Hampton Court to Richmond

‘Walking the Thames Path’ – all 224 miles of it – has become a bit of a ‘thing’ over the last few decades so, if you haven’t actually done it, here’s a chance to do a short section and earn the right to bore those eager to bore you with tales of which paths they’ve ‘done’. 

This designated Long Distance Footpath path starts at the source of the Thames near Kemble in deepest rural Oxfordshire, winds through the heart of the city of London and ends with views of the North Sea amidst the heady delights of Southend.

The section featured in this walk is about 7 miles and is a good combination of breezy river, open sky and a touch of meadow here and there.

The Long Water – with its double row of lime trees – is an impressive, eye-catching water feature, completed in 1660 by King Charles II as a wedding present to his bride-to-be, Catherine of Braganza.

When we approach we will see how well it frames the view of Hampton Court.  I hope Catherine was impressed; the Long Water is the end of 12 mile long river dug by a tenant farmer  and his men in just nine months.

Later, as you leave Home Park by the Kingston gate look out for the 12 sided Ice House, built nearly 400 years ago. 

In 1515 Cardinal Thomas Wolsey aimed to build a Palace so sumptuous it would not only impress the King but draw monarchs from across Europe. He was so successful that in 1529 Henry strong armed the Palace for himself enlarging it to create a vast Tudor leisure complex of accommodation, dining halls, a theatre, sports courts and vast hunting grounds.

Henry bought all of his six wives here only for wife number three, Jane Seymour, to die in childbirth; while for wife number five, Catherine Howard, the palace was the location of her arrest for adultery and treason before being rowed back as a prisoner to London for her trial and then execution at the Tower.

William Shakespeare and his ‘King’s Men’ first performed Hamlet and Macbeth for the new Stuart King James I here in 1603; a brave and interesting choice of regicidal themes which was coincidentally and ironically picked up by others forty years later.

Charles 1 was held captive here, in his prized palace, after his defeat in the Civil War.
Escaping through the privy garden, Charles was unable to find a ship in which to flee to France; perhaps a little unambitiously he headed for the Isle of Wight instead. His hope of a sympathetic reception there was unfounded; he was immediately imprisoned in Carisbrooke Castle and later, still unrepentant in his belief of his ‘Divine Right’ to rule, executed.

His successor Oliver Cromwell managed to overcome his puritan ideals to appreciate the fine art, tapestries and other luxuries enough to enable himself to enjoy living in the palace like, errr…. a King.

Ironically Cromwell’s breadth of taste, or hypocrisy depending on your point of view, was a factor in keeping the palace safe from pillaging and total destruction – other palaces didn’t survive Parliamentarian vengeance.

Being on the boundary of two major ancient Kingdoms, Wessex and Mercia, the aptly named Kingston played a major strategic role in the power plays of the Anglo Saxon rulers. It is believed to have been the coronation site of two and, perhaps at a stretch, seven Saxon Kings.

The ‘lost sounds’ of their wonderful names serve to remind us of the linguistic shift that occurred after the Norman Invasion: Egbert, Athelstan, Aethelred, Eadred, Eadwig, one Edmund, a couple of Edwards and an Edgar.

Eadwig’s main achievement was in overcoming understandable anxiety about nominative determinism to take on and defeat the Norwegian King, Eric Bloodaxe.

The block of stone on which these Kings were crowned – which in other towns would be revered and celebrated, possibly its own Museum – has been placed, with an impressive display of imaginative arthritis, in a  forlorn corner of the Town Hall car park.

The barge lock was made to accommodate long barges, steamers or passenger ferries and has an additional set of gates half-way to operate more quickly for shorter craft. The staggered structures incorporate two reinforced narrow islands. The upper island is traversed by and accessible by the lock gates or Teddington Lock Footbridge.

This 72-hectare nature reserve lies in the bend of the River Thames between Richmond and Kingston. The site is a mix of habitats: woodland, scrub, grassland and wetlands. Nature lovers will have no difficulty in perceiving how this has become an Eden for wildflowers, birds and butterflies.

All this was the unplanned, but fortunate, result of filling in the old gravel pits and topping them off with subsoil and topsoil brought in from all corners of London and the South East England– carrying with it samples of the local seeds, pre-packed with the kind of soil they prefer. The result was a sort of spontaneous botanical garden, a microcosm of the native wild plants of England.

Earl Dysart had this impressive pile built in 1610 – it was a payoff for an unusual debt of gratitude owed by Prince Charles, the king’s son, his childhood friend.

