After the long spell of cold and winter gloom, my heart was gladdened by the sudden appearance of spring-like sunshine, blue skies and warmth last Wednesday.

It was the perfect day to visit an old favourite haunt – Richmond Park.

As a child I would be taken on long walks on Sundays around this historic royal hunting ground, where deer could be seen in clearings among the brown, crumpled bracken. Then it would be home for a roast dinner.

After motoring along the M25 from Reigate to Leatherhead I took the road to Kingston and joined the park beyond the town at Ham Gate, near the former Hawker Siddeley aviation factory.

Moments later I had entered a new world – an expanse of countryside comprising gnarled old oaks, ponds, grassy hillocks and bridleways.

Here and there a jogger in shorts was pacing along the tracks but the majority of those out and about were young mums and their children and senior citizens who were venturing out in their motors now that the threat of ice and snow had vanished – at least for the time being.

I headed for Pembroke Lodge, the large white mansion perched on the hilltop between the Ham and Richmond gates.

Surprisingly, the car park was completely full and visitors were having to queue for places.

After a few minutes I eased into a vacated slot and ambled up to the lodge, which houses a wonderful cafe.

Mothers with pushchairs were trundling towards the cafe, too, some of the women wearing sunglasses.

I paused to study the historical notes about this imposing house.

I learned that it evolved out of a much smaller house and a molecatcher's cottage in the 1700s. The cottage was also referred to as "Virmin Killer's Cottage" (sic) in a mid-Victorian handbook, I subsequently found out.

The young Elizabeth, Countess of Pembroke, rented rooms at the property and loved the place and persuaded King George III to let her take it over. He consented to her wishes and the gamekeeper was found new digs. The king's decision, apparently, was nothing to do with the young countess's natural charms.

Over the centuries, the house grew in size and became one of the park's most prominent properties. One of its main draws is the panoramic view over Middlesex towards Berkshire.

I stepped into the cafe and my eyes went to the display of delicious cakes. After dithering a little, I selected the caramel and pecan nut cheesecake and picked a bottle of Frobishers' "bumbleberry" – a pure cocktail of the juices of strawberries, raspeberries, blackberries and blackcurrant.

The bottle label emphasised: "No colourings. No flavourings. No concentrates. No preservatives."

The cosmopolitan team of staff in the cafe were busy with all the comings and goings and as it was the school half-term, it was particularly frenetic. One chef was busy serving stews, another carving roast meat and handing over hot dishes of jacket potatoes covered with sizzling melted cheese.

I also purchased an almond-flavoured biscuit for later on, paying a waitress named Sylwia.

All around me, foreign languages were being spoken and I guessed that quite a few of the visitors were from abroad, perhaps here on holiday and had discovered the park in guide books.

The chatter was excitable as the visitors took trays outside onto the sunny patio. I joined them but could find nowhere to sit.

All the tables and chairs in this suntrap were full.

I put my tray down on the ground and grabbed a chair which had just become available.

The sun shone down dazzlingly from a clear, deep blue sky. Crows cackled, squirrels played in the bare trees and toddlers skipped on the paving stones as their mums sipped cappuccinos and nibbled on scones or cheesecakes.

Every so often there was a commotion of squawking as a plethora of ring-necked parakeets descended into the trees next to the lodge.

I sipped the fruit juice and gazed down at the park, finding it hard to believe it was so close to London.

The sun was so warm, I was able to remove my coat and soak up the rays for a short while.

A couple of jackdaws gingerly hopped towards the crumbs on my tray after I had finished the snack. But when they were within only a few inches, they got cold feet on making eye contact with me and flew off, probably trying the same trick elsewhere.

Soon it was time to depart after this pleasant visit.

Strolling through the ground before going back to the car park, I encountered a couple of children scrapping. The irritated mother intervened and the young boy remonstrated: "Mum! That was Josh. He just flung into me."

I drove slowly through the park, keeping to the 20mph speed limit and marvelled at its beauty in the mid-February sunshine.

Already, it was cooling down and a frost that night was on the cards.

I recalled reading that King Charles I allowed poor people to enter his park to gather firewood and that possibly he had a guilty conscience about taking their commonland and perhaps he wanted to recapture some of his lost popularity during the Civil War.

Some 350 years later, the Department of the Environment has allowed this tradition to continue but those doing so needed to apply to the park superintendent for a "wood permit".

Mark Davison