Bridgnorth Vs 1 - 0 Stafford IV,
Midlands Regional Hockey Association : Central League, North West 1
December is my month of abstention as the pubs are full of dicks taking an age to order shit beer. This means that the last weekend in November is always a big one, and this time the Severn Valley was chosen for a blow-out. We did this a couple of years as it tied in with the Tenbury Wells Mistletoe festival. The plan was to attend the Druid Thanksgiving Ceremony but it had moved to 3pm, they obviously didn’t appreciate our previous company of half cut football supporters on their way to Ludlow Town.
Outward move was an HST up to Reading, for the 0754 Great Malvern service. This was formed of a turbo or more specifically, 166 221, as this was one of three units I hadn’t travelled on this year. Each year I endeavour to visit every station, and travel on every train, on the GW network, and as it is getting on a bit, I’d made some discreet arrangements to assist me with clearing the last few. A bit like sending off for the last stickers for a Panini album.
The route up to Worcester traverses the moneyed towns of the North Cotswolds. Firstly Charlbury, home to the Prime Minister. Last time I was here was at the beer festival as our car parking contractor was sponsoring it. Low and behold, Dave was there, ordering beer in exactly the way that stops me visiting pubs in December “what’s this one called, what’s in like, where’s it from, can I try some”. It’s a beer festival, all the beers are 9% and like treacle, so just get on with it.
Next was Kingham, which was the location for the 2012 British Cheese awards after the organisers fell out with Cardiff council. However, only about 15 people turned up and we were allowed to take as much cheese as we wanted home. We took about 40 wheels of cheese home with us.
This is the former ground of Evesham, where my first visit saw a pre-army Guy Whittingham score a hat trick for his home town club. They have now moved to an electricity devoid site half way to Cheltenham.
Worcester Shrub Hill was my interchange for the service to Kidderminster, with my train bearing the outcome of a victorious head on with a pheasant, like a bucolic version of a truckers Michelinman doll.
My onward train was a London Midland service to Whitlocks End, a place I have never heard of, but apparently has an hourly terminating train. Worcester is still a bastion of semaphore signalling, with this fine gantry at the west end.
And so, on to the architecturally challenged Kidderminster station.
Although this was my actual destination.
The Severn Valley steam railway is right next to the main line station….
…..proudly declaring its exotic destinations.
Ideally, the licensed refreshment rooms are guide listed, and a Scarborough – Generation was had. The King and Castle name refers to classes of Great Western Railway steam locomotives.
War time posters on display. I am travelling to clear guide pubs, buy cheese and go to non-league football. Too right it’s necessary.
On to the platforms and a live example of football grounds visible from railways. In the foreground a pannier tank takes on water, rear left a London Midland unit departs for Worcester, and on the right is the Aggborough home of Kidderminster Harriers.
This was my steed for the short hop to Bewdley, the 97 year old 2857, a member of the Great Western Railways 28xx class of heavy goods steam loco.
With steam haulage comes steam heating, whereby steam from the loco is piped through the train to create heat, but the ancient pipe work often leaks, filling the train with steam.
Another view of the football ground as we pass the diesel depot, with three of the legendary class 50 ‘hoovers’, and a pair of class 20s.
And so into Bewdley, my first stop off.
Bewdley straddles the Severn, and had some sort of Christmas fayre on, which seemed to consist solely of stalls selling bird boxes and weather vanes. The town has a pretentious edge to it, mostly full of Brummies done good, example being Robert Plant and Rustie Lee.
To sum the town up in one picture, a mock tudor Tesco Express.
After first visiting the town deli, it was then off to the first pub, the appropriately named Great Western, for a Bewdley – Worcestershire Way.
Next was the Little Pack Horse, for the Cleo Mortimer based Hobsons – Town Crier. The pub was located on the High Street, but I found out too late that it was called this not because it was the main shopping street, but instead because it was at the top of a massive hill.
Final pub in Bewdley was the Mug House, for a Ludlow – Gold. The pubs in Bewdley seemed to be a magnet for 30 something Brummies on second internet dates. Met for the first time in the week, neither seemed to be a psychopath so agree to meet up at the weekend, but where? They don’t want to admit that they normally spend their Saturdays at nail bars in Merry Hill or watching Premier League games on Arabic channels in the local club. So a safe option is the cheapest posh place they can think of, which is Bewdley.
All to soon it was time for the train, so headed back to the station past some enticing poster art.
Whilst walking through the town earlier, I’d heard a loud crack and there was a number of emergency vehicles dashing over the river. This seemed to be the cause as a significant part of this tree had fallen onto the pavement, making a serious dent in the substantial railings.
Haulage on from Bewdley was GWR 45xx class Pannier Tank, 4566, built in 1923 in Swindon.
A pleasant surprise on the train was a full range of Bewdley brewery offerings. A lot of these have a railway theme. A Sir Keith Park (Southern Railway loco) and a Black 5 Special (London Midland) were chosen, along with some back copies of Railway World.
Off the train at Bridgnorth and straight into the first guide pub, the Railwaymans Arms, for an Elland – Pale. The pub is part of the station and stayed open even when the railway shut in the 1960s.
