Cassiobury Park

We are still relentlessly heading south, slowly maybe but well contented, and are now well into Hertfordshire. One hundred and forty two miles we have covered since leaving Warwick at the beginning of March.

Though we are within the M25 circuit and getting ever closer to busy London, the wide Grand Union Canal, at one time known as the Grand Junction Canal, carries us quietly through such rural beauty both natural and historic that haven’t changed since the canal was built.

 

Plan of Berkhamsted Castle

 

The view from the Keep along the Curtain Wall and Moat

 

A local family at the Castle

 

The unique house in the Port of Berkhamsted

 

Through the after door at Iron Bridge Lock, Cassiobury Park

 

Janis and I have visited and marvelled at the flint built ruins of the Black Prince’s Castle in a lush green meadow at Berkhamsted as well as passing woods of tall green beeches on our way south. We have passed overhanging willows that stroke us gently as we pass beneath their long caressing fronds, through the small ancient but happy villages. Though clouds overhead are grey at the moment the fragrance, overwhelmingly pungent almost, of freshly mowed grass as we passed Grove Mill earlier was one of my many reminders that Summer was here.

We are now moored serenely just below Iron Bridge Lock, protected from the urban mass of Watford by an extensive area of trees, shrubs and parkland. It is known as Cassiobury Park.