Ludlow Ledger (Issue #13)

ISSUE 13 – JULY/AUGUST 2016 – FREE

Meet the Mortimers Driving to Ludlow from Dubai Youth Shropshire Artist: Edward Bell Ludlow’s Rose & Crown rises again The man behind the BBC mike: Robin Spicer Short sharp Hamlet The Doctor’s Mon

“But, finally, the Mortimer luck had run out. After over 350 years of continuous male succession, Edmund died childless. However, that is not the end of the Mortimer story.” coRVe Street is the latest example of the use of the ‘Mortimer’ name, which, over time, has been used to designate not only a wide area as ‘Mortimer Country’, but also to name a forest, a road junction, a food store, a walking trail, a GP practice, a gardening service, a cider, and much else.

Not many people, though, are aware of who the Mortimers were, their vivid history, and why the connection to this area is so important.

People now live in and visit Ludlow and the surrounding area for its quiet, natural, rural beauty, enchanting countryside and remoteness. Yet for 500 turbulent years, following the Norman Conquest in 1066, this area was the centre of dramatic and important

events. Ruled over by powerful lords, it was the site of battles that affected the destiny of the country and was regularly visited by kings and queens. Indeed, the important role that the people and this area had in the Country’s history is reflected in such well-known London places as Mortimer Street, Wigmore Street, the Wigmore Hall and Harley Street.

Partly through the good fortune of having an unbroken male succession for over 350 years, and also through conquest, marriage and royal service, the Mortimers amassed a great empire of estates in England, Wales and Ireland; they played key roles in the changing balance of power between the monarchy and nobles; they forced the abdication of a king and virtually ruled the kingdom for

nearly four years; they became, in later generations, close heirs to the throne through marriage; and they seized the throne through battle when a Mortimer grandson became King Edward IV. The borderlands between England and Wales (known as the Welsh Marches) had some of the highest concentrations of castles anywhere in medieval Europe. Within a small area alone (which creates a loop between Ludlow, Orleton, Pembridge, Presteigne, Pilleth, Knucklas and Knighton, Wigmore, Leintwardine) there are the ruins and visible sites of no less than 17 castles, 15 churches, an abbey and a priory that all have links to the Mortimer family and which are visible reminders of their lordship and domination of the area. There

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are also three sites of battles, conflict and routs, which affected the course of national events. Nowadays, some of the castles appear as romantic ruins, whilst others are sites for which you have to use your imagination; most of the churches, though, are still regularly used for worship.

The name Mortimer comes from a castle in Normandy – Mortemersur-Eaulne – that the family held for only a few years, but, despite this, retained the name in a foreign country for nearly 400 years. It is not clear whether a Mortimer fought at the battle of Hastings in 1066, but within 10 years Ralph (I) Mortimer (died between 1115-1127) was being given lands and estates, including that of Wigmore.

Continued on page 10 >

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Contents

4

TRAVEL 4

Driving from Dubai to Ludlow ... well, planning to at least

CHARITY

5

Shropshire Youth In Work

PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE

6-7

Booksellers Arms micro pub gets the go ahead, Flying Scotsman crawls into Ludlow, the Fish project, Bertram Wigmore’s war grave unearthed

MY STORY 8-9

BBC soundman Robin Spicer relives some of his most memorable recordings

COVER STORY ... continued

10

Q&A

11

Meet the Mortimers

Gary and Karlos of The Rose & Crown

LETTERS 12

An unexpected chat about Hitler in Ludlow’s parlour pub, an open letter about the 490 bus route, Ledger worries, and a thank you for a brand new band

CROSSWORD 12

8 across: Special K for maiden in rendezvous with squawker (8)

OBSERVATIONS 13

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“Whether we’re talking about music, literature, food or beer, alongside all the good things which fit neatly in a category, there are also good things that happen when people ignore the categories and decide to cross the boundaries”

GARDENING

13

“What I was watching was a jobbing gardener, who I have since been told is very good at cutting hedges, but he wasn’t cutting hedges he was cutting trees”

PROFILE 14

Artist: Edward Bell

REVIEW

15

LITERATURE

16

“Here is a judiciously-edited script, some liberty-taking with The Bard’s plot and a fine cast giving us an updated and totally satisfying production” The Doctor’s Mon

NEXT ISSUE 16

11

Liz spends an evening in the Masonic Hall of Ludlow

Editor’s notes, hello again So the town’s Spring Festival has been and gone, during which I only managed to try five of the twelve remaining casks of beer on the final afternoon, before the very last drops of sensible beer dripped into plastic cups that Sunday, leaving just a little list of silly beers ... one badged Brain Bleach from makers Brecon Brewery: a dark and hoppy behemoth amidst relatively meek mutterings in this year’s Premium Strong Beer category.