I hadn’t been to Bridgnorth station since the early 1990s, when the footbridge connecting it to the town had been declared unsafe, so getting to and from town necessitated a lung busting walk down and up mount Bridgnorth. I was grateful to see that the bridge had now been rebuilt.
Next stop was the White Lion…
…..for a Hop and Stagger – Golden Wander, and a Chorizo scotch egg
The next guide pub was located in the ominously sounding ‘lower town’. Sure enough a steep climb back up looked inevitable, unless……
Deep joy!
The Bridgnorth Cliff Railway is England’s only inland funicular railway. The cars date from the 1950s and bear all the hallmarks of coachwork of that era.
Going down.
At the bottom, the Black Boy was visited for a Redwillow – Mirthless, though I forgot to get a picture. Heading back up on my £1.20 return ticket.
My next destination was on the High Street, this one being a proper high street, where this item of refinement was tempting.
Next pub was the Kings Head, for a Hobsons – Twisted Spier. Bridgnorth was identified by Hitler as where he was going to base the Nazi HQ, due to it being easy to defend, near a lot of air fields, and a nice location. It is now home to the only people with more right wing views than Hitler; successful West Midlands businessmen.
Now off to the game, through one of the more elaborate walks to non-league grounds.
Eventually the ground was reached. Bridgnorth Town went bust a couple of years ago after a 50 year existence. They immediately reformed as AFC Bridgnorth in the catchily titled West Midlands (Regional) League - Premier Division.
However, heading to the turnstiles, it didn’t look promising.
Sure enough, the game had been called off that morning. They had played a game mid-week there that was called off after 76 minutes, exactly one minute after the point where the referee receives the full match fee. Trebles all round.
However, all was not lost. I had heard whistles and shouting on the way to the ground, so went off in search of this game. This involved a mercy mission through the most dog shit ridden pathway.
Which led me to here.
And to the first game of hockey I have seen in about 20 years. However, my previous games had been watching Reading win the European cup, where this seemed to be a collection of 12 year olds, geriatrics, and the morbidly obese.
The only other person present was an oldish gentleman, so I asked him who was playing and what the score was. I was slightly surprised when he responded that he had no idea to either, as he didn’t know any of the rules of hockey.
After a time, he suggested that one of the teams might be Stafford, as that is where he had come from, bringing his grandson to play. He then professed that football was real interest, and out of nowhere, stated how he had been man of the match in the 1979 FA Trophy final.
For the next 15 minutes, I was privy to every detail of the career of Barry Lowe, for it was he. Barry was from Salford, had been on the books of Blackburn, before playing for Stafford, Weymouth Worcester, Nuneaton and Stafford again. His career basically followed current Newcastle chief scout Graham Carr, who was the manager at all these clubs. Barry was keen to make the point that he was good friends with Carr, on more than one occasion showing me the contacts list in his phone.
Barry also told some amazingly slanderous stories about players he had played with. The ones I can remember were Graham Roberts, Vinnie Jones, Steve Claridge, Shaun Teale, Eddie McGoldrick and Trevor Morley. If I ever do get a lift from Tony Agana, I certainly won’t be looking in his glove box.
Anyway, all too soon the game ended. Some research has found it to be between Bridgnorth’s fifth team and Stafford’s fourths. Even more surprising is that Bridgnorth have a sixth team; these weren’t even the worse?
This meant I could get an earlier train, so it was back to the station and just enough time to re-visit the Railwaymans Arms for a Hobsons – Town Crier.
With the sun setting and the air very dap, it gave a very evocative scene on the platform.
More use was made of the train buffet for a Bewdley – Erlestoke Manor. This picture was meant to show the Elephant enclosure at the West Midland safari park which the railway passes through, but hasn’t come out as well as hoped. Take it from me, they are there.
Final destination back at Kidderminster. Haulage had been Ivatt Class 4 2-6-0 ‘flying pig’ 43106. Although an LMS design, it was actually built in the LNER works at Darlington, by BR in 1951.
So on to the final three guide pubs, in Kidderminster. Firstly the town centre Swan Inn, for a Bewdley – Worcestershire Sway.
Then Ye Olde Seven Stars, for a new offering from Otter – Silver Star
Then finally, Weavers, a decent micro pub. With some time before my train, a Byatts – Big Cat (who toasted me on Untappd, a thirst for a brewer) and a Three Tuns – Pale Ale.
So back to Kiddie stations; the SVR on the right and the mainline station ahead.
A London Midland unit was had to Brum for a Chiltern service to Kings Sutton.
Awaiting a service on to Didcot, King’s Sutton station car park seemed to be a strange Northamptonshire version of Fight Club, with various people practicing mixed martial arts.
And finally on to an HST to Swindon, which only had Strongbow, so my last two drinks for a month were that chemical junk.
Cheese was from the deli at Bewdley, and all now gone.
- Buffalo blue, Shephers Purse of Thirsk.
- Norfolk White Lady. Wymondham. An extremely ripe brie.
- Hafod. Organic cheddar from Lampeter.
- Capria. Lightwood dairy of Worcester. Goat camembert with milk from bewdley.
- Chaser. Cow’s milk version of the Capria.
