Introduction
Today a friend mentioned the concept of a golden thread of memory. I found it intriguing, so I had a bit of a think about what it meant to me. I’m of the opinion that a golden thread of memory is a thing that winds its way from the past, bringing out good times with extra clarity and reminding us of what they meant and perhaps have come to mean to us.
I had every intention of starting a new series on my blog called 'The Places of my Youth' with a nostalgic trip around the Chesham area, which saw the beginnings of a time of my life which I refer to as a little piece of magic. That’s a golden thread of memory if ever there was one!
This story, however, hijacked my planned start to the series because of how it ties beautifully into this idea of a golden thread, because that’s exactly what it came to be, a golden thread of memory tying a journey in the present to a fantastic time in my past. What made it all the better was that it came as such a complete surprise.
Places of My Youth Part 0.5
Last Sunday, at least as I write this, I took my bike out for a ride. Essentially, I looked at the chores and DIY I was supposed to do, looked at the sun shining outside, said something rude about chores and DIY and got on my bike to see what adventures awaited me on the road. I just wanted the feel of the wind on my face. With 750,000 odd miles on bikes under my belt I still love it.
Anyway, back in the day I used to do this every now and again, and it could lead me all over the country to some quite interesting places. Sometimes my ultimate destination would be a mysterious ruined castle, sometimes it would end somewhere like the romantic and exotic wilds of West Ruislip. More recently, local rides led me through a magical little village with what looked like the remains of a medieval wall and another ended up in Tesco's in Prince's Risborough about 5 miles away! These were, in microcosm, how these things went in the past.
Today's totally unplanned ride took me into a bunch or roads on the other side of West Wycombe. There's some truly lovely countryside in the area, particularly on a sun-drenched Sunday afternoon, so I set off with no particular destination in mind, just a desire to know where 'this' random road would lead and what sights it would show me.
It was while I was riding around these roads that I was struck by a sudden sense of deja vu. Somehow, I knew these roads, and knew them really well. Shortly after this realisation struck me as I saw a series of signs for places, like Skirmett, Fingest and Bovingdon, and I came to understand (with no small sense of wonder) that I was on the very same roads that I learnt how to ride a motorcycle on back when I was 17 and started what was, in some respects, a storied career as a biker. I was riding once more down the very first roads I ever saw on a bike.
Memories of summer afternoons on my Oh So Mighty CB100 came flooding back, rides with my best friend, Graham (who is sadly no longer with us) on his Z200, a beast compared to what I had. Journeys round these roads by myself, the time when I misjudged a corner and ended up in a hedge, the first time I managed to get my CB100 to its absolutely massive top speed of 60 mph. That's pretty hairy on those roads you know! Golden times.
It was as I rode around all these great roads, enjoying the memories and the truly lovely countryside that I saw a sign which said 'single track road with no passing places for 2 miles'. I'd never seen this before, so despite the forbidding nature of the entrance I just had to turn aside from nostalgia and try something new. I just HAD to; you understand?
In contrast to the roads I had been enjoying, this one was extremely narrow, dark, overgrown and very, very wet. My feet were quickly soaked, which reminds me that the next time I do this I should prepare better, and the potholes had potholes! I am sure that some at least lead into a mysterious underworld populated by Svarts, the Morrigan, worse things if that's possible and maybe one led to the Abyss itself.
However, before my imagination could paint me into a place from which there was no escape, and after travelling downhill for what seemed ages, I literally emerged out of the trees to see more lovely countryside, into what I realised was the bottom of a narrow, steep-sided valley.
I was then that I met a pair of horses (with riders, fortunately) coming in the opposite direction! I literally had to drive into the hedge at the side of the road and switch the bike off. They could have been King Arthur's knights on a terribly grand quest, but they were instead a lovely couple doing the same as I was, and enjoying the countryside on a far more genteel mode of transportation than I was using. We exchanged pleasantries as they passed and it was then that I realised that a van was following them at a discreet distance. Fortunately, I was then in a good place to bury myself even further in the hedge and we JUST managed to pass each other. JUST.
Coming out of the other end of the road I came to the realisation that I was totally, utterly and completely lost, which is quite a feat in the back roads around Marlow and Henley, and it took me absolutely ages to find a signpost. In fact, had I driven through a patch of mist I might just have believed that I had travelled to the other side and was about to see the hosts of the Sidhe arrayed in all their otherworldly glory.
Well, that thought was completely smashed to very small pieces indeed when I came across a sign that said 'Marlow' this way and 'Henley' that way and I realised that I wasn't lost in the Otherworld at all, but very firmly in a mundane part of this one, close to the town where I grew up.
I then ended up (by design this time) at Marlow Sports Club. The tennis section of the club is where I started to discover these wondrous creatures called 'girls' (I still know nothing about them by the way) naturally played some tennis, winning a few Junior tournaments and later (post accident) becoming the Junior Organiser and Club Coach. On the other side if the cricket field was the bar. I'll draw a kindly veil over the multiple, classic, ways I made a complete fool of myself there.
And that, in effect was the journey. I rode down Marlow high street, which bore very little resemblance to the place it was in my childhood, except for the toyshop which was the most important place in the high street (for me) for years, and rode back home, with a stop at my local Harvester for a good meal with people who have become friends. I finished the afternoon tired but happy.
Postscriptum
This, was in a small way, a very good day. This golden thread of memory reminded of absent friends and good times I'd had in the past. You could argue that this is the whole point of these golden threads and I won’t disagree with you. Having been through some dark(ish) times in recent years driven by stress and overwork, it was good just to let all that go, and remind myself that in a lot of way ways, I am very rich, especially in the friends I have and the people I know. I hope some of you will read this one day.