Royal protocol demanded that nobody should be permitted to whip the young Prince for his misdemeanours. So up stepped the young William Murray to be the Prince’s ‘whipping boy’.  William endured the lash for which, some years later, he was gifted the lease of Ham House.

However, as Earl Dysart, he then backed the ‘wrong’ side in the Civil War losing money to the Royalist cause. Having blown his good fortune and influence, he was fortunate to have a canny daughter Elizabeth who eyed the political machinations more astutely. Making friendly connections with the Parliamentarian leader Oliver Cromwell she simultaneously maintained illicit contact with his enemy the exiled King’s son.

Her dangerous double game paid off; on his restoration the new King, Charles II, gifted her the house in her own right. Having played and won handsomely she went to make Ham House the place to be for her lavish entertaining, taking time out to marry the mega-rich Duke of Lauderdale, creating one of the most lavish Restoration interiors in England much of which remains on view.

At Marble Hill house we encounter another remarkable woman: Henrietta Howard. With her titled but debt-ridden parents dead – her mother from illness, her father having been vanquished in a duel – the 12-year-old Henrietta had to make her own way in the world.

Her first attempt at achieving security was a disaster, marrying in 1706 the ‘drunken, extravagant and brutal’ Charles Howard, son of the Earl of Suffolk.

 It was famously said of the couple: “Thus they loved, thus they married, and thus they hated each other for the rest of their lives.”

Henrietta, however, played a long game. Foreseeing that the Hanoverians would eventually rule, she travelled with Charles to the Hanoverian court to curry favour there – her manoeuvrings paid off. Upon the accession of George I, Henrietta achieved her ‘breakthrough entrée’ into royal circles becoming ‘Woman of the Bedchamber’ to Queen Caroline.

Leading her own version of a diplomatic double life, Henrietta served the Queen while also becoming mistress to the Prince of Wales (later George II) all the while using not only her looks but also her humour and intelligence to make her mark upon the writers, poets and politicians of the day.

Her liaison with the Prince landed her lavish gifts which he had stipulated should not be allowed to fall into the hands of her estranged husband Charles – a notorious gambler. Ever the clear-thinking strategist, Henrietta collated the funds to build Marble Hill House.

In 1735, widowed and free from royal obligations, Henrietta went on to marry again, this time happily, extending and developing Marble Hill House into one of the most sought-after social invitations of its time

 Alexander Pope wrote, “There is a greater court now at Marble-hill than at Kensington and God knows when it will end.” 

At Christmas 1497 an inferno took hold of Richmond Palace, home to English King Henry VII.  Records of the blaze, witnessed by the Milanese Ambassador, describe the corridor roof falling in as the royal family and nursemaids, hurrying with children in their arms, made their escape – a vivid childhood memory for the six year old Henry VIII.  Three hours and seven million pounds of damage later the Palace was in ruins.  Lost in the ashes were precious artwork, tapestries, the spun-gold clothed royal wardrobe and the Crown jewels.

Henry VII, however, was unperturbed.

The ambassador noted that the king “does not attach much importance to this loss. He purposes to build the chapel all in stone, and much finer than before.” 

And so, he did.

Rebuilding began the following year, the new Palace and grounds covering over ten acres with courtyards, orchards and walled gardens. The imposing four storey building, including galleries, a royal chapel and Great Hall, was noted for its many tall chimneys, large windows and, most exciting of all, the first flushing lavatory.

Henry VIII lived here with his first wife Catherine of Aragon, as did later his daughter, Elizabeth. And it was here, in November 1602, after reigning for over four decades, that she fell ill.  By the following March the Queen was in steep decline.

Elizabeth was transfixed in a “settled and unremovable melancholy”.  Single-minded in dying as in living, for three days she refused to lie down. Consternation grew among her retinue.  Shortly before she died, Robert Cecil, her senior advisor, insisted that she must take herself to bed, Elizabeth waspishly replied:

“Must is not a word to use to princes, little man.”

That told him.

When, a few decades later, the Palace became the property of the erstwhile Isle of Wight voyager Charles I, its fate was sealed. Unlike Hampton Court there was no ‘Cromwell in residence’ to save it. Within months of the regicide, the Palace was flogged off by the Parliamentarians for its scrap value, £13,000; within a decade it had all but vanished.  What remains now, and worth a look, are teasing fragments: The red-brick gatehouse and the main entrance above which Henry VII’s arms are still visible and then, through the gateway, the Wardrobe, and Trumpeters’ House.

From here you can turn round to head across to the far corner of the Green to catch your train, but if you need a quiet moment for solemn reflection upon the joys/evils of regicidal politics, there are some good pubs alongside this prettiest of Greens, just over to your right…