Tag: night photography

January 29th – The wind and rain drag on. The day started decent enough, but by midday, dissolved into a morass of squally showers and buffeting winds. With an eye to the wind direction, I got the train back to Walsall and let the wind blow me home, which it did wonderfully. Bullings Heath – the old name for the area around the Black Cock pub and bridge in Walsall Wood glistened in the drizzle, the light reflecting off the wet asphalt.

In a way, it was beautiful, but I wish the rain would stop for a while.

January 28th – The weather continues to be warm and windy. Fighting it coming home from work, it was hard to believe that only a few days before, it was sub-zero temperatures and ling snow. No trace remained as I hauled the bike over Shire Oak Hill. The lights of the pub looked welcoming, and the temptation to pop in for a swift pint was strong.

January 27th – The snow, thanks to heavy rain and a sudden ramp in temperature – had gone. Only the remnants of snowmen remained, melancholy mementoes of the whiteness of the week before. The consequent darkness around St. James Church shocked me in it’s foreboding.

I’d been to drop something off to a friend, and the weather was wet, warm and inclement. I cycled up the dark pathway from School Avenue, up past the cemeteries and churchyard, and the church itself was unoccupied at 5:45pm on a Sunday, which I found oddly sad. Brownhills Church is one I’ve always had difficulty with architecturally; It’s not ugly, and it’s not remarkable. Apart from an odd spire and hideous extension, it’s pretty plain, really. It’s position, however, is excellent. It’s like the centre of the town was built around it, and the warren of streets take curious right angles around the grounds.

January 23rd – The little camera seems to really struggle with light on snowy nights. I’m not enough of a photographer to make it work quite the way I want. But these two shots show something. When I was banging on about gritting a couple of days ago, I was unaware of what a wide and generally welcome reception the piece would get. A good demonstration of my point – that road salt isn’t the magic solution folk think it is – is illustrated in the upper photo, taken at Shelfield lights. I’d been passed by gritters here several times the previous week. With the lack of rain, the brine strength on the road surface must be very high, yet the triangle of slush in the foreground remains. The reason is because the salt isn’t ground in that part by passing traffic, so although it’s been coated in salt numerous times, because there’s no meltwater, the ice remains. There’s a similar band of virgin snow on the centre of the Chester Road that’s been there since last Friday. it must get coated in grit nearly every day.

Returning via Green Lane, I was interested in how the snow lit up the normally dark, wooded road. This road was very clear, and as I came through, a grittier came past in a shower of sharp crystals. In some respects, this road was clearer that the Lichfield Road, and I struggled to understand why. Then I realised – this is a low point. What meltwater does exist, gathers in this lowland. That lane must be like a brine bath.

Must remember to regrease the wheel bearings when the weather warms up… the bike will need to be washed well, too. All this salt will be eating the metalwork…

January 20th – Between 4 and 5pm, the roads around Brownhills were understandably, quite chewy. I span around Brownhills carefully, for fear of what lurked beneath the slush and tyre tracks. It had been snowing by then for nearly 10 hours, and the result was a wet, cloying mass that wedged in the bike’s gaps and made it heavier and heavier. The old railway line, Clayhanger Common trails and canal towpaths were very hard to cycle. 

It looks to be cold all week, and this will be the first time for some years that we have have to deal with such conditions.

I’ll be interested to watch what happens. 

January 17th – It was snowing quite hard when I came home. Racing another cyclist out of Walsall in that unspoken duel that often happens between two homeward-bound cyclists, we played cat and mouse along the Lichfield Road. Sadly, my younger, fitter counterpart was carrying less stuff (including less middle-aged spread!) and just outclassed me. But he set a cracking pace and I was heading home in good time. At Anchor Bridge, I stopped to admire the snow on the frozen canal. It was settling quite well now. Weather-heads are predicting heavy snow tomorrow, and the world’s going bonkers again…

We’ll see.

January 13th – Hammerwich – whether viewed from the canal in Brownhills, or from within the village itself, is always iconic and beautiful, even during a headache-grey, freezing winter nightfall. Bitterly cold, I passed the still-derelict Meerash Farm, which I thought would be by now thriving again. In spring, someone bought this place, erected a fence, and proud new gates, and lived in a caravan by the decaying old threshing machine. Now, the caravan is gone, and those new gates haven’t been opened in a while. A great shame, the farm commands a great view.

In Hammerwich itself, the converted windmill and foursquare church are staples of the skyline, behind them the red lights of Lichfield and Sutton TV masts lurked in the grey mist. 

At the far end of the village, by the pool, the fingerpost for Brownhills was caught in the downlight from a streetlamp. I love this place so much. but it was dark, and cold, and the snow was smelling closer.

Winter, at last.

January 12th – I returned to Brownhills to pop to Tesco – never a great experience.

Heading back, I looked over the old market site, and up Pier Street to the High Street past the site of the old clinic. This land was once the site of a pub called The Pier, or Fortune of War; latterly, it hosted a busy market. Now, it sits derelict, set aside for a new Tesco development that never came. It has been empty, deserted and neglected for years now, and looks set to remain that way for a long time to come.

Local occasional blogger and Jack-the-lad Brownhills Barry recently speculated there were ghosts here. There are none. All that stalks here are the shadows of the past and it’s promises, and the darkness of lost horizons.

Sometimes, the tale you tell is lost in the one you left untold.

January 12th – Spent some time today making sure the bike was ready for possible bad weather – greased the gear cable, tuned the brakes, checked the wheels. The time taken to do this will ensure the snow doesn’t come…

Getting out after dark, it was very chilly are there weren’t many around. I headed up towards Chasewater on the canal, and the only living souls I saw were the rats that scattered away from my light. Through the anti-vehicle barrier on the far side of the Anchor Bridge, I stopped to look at the structure. The original bridge is in there, somewhere, but it has been widened and strengthened so many times, only the underside of the bride gives any sign of it’s history. This bridge takes a huge amount of traffic, yet just a few feet below road level it’s quiet and peaceful. For the second day running, the canal was absolutely flat. 

January 10th – I got the train back to Blake Street – I’m not really sure why. The disabled ramps there fascinate me – rather than being assembled, manufactured things, as the station is built on a hill, they’re just footpaths that meet the southerly ends of the platform. They’re at a fair incline, and have several dog leg bends in them. Shrouded by tress and shrubs, they are emerald green arcades on summer days, but dark, ethereal ginnels at night. I find the harsh lights, fencing and shadows fascinating.

At the bottom end tonight, however, a classic illustration of unthinking, selfish idiocy; several times this week I’ve come this way to see a bike-shaped object locked to the plastic down pipe at the foot of the ramp. It must belong to a commuter, and is blocking access to the ramp for people in wheelchairs and mobility scooters (there are a fair few who use this station). The staff have left a note attached to the bike. Odd really – there’s proper racks not ten yards away.