Beyond Bridgnorth with My Faddah da King!

Dear Juliet

Today is a workaday day, but last night I was skulking round Bridgnorth's avenues and alleyways. Saw a service user late that evening and, once I was finished, took the opportunity to roll the car up and round the High Town and take this picture of the old Town Hall dating from 1652 for you.

Gosh, it was good doing things like that for you again.

It also felt entirely normal and natural, and yet at odd moments I'd be beset by feelings of fragility and awe. It's like I've gone through the looking glass to a far-future time I never thought could be; yet it is as if the past is present, alive and awake like gossamer paper dancing in the wind. Once again I am doing these things for you and while it may be the worst of times for the world at large, it is the best of times for me.

For you too, I hope.

It seems a cousin of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's was born in Bridgnorth in 1894 and championed equal pay for women in Congress. Allah, threads, tapestries etc...

There was also a fun film called The Black Shield of Falworth starring Tony Curtis, in which he allegedly said, "to horse, to horse to Bridgnorth, there to meet with my faddah the king!" in a fluent Bronx accent which didn't work too well in 15th century England. However, it looks like the whole thing was made up by Debbie Reynolds...

But driving back to Shifnal on steep and twisting roads populated by maniacs in Range Rovers, I got a sharp ache. Not because of my faddah the king but my pal the princess. The profoundly deep feeling I'm doing all this for a precious gem, sweet and delicate as the wind...

Well, I didn't stop for a quick cry in a layby north of Bridgnorth at dead of night, but I did consider it.

Maybe tomorrow.

Love,

James



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