All offerings in the Standard Bitters & Pale Ales were therefore drunk dry (there was talk of the same scene the day before) making it, perhaps, the best festival (in volume consumed) in a very long time. Not brilliant for those who still had to hand over an entrance fee of £6.00 to survey the grassed outer bailey of Ludlow Castle casually carpeted with smug revellers, brimming with beer, scoffing as we late bloomers optimistically trod toward the marquee (staff eager to take money in exchange for ten tokens). And optimistic it was fair to be, for there were no warnings of dry barrels – though in fairness I was

semi-prepared for a drought of some degree, which niggled me. I had to walk a fair way to get to my first sip (to the other end of the tent in fact) where some keg offerings stood partially blocking off some sensibly-rated real ales still in the offing – which is where I stationed myself, happily, and took in the remnants of the Best Bitters & Pale Ales section. It was here that I tried Gloucester Brewery’s Cascade, Hurns Brewery’s Cwrw Haf, and Red 25 from Wood Brewery (all 4.2 percent), followed by Nelson’s Eye (a 4 percenter from Heavy Industry Brewing) and a 3.6 from Tenby-brewery Harbour, called MV Enterprise. The latter, though, was nowhere to be found in the guide, which was a shame as it was a very nice beer – so much so that I took leave of my senses and bought further tokens to take in some more.

On my return I found it sold out.

I skulked along the list moaning at the high percentages and huffing at the descriptions (toffee, coffee, smoky, nutty, treacle and vanilla – not what this one wants in a beer), when I

spotted, reverse parked in an otherwise sold-out wall of barrels (a mirage I first imagined), a 4.6 from Harbour Brewery. This too was decorated with a makeshift, hand-written sheet, had no mention in the guide, and was another great beer from this West-Wales seaside-town brewery ... going to show that sometimes too much choice brings with it too much risk. After all it could have taken me many a non-palatable exchange of half token for half a beer, to find my way to the two from Tenby.

So, in essence, the gloating festival goers, merrily warming under the sumptuous May sunshine (whom I’d first considered blessed for imbibing from Thursday to my arrival late Sunday afternoon) actually did me an immense favour. Here’s to you all: £6.00 well spent...

Cheers, Jon Saxon editor@ludlowledger.co.uk Office – 01584 872381 Mobile – 07795 244060

Editor’s notes image} Cosford Food Festival |Print} Guardian Print Centre, Manchester | Letterpress printed masthead} Dulcie Fulton: mostlyflat.co.uk

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Ledger stockists

Road trip

Dubai to Ludlow text} Jon Saxon – TRAVEL –

LUDLOW 55 Mill Street Ludlow Aragon’s Café Church St Artisan Ales Old St Assembly Rooms Mill St Baker’s Café Tower St Barber Jacks Lower Galdeford Bentley’s Castle Square Bindery Shop Bull Ring Blue Boar Mill Street Castle Bookshop Market Square Castle Lodge Buttery Castle Square Charlton Arms Ludford Bridge China Garden New Rd Church Inn Church St Cicchetti Bar Broad St Cliffe Hotel Dinham Codfather Sandpits Corve Garage Bromfield Rd Cottage Cafe Attorneys Walk Countrywide Weeping Cross Lane Crumbs Tower St Ego’s Wine Bar Quality Square Fish House Bull Ring Green Café Dinham Guild Hall Mill St Harp Lane Deli Church St Homecare Temeside La Jewellery Parkway Mews Leisure Centre Bromfield Rd Ludlow Brewing Co Station Drive Ludlow Ledger 14 Corve St Ludlow Stoves Gravel Rd Ludlow Touring Park Ludford Ludlow Train Station Station Drive Mascall Centre Lower Galdeford Mod Lang The Woodyard (Corve St) Myriad Organics Corve St Olive Branch Bull Ring Pea Green Café Lower Galdeford Poyners Broad St Queens Lower Galdeford Red Hair Studio New Rd Renaissance Centre Tower St Rickards Bull Ring Rockspring Centre Sandpits Sam’s Café Lingen Ind Est Silk Top Hat Gallery Quality Square St Laurence’s Church College St Swifts Bakery Corve St Tiger Lilly Bull Ring Tourist Information Mill St Unicorn Corve St Vaughan’s Sandwich Bar King St V Café New Rd Wheatsheaf Lower Broad St Woodyard Gallery Woodyard ----------------------------------------------FURTHER A FIELD Aardvark Books Brampton Bryan Apple Tree Onibury Boot Inn Orleton Brightwells Auction Leominster Cleobury Café Cleobury Mortimer Community Shop Aston-on-Clun Community Centre Craven Arms Country Centre Cleobury Mortimer Courtyard Antiques Presteigne Crown Inn Newcastle-on-Clun Crusty Cob Cleobury Mortimer Discovery Centre Craven Arms Fiddler’s Elbow Leintwardine Ludlow Food Centre Bromfield Market Hall Cleobury Mortimer Mortimer Stores Wigmore Nelson Inn Rocks Green Old Downton Lodge Downton Plough Inn Wistanstow Roebuck (pub & shop) Brimfield Sun Inn Leintwardine Talbot Inn Newnham Bridge Tourist Information Tenbury Wells Village Hall Ashford Carbonell Village Shop Lydbury North Fancy becoming a Ludlow Ledger stockist – whether in or out of Ludlow?

Contact: stock@ludlowledger.co.uk

PRIOR to calling Ludlow home, I lived and worked in Dubai (from 2005 to 2009) with an ambition in the final days to drive back to the UK in a Caterham Super 7. Accompanied by fellow motoring journalist Dan Anslow (previously of Max Power) endless hours were applied to the adventure, which was to be serialised, based on video diary entries. The only surviving text of the pre-trip diary follows: ------------------------------------------------Spoke with the two French girls who embarked on a very similar mission in a new MINI a few years back – learning that Allison and Elise completed 4,500 kilometres in their MINI without drama – reaching their destination of Paris in 10 days. The only technical issue, I’m told, was when their MP3 player went on strike for a day. No mention of visa wobbles, language barriers or bother with the hazardous mountain roads. The only added headache we had was our vehicle – being low and cramped.

