History Boys

I needed to collect two stations at the bottom of the West Midlands Railway map; Ashchurch for Tewkesbury and Worcestershire Parkway.  They were a long way away and too far apart to walk between so they were a bit of a blockage.  It became clear that the only proper way I could visit them - short of simply getting off one train and getting on the next without any exploration - was to stay overnight.

Fortunately I had Shrewsbury on my side.  The BF had been absolutely delighted by the ancient town when we visited it back in the autumn.  "We should do that more often," he said.  "Go places in England and explore".  I didn't have the heart to point out that I've been doing exactly that for the best part of two decades but I certainly used it to my advantage.  

"Have you ever fancied visiting Tewkesbury?"

Which is how we found ourselves on the town's high street on a cold January morning.  I will say, right up front, that we probably weren't experiencing Tewkesbury at its high point.  The snow had barely melted away and, as the point where the Avon meets the Severn, they'd clearly experienced a great deal of flooding in the thaw.  

It couldn't detract from the wide array of historic buildings that littered the centre.  This is an ancient marketplace, and the views reflected that, ticking off every prominent era of British architecture.  There were even some 20th century incursions, which got the BF absolutely furious; he does not share my love of modern buildings.

This being the United Kingdom in - blimey - 2025, the High Street wasn't in great shape.  There was a preponderance of charity shops, going from the standard ones you see everywhere to obscure one issue stores that you suspect are a front.  There were a disproportionate amount of takeaways too; there's something vaguely obscene about seeing a grand Victorian building with Chick'N'Kebabs wedged in its ground floor, LED signage and neon lighting glowing.  There was also an Edinburgh Woollen Mill, and you can imagine how I felt about that.

The town museum was sadly closed for the whole of January, continuing my run of managing to visit a place at exactly the wrong time to appreciate it, but fortunately there were plenty of helpful signs posted around to fill you in.

One of the more interesting facets were the various alleys and courts that ran off the streets, each with their own name and history.  The alleys were introduced as a way to increase the density and profits of the properties, with the homeowners fronting the street building on their land at the back or converting the rear to lettable space, then cutting a passageway through to give access.  An art project had seen tilework erected to give you an idea of where the name came from.

This one didn't have a tiled explanation, which the BF claimed was because "Lilley's Alley" was probably a euphemism for homosexual antics.  I don't think this is based on any actual facts but he made me take a picture of it so here it is.

We wandered down to the fields behind the main street, which were, at that point, basically a large lake.  It was amusing to see signage for the cricket club outside what was too all intents and purposes a pond.

This area was notable as being the site for the Battle of Tewkesbury, one of the decisive conflicts in the Wars of the Roses.  This is where I have to hold my hand up and say I don't really understand the Wars of the Roses.  It's Lancaster versus York, yes, and there was Richard III and Henry VII at the end, but it's all a bit vague.  I actually know more about the 1989 film The War of the Roses starring Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas than I do about this important period of my nation's past.  As is usual in this country, we've got way too much history, so we tend to only focus on the most interesting bits.  There was a proper civil war a couple of hundred years later where they actually chopped the king's head off; we'll concentrate on that one instead.

Indeed, one of the helpful information boards started talking about a different civil war in England, The Anarchy, which I had never heard of, despite it having a gloriously metal name.  This was a conflict between the heirs of Henry I, where, in a story that will be familiar to anyone with a passing knowledge of gender politics, his daughter Matilda lost the throne to his nephew Stephen because basically people preferred someone with a penis.  On the plus side, it means we got a "King Stephen", which continues to sound made up, like if there was a Pope called Kevin.

One of the reasons Tewkesbury was so important in both the Anarchy and the Wars of the Roses was the presence of its Abbey.  It survived the dissolution of the monasteries after the locals bought it off the King and turned it into their parish church; it continues to be wildly out of proportion to the town around it.

Sometimes, when you've been in a relationship for a long time, things can get lost.  You wonder if you're together out of habit.  You vaguely think that you might not have anything in common.  Then something happens that reminds you, no, we were absolutely made for each other.  

The BF and I stepped into this magnificent building, a stunning showcase of craftsmanship and artistry, a building constructed to inspire awe and devotion.  And we both let out excited noises.  Not at the opulence of the nave.  No, we both spotted this at the same time, and dashed over for a better look.

This is a Gurney Stove, installed in the 19th century to heat the cathedral through the burning of anthracite.  There was something about its elaborate iron form that immediately appealed to us, and we spent a good few minutes cooing over it.  We are not very interesting people, but we found each other, and that's the most important thing.

This is not to say that Tewkesbury Abbey disappointed.  It's a really beautiful building, well restored and stunningly lit, with a surprising amount of colour and decoration; the sort of thing you thought the miserable old Puritans stamped out.  

It's just that, well, abbeys and cathedrals are all a bit much of a muchness after a while.  Oh look, another stunning piece of stonework intricately carved by a master mason over years.  And another one.  You end up looking for oddities, like the scale model of the abbey above.

Or the tomb of Hugh le Despenser The Younger, who was apparently a "favourite" of Edward II, which caused me and the BF to purse our lips and roll our eyes like Cissy and Ada.  He was subsequently hung drawn and quartered, though looking at his Wikipedia page, he seems to have been a bastard on several different levels so this probably wasn't a bad thing.  

We wandered past the shop, and a book exchange, guarded by a chalkboard listing the Ten Commandments.  Thou Shalt Not Steal was underlined and dotted with exclamation marks, and the whole thing was finished with The Lord is watching - so is the CCTV!!  

The Nativity was still there, tucked in an alcove at the back.  Seeing the baby Jesus in all His glory in mid-January made me feel a lot better for still having my Christmas tree up so long after Twelfth Night.  

We stepped out of the abbey and back into the town.  It was early afternoon but they seemed to have shut up shop for most places; Tewkesbury is definitely not a twentyfourseven town.  We ended up in the Costa having a large latte and a panini.  It's a nice, decent little spot, a handy day trip if you're in the area, but I can't say we'll be rushing back.

Your visit to Tewkesbury has ended.  To continue to the railway stations, click HERE.  To go somewhere far more interesting, click HERE.