Chertsey Club Site, Surrey

       

The previous evening I had advised The Chauffeur that our next two days were sorted, to which he responded, “Do they include Wimbledon and Richmond Park?”

Well actually, no, they did not, and I should have acknowledged that the reason we were camped back in London, albeit Greater London and on the western edge, was to “sop” up the must-do attractions we had not managed to visit over the last three years. Soon after our arrival this time, we had made the effort to visit Lord’s Cricket Ground which was on Chris’s wish list, as was The Oval and Wimbledon. These should come as no surprise to anyone who knows my husband, or even if you have followed this blog over all the years we have been on the road; his armchair sportsman appreciation is without dispute. And there is nothing like visiting the real thing!

After checking out Wimbledon on line, I learned that the tours were in hot demand and we would not be able to book a spot until Friday, which is what we duly did. The backstop was Richmond Park which had actually been on my wish list, a desire sparked by seeing so many wonderful painted scenes of London painted from this spot, not least by the great J W Turner.

So yesterday morning, with lunch packed in the eski once more, we headed downstream of the River Thames, on the route taken to Hampton Court Palace two days before, pressing on to Richmond. I had hijacked the plan to the extent of detouring to Ham House and Garden, a National Trust property conveniently placed for inclusion into the day’s agenda.

Alas, as we arrived, we noted the sign advising the property was closed to the public from Monday 4 June to Thursday 7 June, a fact I would have discovered earlier had I gone on-line. Instead I had relied on our paper based library; the National Trust bible and our Rough Guide of England. Silly me!

In fact a little further research revealed that the First Floor of the House had been closed the week before as well, to allow for a film crew to set up for the filming that was happening this week. This, of course, then raised the question: what was being filmed? The answer was not immediately forthcoming.

So we carried on to Richmond Park itself,  this the largest of London’s Royal Parks covering 2,500 acres of undulating grassland and bracken, dotted with copiced woodland and more than a thousand grand old oaks, many estimated to be over 800 years old. It was created by Charles I in the 17^th century as a deer park and it is the descendants of those deer, Red and Fallow, which still run wild about the park today. Signs suggested that the deer population is maintained at about three hundred of each breed, however the various large herds seen yesterday, currently swelled by the recent arrival of fawns, would seem to be so much larger.

The 10,000 acre Lee Valley Park, also within the boundaries of Greater London and visited by us last year,  is larger, however Richmond holds several other comparative statistics; it is half the size of Madrid’s Casa de Campo and around three times the size of New York’s Central Park. 

There are reputedly about one hundred species of birds on site, although the skylark population has diminished hugely over the last five years; the reason for this being the dogs running out of control all over the park, rather than being kept on short leads as requested.

We drove into the park from the western edge and were at first confused as to where we might be able to park; signs everywhere forbade pulling onto the verge, even to take photos from the elevated sites across the sea of oaks toward the skyscrapers of the City of London. When we did arrive at the first of four car parks, we were absolutely delighted to find there was no charge! We checked this with one of the dozens of cyclists relaxing after their daily workout, who confirmed this was so.

We spent an hour and a half walking about the park, crossing through the Isabella Planation, a forty acre woodland containing ornamental trees and shrubs, currently starring the last of the rhododendron blooms. We lunched by the largest pond within this fenced complex, an enclosed area protected from the appetite of deer since 1831. We watched sparrow hawks circle up high in the sky, ducklings explore their new world, crows strut boldly about and magpies courageously chase larger jackdaws away.

Outside the enclosure, we made our way along paths through bracken, softer and greener than that at home, startling a couple of fallow deer who scampered ahead for some way, and rabbits out of the undergrowth. Squirrels were everywhere and always an absolute delight. 

At the Pen Ponds in the centre of the park, some of the thirty or so ponds about, we checked out the fenced off areas and learned that a working bee of volunteers gathers on Saturdays during the colder months of September through to March to clear “the invasive rhododendrons” and replace them with native plantings. In one corner they nurture these Asian imports and in another they do away with them; such is the contrariness of human nature.

We were wary of the ticks that live here amongst the vegetation. Signs everywhere warn of the dangers of these little creatures and the Lyme Disease they spread to humans, and so they should be. We spoke to one dog owner whose dog was leaping happily about as he apparently does every day; the routine that follows is a tick removal exercise and there are always plenty to be plucked away.

There were also signs warning walkers against picking mushrooms, toadstools and chestnuts; the first because of the special scientific significance of the funghi and the second because the deer population have a greater need for these than the would-be poacher.

We were so taken with the park that we drove another circuit of the road just inside the boundary, marvelling at the number of walkers, cyclists, runners and deer there were and at the wonderful treasure this is to London, especially given that there is no charge for parking. Full of such joys, we wove our way back through the Kingston towns of Wimbledon and Esher, past the Sandown racing park, through Weybridge and Shepperton, reaching our lovely little camp beside the river by the middle of the afternoon and just minutes before a heavy afternoon shower.

