Tag: time

September 5th – On the way back, I popped to the church at Stonnall, to have another look for the grave of an old acquaintance I knew was there, but had been unable to find for years. I finally found it – slightly neglected, lettering disappearing to the weather, but still there – and unguardedly, I fell into memories for a while.

Decades ago, we’d cycled these lanes together, and discovered places like this quiet churchyard. We weren’t huge pals, but we rode together fairly often, and shared the odd pint.

As I looked from the churchyard over Stonnall, the air had a scent of autumn, and the landscape concurred. I felt a little autumn inside, too.

Time and memory wears you like a stream polishes a pebble bed.

Stepping back into the light, I got on my bike, and rode home.

July 8th – An enervating, hectic day from which I returned late. Tired, aching and verging on a sugar crash, I relented and stopped for a rest and a few sweets at the small meadow above the new pond at Clayhanger. I’d caught it in a lovely golden hour, and I reflected on how this spot had changed. When I was a kid, this hollow leading to a sunken pond with tree-lined banks was a spoil heap standing a good ten feet above my head. Between then and now, the colliery spoil was removed, the area landscaped and allowed to mature.

Not all change is for the worst.

June 28th – Later in the day, I had to run into Aldridge on an errand. The flowers and trees are coming along well as the season ticks away; at Clayhanger, a pear tree I’d not noticed before looks set to deliver a healthy crop, but nowhere near as prodigious as the blackberries in Walsall Wood if the bees get to it and pollinate that wonderful showing of flowers. 

Again, at Clayhanger, a mystery yellow flower I really should know, but don’t; it looks almost prehistoric. Any help gratefully accepted…

April 13th – Only mid April, yet the canal at Lindon Road, Brownhills is greening up well. On a cold evening as I headed on an errand up to Ogley Hay it was cold, but there is spring everywhere. I can’t really get over how quickly and seamlessly we seem to have progressed to this. It doesn’t seem five minutes ago it was Christmas.

Who knows where the time goes?

It would be nice if last week’s sun and warmth came back to see us, though…

December 15th – Brownhills High Street. Darkness, rain and lights. Time to grab a takeaway, get home, dry off and have a mug or two of tea. 

It felt like Christmas there today. Something about the lights, night and rain; every year, I always feel there are obstacles between me and Christmas – need to get x job finished, attend y event, buy z etc. and they steadily tick down until the holiday.

This year, I seem to have cleared most of the hurdles early, and I have a decided air of smugness about me. This can’t really end well.

June 30th – I guess we’re halfway through the year now, and in high summer. It certainly seemed like it as I cycled home along the canal this evening – the greenery, the light, the still, clear water. The peace.

It also occurred to me that after 6 moths of opening out, we’re now closing in again, but summer will hopefully be around for another 10 weeks or so yet.

It doesn’t seem ten minutes ago since I was wrapping up warm and wondering if I needed to change to winter tyres.

Where has this year gone?

June 26th – Work is a lot busier this week than I expected, and I /was/ keeping on top of things… until today, when I left my camera at work. I’d spotted these cute little violet flowers on a verge near Telford Railway Station and have no idea what they are, but they’re quite small.

Sadly, as I left my camera behind, it mean 365days got behind, too…

May 16th – I’m out in the elements all year round, and from the darkening in Autumn, the loss of leaves and closing in, I long for the days when everything is lush and green again. The jacket summer lends improves just about any spot – for me, it’s not just the warm air, the sun on my face or the birdsong – it’s the emerald greens of a summer in full flush, of the flowering and blossom, and of the maturing and fruiting.

For the last 5 months, this view hasn’t been worth a light, really. But today, on the cusp of another season, the sounds, sights and scents make this a lovely spot.

This has to be my favourite time of year.

April 4th – I’ve been struggling with my relationship with Walsall, and my memories of it, for a very long time now. I think seeing some of the places I loved burnt down, and others displaced by progress started it. I felt it was time I acknowledged it for once and for all.

I still love this surprising green, but ugly town. I love it’s unexpected beauty, I love its corners, twists and turns. I love the people, the frankness. I love the mixed cultures and the frontier mentality of a place thats both within and outside the Black Country.

I hate what time and my memory have done to it. But change is what happens to everyone, and I what I suspect I mourn isn’t Walsall, but the times I spent here.

St. Matthews is a handsome church in a commanding location, atop a hill that I’m convinced was once probably a fortification. A very large, ambitiously designed church, it’s almost too good for the place yet completely appropriate. Resplendent in yellow sandstone, it watches over the town below. For two centuries or more, it was surrounded by a sprawling slum; it’s now sitting in proud isolation with greenery and open space around. Time has been kinder to St. Matthews than one might think.

I used to come up here to think, and dream and wrestle with things that troubled me. I found the benchmark on the side of the church before I knew what it was for, and its image was persistent and perplexing. In those days, someone had written above it in neat chalked script, ‘I can’t come here anymore.’ I never knew what they meant. I do now, but the writing has long since washed away.

As I wandered around, remembering good times and bad, trying to make sense of what I felt. I looked to the skyline, to the towerblocks of Paddock, and at the flowers growing so beautifully wild in the churchyard. 

I remembered the words of the great, tortured and lost songwriter Doug Hopkins:

The last horizons I can see are filled with bars and factories 
And in them all we fight to stay awake… 
Drink enough of anything to make this world look new again 
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves 

…

The last horizons I could see are now resigned to memories 
I never thought I’d still be here today… 

It dawned, gradually, that it’s about going away, and returning. Spiritually, I left this place a long, long time ago. I let Walsall go. It’s right, and natural, and what happens to us all. But I never thought I’d still be here.

And once you’ve left, although you can come back, you can’t go there anymore.

Relieved, but hurting, I got back on my bike, and rode home.

December 21st – From here, it’s going to be OK. Everything will work out, and the battle of the last few months has finally been won.

From 5:11pm this evening, the darkness has been overcome, and every day from now on the daylight will lengthen in a sinusoidal patten until midsummer.

Today was the solstice, and from this point forward, imperceptibly at first, the days will lengthen and open out. There will still be dark, cold days to come, but the madness of the closing-in days has passed. My depression that deepens with the clock change in October will now lift. 

From here, Christmas, then a new year. A couple of cold dark months, then spring. The budding, the flowering, the warmth. The season’s mechanism continues, slowly, inexorably, and I am in it’s thrall.

Every year, I feel this so much more keenly. I need to feel it, to feel the good days. But oh, the blessed absence of light…

Chasewater was choppy, and grey. The fine sunset I’d hoped to catch didn’t come. But it didn’t matter. Darkness must now retreat. Begone.