For a change, we headed over the water, or to be precise, under the water, through the Wallasey tunnel, in search of the Wirral Country Park at Thurstaston. The Park is situated along the Wirral Way, a former Railway line that followed the River Dee up the coast to Birkenhead. The line closed in the 60s and converted into a walk and parkland between 1969 and 1973. There is parking at the visitor centre at the site of the former station at Thurstaston but it was quite crowded when we arrived about 11 am. on Friday. Before we headed off southwards down the line I had a potter about exploring the cliff top walk.
The view looking northwards
The Cliff top walk.
The beach below
Across the River Dee and the Welsh coast.
We explored along the cliff top with the buggy but the path soon deteriorated into a narrow uneven track and so we returned to our bench and took one of the gravelled paths around the park and made our way to the old railway track.
The main disadvantage of converted railway walks tends to be an endless track with limited views either side – which was only partly the case here, with many glimpses across the fields or towards the coast, though I cannot imagine that many people stop here to admire the view.
The water-lilies on the meadow stream
Again spread out their leaves of glossy green;
And some, yet young, of a rich copper gleam,
Scarce open, in the sunny stream are seen,
Throwing a richness upon Leisure’s eye,
That thither wanders in a vacant joy;
While on the sloping banks, luxuriantly,
Tending of horse and cow, the chubby boy,
In self-delighted whims, will often throw
Pebbles, to hit and splash their sunny leaves;
Yet quickly dry again, they shine and glow
Like some rich vision that his eye deceives;
Spreading above the water, day by day,
In dangerous deeps, yet out of danger’s way.
I love to see the summer beaming forth
And white wool sack clouds sailing to the north
I love to see the wild flowers come again
And Mare blobs stain with gold the meadow drain
And water lilies whiten on the floods
Where reed clumps rustle like a wind shook wood
Where from her hiding place the Moor Hen pushes
And seeks her flag nest floating in bull rushes
I like the willow leaning half way o’er
The clear deep lake to stand upon its shore
I love the hay grass when the flower head swings
To summer winds and insects happy wings
That sport about the meadow the bright day
And see bright beetles in the clear lake play