Elise even helped with the route.

Inspired, we hurriedly gathered together our proposed rations the same afternoon, harvesting cooking supplies and camping equipment from ACE Hardware, Carrefour and a lastminute dash to Spinneys supermarket for a consignment of tinned sausages in beans, some chewing gum, a crate of water, a big box of cereal bars and a king-size tube of Colgate. What else would we honestly need?

If nothing else, it highlighted the seriousness of the challenge and how ill prepared we really were (we’d even struggled to navigate our way around the food aisles): Arabic road signs, if any signs at all, in the blistering heat, in a British-built car without a roof or doors, with no handle on the needed languages associated with the countries we were about to visit.

Research was (embarrassingly) limited to one evening, over a few beers, watching Ewan McGregor and his companion Charley Boorman, fighting a long way down to Cape Town, both on motorbikes. Half way into the programme Dan and I had switched off started talking about aliens, green tea and discussing Kenwood stack systems, circa 1992.

One thing I do remember about the show, though, was the intensity of scheduling, visa application and route planning. The two riders even had an assistant. We, however, had no time for real scheduling and route planning; no money for an assistant and 30 days of

pre-flight checks before embarking on our 7,000-kilometre jaunt back to the UK in a late 1990s Caterham.

The visa part was technically painless, all conducted over email with a lady named Sarah. Filling out the forms online couldn’t have been easier; our applications filed as a consequence within a matter of minutes. The company responsible for handling the application contacted us a day later to welcome our forms, to confirm our dates, and to demand the necessary finance wired directly to a bank in Turkey. This is where everything, literally, fell to pieces; our last minute ‘express service’ dash to Iran thwarted with red tape, and hoops and mistakes made by the banks. In short: money went missing, delays ensued and our express service become an exservice, with all personnel who had rallied around on our behalf now washing their hands of our plight – as banks both ends blamed one another. Maddeningly neither took responsibility, whilst the application timed out, meaning we had to resend more money at more cost, to open up our file again, allowing our visa quest to continue.

Insuring the car was eerily the easiest to organise – with a little online research we stumbled across Alessie Insurance in Rotterdam, famed for their temporary international road-trip coverage. The policy arrived, via UPS, a week on from a few emails, three faxes and one telephone conversation with owner Maria.

The carne de passage was just as straightforward (minus the gridlock traffic to get there from Dubai to Sharjah) mustered up by the ATC (Automobile and Touring Club) in Dubai. We were asked to pay a 45,000 Dirham deposit though (roughly £8,500 at the time), based on the year of vehicle and not its value, to be paid as a bond to cover related expenses such as unpaid import duty and tax, in the unlikely event of the car staying in Iran. In the meantime Dan had whittled down his laundry to the bare necessities: mostly two of everything – pants, socks, t-shirts and jeans. I on

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the other hand wanted to wear a pastel blue suit the whole way, even though its man-made construction clearly posed a fire risk.

By then I was checking my emails every other second; awaiting the all clear from the Iranian government so we could put the last few months of planning to good use. The insurance cover for Dubai was sorted, as was the international third-party policy. The supplies were in order, as was the car – having been given a clean bill of health

by GulfSport Racing, a pass certificate by the Road & Traffic Authority in Dubai, plus a green card and export certificate issued by Elise and the ATC respectively. Another week rolled by. And then another. With only two ferry departures from Sharjah to Iran, Sundays and Tuesdays became rather significant – every week was organised around each one of those days. We must have attended at least three leaving parties.

The excitement and exhilaration, the thrill of the unknown; every feeling that once drove this mightily ridiculous adventure was flitting away. Waiting for the most basic paperwork (paperwork that should have passed through the necessary chain of command in a matter of days) – still unresolved.

The time frame of the international insurance (paid for weeks before) simply ticking away – reducing our arrival date by the day. It was an anxious time, drawing us nearer to a period of bad weather, poor driving conditions and added worries that a warmer route would have otherwise sheltered us from.

That said ... the last call I made before decamping for an eight-hour ferry ride to Iran was to my mum.

Fraught with anxiety, I spent 22 minutes squashing any pre-conceived suggestion that anything untoward could or would possibly happen to comrade, car and I along the next 7,000 kilometres. I cursed those who had seeded the suggestion of savagery, and calmed my mother with talk of heartwarming hospitality and sun-kissed scenery. After all, as Dan quite rightly said: “We’re not going to the moon – so what’s the worst that could happen?”

Deep down I wanted my mother’s anxiety to have just cause – the only way that would turn this challenge into an adventure was if something went drastically wrong. If it didn’t, we’ll just be driving back from Dubai, to the UK – and for me, that sounded rather dull.

Whenever possible I’d been looking out at sea – secretly praying for disaster in the days to come; it’s perhaps the first time I’d daydreamed of torrential rain to help reduce forward visibility to a few feet, high winds to prevent the use of a flimsy two-bit tent, and the happiness that black ice could bring to the trip. All were on my wish list, if only to courageously crawl out the other side, another strong tale for a future ear or two. Dan, on the other hand, remained apprehensive. He was, after all, understandably anxious after hearing that the Caterham was leaking clutch fluid. More miffed I’d say when hearing I’d known about the issue for some weeks.

