An unlikely source of inspiration for a trip, you may argue is the former Tory politician and late night commentator Michael Portillio. However he has in recent years been making a series of programmes of Great British Train Journeys, using the first travel guidebook written by George Bradshaw, Portillio himself inspired to visit the places that Bradshaw did many years ago.
Bradshaw’s guide has taken the viewer the length and breadth of the country ably guided by a giddy Portillio, stopping along the way to pick up on the sights, cultures and traditions in modern day Britain. The changes over the years can be stark, however there are some places that Portillio visits where little has changed over the years and the sense of history remains and the stories never change.
One such place, and more importantly, a place I had never visited is Shrewsbury. Interestingly, did you read that as Shreewsbury or Shrowsbury? Apparently if you live on the south of the river it’s the latter with northern inhabitants preferring the former.
Nestling either side of the meandering River Severn, the small town is a charming higgle-piggle of black and white Tudor buildings set over several small hills, set round the historical market square with its Classic Market Hall which is now a Cinema. The cobbled pavements are home to market streets and shopping arcades and you don’t have to look too far for something to eat or drink.
My first stop was the 11th Century Norman Abbey on the south side of the river. Its founder, Earl Roger de Montgomerie (The First Earl of Shrewsbury) was a close relation to William the Conqueror and the Abbey was finally finished in 1083 BC. As I entered the Abbey with its warm sandstone façade, I was greeted by the calming strains of the abbey’s organ prior to Evensong which made the short walk round very peaceful indeed.
Back out in the January air, the light was poor, so I took in the modern simple sculptures in the grounds before spotting what turned out to be Shrewsbury’s most haunted pub. The Dun Cow (built purportedly at the same time as the Abbey) sits in it’s shadow and is a typical Tudor building on the outside, yet on the inside, you could be in any modern gastro pub watching Sky Sports on a Sunday afternoon. Luckily the ghost stories are slightly more interesting.
In 1980 Mrs Hayes, the landlords wife, awoke to see a hooded monk in her bedroom, bent over the cot of her infant daughter. This habit was described as having dots of bright colour on it. The monk was seen by the daughter two years later and she screamed as she awoke to find him there. Mr Hayes also saw the ghostly Brother and, apparently, some visitors have seen shadowy figures passing through walls there.
However the scariest things in the pub were the locals so I didn’t stay, deciding to get back to the Abbey to take some shots as the sun had finally made an appearance and the hue in the colours of the Shropshire Sandstone stood out fantastically. I bagged a few pictures and trotted across the river and up the hill to the town centre for a wander through the narrow streets, taking in the odd gallery or two.
Shrewsbury Castle unfortunately was shut, however I did manage to wander past the Church of St Mary’s where Robert Cadman had a particular party trick in 1732. He would tie a rope from the bell tower to across the river and would proceed to slide up and down via a wooden breastplate, his wife taking in the money from the punters below.
It seems this used to be all the rage at the time (See the Derby Blog). However this story doesn’t have a happy ending as one day in 1739 whilst performing his tricks the rope snapped and he fell to his death below.
He was buried in St Mary's Church, where a plaque in his memory may still be found. It reads:
Let this small Monument record the name
of Cadman, and to future time proclaim
How by'n attempt to fly from this high spire
across the Sabrine he did acquire
His fatal end. 'Twas not for want of skill
Or courage to perform the task he fell,
No, no, a faulty Cord being drawn too tight
Harried his Soul on high to take her flight
Which bid the Body here beneath good Night
Feb. 2nd 1739 aged 28
Close to the church and at the top of the fabulous ‘Bear Steps’ was another charming looking pub called The Bear and fortunately this time, it was a traditional pub with coal files and a welcoming atmosphere for a quick drink before the train.
Back at the station, I was surprised of the view as I walk back down the hill. When I first arrived, the inside of the station looked shabby and in dire need of restoration, I never then thought to look back when exiting the building. However a beautiful sandstone vista greeted me on my return - the Georgian station buildings sitting in the late winter sun with their quadruple sandstone chimney stacks and classically designed windows. It was beautiful and as I made my way onto the platform, it became more apparent of the regeneration that is needed to the rest of the station.
No matter how you pronounce it, Shrewsbury was, indeed a very pleasant day out with my camera, with just enough to feed my hobby. It does enough to keep one busy for a day or so and I didn’t even manage to explore the river Severn and its walks.
On the way back home, as the train sped through the Shropshire wetlands, the sun began to colour the horizon a beautiful cerise and we were treated to a magnificent display of darting flocks of Lapwing over the meadows. A warm last goodbye from a warming part of the country. I hope Messes Bradshaw and Portillo received a fitting farewell just as beautiful...
The school bus door hissed shut and the belching vehicle set off, as did lead feet stomping up the path home to another normal evening after school. My sisters sat in stony silence, hollowed eyed in the garden, whilst my Grandmother ushered me inside the house. Hackles rose, skin tightened and I was sat down opposite my father. 
