Tag: Brownhills

July 9th – after an hour or two of exploring the Black Cock and canal with a good mate, I came back to Brownhills along the canal. I reflected on the changes – how the wildlife had come out of the barren, vile pollution I knew here as a child. I watched dragonflies, admired oak, beech and sycamore saplings, smelled the heavenly scent of a carpet of honeysuckle. Crab apples ripened gently in the sun, a common tern hunted for incautious fish, grey wagtails expertly pecked at insects. I scrambled up on to the bank at Catshill Junction, where in my youth had been a ditch the size of a railway cutting filled with brackish, foul water. I remembered a solitary, 45 degree telegraph pole titling forlornly with it’s wires draped in the soup that would now be 20 metres below my feet. 

As I looked from the top, a group of teenagers – who probably weren’t old enough to remember the last century – were lazing on the grass in the centre of Clayhanger Common, basking in a patch of sunlight, completely unaware that had I done this at their age I’d be in the middle of a festering refuse dump.

That’s why I love this place, for all it’s faults.

July 8th – Cycling after really heavy rain is a life-affirming experience. It was time the bike got a wash, anyway. It was warm and humid, and the roads shone in the welcome sunlight. Greens and sky blues mingled in the reflections on the wet asphalt. I spent an hour or so bombing round the common and canals, just getting wet for the hell of it.

I’m just a big kid at heart.

July 8th – Working from home, I popped out at lunchtime to clear my head and get some supplies in. After a largely dry morning, the heavens opened on me for the second time in two days. I spent 20 minutes watching the storm from the deserted, derelict Ravens Court. Due to the apathy of Tesco, we’re likely to be stuck with this decaying edifice for another 18 months.

July 5th – St. James Church is the parish church of Brownhills. Designed by architect G.T. Robinson, it has stood in the quiet heart of Brownhills since 1850. A cruciform design, it is built out of red sandstone blocks and features a distinctive, odd-looking spire. Sadly, like many churches in the Lichfield Diocese, it has suffered the indignity of having a hideous, unsympathetic extension bolted onto it. Whoever was responsible for this aberration must surely feel remorse.

Funny thing, though; up until I took the photograph I could have sworn the church had a clock. It clearly does not. Funny how you mind plays tricks.

June 22nd – The new council depot on Pelsall Road in Brownhills seems to be fully operational now. Now the days have just started getting shorter, the sight of gritting lorries parked in neat rows and a slowly increasing stock of road salt seems to be an unwelcome reminder of winter.

I just hope that if we get a northerly wind, that tent assemblage is fixed down well…

June 22nd – The renovation and conversion of the Hussey Arms into a Greene King family pub seems to be fairly racing along. The pub is already looking better than it has for years – I just hope they’ve noticed that rickety, tilting chimney and do something about it before it ends up through the roof. Or even on some hapless punter’s head.

June 21st – A late run out took me to Chasewater along the canal at dusk. If you’ve never walked or ridden the canal from Brownhills to Chasewater, do so as soon as you can. The canal forms a hard boundary between urbanisation to the south and west, and open countryside to the north and east. It’s rare one can see such sharp division, but the waterway is a quiet, winding route punctuated by gorgeous vistas. I never tire of it.

June 17th – One for A Lichfeldian, curator and amateur historical whizz behind Lichfield Lore. She’s intrigued by a curious bell on Leomansley Vicarage, Lichfield. I pointed out at the time that there was a spurious bell fitted to the former council house in Brownhills, used to scramble the local fire brigade in days before the adoption of the telephone. I kept meaning to photograph it for her, but sadly forgot until today. 

It’s a lot more grand than I remembered, and is now covered in netting to keep the pigeons out. I wonder how long it is since it was last sounded? Also in the picture is the wonderful town hall clock, the three-faced liar. Front face said a quarter to four. South face, pictured, said four o’clock. The time was actually ten to four. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that clock tell the correct time. It’s thoroughly symbolic of the town and it’s fortunes.

June 12th – Amongst the surprisingly large amount of odd historical curios in Brownhills, this decaying, cast-iron milepost occupies a special place in my heart. Sitting at the side of the A5 Watling Street, right at the top of the Black Path as it has done for decades, it points brokenly to Chester and Salop, marking their distances are 62 and 30 miles respectively. I don’t know what it pointed to in the other direction, for that side has always been broken in my living memory. This is the only milepost I’ve ever seen designed like this, most locally are four-sided low, minimalist monuments, whereas this was once semi-ornate and must have cost a lot of money to make.

I wonder who placed it and what it’s origins were. It would be nice if it could be restored, but I doubt many folk even know of it’s existence, which is sad. I can remember sitting on the sign as a child waiting for a relative to come from Brownhills Comprehensive, nearby…

May 28th – Pottering around Chasewater, from Pool Road, I noticed deer over by the old spoil heap to the rear of the disused Highfield Farm. They were too far away to get a decent picture, so I entered the park, crossed back over the toll road via the footbridge and hopped onto the old railway line at the back of Poole Crescent. I came face to face with the group of red deer – two hinds and two young stags, with antlers still in velvet – just by the marsh at the corner of the heap. 

The were skittish, but curious, and we faced each other down at a distance of 50 yards or so for a good 10 minutes before I spooked them, and they ran off toward the thickets at the edge of the field. A wonderful sight, still shocking to me.