The View from Richmond Hill

A proper good morning to you,
The best thing to do if you are in London for the weekend is to leave. As the weather forecast was reasonable, I went back out to Richmond. First I fortified myself with a good continental breakfast of croissant, and lots of butter and jam accompanied by a pot of strong tea.
Continental breakfast, you cry. Pil, you are in Britain. What about the Great British Breakfast?
Well, mates, I used to eat them when I was in B and Bs outside London, and I can attest that they are wonderful even if they do surpass the normal calorie requirement for a day and the saturated fat limit for a week. You would have been fascinated in a horrified way to see me at the breakfast table. Each morning I consumed fried egg, bacon, sausage, grilled tomato, grilled mushroom, fried bread (Don’t scoff; it’s wonderful!) and beans. Along with this are mountains of toast and oceans of tea. Boy, were they good. I can feel my arteries hardening just thinking of them.
You can get something close for a price in London, but I don’t want to go out because that would mean getting dressed and putting in my contact lenses and not having the BBC to listen to.
Richmond is south and west of Central London and a long tube ride. I get the Piccadilly Line at Holborn and then change to the District Line at South Kensington. There are other places to change, but that’s station I use. The ride is about an hour including change and platform wait.
My goal was a different than last time. After snooting around the town I turned away from the river and began to climb Richmond Hill. The reason? Richmond Park. There’s no history going on now—it’s all nature, but the area has strong royal associations. Sheen Palace used to stand here, but its name was changed to Richmond by Henry VII, and it was a favorite residence of Henry VIII and Queen Anne (Stuart).
The park is a huge open space and while it’s tended most of it is wild and natural. Numerous trails crisscross the park. I was concerned about getting lost—a real possibility—so I generally went in one direction and then came back.
Heath land turns to woodland. Mighty, widely branching oaks with thick trunks abound interspersed with smooth beech. The undergrowth full of ferns and shrubs harbors a variety of wildlife. I saw a variety of birds, most of which I could not identify. Squirrels scurried about on their business. They did not seem to be bothered by human presence.
A more formal garden surrounds Pembroke Lodge near the car park and snack bars. This part of the park is entered through gates and is closed to dogs. Gorgeous flower beds give off sweet fragrances. And there’s a hill called King Henry’s Mound, which is the highest point of Richmond Hill.
The story is told that Henry VIII stood here waiting and watching for the signal from the Tower of London that Anne Boleyn was dead so he could ride off to Jane Seymour. Well, no. The story is pretty much debunked, but an even cooler reason exists to visit this spot, and I found out by accident.
I was standing at the mound looking at the impressive view over the river. In one direction one can see Heathrow, which is not that much of a treat. The two men behind me, dressed in cyclist kit, were looking the opposite direction and could not contain their wonder and excitement. One of them urged me to look insisting I would be able to see St. Pauls Cathedral.
Yeah right—WHOA! There was the dome, small and remote but unmistakable. There’s a telescope to look through but I could see it with my naked eye, and my eyesight even with contact lenses is charitably described as adequate. The cyclists explained that the view had to remained unobstructed by law. No one was allowed to build a high rise in the line of sight.
I’d packed a modest lunch that included the left over Belgian chocs from Leonidas. Funny how they smelt and tasted so much better when I was ravenous.
Richmond was meant as a deer park and royal hunting preserve, and the deer are still there. Yes. Deer. I think they are fallow deer because they have spots. I got to see them awfully close up. The deer are clearly habituated to humans, bikes, and cars, and don’t appear to mind posing for photos either. Their antlers were still covered in velvet.
A couple of the young bucks began to play? fight and drew quite a crowd.
I spent hours walking and enjoying the fresh air and green countryside. I left the park by a different gate and of course had no idea where I was but I knew that if I kept going down hill I’d return to town eventually, which obviously I did.
Cherrio.