A Renewed Summer

Autumn in Highgate Cemetary (Copyright Bygone Babe) 

Just as we were settling in to casseroles and winter pajymas, along comes the most glorious week of weather that pushes back October and urges us to embrace summer again. I have been rushing home in the evenings to go for a walk in the dusk, and supping on salads as it has been too warm to cook. The bed has been stripped of the new winter duvet, and we are just sleeping with sheets. However, pleasant as it was, reading in the garden most of Saturday didn't seem to be enough to embrace the spirit of this renewed summer. I formulated a plan to finally do the one thing I had wanted to do all summer, but hadn't managed to - swim in the ponds on Hampstead Heath.

I grew up swimming - not just at the local pool, where I spent most of my time, but also in rivers, dams, waterfalls and the ocean. And I am sure that I am not alone in this experience. So why did it suddenly become the mission of the BBC this summer to sex up what we all did out of necessity and daring in our youth, and rebrand the experience Wild Swimming? And even more suprising, why did it utterly capture my imagination? Was it because of nostalgia? Or was it because, despite the varied places that I had swum growing up, and on holiday, I have only ever swum in swimming pools in the UK, and almost all of those indoors?

It was then that I looked for places to swim 'wild' near London, and was reminded of the pools on Hampstead Heath. While not the true definition of wild, it was certainly rustic and would be a lovely day trip. And I would be able to go alone but swim in company - it would be foolhardy to swim solo anywhere, especially somewhere you didn't know, and since most of the nets I had cast about the idea of wild swimming had only returned wrinkled noses, I was going by myself. Bygone Bloke was on a course and the sun was beaming, so I resolved to make a day of it and capture the very last bit of this glorious weather.


Lauderdale House (Copyright BygoneBabe)



It wasn't long before I made an unexpected discovery on my way to the ponds. Lauderdale House in Highgate is a property built in 1582, which has been brought back from near ruin from a host of historic owners, including at least two Lord Mayors of London, Royalists, Quakers and even Nell Gwynn, a mistress of King Charles the II. It was an ideal spot, and time, to eat. I sat outside in the garden and ordered a delicious lunch at the restaurant- a three bean and cashew nut burger, served not with buns, but with salad, and the most unusual and delicious mango and mayonnaise sauce, flavoured with a hit of curry. Divine.



East Highgate Cemetary (Copyright Bygone Babe)

 Wandering through Waterlow Park, filled with people soaking up the unexpectedly warm rays, I reached Highgate Cemetary. Deciding to leave the West Cemetary, which can only be entered on a formal tour, for another day, I went into the East Cemetary. At first, map in hand, I felt like a treasure hunter seeking out the graves of Karl Marx, Douglas Adams, Sidney Nolan and Mary Ann Evans (George Eliot). The cemetary was so old, peaceful and beautiful, with ivy trailing over many graves, shaded by the autumnal trees. At first, the sadness that usually strikes me in cemetaries didn't arrive - instead I felt that many of the people who are buried here were still living, through their works, and even those who I didn't know revived as I was introduced to them through the cemetary guide I held. However, as I walked down a quiet pathway, alone, the poignancy touched me. For every grave that was here, there were partners, spouses, parents, brothers, sisters, who keenly felt the loss - for it is still an operating cemetary.

I left and walked further down Swain's Lane to Parliament Hill Fields, my ultimate destination. Parliament Hill acquired this name in the 17th Century as it was defended by troops loyal to the Government during the Civil War. It is now the site of three of the thirteen of London's protected views. Today, it was filled with Londoners enjoying picnics, flying kites, sunbathing, walking adorable dogs and, of course, going for a swim.

The Hampstead ponds were originally springs that were dammed to be reservoirs in the 17th Century. Of the 25 ponds that are on the heath, there are three that are swam in - a mixed bathing pond, and 2 others for single sex bathing. People have been swimming here for centuries, but it was only due to a High Court decision just 7 years ago that I was priveleged enough to be able to swim there today. The first pond that I came across was the Men's Pond, were there were plentiful gaps in the trees for passerby's to admire the diving antics of the men. To my suprise, there was also a woman fishing at one end of the pond!

The women's pond was further along, quite seperate, and totally enclosed by large trees to protect the modesty of the women. Plunging into the pool was breathtaking, literally! However, after two laps, even though I could not feel my feet or hands, I was tingling all over with an exhileration which was enhanced by swimming amongst the trees. Ducks frolicked on the pond and nestled on the banks. The occassional rasp of an autumn leaf against my pimpled flesh reminded me that normally it would be even colder at this time of year. A passing woman said it was like the Titanic, but I didn't feel like Kate Winslet at all - and although there were shrieks and gasps coming all around, they were of exhileration and delight. My friend had said she felt like Jane, going for a dip while Tarzan was off somewhere, and I think this is a much more apt (and romantic) image. But for me it was too busy to believe I was Jane. I thought of all of the women who had swum here over the centuries. With bikinis and swimmers covered by the opaque water, it was not so difficult to feel like you were one of the Victorian women who may have swam there. It was certainly evocative of another time, especially when there were some very vintage bathing caps bobbing in the water.

It was a thoroughly exhilerating plunge, and I had forgotten the cold in my relaxing laps until I went to get out and was so numb I could barely pull myself from the water. Sitting in the sun in the meadow, a relaxation area set aside for the bathers, warmed me up, as did the walk to a nearby coffee shop, but even as I write this blog I can still feel the effects of my plunge. Gorgeous as it was today, I won't be there at the end of this month, when incrdeibly the forecasters have predicted snow.

The Ladies Pool at Hampstead Heath (Copyright BygoneBabe)