If the car and I could convince Dan – we’d soon be taking our leave of Dubai and heading towards the Iranian port ... from Bandar Abbas through Sirjan, and on to Baghin on the A79, before taking a left on to A2 towards Yazd (half way to Tehran), taking in Ardakan, Nain, Neyestanak and Ardestan.

--------------------------------------------------Looking back through my notes I notice the chosen A01 from Tehran to Tabriz accounted for an eight-hour slog on small mountain roads, for 680 kilometres.

It was then on to Turkey, the bit that I was a little unsure about, taking the E80 through Erzurum to Amasya and Istanbul, before the E87 to Uzunköprü and later Ipsala, bringing us to the E90, Igoumenitsa and the ferry to Bari, Italy.

It was here that I felt that we were effectively home – technically a day’s drive from the UK. This was not going to be the case though, with a few dogleg trips – taking in the likes of Monaco and St Gotthard alpine pass. We even scheduled in as many abandoned race circuits as we could along the way – including the Italian street circuit at Pescara, Reims-Gueux, and, arguably, the greatest French circuit of all time: Rouen-les-Essarts.

But we never did get that far. In fact we never got on the ferry from the side of Turkey to that of Italy, never mind touching down in the Iranian port of Bandar Abbas, 12 hours from our start point of Sharjah, across the waters near my one-time home of Dubai.

Stepping aboard the Calais-to-Dover ferry was not to be, where we would drive an hour and a quarter to the town of Caterham (to the welcome of Caterham Cars and a breakfast at the Godstone Road café) in preparation for the next 170 miles toward the destination of Ludlow.

And the reason? Well ... getting to Iran was a goer, but the day’s drive from one side to the other was only going to be permitted once we’d each paid for a guide. With barely enough space for the king-size tube of toothpaste (snuck down the side of the passenger seat, in between our ration of cereal bars and our security torch) our two seater was deemed unsuitable for the trek by government officials and, indeed, to accommodate the two conditional guides. The over-riding solution was for us to take the bus across Iran, at the cost of two tickets and the two guides (who, it transpired, were instructed to keep us on route, away from everywhere else) ensuring that we didn’t report on anything untoward that we might see.

Of course an able assistant (like McGregor and Boorman’s) would have ironed all of this out at the first turn, meaning by hook or crook we’d have easily taken the trip but, instead, it was two half-broke journalists who were spent, both mentally and financially, with an over-riding feeling of being taken for a ride by the Iranians.

But that said all is not lost: after all, we could challenge the route in reverse this time around ... though an assistant would be mandatory. Any takers?

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Young Shropshire in Work

Mentoring Ludlow’s young people text} Simon Pease | image} Ashleigh Cadet – CHARITY – iT is a fact that today, if you are in the 16 to 24 age group, you are more than twice as likely to be unemployed than other members of the working-age population. If you would like to see some of the background statistics, they are at the end of this article. But these statistics are about human beings, and each one unemployed represents a personal struggle in a life and a waste of a resource, not to mention a cost, for the community and the economy as a whole.

There can be many reasons why someone in the 16 to 24 age group might be unemployed and, yes, some might be self-inflicted, but society (that’s you and me) will be better off with every one of them that gets into the world of work. That is the hard-headed case for helping. Maybe you don’t need that to persuade you; perhaps you just believe that everyone deserves a chance, or even a second chance, no matter whether they have made mistakes, or simply haven’t had the opportunities. Whichever is true for you, there is an undeniable need.

Young Shropshire in Work (YSIW) is a charity set up by John Aitken (Mayor of Ludlow 2010-2012) in 2012 to provide support to young people between the ages of 16 and 25 in the Ludlow area trying to find employment for the first time, or after a period of unemployment. Young people in this position may need support in a number of ways, from the practical, such as help with writing a CV or interview skills and techniques, to providing a source of independent views and advice on a range of problems.

I sat down in Ludlow town square over a coffee to talk to Sue Chantler, the Lead Trustee for Mentoring of YSIW, on a glorious spring day in early May, though in the shade the wind still had a bit of an edge. But the scene in the market square was at its colourful spring best. There were plenty of people about, some working, some doing their shopping, and some simply wandering. Add a good cup of coffee and it is hard to think of a more attractive place to be.

But, as Sue pointed out, it is easy to be complacent in a place like this; it looks, and it is, a great place to live for those whose lives are worked out. But there is another side. If you are young and unemployed, a rural market town, however attractive, is not a particularly good place to be.

If you decide you do want to work, the opportunities may be fewer than in a city or larger town, and travel to

somewhere where there may be a job, even as close as Shrewsbury or Telford, can be a significant hurdle.

Sue tells me that many of the young people YSIW deals with have missed out on the help and support their more fortunate peers have when it comes to looking for employment – whether that comes from family members or professionals in education. “It can be really powerful for them to sit down with someone from their community who wants to help, and is willing to give an hour of their time to talk things through and encourage them.”

It shouldn’t really be a surprise that mentoring can have such a positive impact. The chief executives of many leading companies turn to coaches and mentors to help them grapple with the challenges they face in their roles.

Having someone you can talk to in confidence, who has your interests at heart and who is the source of honest, independent and unbiased advice, is something that many are willing to pay a considerable amount of money for, so it is a potentially priceless resource for those who cannot pay for it.

