Qualia compilation 11: the Roads to Henley-upon-Thames

Henley-upon-Thames is another of those special places that resides in my memory, a place much visited in childhood, adolescence and adulthood. The magnet for us London Poles was Fawley Court, a stately home designed by Sir Christopher Wren, which was for many years after the war a boys' boarding school run by the Polish Marian Fathers. The Divine Mercy College closed in 1986 due to falling numbers of Polish boys born in the UK. In 2011 the Marian Fathers sold the Grade I-listed building for £22 million; much of that money being spent on the basilica in Licheń. This transaction remains controversial to this day, not least to the Polish community in the UK who had contributed so generously over the decades towards the upkeep of this historic building.

I must have visited Fawley Court and Henley-on-Thames scores of times. My earliest recollections were of the Zielone Świątki (Whitsuntide) gathering. My parents would go most years, along with thousands of Poles from across the UK. Coaches would bring them from northern towns and cities, London Poles would typically drive; the school's playing fields would turn into a gigantic car park. Open-air Mass and beer tents, walks along the Thames, for our parents, then in their thirties and forties, a chance to meet old friends. Later, in the Polish scouts we'd visit Fawley Court, usually out of term-time for zimowiska (winter camps) or weekend biwaki (bivouacs), which would involve route marches around the nearby countryside. Youth-group visits followed, and then, with my own car, going to Henley with friends was no longer such a big deal, and trips there – a long walk followed by cream teas at the Old Rope Walk – happened frequently. And then cycling – load the bikes into cars, drive out to Henley, cycle around the countryside (typically to a nice pub), cycle back to the cars.

The town and its surrounding countryside are absolutely charming, the quintessence of rural England. Whilst I have many memories of my many visits to Henley and district, there's one qualia flashback above all that has stuck with me. It is the road to Henley. In the old days, before the M4 or M40 motorways were opened, the route out of West London would be along the A4 – the Great West Road, which would become the Bath Road; through Slough and Maidenhead, then turn off for the A4130, the Henley Road (again, before the A404 dual carriageway was opened). Through Hurley Bottom, and towards Remenham Hill, the Black Boys in on the right. And then – down White Hill and over the bridge and into Henley. Alternatively, one could continue along the Bath Road to Twyford, then turn right into the A321 Wargrave Road, and follow the Thames Valley to White Hill and turn left onto the Henley Road and the bridge, and into town. 

Below: Google Gemini 2.5 rendered this image of Henley Bridge in the early 1960s.

Whichever of these routes we took, I can recall their charms, and that sense of nearing Henley. Then once across the bridge, the hoppy, malty smell of the old Brakspear brewery, the neat, narrow streets. A different world to the terraced sameness of Hanwell London W7.

[In more recent times, getting there would be along the M40 out of London to Junction 4, then onto the A404 dual carriageway one junction south to Marlow, then along the A4155 to Henley. Quickest way.]

Several journeys stick in my mind. Two by train; on the way to a zimowisko with the Polish scouts, between Twyford and Henley, before Christmas 1972, it was a moonlit night and the Thames had burst its banks, flooding the meadows on either side of the tracks, the full moon reflecting off the waters. And during the hot summer of 1976, I decided to walk along the (live) railway line from Twyford to Henley. I was crossing the Thames by the railway bridge when I saw in the distance an oncoming train. I could neither get out of the way by running forward or running back, so I scaled the cast-iron parapet and dangled over the side until the train passed. Very, very foolish. Earlier journeys by car with my parents, the road bridge into Henley, Zielone Świątki, and a traffic jam mostly consisting of Poles who had motored across from London. And a red and black double-decker Oxfordshire bus.

Above all, the most often flashed-back qualia memories are of the drive through Hurley and Remenham Hill, past the Black Boys Inn and its questionable pub sign. Be it on a summer Sunday with my parents or later with friends on a minibus excursion of a winter's evening; the atmosphere of the road to Henley stays with me; I recognise those moments when qualia memories of the journey return vividly to me.

This time six years ago:
One man went to mow

This time seven years ago:
Poland's economy: where next?

This time 11 years ago:
Eat Polish apples, drink Polish cider

This time 13 years ago:
Jewish Kraków

This time 15 years ago:
Dismal graffiti yields to street art, W-wa Żwirki i Wigury

This time 17 years ago:
A dove in the house

This time 18 years ago:
Coming in to land from the east