book, Under the Approaching Dark
“What is this?” Lord Roger asked, gesturing at the forest of banners and pennons that surrounded them, all of them displaying the red cross of St George.
“We fight under St George,” the king said. “A warrior saint for a warrior king.”
There was a muffled sound from Thomas.
“Ah,” Lord Roger said, giving his young king an indulgent look. Fortunately, Edward was too busy studying his pennons to notice.
“He slayed a dragon. I will slay Scots—both are vile creatures.”
“I dare say you’ll find the Scots are mostly like us, my lord,” Mortimer put in. “They eat, they shit, they swive, they fight and bleed, they die.”
“They are savages!”
“There are men of honour among them—their king for one, and Black Douglas is another true knight.” Mortimer pointed at one of the banners. “St George is a fine saint to follow into battle, but do not commit the mistake of underestimating your enemy—or denigrating him. And St George wasn’t English to begin with, was he?”
“As good as,” the king retorted. “England breeds the finest soldiers in the world.”
Thomas laughed. “Really, Ned, what nonsense is that? England is a land of sheep farmers and wool merchants.”
Lord Roger and the king looked equally displeased, making Adam bite back a smile. They were far more similar than they realised, those two—ambitious and innovative. In fact, the king and Mortimer together had decided to carry those newfangled devices with them, heavy things that looked like large buckets and sounded like God’s own thunder when deployed. Cannon, Lord Roger had explained proudly. Not that Adam saw much use for them—beyond striking the fear of God into the enemy.
“I will turn those shepherds and merchants into soldiers, riding to glory under the cross of St George.” The king gestured at the many flags. “England will be more than it is, and we will start with Scotland.”
With something that sounded as a cross between a curse and a guffaw, Mortimer took his place behind the king.
St George most deffo wasn’t English to begin with…Here in Sweden, I believe we have one of the most gorgeous depictions of St George slaying the dragon, dated from the early 15th century. In this depiction, St George is Sten Sture, victor over the Danes, depicted as the dragon…
Back to Windsor’s St George: In 1348, Edward III instituted the most Noble Order of the Garter. It is not the oldest chivalric order in Europe – both Aragon and Castile had older orders, as did Hungary, where the Order of St George was founded in 1325. It is, however, one of the more famous—and I doubt any of the other orders have anything like the beauty of St George’s Chapel to boost its prestige.
Edward III did some rebuilding, but what we see today is mostly the work of Edward IV, resulting in this gorgeous masterpiece. We took a seat in one of the aisles and just sat there, staring up at the beautiful roof.
St George’s Chapel also holds the remains of Henry VIII (without the imposing monument he wanted), his wife Jane Seymour and, tucked in with them, the beheaded body of Charles I. There is a tradition that when Charles’ body was carried back to Windsor for burial, funerary rites were said for him at the church of St John the Baptist (the church on Windsor’s High Street) and supposedly, his name is listed on the parish records of those buried within it. I’m not quite sure what to believe: the Parliamentarian troops had looted both castle and church, so maybe this was the parishioner’s way of protesting?
We stopped for a moment by Queen Elizabeth II’s resting place to pay our respects, spent some time admiring the small cloisters (where the shop is situated) and emerged outside. We were, we decided, done with sightseeing. Instead, we went to find tea and cake – and look at Chrisopher Wren’s guildhall.
Some of you may have registered my fascination with the various locks we’ve encountered on our holiday. Yup: I am fascinated! Which is why I am now going to share some of the facts I’ve collated regarding the Thames and its locks. Lucky you!
There are 45 locks in the Thames. All of them are connected to a weir, a manmade construction that originally had as its intention to dam the river, thereby ensuring water supply to power mills as well as increased fishing opportunities. These days, the weirs and the adjacent locks are part of a complex system that allows travel up and down the river but also affords some control over water levels so as to reduce the risk of flooding. During our recent hike along the Thames, hubby became a tad fixated on the flooding risk, pointing out multiple buildings which, according to him were uncomfortably close to the water’s edge. To judge from some of the markers we found, many of those buildings have suffered flooding—at least of their cellars—in recent years.
It used to be there were way many more weirs, but most of them have been torn down to allow the river to flow naturally.
These days, all the locks are pound locks. There are gates at both ends, you enter at one end and if you’re going down, the pound will be emptied of water so as to sink your craft (and the water lever) to correspond to the level below the lock. If you’re going up, the pound will instead be filled with water so that your boat floats higher and higher until—yup—it’s at the level of the water above the lock. Simple, isn’t it?
Originally, though, the locks along the Thames were flash locks. A flash lock effectively was an opening in the planking creating the weir. Water rushed through, carrying the boat with it. Boats going the other way had to be hauled up against the current using huge winches. Flash locks weren’t popular with the peeps who’d built the weir: all that water rushing out could, potentially, lead to a mill not having enough water to power it.
Flash locks could also be dangerous – a bit like riding the incoming tide through the arches of London Bridge. A slight miscalculation, and your boat could be smashed against a bridge pillar (or one of the weir posts) But going by river was usually faster than hauling stuff along medieval roads, so the watermen just had to learn to handle the risks.
Very early on, locks became sources of income. You had to pay to use one, just as you had to pay to use any of the bridges crossing the Thames. In some places, like Maidenhead, there was both a bridge and a lock (Boulters Lock – the weir pictured above), making this something of a transportation hub.
Medieval locks along the Thames were all flash locks. In China, however, the pound lock was introduced already in the 10th century, and the Dutch were the first Europeans to implement a pound lock in the 14th century. In the mid-sixteenth century, the first pound lock was built in England—but not on the Thames. No, this newfangled approach to locks was first introduced in the construction of the Exeter Ship Canal. It would take until the 1620s for the first pound lock to be built on the Thames, at Abingdon.
Pound locks came with the benefit of not depleting the water supply. They were also much safer, but it would take until the early 20th century before the last flash lock was shut down. These days, there are still some weirs on the river that used to be flash locks. They’re called paddle and rymer weirs and consist of posts sunk into the bottom with grooves along the sides. Paddles (essentially planks) are then slotted into the grooves and pushed down to close the weir, or up to open it. I imagine it could be quite dangerous to handle those paddles, standing atop slippery, wet wood while moving them up or down.
After so many days travelling by foot, it was quite a relief to finally come home. The first thing we did? Make ourselves a good cup of tea! Yes, yes, I know: England is supposed to be the country of good tea, but frankly, I am not impressed. No, on went the kettle and then we both sank down to enjoy being home with a nice, lovely cuppa!
This series has been a real gift. The Thames Path was a wonderful idea — but I’m too old to walk it now. Thank you for sharing your experience and photos.
So glad you enjoyed it!