Thames Valley Villages, Volume 2 (of 2)Harper, Charles G. (Charles George)
History
Thames Valley Villages, Volume 2 (of 2)
Harper, Charles G. (Charles George)
Thames Valley (England)
Cookham now comes into view, on the Berkshire shore. Here the village
is grouped around a village green; rather a sophisticated green in
these days, and combed down and brushed up smartly since those times
when Fred Walker began his career. Then the geese and ducks roamed
about that open space, and in the unspoiled village; and old gaffers in
smock-frocks and wonderful beaver-hats with naps on them as thick as
Turkey carpets sat about on benches in front of old inns, and smoked
extravagantly long churchwarden-pipes. The old gaffers have long since
gone, and the Bel and the Dragon Inn has become a hotel, and Walker is
dead and already an Old Master. You may see his grave in the churchyard,
and read there how he died, aged thirty-five, in 1875. There is, in
addition, a portrait-medallion within the church itself, which gives him
a half-drunken, half-idiotic expression that one hopes did not really
belong to him.
Behind the organ a curious mural monument to Sir Isaac Pocock, Bart.,
dated 1810, represents the baronet “suddenly called from this world to a
better state, whilst on the Thames near his own house.” He is seen in a
punt, being caught while falling by a personage intended to represent an
angel, in tempestuous petticoats, while a puntsman engaged in poling the
craft looks on, in very natural surprise.
From Cookham, where the lock is set amid wooded scenery, the transition
to Cliveden is easy.
Clieveden, Cliefden, Cliveden—you may suit individual taste and fancy in
the manner of spelling—looks grandly from the Buckinghamshire heights
down on to the Berkshire levels of Cookham and Ray Mead. Perhaps the most
beautiful view of all is from Cookham Lock. Ray Mead, that was until
twenty years ago just a mead—a beautiful stretch of grass-meadows—is now
the name of a long line of villas with pretty frontages and gardens, but
deplorable names—“Frou-Frou,” “Sans Souci,” and the like—and inhabited,
often enough, as one might suppose by the Frou-frous of musical comedy
and their admirers.
[Illustration: COOKHAM CHURCH.]
[Illustration: BRAY CHURCH.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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