IT HAS been quite a while since I last took a stroll around Earlswood Lakes near Redhill, but having a couple of hours spare one warm and sunny afternoon last week, I did just that.
It seems hard to imagine that an area of such natural beauty exists so close to the built-up areas of Reigate, Woodhatch and Redhill.
The lower lake was formed centuries ago from the clay workings associated with the locality. Bricks and pots were made by a local firm nearby and one of the roads on the Woodhatch estate recalls this – Potters Way.
Until the 1990s, the upper lake offered boats which could be hired for half an hour at a time. I remembered whiling away many a summer afternoon with friends and family, while rowing around the gentle waters, pausing occasionally to watch a great-crested grebe dive below the surface to emerge, incredibly, more than 100 yards away. We didn't seem to have a care in the world those days apart from making sure we stepped off the boat safely and onto the quay without slipping.
Now, this part of the common is a nature reserve and there are no boats.
In the inter-war period, I was told, hundreds of visitors from London would arrive by coach or train every summer weekend to enjoy bathing at the lakes, which were then seen as quite a resort.
I motored into the car park and pulled up near the refreshment kiosk van and joined a small queue of people waiting for burgers and ices.
The lady in front of me was purchasing several lollies for her kids.
Busy preparing the food on her own was a lady called Mad. Soon, however, she was joined by her other half, Rob, who began to unload his car of heavy boxes from the cash and carry.
"How's trade?" I enquired.
Rob replied: "It's been very good lately, actually," he said, while placing a beefburger on the grill.
"The good weather helps to bring people out. But if it's too hot, then they'll go to the coast instead."
I recognised Rob from my earlier "Time For Tea" visit to his van some years ago. He recognised me, too, and informed me it was six years ago. That's how long he had been serving the hungry visitors.
"Yes, if it's warm and cloudy that's best. They come out but don't go to the sea."
He called out to Mad: "We need to get in some more burgers."
Rob told me that since we last met, he had gained some weight – I'm sure he mentioned five stone, but I might be wrong. He said he was determined to go on a diet – once his day trips to Chessington World of Adventures and Legoland with his two grandsons had taken place.
He chatted about "healthy foods" and told me that whenever they put out salads, and the like, no-one bought them.
"That's not what they expect here," he said. "They don't want healthy foods here. They want burgers and so on."
Mad pointed to the home-made tuna sandwiches which had not sold.
I felt I had to go with the flow and push the boat out, so ordered a cheeseburger half-pounder.
"With onions?"
"Yes, please."
I also purchased a coffee and a Bakewell tart for afters and took the food to a bench at the water's edge.
This was all very pleasant, I thought.
As I sat in the meadow, a mute swan flew in to land, its wings outspread to in a sort of "reverse thrust" mode. It slowed to a halt and started to preen itself. Various cackling mallards were doing likewise nearby. Every so often, one of the ducks would go for a paddle and then turn turtle in the water so that only its bobbing rump was showing above the surface.
Every so often a turquoise-coloured dragonfly darted over the reeds.
A young black-headed gull perched silently on the branch of a dead tree lying across the banks of the upper lake. It, too, took the opportunity for a clean-up and buried its beak in its smooth grey feathers. A coot, nearby scuttled off.
The sky above was a heavenly deep blue and around the perimeter of the waters, the leaves of tall poplars shimmered in the summer breeze.
A Canada goose landed on the dead tree trunk with a partner, forcing a mallard to skedaddle.
Jackdaws strutted around the grass by the path looking for crumbs left by visitors, their heads jerking backwards and forwards.
As I finished the last of the Bakewell tart, two goslings waddled past under the watchful eyes of their parents. When they got too close to me, the adult Canada geese seemed to instinctively know how to beckon the youngsters away from any possible danger I may have posed.
Mark