Nor is mentoring a one-way transaction. Mentors can and should get something out of the work as well. Deeper involvement with their community, the reward that comes from feeling you have helped someone, and from establishing a relationship with someone you might have walked past in the street and not thought twice about. Mentoring can be a positive thing for your own career; it can be a good addition to your CV at a time when major corporations are beginning to think more seriously about demonstrating their positive impact in the community as a whole.

And of course, for some, it may even open up new opportunities as a mentor or coach at work or in other areas.

So what kind of person makes a good mentor? Sue emphasises that YSIW wants a wide range of people to be mentors, and that, with an anticipated rise in referrals to YSIW in the coming year, more are needed.

Understandably a number of the mentors are retired people with time and the desire to help, but not all fit this profile. “We’re not looking for specific skills or experience,” says Sue “the first requirement is that the person should be able to model, for the person they are mentoring, the qualities that are valued in work, such as responsibility and reliability.” The mentor needs to demonstrate these qualities in their relationship with the person they are helping. It may be the first time the person being mentored

has had experience of someone who sticks to an appointment, has done what they said they would do, and who is then prepared to listen, and offer clear, thoughtful advice.

The work has its challenges as well as its rewards. “We do need people who are resilient and resourceful” says Sue. Mentoring relationships are confidential, and while people may be guarded at first, once trust has been established, people often “open up”.

It sometimes seems difficult to make progress, to maintain the motivation and focus of the person you are mentoring. The aim is to help them prepare for work – some, happily, finish their mentoring when they find employment, but not all get that far; in that case, if they have been moved a little further down the road toward employment, the mentoring has had a positive impact. So, as a mentor, you have to be realistic and accept that sometimes you won’t achieve all you would like.

I also spoke to Jane Hunt, one of YSIW’s experienced mentors. Jane told me that a mentor needs patience, needs to be clear about what they are doing and why. “You have to be self analytical, able to think about what you are doing in the moment.”

Unsurprisingly, she says there is no point doing the work if you think young people are “rubbish”. You do need some empathy, Jane says. A good mentoring relationship will be based on truth and constructive criticism; many of those being mentored need help to boost low self-confidence. I ask about the training for mentors. Jane tells me that she found it very good.

Hers was spread over two evenings and involved working with a group of people who were compatible and had interests that coincided with hers.

The mentors are well supported.

There is an evening forum meeting – about once every two or three months – to which you can go to meet other mentors and discuss the issues that come up, while respecting the confidentiality of the mentoring relationship. Supervision is also provided, when needed, by the officers of the Charity.

The time commitment for mentors is variable, but YSIW is clear that mentors do not give up their lives to the work. At fairly intense periods, a mentor might spend an hour a week with the person they are mentoring, and then spend a little time writing up.

At other times the commitment drops to less; it depends on the needs of the person being mentored and what stage

they are at, but essentially it is a matter for the mentor and their client to work out in a way that suits them both.

Here are some stats, for those of you who like them. Overall unemployment may be at a low level historically (5.1 percent in the three months to November 2015), but it affects young people disproportionately.

The unemployment rate for 16 to 24 year olds in the period December to February 2016 was 13.7 percent. In that period 627,000 people in the 16 to 24 age group were unemployed.

Those aged 16 to 24 are three times more likely to move from employment to unemployment than those over the age of 40.

If you would like to be a mentor, or would like to find out more about mentoring for YSIW, contact Helen Vaughan (01588 676220 or Helen.

Vaughan@ss-ha.org.uk) or Paul Middleton (07583 206139 or Paul.

Middleton@sshropsha.co.uk).

Officers of the charity will be happy to talk to you, and can put you in touch with an experienced mentor to get a more personal account.

------------------------------------------------The author is a mentor for YSIW

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Booksellers Arms, Flying Scotsman, Bertram’s grave

Since issue 12 of Ludlow Ledger text} Jon Saxon – PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE – Since the last issue of Ludlow Ledger the town was awash with 3 Weeks in Ludlow – a combined effort from the organisers of the town’s three remaining arts festivals: Rooftop Theatre’s Shakespeare at Ludlow Brewery (see page 15), the Summer Arts Festival at St Laurence’s Church, and Ludlow Fringe Festival in a variety of town venues.

Lee Hassan, Andrew Stewardson, Lydia Morgan, Christian South and Ben Barnfield from Teme Leisure, Ludlow (along with five other cyclists from Church Stretton and Cleobury) recently took part in a 150-mile ‘Coast to Coast in a Day’ road challenge on Saturday 25th June ... taking them from the Cumbrian village of Seascale to Whitby in North Yorkshire.

With their specialist kit sponsored

by Ludlow’s Pearce Cycles, the group embarked on the event in aid of Shrewsbury charity ‘Lingen Davies Cancer Fund’, to assist in buying

specialist equipment … a charity which has pledged to raise £750,000 by the end of 2016 to help fund an additional Linear Accelerator for the Cancer and Haematology Centre at the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital.

At the time of going to press, the Teme Leisure fund-raising page (justgiving.com/fundraising/TemeLeisure) had already raised £1210.

In addition to their existing premises on Weeping Cross Lane, the team at Wicked Van Hire have recently taken over the mid-19th century three-storey mill on Temeside – just around the corner, next door to the vets – to accommodate their everexpanding removals and storage side of the business; a move that will add extra security and peace of mind, with CCTV and thermostaticallymaintained interiors. Please see their advert on page 15 for contact details.

Things have moved on at 132 Corve Street since we last went to print – with the necessary permissions for Ludlow’s

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second micro pub (the first being The Old Tap Room above Artisan Ales on Old Street) being granted in full.

