THE PERMISSIVE PATH NOT TAKEN

Two roads (actually paths) diverged on a flat bit of grassy land near Flatford, in Constable Country, in Essex.  One of them had a sign saying Public Footpath, the other said Permissive Path, which (I now know) is just a way or saying, ‘Ok you can walk along here for now but don’t get any fancy ideas about it becoming a public right of way.’

            I’m telling this with a sigh, obviously, but not ages and ages hence: I took the public footpath which was in fact ‘the one less traveled by,’ since the other one was the tourist route to Flatford Mill and then Dedham, where apparently lots of people want to go. 

And it did make a bit of a difference, because the public footpath less traveled by was heading to Manningtree where I wanted to go, as opposed to the permissive path which led back to Flatford where I’d already been.

I am of course pastiching Robert Frost’s ‘The Road Less Travelled,’ possibly the second most misunderstood poem in the English language.  I’d say Wordsworth’s ‘Daffodils’ is themost misunderstood.  (I know you’ll scarcely  believe this, but some people apparently think it’s about daffodils).  What is it about walking and poetry and incomprehension?

But thinking again about the Robert Frost poem, paths being as they are, it’s perfectly possible to take one path one day and then go back another day and take the other one. Which in fact is what I did with the public footpath and the permissive path between Flatford and Manningtree. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

On the other hand, should you find yourself in Hackney Wick, you might come to the conclusion that all roads are equal.

WIDE OPEN FOR BUSINESS

Of course I enjoy walking in the wide open spaces.  What kind of fool doesn’t?

And yet I realize, all else being equal (and I also realize that in this context all else is never equal), that given the choice between walking in open spaces or taking a turn down some potentially claustrophobic, potentially threatening alleyway, most of the time I’d take the latter.  

I also realize that in the greater scheme of things we may all have bigger, more pressing, choices that need to be made.

Even so, finding myself in London, more or less in the City, t’other week I started walking down and photographing a few narrow constricted alleyways, as seen above. 

Did I think of Tony Christie singing ‘Avenues and Alleyways?’  Yes, I’m afraid I did.

And what is it about constricted spaces? Does it have something to do with the birth canal, or does it have something to do with pretending to be the kInd of guy who can comfortably walk down mean streets, and damn the risk of being mugged or blackjacked? A little of both, I'm guessing.

Above is the (or at least a) bridge in Silverlake, in LA. which I used to think was sung about by Red Hot Chilli Peppers in ‘Under the Bridge’ but various sources place that bridge in many different locations all over LA.

This is (or at anyway was) in Chelmsford, but I understand there have been some 'improvements' around the station.

This is definitely in Berkeley:

And this I'm reasonably sure is Tinderbox Alley in Mortlake  (I had to walk down it because of the name), and here it’s made somewhat more constricted by somebody parking a car in it.

And back home in Manningtree, I found this amazingly constricted space between two garden fences.  

Again I felt I had to walk down it, and at the end there was an undergrowth or perhaps overgrowth of nettles – and I broke on through to the other side and found I was on a dangerous stretch of road with no pavement or grass verge, where any passing car might run me down.

Friends, it made me feel ALIVE.

WALKING WITH AGE AND CARDUS

I’ve been listening to Toby Jones on BBC radio reading The Great Romantic: Cricket and the golden age of Neville Cardus, by Duncan Hamilton.

Some claim that Cardus is the greatest cricket writer ever.  I’ve always thought there was something not quite authentic about his ‘poetic’ style:  the guy on the right below seems to share my opinion:

It was interesting to hear in the broadcast that Cardus carried an ebony walking stick ‘purely for ornamental purposes' because it ‘allowed him to pose.’  There is supposedly some footage of this, but I can’t find it in the usual places.

Cardus did list walking as one of his hobbies, and in the radio reading, and therefore I suppose in the book, there was a nice quotation from him about walking.  He said, ‘The tragedy of what is called old age is that the body gets older and the mind gets younger.  I want to go for an eight-mile walk.  My mind goes for an eight-mile walk.  My damn legs won’t go.’

I haven't experienced that yet, and I hope I'm some  way from there, but it sounds all too likely.

Incidentally, there’s a street in Manchester called Neville Cardus Walk .  It looks like this: