Twyford, Berkshire

Our Home Counties experience continued with a trip to probably the largest and most self-contained Twyford on any of our trips, a commuter town on the outskirts of Reading. Here come the maps...

The essential navigation guide

Twyford on the map - to the right

The observant among you will note that our ford-finding might be somewhat easier on this journey. There is an actual, real, honest-to-goodness traversable ford marked right there on the map!

And so it was that our visit began with a trip around to the delightful and unpretentious Heron On The Ford pub in neighbouring Charvil, and a look at probably the best-surviving ford on our journeys:

How's that for a proper ford?

I have to say, if you're ever in the the region of the River Loddon, then The Heron is well worth a visit. Great welcome, tasty food, well-kept beer and a never-ending procession of dogs, kids, and horses playing in the ford.

I was sorely tempted, before arriving, to see if the VW Golf would make it over the ford and make a heroic entrance into Twyford on the back-roads. Sadly, there had been quite a bit of rain on the previous day and 'Ford Closed' signs were prominently displayed all the way down the lane in an effort to prevent foolhardiness such as this.

And, what's more, this isn't even one of the right fords! The local history society's page is very informative on the history of the town, and makes it very clear that the town was named after the escape route taken by King Alfred's (the dude who burned the cakes) army while escaping the siege of Reading in 871. You have to respect anyone who wants to flee Reading, really, and the the route is self-evidently along the A3032 (bang in the centre of the OS map above) and the multitude of river crossings there.

Lunch completed, we took a trip into Twyford proper to find the lovely granite edifice of St Mary's Church:

A bit earnest, maybe? Except when
it comes to weddings and funerals...

A lovely rambling exterior, rather charming for
a town church

Unfortunately, all the multitude of interior and exterior shots that you've come to expect are not going to be present during this blog episode. A hefty tug on the church door revealed it to be locked - on a SUNDAY, moreover! - and...do you see that little row of traffic cones?

The churchyard was also barred to us, thanks (understandably, to be fair) to a dangerous tree. I managed to get a snapshot from a distance. And at least finding the oldest grave among the half-dozen or so in front of the church wasn't difficult.

RIP James Leach and his decorative
ivy (the plant, not his wife)

Dangerous tree in the churchyard

So that was a bit disappointing, but there was still some consolation to be found in the town centre, one that is trying hard to preserve a bit of history amid the commuter jungle. It's only a town that came of age in the 19th Century with the railways, which is when the church was built, and before that was only a scattering of water mills and farms. We found plenty to look at:

The post office. Plenty of history in one
building

An original mill building

A 16th Century school...

...and a classic Victorian one.
We didn't sample the curry today.

A snapshot of the nature reserve.
There are some ducks out there somewhere.

We had a quick wander down to the nature reserves, which look very inviting on the map, but less so in the Sunday afternoon mizzle. I suspect it's designed for nature to actually be preserved, rather than tourists tramping through it disturbing the waders.

And on our way we found Alfred's two fords! You'll note, on careful examination, that there are three river crossings of the branching Loddon. I suspect the middle branch is newer, possibly even manmade for irrigation of the ducks. Anyway, we certainly found the most likely river crossings on the leftmost and rightmost branches.

The western ford.

The eastern ford, a little buried below
 centuries of development, but the river
bed certainly looks like a good candidate.

What of our souvenirs? There wasn't much to be found on a Sunday afternoon in the local Waitrose and Tesco Express - the only things that were open. So we beetled out of town and tripped over one of those sprawling rural antiques centres (you know, the sort who have two dozen rooms full of middle-class house clearances, and do all their accounting on little slips of paper), where Becky's eyes alighted on this charming little milk jug. The adjoining farm shop also had a delightful line in local ciders, too.

Our primary souvenir. Ain't that sweet?

Tasty...

Next stop? Twyford, Norfolk...