Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 5 degrees, cold and damp.
It’s Friday, and I’m feeling lazy. I don’t have much motivation to work today.
Some students have already cancelled their classes, disrupting my day’s rhythm. Therefore, I’ve decided to cancel the remaining classes and take some time for myself.
I’m travelling!!!
This morning, I did a more intense exercise session than usual and then took my time getting ready to go out. Since I’m in the mood to revisit places from my childhood, I decided to walk along the canal until I reached The Fish and then head up Collis Street—where the ‘S’ is silent.
Collis Street is a long, steep road that extends from the top of Brettel Lane to a junction known as The Fish. The Fish is a crossroads that used to be home to a well-known pub, where my uncle Mick often visited.
Near the corner of Collis Street and The Fish, there is still a fish and chip shop where I would buy chips when I was very young. The street is one-way, with traffic flowing downwards, and as I mentioned, it is very steep. My father once bought me an impressive skateboard with an aluminium deck, advanced trucks, and high-speed wheels.
At that time, my skateboard was my pride and joy—almost like having a Ferrari or Lamborghini.
I took it everywhere with me, and one of my favourite places to ride was Collis Street because it was a fast downhill ride. On one occasion, I was halfway down the street, literally flying, when a police car pulled up beside me. The officer inside informed me that it was too dangerous and that I needed to stop and not do it again.
As I walked halfway up the street, I passed by the house of a friend from my past, Chris. I used to visit him often, and his family always welcomed me. Sadly, I learned through Facebook that he had passed away from a sudden heart attack about ten years ago. We shared many good times, and he was a great friend.
This also reminds me that you never know what tomorrow will bring!!!
As I continued walking up Collis Street, I reached a side street on the right where my uncle lived. When I was very young, we visited him and his family often. We sometimes played an animated game of Monopoly that lasted until the early morning hours.
One of the most important houses that has deeply impacted my life is at the top of the street, and almost in the clouds.
Walking into Brettel Lane from Collis Street, you’ll find a pub called The Starving Rascal on the left corner. If you continue walking along Brettel Lane for about five meters on the same side as the pub, you’ll come across a charming semi-detached townhouse. This was my Grandpa Jackson’s home until he passed away, and my father later sold it.
I have very few memories of my grandmother, Jackson, as I was quite young when she passed away. The only recollection I have is of her being terminally ill in bed. In contrast, I have cherished memories of my grandfather.
He was an extremely charismatic man with a contagious personality and a joyful laugh. When he laughed, his laughter would fill the entire room, making everyone else laugh along with him. His whole body would shake with joy; he truly was an amazing man.
I have vivid memories of my grandfather’s funeral and the reception that took place at his house afterwards. I remember everyone saying goodbye to one of the kindest men they had known. People ate and drank a lot, and I even saw my father at ease, laughing and joking with everyone, honouring my grandfather’s legacy.
This was one of the few moments I can recall when my father was genuinely happy and having a good time. Most of my other memories of him are of him working, trying to make my mother happy, and carrying the burdens of life, which were evident on his face.
When my parents separated and divorced, I was nine and my brother was six. After the divorce, my father lived in the same house for several years. Whenever it was time for my brother and me to spend the weekend with our father, we would all sleep in the same double bed at night. In the back garden, my father had a vegetable allotment where he grew mainly corn, onions, and lettuce. He loved corn on the cob. At the bottom of the garden was a chicken pen that housed 30 or 40 chickens, providing us with fresh eggs every day.
Once, my father travelled with friends to a Jazz Festival. When he came back, a fox had entered the pen and killed all the chickens. My father was heartbroken!
The chickens acted foolishly. If they had stayed quiet, the fox might have killed only one of them, allowing the others to survive. However, due to the noise and confusion they created, the fox ended up killing all of them and only carrying away one.
One of my vivid memories is of our next-door neighbour, a friend of my father’s, who had a beautiful brown caramel boxer dog. I remember the time he came over to show us his dog. As a young child, I looked up in awe at this strong, magnificent dog with such a noble posture. This moment left a lasting impression on me. It was also why Nalva surprised me by giving me Bruce, a boxer dog almost identical to the one from my childhood memory, when we first began our relationship.
Since Bruce entered my life, he has always been a reference, and it all stemmed from that one visit from my father’s neighbour.
I took photos of the house and then walked down Brettel Lane, turning right at the end to head back to Wordsley. It was another wonderful day revisiting places from my memories, some of which are deeply ingrained in my soul. It feels as though I am tidying up my past, ensuring that for the next few years—and the rest of my life—I won’t be tied down by anything. I’m free to do whatever I want.
The rest of the day was spent doing nothing.
In bed by 11 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