The Booksellers Arms, as it will be known, will soon stand as Ludlow’s most intimate public house with its extremely small footprint somehow managing to find space for customers, in addition to the offering of chairs and tables, three local beers (served direct from the cask), a choice of cider, and a changing selection of whiskies.

Opening hours have been confirmed as Thursday to Saturday: 12noon to 6pm and Sunday: 12noon to 4pm.

The beautiful 1Bristol Scout (the first type of British wheeled aircraft to fly from the deck of a Royal Navy carrier at sea, as many will remember from its build-feature in issue 3 of Ludlow Ledger) has been selected for a Preservation Award by the Transportation Trust. The Award, which is made annually to celebrate restoration excellence and commitment to the preservation of the Nation’s heritage, will be presented

by HRH Prince Michael of Kent at Brooklands later this year. “It is a huge, huge honour” said owner of the aircraft, David Bremner, who restored the aircraft with brother Rick and Theo Willford, incorporating original parts from their grandfather’s favourite Bristol Scout, serial no. 1264.

Another slice of bygone engineering – still doing the rounds – is the so-claimed ‘most famous steam locomotive in the world’ 2The Flying Scotsman, which passed through

Ludlow at 4:24pm on the 8th June.

Decked in Brunswick Green livery, the 1923 Doncaster-built Class A3’s hello to Ludlow was kept pretty lowkey (the landmark train’s fleeting visit barely announced), largely as a result of previous outings elsewhere, following it’s £4.2million-restoration, attracting far too many people far too close to the train tracks.

One person sadly missing from the sun-kissed welcoming party for this iconic steam train – standing safely behind the car-park fencing of Ludlow Brewery, with pint-in-hand – was the recently-passed gent of Ludlow, 3Tim Barrass, whom many will of course know from his time serving behind the bar at The Church Inn and, some years prior to that, at The Bull Hotel with Phil and Sally Maile at the helm.

I got to know Tim through the former hostelry, where he showed great interest in Ludlow Ledger’s sister title Doghouse – the British pub magazine ... always insisting on buying a copy hot off the press. Tim would later embark on a campaign to secure Kerry South’s dog Archie as a cover star of a future edition.

Tim was also equally supportive of the Ledger, and was among those who filed into the, then un-named, office kitchen back in May 2015 to help celebrate the first anniversary of the paper’s being and, in doing so, was a part of a dummy run for what was to become The Dog Hangs Well.

Over time I managed to squeeze a bit of background out of him: mainly a keen interest in cricket and (for his sins

some may say) a lifelong Nottingham Forest fan... watching them wherever possible, travelling to home and away matches, and once following them to see them win the European Cup. He was also always up for a walk, whether it was walking the dog on the Long Mynd (where he would sit and watch the gliders), in the local forests, or along the Bread Walk and into The Charlton Arms, where he would maintain that the dog had pulled him in for a pint.

Tim also enjoyed living by the river, Kerry told me, where he enjoyed watching the ducks and swans. “There would always be a daily report of how they were doing and how the cygnets were growing – with a daily head count, and genuine concern if one were missing.”

On the same day as this issue is being distributed, the Severn Rivers Trust will be holding a public consultation (Tuesday 5th July, 10am – 7pm) in the meeting room at The Mill on the Green, to view plans for a proposed River Heritage Centre at Dinham.

The Centre will form the hub of the ‘Springs of Rivers’ project which aims to return the rivers and streams to a more natural condition and better ecological health, by restoring the natural waterways, improving wildlife, and educating about and increasing community involvement around their river. For more details about the day, email admin@severnriverstrust.com The Friends of Ludlow Museum have announced have announced that work

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has now started on the 4FISH project (Fossils In Shropshire) digitising the geology collections of Shropshire Museum Service ... a 41,000 strong collection of fossils, rocks and minerals.

Digital mentor, John Sear, has also been on hand to help the team explore a range of scanning, photography software equipment and techniques, including a cutting-edge laser scanner used by researchers at Birmingham University. Software manipulation will allow many images to be created in 3D and really bring the fossils (some as much as 540 million years old) to life.

Further information about this exciting project will be posted on: 4fishproject2020.wix.com/news Whilst restoring headstones at Leonard’s churchyard, the kerbs of a previously unknown grave have been revealed. Along the length the inscription reads: BERTRAM WIGMORE IMP YEOMANRY KILLED IN ACTION KLERKSDORP TRANSVAAL. The end kerb reads: FEB 25th 1902.

The grave itself is not recorded in the list of burials, which was compiled in 1996 by Peter and Debbie Klein, with research so far confirming that Bertram was a private in the 13th company 5th Battalion of the Imperial Yeomanry. This was the Shropshire contingent in what was, predominantly, a Northumberland Regiment. From the burial register there, it also shows that he was interred in a mass grave in Klerksdorp near Elandslaagte.

It was most unlikely that his body would have been returned to 5St

England although, at the time, it was permissible, which could explain the grave-sized plot in St Leonards – the cost and practicalities would, presumably, have been somewhat prohibitive.

One clue might be the inscription on the other end kerbstone which reads ‘And of’ which suggests a further burial was planned, though it is unknown if this did take place. No memorial has been found to confirm this either, but Bertram’s mother did die within a year of her younger son’s death.

