A wedding cake church and autumn showers

Autumn is truly here and although the swallows are still here, happily swooping around as if they have no intention of migrating, I don’t think we’ll be getting an Indian summer. After months of near drought conditions in the Midlands, rain has returned and the countryside is green again. The September sun provides a glorious contrast to the brooding clouds that bring in short, heavy showers, making the harvested landscape gently glow pale and golden.

In need of a little outing, I cycled out to investigate a nearby parish church, following the long, hedgerow lined road which eventually leads to the village.

It’s not been on my radar for visiting, despite being close to home, as it’s mostly built in the rather grand perpendicular style of the Medieval period.  I much prefer smaller, older churches, plain and humble, preferably with a fragment of surviving Anglo-Saxon stonework somewhere in the brickwork, or at the very least, something Norman (which might make me a church snob). This one has always reminded me of a lurid, over sized wedding cake. 

But here we are, with No.6 propped up against the red Shropshire sandstone walls. I wasn’t able to explore inside, as there is an A4 sheet of paper pinned to the (hundreds of years old) door, declaring that entry is temporarily forbidden due to there being the dual calamities of a wasp nest and a hornet’s nest inside.

That left the surrounding graveyard to investigate and it charmed me more than I had anticipated, with a jumbled mix of stones from the relatively humble to the more ornate, overgrown with long tangles of dried summer grass and dark ivy creeping over once important names. 

It would be the perfect setting for a gloomy, 1970s style children’s TV series, with a child ghost and some kind of awful, ancient secret lurking under a large, elaborately decorated tombstone.

I did have a lovely surprise though, when I spotted a mysterious gate in the back wall, with a tantalising glimpse into a formal garden. As some of you reading may know or remember, I adore topiary.

Beyond all this tangled, decaying splendour lay the immaculate grounds of the village ‘big house’. Presumably it provided a quick and private route to church services for the family once upon a time. Now it is owned by a private company offering outdoor pursuits, but the gardens are still beautifully maintained and I was able to enjoy a secret peek, enjoying the sight of immaculately sculpted trees and pristine lawns. I may have to return one day with a sketchbook.

Then a short shower began and I took refuge in the thick walled stone porch, chatting to the attendant who was greeting visitors with offers of cake and coffee. 

We discussed bell ringing and wasps for some time, until someone else arrived and the rain had passed. Time for home and lunch.

I cycled home quickly, using No.6’s handy pedal assist to get me swiftly up the hills, trying to beat the next wave of showers which were moving in swiftly from Wales. Here in this backwards look, you  can just see the church tower poking up with its tiny flag, nestling in the faraway green.

We got back just in time, with the first fat raindrops falling as I turned the key in the cottage door. Time for homemade red lentil soup, salty and smoky, with just a hint of warmth from a pinch of chilli flakes and a sprinkling of Worcestershire sauce.

Shropshire lanes and Shropshire hills

I’ve not been able to cycle for a few  years now, due to middle-aged knees that don’t work well; the last time I tried was about three years ago and I had to give up after half a mile as it hurt too much. Buying my own e-bike is not an option as they are way beyond my means, however thanks to a new local hire scheme, I have the use of a very swish and sturdy bike for a nominal fee per month which included servicing and most repairs. And it's made such a difference to my life. 

I have called him No.6, after a favourite TV series 'The Prisoner', because there are 100 of these identical bikes, and more to come, all branded and with trackers in so that usage can be charted. Something about it reminds me of The Village and the big white ball, 'Rover' which bounced and chased anyone who tried to escape. 'Be seeing you'.

My mental health, along with my other conditions, has not been good over the years, but being able to get out a couple of times a week (even if it does take me an hour to get ready and overcome my anxiety before setting off) has been amazing and transformative. Spring is slowly creeping in and the weather has been glorious, so this morning I set off for a big circular jaunt through the single track lanes that branch off the larger roads. (I realise that if you're reading this in the USA or another big country, my definition of a larger road is probably somewhat different to yours!)

The pedal assist has been a game changer and makes cycling so much easier on my knees. This is Shropshire Hill territory though and there are many ups and downs. Some of the inclines are just too steep for me, but I don't mind getting off to push, even though I was rather envious of the few 'man machines' who were powering up and past me like bionic super cyclists on non-electric machines - or 'acoustic bikes' as they are now known.

I managed nine miles today and even though my knees are very painful, it was worth it, for the freedom, fresh air and exercise. As well as the sense of achievement and improvement to my mental health.

Marjorie is having a well deserved retirement in the porch, because even if I may never ride her again, she will always be my special bike - the one that Andy bought me when my old Hercules bike was stolen and because he knew I'd never had my own new bike before. I just wish he was here to cycle with me and overtake me on the steep hills.