Several years ago I was holidaying in Greece. Walking through a valley one day, I fell into conversation with a woman on the same holiday. She asked where I lived. “That’s where I grew up!” she exclaimed.
The next time I did the Walworth Walk she came on it. On the site where her house once stood is Walworth City Garden Farm, a one acre oasis of greenery and hope.
Later she gave me a copy of the programme for the Coronation party she had attended in the nearby Drill Hall.
Sadly, she died suddenly not long after. Her daughters, carrying the pictures she had taken, came on the walk with me, mapping the places she had photographed and matching them to the stories she had told them.
All walks echo with the people and events of the past. But not usually as poignantly as that.