It was some years since I last strolled through Nonsuch Park. But recently, a relative of mine had been reminiscing about when we were children and took family strolls through the park with our dog, a tri-colour Shetland sheepdog named Shadow.

I felt inclined to revisit Nonsuch and last Wednesday afternoon, motored to Cheam to avail myself of this lung of countryside in the middle of suburbia and to stop for tea and cakes in the coffee shop.

Parking at the Cheam gate, I strolled up a path through the woods, pulling my collar up to ward off a chill and brisk easterly breeze.

It was a cloudy day with only glimpses of sunshine, so winter still had a grip on the weather.

The bare trees stretched towards an overcast sky and every so often a cackle of crows or a screech of rose-necked parakeets broke the silence.

In the mud and undergrowth, patches of snowdrops charmingly speckled the woodland floor with white.

After a few hundred yards, I reached a clearing. A couple of ladies, one in a red coat, were having a gentle walk around the park.

They were discussing a recipe.

"You must use butter and sugar," she advised her friend.

As my pace was quicker than theirs, I smiled, apologised and overtook them, and couldn't resist asking: "I was wondering what you were cooking."

The lady in the red coat grinned and replied: "French apple tart."

Further along the path, toddlers on scooters were excitedly picking up speed as Mum followed on foot.

A jay swooped down from an old tree in the distance.

The chilly wind picked up again and it was time to head for the teashop.

I found it tucked away in the old house in the grounds of this once royal park.

Rather surprisingly, a few children were purchasing cones of ice cream, despite the cold.

I wandered up to the counter and noticed plates of tasty cakes, covered with cling-film. A sign advertised gingerbread flavoured latte, so I opted for one of those, a round of corned beef and pickle sandwiches and an apricot Danish pastry, although the coffee cake and caramel slices were also tempting.

Most the seats were taken so I enquired of a couple of retired ladies if I could join them. We soon engaged in conversation. They told me they lived in Ewell and Cheam, close to the park.

"My road's named after one of the wives of Henry VIII who had Nonsuch Palace built here," said one of the ladies. "I'm not sure exactly where the palace stood but there's nothing left of it now – not even any stones."

I asked her what her street was called.

"Aragon Avenue," she replied.

A pleasant chat followed.

"I used to live in Battersea, in one of those Victorian terraces," said the lady sitting directly opposite me. "It cost us £1,800."

I sipped on the gingerbread coffee. "Today, Battersea's quite posh – all the media people live there and there's coffee shops with tables outside. My son wants to live there. I suppose for the young people it's close to Clapham Junction and they can get into town quite quickly and get to the theatres and things."

I peered out the window of this stone-floored cafe towards a bed of snowdrops and daffodils whose buds had barely formed after the long, cold winter.

The Battersea lady told me that in the war she was briefly evacuated to relatives at Glastonbury, Somerset. "I kicked up such a stink they had to send me home again."

She reflected on the war.

"I could never understand that places five minutes down the line from Battersea were not getting the bombs that we had. We presumed it was happening all over."

Some new customers arrived at the cafe, but were told by the lady at the counter: "I'm afraid we're about to close. I can only do takeaways." I peered at the clock – it was a couple of minutes to three.

Suddenly, the lights went out and the cafe was dimmed. Nothing was said.

"I lived in Hertfordshire during the war. There wasn't much going on there, although quite a few children were billeted around us," said the other lady.

I bit into the apricot Danish and feared being told to eat up quickly and vacate the premises.

The Hertfordshire lady's walking stick noisily fell to the floor when an elderly gent nearby on the next table got up to depart and it became tangled in his exit route.

I bid farewell to the two ladies, wrapped up against the brisk breeze and ambled towards the Cheam gate.

My renewed interest in the park prompted me to delve into the history of the place upon my return home.

I gleaned that Nonsuch Palace was "arguably the greatest of Henry VIII's building projects". Work started on April 22, 1538 "the first day of Henry's 30th regnal year."

Within two months, the name "Nonsuch" appeared in the plans. It was so called because it was claimed there was " no such" palace elsewhere equal to its magnificence. It cost £24,000 to construct.

Charles II's mistress, Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, pulled it down in 1682–3 and sold off the building materials to pay off her gambling debts.

Mark Davison