Although the weather was fine and warm, my grandson and I were the only ones to turn up for the DCA London River Rally (4th - 5th July); yet I rate the London River (Teddington to the Barrier) as one of the world’s greatest river journeys, as fascinating in its own way as the Amazon headwaters, the Yangtze gorges or the Bangkok or Amsterdam waterways.

Perhaps some members were put off because the river was, until recently, seriously polluted. In my youth, only eels and the occasional flounder could survive. I certainly would not drink London River water even now, but it is pure enough for Thames-born salmon of up to 7 lbs in weight to be caught at Molesey Weir

The London River has so much going for it! The iron bridges are painted in handsome colour schemes. Some of London’s most elegant and historic houses line the river banks. It must have the highest concentration of character pubs in England, most, if not all, serving Real Ale. There are also long stretches of river bank as wild and wooded as they were when that master of open boat design, Alfred the Great, sailed down to his brilliant and bloodless victory over the Danish fleet on the River Lea, or when that other shoal waters strategist, Canute, cut a few channels and sailed round London Bridge to get up-river and sack Staines (Incidentally, I cannot really believe that such a shoal draft sailor really misunderstood the tides on Southampton Water, as we were taught at school).

However, coming back to 1987, we launched our 14 foot Leader as planned at half-flood, and the light winds and tidal streams soon took us up to Hammersmith, where we lowered our 22’ mast for the bridge. We passed the elegant and historic Hammersmith Mall, and then Chiswick Mall, and then Barnes, along the Boat Race course to Chiswick Bridge. Then came that ideal spot for wealthy London dinghy sailors, Strand on the Green, with the popular Row Barge on the towpath, and the equally historic but less well known Bull further down. Kew Bridge came next, with Kew Gardens on the South Bank and island bird sanctuaries screening the gasometer and tower blocks of Brentford. At what was Brentford Docks (and still is the entrance to the Grand Union Canal) the housing development is unattractive, but Syon Park follows, with a river bank wild and unspoilt enough to have been used as a backdrop for The African Queen, or some such film. We passed the elegantly rebuilt Isleworth Church and the London Apprentice (the old-time waterman’s haunt), and sailed round the back of Isleworth Ait. Here Isleworth Docks are being converted into ‘yuppie’ palaces, but the boatyards remain, providing an off-beat and semi-derelict atmosphere.

When we arrived at the so-called ‘half-tide gate’ at Richmond Lock the water was not yet high enough for the gates to be opened, so we hauled up the iron rollers. This brought us into a different world of safe and comfortable (but perhaps slightly decadent) pleasure-boating. However, above Richmond Bridge there is this chap who lives on a raft constructed of driftwood on oil-drums, under a tarpaulin roof, with apparently only orphaned ducklings for company and a family of grebes for neighbours. (Mother grebe was taking her chicks for a ride on her back).

By the time we arrived at our destination, Twickenham Yacht Club, our hosts had given us up and gone home. We settled down and enjoyed the view of the herons on the trees in the bird sanctuary opposite. Unfortunately the midges were also enjoying us!

In the morning we had planned to leave on the first of the ebb, which would have given us a strong current and deep water all the way back to Putney. In the event I stayed to chat with old friends who were arriving for the race, while my grandson enjoyed charging around in the safety boat. I was sad to hear that a number of my contemporaries in the club had died, but cheered up when I heard that the commodore of my time, now in his eighties, was still racing in the National Eighteen class and quite often winning

By the time we finally got away about 3 hours behind schedule, the tide gates had closed, leaving us with only a half-knot of current. We had to haul over the rollers again and drop into what was now shallow water, blanketed by the trees, and we didn’t pick up a good current or a useful breeze until we reached Isleworth. From there it was a desperate race tacking back and forth in the shallow water to get to Putney before the new flood started running. Fortunately we were within sight of Putney before that happened, and just made it against the wind and tide by rowing hard inshore. It had for us been a very worthwhile weekend.

(It is hoped to provide notes on the Putney-Greenwich run, for skilled and experienced helmsmen only, in a later issue).