We now know that Bertram was born around 1876 to James Wigmore (1844 – 1917) who was born in Munslow and, later, died in Lewisham, South London, and to Sarah Anne (1842 – 1903) surname unknown, who died in Leominster with records stating she was buried in Ludlow on 20th April.

Research has also proven that both parents were teachers.

It should be noted that there are actually a number of official war graves in St Leonard’s churchyard, those of: Leading Seaman Henry Hill, Royal Navy; Sergeant Reginald Jackson, Royal Engineers; Private William Millichamp, King’s Shropshire Light Infantry; Sergeant Edward Sheldon, Royal Garrison Artillery; Corporal Stanley Tillett, Army Pay Corps.

A memorial tree was planted in 2014 in this churchyard in memory of Pte J H Baron (as featured in issue four of Ludlow Ledger) who died at Armentieres in 1914 … the first Ludlow man to fall in the Great War.

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Images on p6 and 7} David Bremner (1) David Middleton (2); Kerry South (3); Richard Stanton (4); John Barnard (5)

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Robin Spicer

Tales from the man with the mike text} Robin Spicer – MY STORY – ROBIN Spicer, together with his wife Anne, have been well-known figures in and around Ludlow for more than 20 years. Across four decades, as a BBC soundman, Robin recorded leading personalities and major events in sport, the arts, politics and light entertainment: PMs Wilson, Heath, Callaghan and Thatcher, 15 FA Cup finals and more than 50 football internationals; the world’s greatest soloists and conductors; stars of jazz (Robin’s greatest love) and early recording sessions of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

Robin’s tales are currently being collected as a possible offering for book publication. Here is an exclusive taste.

------------------------------------------------The most notorious recording I ever made should never have survived in the first place. It came during a BBC Test Match Special, broadcast in 1991. The legendary broadcaster Brian Johnstone and a young Jonathan Agnew were struggling to suppress hysterical laughter on air.

The cause was England batsman ‘Beefy’ Botham’s dismissal by the West Indies. He had trodden on his own stumps, because he “just couldn’t quite get his leg over.” ... It’s possible that the joke passed me by at the time.

The soundman doesn’t get to sit in the TMS box, he is buried sight (if not sound)-less, in a tiny cell far from the crowd. I’d left the tape running. The following morning, I was about to wipe it when I got an urgent telephone call.

Media were asking if the episode had been recorded. The rest is history.

------------------------------------------------“To begin at the beginning” – these are the first words in a play for voices called Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. In 1963 I was a young recording engineer, nervously watching my equipment lights flicker and needles twitch, and trying not to do the same. The play had already been recorded with an all-Welsh cast in Cardiff, giving us luscious characters like Organ Morgan, Rosie Probert and Polly Garter, Evans the Death, and Miss Myfanwy Price.

Our star narrator was Burton the Voice – Richard Burton, booked for a day’s work as you could with just

about anyone in those days. Burton’s wife, Elizabeth Taylor was there too, “to give him encouragement.” Miss Taylor was high in the public eye, on account of her $1million contract for the epic film Cleopatra, which had only just been released. The glamorous couple could afford to live high on the hog. Yet, at the end of the day’s broadcasting, we all trooped up to the BBC canteen to enjoy the likes of sausage and chips, the Burtons included. If you’re going to start anywhere, do so at the very top.

------------------------------------------------In 1990 I was booked by Woman’s Hour for a live broadcast from the Royal Festival Hall, which was to include an all-girl band called Toot Sweet. There I met an old friend, Pat McLaughlin. She had the best job on the show, which was to select, abridge, book the reader and supervise the recording of the regular serial. “Robin dear,” she began to ask me, “I’ve booked a young actress to read and she’s a bit nervous. Could you come along to the Green Room, talk her through it, offer her some microphone tips, you know, reassure her.” Along I went and there stood this “nervous, young actress.” It was the celebrated and highly experienced Judi Dench.

If you think I was about to give Judi Dench advice on how to read into a microphone, you must be joking....

------------------------------------------------You never know what might come out of an average day’s work. In 1983 I was attached to a young producer, Piers Plowright. We were to go to No 30 Sheffield Terrace, London W8 for a programme to be called: Nobody stays in this house long.

An elderly couple lived there on straitened means, unable to heat more than one room, and yet they kept a pair of servants. It was a Victorian tall house which had once been an artists’ colony. The top floor was an atrium which drew natural light from sunup to sundown. I had fun wandering from room to room, recording 60-90 minutes of what we call wild track.

Piers worked his miracles and, lo and behold, it won the Prix Italia; this prize is the one to get because you are nominated by your peers, your fellow professionals. Even better, we

were entitled to an ex-gratia BBC bonus in recognition. And since the prize was awarded in Italy, it came tax-free … you just never can tell from the diary. What a good day’s work.

------------------------------------------------In the ’50s and ’60s, the BBC took the opportunity to run auditions; all you had to do was write in and show that you earned money performing. It was in ’63 or ’64 that I had to record the usual pop band – two guitars, drums and keyboard and they were okay, doing Rock & Roll and Rhythm & Blues – so far so unexciting. I asked them if they had a singer. Yes, they said, he was outside parking the van. When he came in, he sat at the back for a while, scowling as if he couldn’t wait to be ‘on.’ He chose an Otis Redding standard called Hard to Handle – and it is, very few can do it. Well he not only did it, I’d go so far as to say he tore it apart with a big, powerful voice. “Terrific” I said, and meant it. Thank you very much, he replied.........Tom Jones.

