Down Channel 9

 

Bosham (pronounced Boz-um) is truly in love with the tide. Twice daily it bathes, at high tide. The Shore Road is plunged beneath the surface of the sea. Street signs rise, Excalibur-like, from silvered waters. 

Its houses climb steeply inshore. Small high set front doors bear testament to an acquaintance with, and acceptance of, the risk of tidal inundation. True love.

My first sighting, of the timeless hamlet, is of Bosham Quay: Lichen gilded rooftops, ruddy brick, weathered clapperboard: set off by a backdrop of lush broadleaf woodland, with rolling hillsides beyond.

I have left Stargazer moored off the Itchenor shore. Crossing by the foot ferry to the ancient gravel causeway, which arcs out from the opposite bank.

It grants access to a footpath along the banks of the Bosham Channel. The domain of shoal draft craft.

A square-set church tower marks the resting place (according to legend) of King Canute's daughter. If her father indeed visited, his subsequent preoccupation, with the turning of tides, can well be understood.

With Shore Road fully covered, and myself now at its seaward end, on the quay, I, like King Canute, find my plans compromised by the tide. I settle down to wait for the ebb and make for the tea room. There I learn that there is a footpath behind the first row of houses, for such occasions. 

Both refreshed and enlightened, I walk out of Bosham past chequer-brick fronted cottages framed by flowering shrubs of all hues.

A pastel painted terrace marks the head of the creek. And its high water mark. I drop back down onto the bridleway, which I used on my approach.

Circling back, toward the ferry, I pause and turn frequently. Looking back over my shoulder at the view. Pinching myself, to be sure that I have not dreamed my day; spent amid this picture perfect bucolic vision, with a tidal twist.