Atishoo!

I read The Lord of The Rings and associated Mordor’s black volcanic plain with Morden at the end of the black Northern Line – somewhere to be avoided, at least by me as I am not a brave Hobbit.

After almost fifty years living in London, I have been to Morden or rather Morden Hall Park, 125 acres in the hands of the National Trust, as powerful as Sauron and with the same ambitions. The hall itself is empty these days but available for Events, not the sort of events Prime Minister MacMillan mentioned. The grounds have two cafes, a garden centre, a second hand bookshop, a snuff mill and a rose garden. The roses weren’t out – I should have come earlier as gardeners are fond of saying – and there’s nothing so dreary as rose-beds with no blooming thing to be seen. But here’s something to entice antophiles.

The river flowing through the park is the Wandle, nine miles long, rising in Croydon and debouching into the Thames at Wandsworth. It is very attractive, at least in Morden Park, with limpid water and lush riparian foliage. I was on the lookout for a questing vole plashing through the fen.

The history of Wandle Hall need not detain us; it passed through several hands but not Bellew connections nor titled folk. It is of interest that since the 1750s there were up to three mills on the Wandle at Morden, one of which has been restored and modernised to generate electricity for the estate.

These mills ground tobacco into snuff, something I’d never heard of or seen before although there are other snuff mills around the country.

It seems rather rural though it’s only 8 1/2 miles from Harrods. I enjoyed a wander along the Wandle and might go again when the roses are bustin’ out in June.