BrownhillsBob

December 13th – Over in Shelfield, the traditional boozer wins. Whilst the Spring Cottage had loads of brewery money spent on renovations and refits over the years, the Four Crosses behind it ploughed on in it’s own traditional way. The larger, more modern pub failed; a succession of poor managers, problems with the clientele and falling returns now see it being converted to a Co-op store. The street corner local behind it, however, has always been peaceful and welcoming. Closed for a few months a couple of years back, it was thought to be lost, but a new owner and good real ale ensured its revival. A pub in the true sense of the word.

December 13th – Darlaston, like most places, seems to possess its fair share of public artwork. The sculptures in Victoria park have no plaques, but their root is fair clear; they’re harking back to an industrial past. I’m not sure if the hammer is a genuine old machine or a composite, but I can’t really see how it worked, whilst the tree seems to be suffering the same rust affliction that befalls the Walsall Wood Pithead. Looking like a child’s approximation of a tree, I find this sculpture odd; it’s hugely detailed in the leaves, which contain items of Darlaston’s past; nuts and bolts, washing machines (Servis were just down the road) and so forth, yet the ensemble gives the impression of something simplistic and cursory. I’m not sure the best tribute to a true seat of precision engineering should look like this, but folk seem to like it.

December 12th – Sadly, only these two photos today of the River Arrow in Redditch. It was my first day there in nearly a month, and the Arrow Valley now has its winter coat well and truly on. Gone are the greens of summer and golds of autumn, now the trees are black silhouettes and new views have opened up. I noticed as I crossed the river bridge near Ipsley that the river was flowing healthily again. Not yet back up to full strength – I can’t hear it yet – the small river seems to be taking an absolute age to recover from the dry summer.

I had more pictures planned for this evening, but I came home late in a rain storm, and just couldn’t bring myself to stop. Those who the cycling gods wish to destroy, they first bestow driving rain, and uphill commute and a headwind. Horrid journey.

December 11th – Shenstone is a great little village at any time, but at night it is particularly remarkable, and at this time of year, somehow festive. I love the lights of the village, and how they highlight it’s mixed bag of architecture. These are two starkly different pubs – The Fox and Hounds, with it’s cosy, snug bar, and the more expansive Railway, with it’s high ceilings and airy atmosphere. The railway is particularly interesting, as during it’s life parts of it have been a chapel and a butchers. An interesting place.

December 11th – A warm, damp evening following a blustery, wet afternoon. The wind had died down, the rain ceased and the temperature had risen by the time I ventured out for a lazy loop of Stonnall and Shentsone. I’ve always been fascinated by the single, rather aged mercury streetlamp that stands sentry on the junction of Footherley and Hollyhill Lanes; it illuminates the fingerpost and is like a beacon to the weary cyclist. Many times I’ve been glad of it’s welcome sight on a cold, dark winter evening.

December 10th – The moon was remarkable. Heading along the canal by the Watermead Estate, I noticed it behind me; orange and masked by banded cloud. I missed the eclipse, but there was something about that big, orange lunar glow that I found reassuring. It doesn’t seem long since that moon was new, and time is passing. Soon, it will be the shortest day, and life will begin to open out again; the moon will continue its inexorable transitions, and soon there will be lightness and spring again. A lunar chronicle. Winter draws on…

December 10th – A cold, windy day. I headed out at sunset to explore an autumnal, wet Clayhanger Marsh. Gorgeous as ever, the sunset was quite good over Ryders Mere. Wildfowl were calling and I disturbed the marsh’s old dog fox in the process of bagging a little something for supper. I see that old fella almost every time I come here – we’re familiars, and respect each other from a distance. We often share contemplative moments together. If only he could talk…

December 9th – I like Christmas as much as the next man – that is, I generally keep my head down and enjoy the break. However, I don’t think I’ll ever match the enthusiasm of some of those who have adopted the odd suburban American tradition of decorating the outside of one’s house with lights. This example is in Rushall, and I quite like it. There are plenty of examples locally. I find the whole phenomena utterly baffling.

December 9th – Newcomers to Walsall often wonder where Karma is. Lots of folk talk about it, but it’s not marked on any map. There’s a reason for this – it’s actually spelt Caldmore. This local linguistic quirk helped nail child killer Raymore Morris, and continues to baffle delivery drivers and visitors alike. The area itself is busy and possesses the air of the inner city. A huge immigrant population – initially afro Caribbean, then asian, now eastern European have settled in areas like this around south Walsall. This has led to a huge variety of shops, busy into the night, selling everything from furniture to felafel to fenugreek. The focus, of course, is on the asian; samosa, shashlik and shami mingle with brightly coloured burfi, gulab jamun and jalebi. On a Friday Night at 6:30pm I stop for indian snacks, smell the aromas of cooking for tomorrows wedding parties and mooch through the Polish delicatessen. I love this place.

December 8th – Walsall Arboretum is the jewel in Walsall’s Victorian crown. The extensive park was created out of former limestone mining land over a century ago, and remains, to this day, a classic example of a municipal park. Neglected somewhat for two decades, it is currently undergoing a lottery-funded restoration which has proven controversial. The gatehouse – classically Victorian in design and execution – is sadly diminished now by being overseer to the hideous traffic junction bearing the park’s name. Still, the handsome tower and clock give the weary cyclist something to admire whilst waiting for the lights to change…