Wordsley, Stourbridge, England: 8 degrees, cold, rainy and overcast.
One more chapter of my visits, journeys, trips, etc, reminiscing on the past. Today I went with my mother to Bewdley, a beautiful rural village about 15 miles from where my mother lives.
My mother lives in a very privileged part of England, 20 miles from Birmingham, the second largest city in England. Historically speaking, Birmingham and the whole region were once the heart of the Industrial Revolution, with heavy industry and beautiful canal systems depicted in the recent television series Peaky Blinders.
However, if we drive the car two minutes from where my mother lives, we are in the country, with deep forests, open farm fields with cows and sheep, and the English countryside at its best.
Bewdley is widely considered one of the region’s most beautiful villages or towns. I once heard a story about an American who came to visit the area, fell in love with the town’s beauty, returned to the States, sold everything, and came to live in Bewdley for the rest of his life.
Bewdley is an old Edwardian village surrounded by agricultural farming and other quaint villages nearby. The River Severn runs through the town with an old, famous bridge designed by Thomas Telford, a well-known English engineer of that time. The centre is marked by the bridge, beautiful old Edwardian facades, a museum, the once main hotel of the town, and lots of quirky and quaint handicraft and tourist shops.
The town tends to flood when the region receives heavy rainfall. The Severn River rises and inundates parts of the town’s main street and side streets.
Although I have never experienced the town during a flood, I spent several summers there with friends when I was young, enjoying food and drinks in typical English summer weather. In the greyness of winter, the town may not showcase its full potential, but it remains charming and beautiful. However, when summer arrives, it truly is fantastic.
My mother has a habit of going to Bewdley and buying fresh regional produce every fortnight. A little shop in the back street, a greengrocer near one of the car parks, supposedly sells the region’s best produce.
When we arrived, I went with my mother to buy the fruit and veg she wanted for Christmas and then left her to walk around the beautiful town alone. We would later meet up at the Saint George pub and hotel, the main pub and hotel in the past, where I spent so many summers with friends. Now, it is a pub and restaurant under the direction of Wetherspoons.
I still recall some of the charm from the pub I visited long ago. However, I have noticed that all the Wetherspoon pubs I’ve been to since arriving in England tend to be somewhat worn down and shabby. It seems that they do not reinvest enough of their profits to maintain the premises to a good standard.
While the service in these pubs is clinical and well-trained, it doesn’t often feel warm or welcoming. Although many of these establishments are large and have some historical significance to the region, they all lack maintenance, detracting from their overall appeal. The atmosphere can feel bustling due to patrons’ movements, but more effort could be made to keep the pubs updated and in better condition.
Walking around the town brought back a load of memories from past summers. As I said before, Bewdley blossoms in the summer, probably like almost anything else, but it still has a charm even in the cold and grey of winter.
I remember once spending a New Year in Bewdley, where on New Year’s Day there was and there still is a yellow plastic duck race from the top of the main bridge until I don’t know where, one mile down the river. At 1:00 p.m., everybody throws their little yellow plastic ducks off the bridge and into the river, and the first to cross the finish line one mile down the river wins. Mine didn’t win at that time, of course not, just a novice, but seeing hundreds or even thousands of little yellow plastic bath ducks swimming down the river in a frenzy on a cold New Year’s Day was fun.
After I walked around the beautiful old town, I met my mother for lunch at the Saint George pub and hotel. I ordered my usual meal when visiting a Wetherspoons pub: fish and chips. I’ve noticed that the food at all Wetherspoons locations is consistent, so the fish and chips I enjoyed in Kingswinford are precisely the same as those I’m having now at the Saint George in Bewdley. The only difference is the postal code; given the price, the quality is excellent.
On our way out, the main bridge in the town was partially closed, so on our way home, we had to pass through Stourport, another neighbouring village from my childhood. Although it’s not as beautiful as Bewdley, Stourport has its charm, and again, a river flows through the centre of the town.
One of my strongest memories I have got of Stourport as a child is a Sunday afternoon picnic in the summer with my brother and father, shortly after my parents had divorced.
Looking back, it was an enjoyable day and probably one of the few genuine memories I have of quality time spent with my father, brother and me. It was a precious time, and neither of us realised its significance. As is often the case, we only understand the importance of an event after it has passed, which makes us miss what we once had even more.
After some traffic problems, we arrived home at about 6:00 in the evening. I later gave a class to Marcelo, a lawyer from São Paulo, one last final class before Christmas. I later drank Sao Miguel beer at home, which reminded me of another story about when I lived in London, but that is another story for the future.
The day was good. I was happy to have walked around one of my childhood’s most beautiful and iconic towns.
And nobody died.
In bed by 11.30 p.m.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading this blog post. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments section.
Richard