This morning we headed off toward the city soon after 9 am, joining the commuter traffic on the M25 and then the A3, exiting near Wimbledon and then spending some time driving round and around the one way systems that plague this surprisingly large township. The St George Street carpark was closed, as was the next we checked out, and the next was the supermarket car park open to customers only. The location of these was gleaned from our Tomtom which was not much help at all. En route to the fourth possibility, I spotted another yard style park, and so we parked up there, feeding the parking machine £6 for four hours which in the light of the past few days, was not too bad at all. We looked up the Wimbledon Tennis Museum on my iPhone and set off as instructed, holding the phone out in front as dorkishly as you see anywhere. But after ten minutes I was convinced we were walking in the wrong direction so I insisted that we pop into a nearby real estate office and ask their navigational advice. My concern was well justified; we were walking in the opposite direction; the agent directed us back to the centre of town and suggested we take a taxi. By this stage, with time ticking by and anxiety peaking, we broke all our habits and did exactly this, our first ever experience of taking a a London taxi. And these are quite marvellous, and even though we have all seen the interior and exterior of these purpose built vehicles on film through the decades, at the risk of repeating myself, there is nothing like the real experience. Chris was quite convinced that the driver ripped us off and so he may well have. We admitted that we were from New Zealand, that this was our first London taxi experience and we had become lost in our attempt to walk to the Wimbledon stadium; we were sitting ducks.

Inside the hallowed gates of Wimbledon, we were directed to the museum, an excellent affair full of history and information, displayed with class and expertise, interactive and otherwise. My only critism might be that there was a fair bit of audio going on and it was a little hard to focus on any one exhibit, although I suspect that had more to do with the drama of finding our way here.

At 11 am, we joined forty other tourists and were guided around the complex, today very much a working site in preparation for the two week Championships just over a month away. We enjoyed our tour of the Rod Laver Stadium in Melbourne a few years back, but on some levels this was even better, although we were not taken down into the dressing rooms or along the corridor through the members' area. But then this is a very different set up to that in Melbourne, albeit the location of one of the four Grand Slams and has grass courts as opposed to the “hard” or clay of the other three. Our guide, a passionate tennis fan, was informative, articulate and excellent. All of which simply explains that even I, not a sports follower at all, found much to enjoy as well.

The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club,was founded in 1868 and first located off Worple Road in Wimbledon. Tennis has its roots in royal or real tennis which we have seen played at Lords Cricket Ground and Hampton Court Palace, lawn tennis evolving in the mid 1870s. The Wimbledon Championship started in 1877, although at that point it was for men playing singles only. But a mere seven years later, women were included which was really quite forward of the Club.

By 1922, the Club had moved to its current location in Church Road and the rest is history. Courts have been modified and modernised over the years, and the facilities for members, players and specatators have been improved, but tradition is the catch cry of the Club and changes are slow to come. 

After the tour, we exited the main gates and headed up the hill, through Wimbledon village and down the hill to the township of Wimbledon. On our return we were guided by signs, something we could have done with when we left our car park. Of course finding the car was another issue, however I remembered a few landmarks and we were back within our parking allowance.

Although the afternoon was well underway, we decided to return to Ham House the other side of Richmond Park and see what we had missed yesterday. The house is quite impressive, or at least viewed in its setting beside the River Thames. Today it is presented as it was in the 17^th century and is decorated with a substantial collection of paintings, furniture and textiles of the day, those during the reign of Charles I and II.

Unfortunately the film crew had not cleared their work space on the first floor so our exploration was limited to the ground floor and the basement. As with all stately homes, the blinds are drawn in all the rooms and many of these decorated in dark and sombre tones do nothing to lift the spirits. Each room was guarded by an earnest and mature National Trust guide, and it was quite stifling to be so engaged on entry with no space to independently explore. I do appreciate that the “policing” of the property is paramount for conservation purposes, but there must be a happy medium.

I did ask after the filming and learned only that it was for a feature film and not the first time this had happened, but no further detail was forthcoming.

Ham House was built in 1610 by Sir Thomas Vavasour, Knight Marshall to James I, then a more modest construction than was to come. Ten years later when Vavasour  died, the house was granted to John Ramsay, 1st Earl of Holderness until his death six years after that.

It was then that the house was handed over, by lease, to William Murray, whipping boy and close childhood friend of Charles I. Ownership did become complete over the following years, and the property remained in the family right until it was handed over to the National Trust in 1948 to settle death duties.

William Murray had been given the title of 1^st Earl of Dysart, a Scottish title and thus one that can be inherited by daughters and allowing the house to remain in the possession of the Dysart title through the centuries.

Today we learned a little about Elizabeth, Murray’s eldest daughter, who married Lionel Tollemache, 3^rd Baronet of Helmingham Hall. Ham House became their primary residence after Murray was exiled to France during the scuffles of the time.

Elizabeth was a very smart cookie and endeared herself to Cromwell, thus holding on to both their titles and the property during the Commonwealth years. It was during those years that substantial changes were made to the house and freehold was granted. Alas not all the generations that followed handled the financial affairs of the family as Elizabeth and her husband, and his successor, did.

It was this same Elizabeth who was quite a herbalist, experimenting with all kinds of potions and lotions, many in an attempt to alleviate the gout she and one of her husbands suffered. One of the ointment recipes contained pulverised elder leaves and pig fat, and a medicine to relieve the same included “a quart of worms and a peck of garden snails”. 

Needless to say our visit was most interesting and we were glad we had bothered to battle the traffic to get there, and later to find our way home, although if we had to paid for our entry, rather than flash our membership card, we may well have felt short changed. In all fairness one of the guides did suggest we revisit when the whole house was fully reopened.