CHAPTER IX.
BLACK PARK, LANGLEY.
On Saturday, August 13th, The Pilgrims visited Black Park, Langley. The weather was by no means lovely, for a slight mist overhung at intervals.
My brother and I cycled to Cranford, and there met Mr and Miss Nellie Shawyer, and from there we directed our course to Harlington. Where are the other Ealing Pilgrims? Was the question put to us immediately. It is true they were not with us, but we hoped to see them later.
At Bourne’s Bridge two more joined us, Miss Mabel Pool and Mr Whittington and they too expressed surprise that their other friends were not with us.
Our party now numbered six, and it was thought advisable to go in search of the missing ones – so to Harlington we went, while Mr Shawyer went to make sure that they had not mistaken the placer of meeting – for this, I’m told, is by no means an uncommon occurrence – the rest of the party kept watch by the Chapel.
This all in vain, we questioned one another as to their whereabouts. Afraid of the weather! Surely not so disloyal to the Club as not to join them when a slight mist overhangs. Finally, after numerous suppositions were made, it was suggested that we might have missed them.
Tired of waiting we made our way via Dawley Wall to Cowley and Iver, not forgetting all the while to enquire for our brother Pilgrims who would be known to the wayside traveller by their emblems of patriotism.
Very soon we reached Cowley by a road with high spreading beeches one either side. Pretty detached houses met our eyes and one, I was told, was the home of Mr George Shawyer.
Soon we were confronted by a wooden bridge under which the Colne glideth at his own sweet will.
For some little distance we rode by the water’s edge, and then, entering the main road which soon brought us to Iver. On entering, the grey heavy walls of the village church, commanding a very picturesque view across a thinly wooded country, met our gaze.
The mention of James the First, from a rider at the rear brought back unpleasant memories of the history book to some of the members of the party. There was reason to mention his name, for in the church which we had just passed, is the tomb of his eldest son, Arthur.
The reference to history brought about a very lengthy discussion and before this was over, we found ourselves at a friend’s house. We were greeted by Mr Andrews and his daughter, and after a short conversation, we made our adieu, soon found ourselves spinning along the main road.
Alas! – the Crooked Billet – dismount was the cry echoed back through the small party.
Our machines were given in charge of the hostler, a man about fifty years of age, short and fast, with an aquiline nose, dark penetrating eyes, and a shrewd but sinister cast of countenance.
Enquiries were made for the missing ones, but sad to relate, they were still to be numbered with the missing.
Refreshments ordered, we walked through the Park by a beaten track, which had thick masses of trees on either side.
Occasionally we caught glimpses of the lake beyond, but our curiosity was excited when Mr Shawyer suggested that we make for Pier Head. We hurried along, and at length a small jetty projecting from the mainland came in view.
The ladies, with the kind assistance of the gentlemen managed to land safely on the miniature landing stage.
From here we got a magnificent view of the lake, how calm it was on such a sombre evening when all the air a solemn stillness held. The inviolable quietness was made stiller by the occasional whoop of an unknown bird. What was it? – an owl? – a pigeon? A corn crake? – and the mention or a robin filled the air with laughter.
Slowly we wended our way to the Inn, and on arriving partook of refreshments in the bar parlour on the walls of which were displayed relics of African chase.
Still thoughts of the missing Pilgrims lingered with us, and it was proposed and unanimously carried that a note of censure should be sent by the Captain to them both.
Postcards were needed and the off-handed landlady was rung up. She searched but in vain, and in the meanwhile, severely reprimanded her negligent husband for misplacing her stationary. On resuming her search she found one. Mr Whittington wrote it and it was sent to Mr Phillips and it was hoped by all present that both he and Mr Paul would make great effort to be with the Club on all other excursions.
Refreshments over, Mr Whittington led the way, and we were all huddled through a crowded bar. After lighting up, we steered for home, and rode through a thick fog, with Mr Shawyer as our guide.
The party put their confidence so much in the leader that we all became as lost sheep, far from the right path, and found ourselves cycling over huge pebbles, through ditches, by dangerous canals, until our path was blacked completely by upstanding posts.
A light in the distance, which gleamed faintly through a cottage window, was the source of great relief to some of the party, and after a few more joltings we found ourselves safely on Hayes Bridge.
Here we parted, after thanking our leader for the admirable way in which he conducted us through the fog.
And I feel sure I am expressing the sentiments of all those who were present when I say that we had a good time!
EDITH BLACKMORE
(Heavenly Twin)
