Along Meadow Walk tourists drifted aimlessly marvelling, while couples sat coupled on benches and families staked their own part of the English idyll with tartan picnic rugs. Julia and Charles walked hand in hand down the avenue of Poplars with the ostentatious grandeur of Christ Church College behind and the natural beauty of The Isis ahead.
“Isis was,” Charles announced. “among other things, the Goddess of meadows and sinners.” “Didn’t she also…. ” Julia hesitated. “…..Do it with her brother?”
“I’m not your brother.” Charles replied, falling head first into her suggestion.
“But you are transparent. I know what’s going on inside that skull of yours.”
They turned the corner and continued along the river bank. Charles took this as a sign; although his thoughts were revealed they weren’t yet rejected. A flashy cruiser glided by sending a procession of small waves slapping against the bank and around the ankles of paddling children. Charles watched with disgust as it’s ‘oh so droll’ Jolly Roger flapped pathetically in the breeze; motor boats were the bane of the rower. Rowing offered a unique perspective of the river, undisturbed wildlife, the skillful workmanship in the underbelly of bridges and glimpses of unexplored, private places. It was one such place, metaphorically two, that Charles had in mind.
They left the main path and crossed a small tributary via a rickety wooden bridge, pausing to watch a kingfisher bash the head of minnow against its perch, swallow it whole and disappear upstream in an iridescent flash. The undergrowth, lush and verdant in the dappled coolness of the tree canopy, spilled across the well trod path tickling their legs as they made their way toward an elaborate iron gate and boathouse beyond. On the gate a simple sign declared ‘Scull Team Members Only’. Charles unlocked the gate, ushered Julia through and locked it again behind them.
“Are we going Sculling?”
Casting all pretence aside Charles took Julia by the hand and led her through the long grass toward a vast weeping willow further along the bank. “Call it what you want.” he smiled.
Parting a veil of leaves they entered the womb within the hanging branches. One gap created a vista across the river; here they fell into the soft, yielding vegetation. Crushed water mint penetrated and invigorated their senses. Entwined with the distant throb of the city, the exertion of a scull team in full flow could be heard….….
