After this, how cloying the richness of summer, with its still days, its glaring reflections, the luscious foliage, and the overpowering scents—the thought of it strikes one's senses as the thought of a hothouse would strike a child of the moor and the mountain. And when we remember Wargrave regatta, with its crowded banks, its lined shores, its flags a-flutter, and its noise, we are thankful that August is afar off.
Though we have wandered down stream, the bit above Wargrave is equally attractive. Just beyond the railway bridge the river Loddon flows into the Thames. To pass up it and its tributary, St. Patrick's stream, is no easy feat; yet by using this loop the lock may be evaded, and it is the only place on the river where such a trick is possible. It is, however, far the best to explore this by-way from the other end and to come down stream by its means. To reach it, one must go high up above the lock, beyond the last of the chain of islands which here breaks the channel, and there turn in under a small bridge, into this curious tributary, which starts from the river and returns to it again. It flows at first through wide flat meadows, and then bifurcates, one branch, blocked by a weir, communicating again with the Thames, and the other falling into the Loddon, and with it rejoining the main river.
Part of St. Patrick's stream is fringed by well-grown uniform pollard willows that hedge it like a wall. In summer, when the meadows are rich in buttercups, and the wind hums softly over the clover, bringing wafts of scent, and many a quaint weed adds its note of colour to the general harmony, it is very charming. But the most delightful feature is the growth of the Leucojum æstivum, or summer snowflake, which is so numerous that it is popularly known as the Loddon lily. This is like a large snowdrop in which several blooms spring from one head. It is also to be found on several of the islands in the main river near, but is not abundant there. The Loddon itself rises far inland: Twyford gets its name from lying near two branches, a twy-ford. The stream is slow, and it is only the swift current of St. Patrick that enlivens it lower down.
Above the mouth of the Loddon there lies an interesting bit of the river. On a large island, owned by the Corporation of London, stands the lock-keeper's cottage, and opposite to it, on the mainland, a delightful old mill-house with tiled roof, and that weather-worn, rather battered appearance, which all self-respecting mill-houses aim at as the perfection of ripeness. The long tongue of the lock island projects down stream like the nose of a pike. In winter, the little moorhens, partly tamed by hunger, and reassured by the absence of those noisy humans who come in such numbers in warmer weather, run about all over it. Other things run too, all the year round; the lock-keeper has a fine stock of hens, but accepts philosophically the fact that he can never rear any chickens "because of the rats." The rats, which are attracted by the ample stores at the mill-house, and find such variety of lodgings along the banks of the stream and in the crevices of the much worn woodwork, are the pest of these places.
The island is a popular camping ground, and the pitches are generally secured early in the season, having been well prepared beforehand by being laid in sand and flints to ensure a dry foundation. There are also a tiny bungalow, to be had for two guineas the week, and a bathing place available. Altogether a very attractive island. The main stream races over the weir, forming a wide tumbling pool below, and on the other side of the island there is a pleasant stretch down to the lock. These lock channels are among some of the most charming places on the river. They are generally very still, with the mass of water hardly moving. On some days every twig is reflected, and the view in this particular one is well worth looking at, as, with the group of the mill buildings rising high on one side, and the cottage with its accompaniment of standard roses on the other, there are the elements of a most satisfactory composition. The meadows slope down at just that angle that shows them off to the best advantage; they are dotted with fine trees and are crowned by clumps of wood, from which sounds the homely cawing of rooks. The red cows stand knee-deep in the placid water, lashing at the flies with their tails; and on the other side is a mass of greenery:
I ...
Walked forth to ease my pain
Along the shore of silver streaming Thames;
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems,
Was painted all with variable flowers,