------------------------------------------------In 1981 the Camden Jazz Festival pulled a real stroke when they booked the trumpet-player Chet Baker. I found a tiny man, quiet and selfeffacing, his face heavily-lined. The sound he produced to me sounded more flugel than trumpet.

He was not a well man (from all sorts of substance abuse) so he wasn’t long for this world. He wanted a perch stool – “I can’t stand and play.” He wanted the microphone between his legs, pointing up – “I can’t hold the trumpet out.” From my position at the side, he looked like a question mark but he played like a dream. I wonder if the tape still exists? It does in my heart.

------------------------------------------------In 1972 I was sent to Heathrow to record two unlikely platform-sharers, the President of Egypt – Anwar Sadat, and Golda Meir – the Prime Minister of Israel. Weren’t they sworn enemies?

Because of sensitivities I was ordered to set up separate microphones. They refused to use them, they shared just the one, they even embraced. The reason they gave for making peace was that they were both grandparents and wanted peace in the region for their grandchildren. Hasn’t exactly happened, has it? Despite these two brave people.

------------------------------------------------Gerry Fitt, the veteran SDLP Irish politician, was effectively run out of Belfast for his peace efforts. On his elevation to a life peerage in the early 1980s, he and his wife moved lock, stock and cardboard boxes to a tiny flat in Vincent Square in London where I was sent to do the sound for an interview. Since the boxes took up nearly all the space, I decamped into the bedroom with my equipment.

The telephone rang so, when it wouldn’t stop, I picked up the receiver.

I recognised the voice but whose was it? “It’s Frank Carson.” Carson was a very popular TV comedian whose punchline was: ‘it’s the way I tell ’em!’

“Tell Gerry I need some more jokes for tonight,” he told me. Apparently Gerry Fitt wrote a lot of Frank Carson’s material.

------------------------------------------------I saw Muhammed Ali and Cooper in the ring together at the Royal Albert Hall. Ali had been booked to give a three-round exhibition. I was ringside, sorting out headphones for our summariser, Henry Cooper, when the ring announcer saw Henry and introduced him to the crowd. Henry leapt into the ring like a spring-heeled jack. Soon he and Ali were joshing around, shadow-boxing, a pair who had tried to knock each other’s blocks off a few years before.

On my way home on my motorbike, I was stopped at Wandsworth Common.

A young and aggressive copper came over to me, ordering me off my bike.

Where was I going? What was I doing?

Names of witnesses who would vouch for me … that sort of thing. So I told him, he could ask Muhammed Ali and Henry Cooper for starters. He wrote these studiously into his notebook.

He was being supervised by an older officer who could not help laughing.

He let me go.

------------------------------------------------I never worked with that great racing commentator Peter O’Sullevan because he was TV, but I did work alongside him.

In late summer 1991 at Goodwood, TV and Radio were housed in a balcony at the top of the grandstand, opposite the winning post. Radio was taking all the races, TV only the first and last of the day. So Peter O’Sullevan had a couple of hours off in between. It was a windy day and, 30 minutes before the final race, the balcony interior door slammed shut and the lock jammed. In due course, a frantic hammering was heard coming from the other side. The TV crew tried to force the door with no success. The horses were already cantering down from the paddock to the starting line.

And there was no TV commentator.

“I’ll find another way,” we heard O’Sullevan shout through the door.

Busy with our duties, we had an enormous surprise when a purple face appeared from over the other side of the balcony. O’Sullevan had gone down to the box below and got a couple of hefty riggers to heave him upwards – this was at least four storeys up. We reeled him in.

He made it to the mike just in time for: “And they’re off.”

ISSUE #11 Televised baker: experiencing the Victorian way Vintage Guns of Corve Street Inspirational Nicola North Winter Gardening Macbeth reviewed Q&A: Woodyard Gallery’s Geoffrey Adams The Dog Hangs Well Walking Football with Gary Seymour ludlowledger.com/archive

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ISSUE #12 55 Mill Street’s Nina Ludlow’s Brand X William Shakespeare in Ludlow? Getting real in the garden Long-haired deer of Mortimer Forest Rod Stewart’s Ferrari F50 Remembering Amanda Brisbane The correct crossword Kirsty Stephens’ Cicchetti Bar ludlowledger.com/archive

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– COVER STORY – < continued from the front page By the time of the Domesday Book, in 1086, he is recorded as owning over 100 manors in 12 counties across England. He also conquered lands in Wales, starting a 200-year period of warfare to retain control of them.

In this early period, the most notable Mortimer lord was Hugh (I) – who died between 1181-1185 – not least because of his exceptional age. His date of birth is not known, but he must have been well into his eighties when he died – extremely old for the times.

Hugh (I) led the small group of local lords that were loyal to King Stephen during the civil wars of the mid-12th century and for a time was imprisoned in Ludlow Castle – tradition has it that he was imprisoned in what is called Mortimer’s Tower, but it wasn’t actually built until 100 years later. He also founded Wigmore Abbey.

During the 13th century, marriage to wealthy and influential heiresses added significantly to the Mortimer estates. Although control of the Welsh conquests had passed back and forth, by the end of the century the English conquest of Wales was completed and the Mortimers were rewarded for their part with yet more lordships in the Marches. At that time the Mortimers were amongst the wealthiest, most powerful and influential barons in the country.

The most significant Mortimer in the 13th century was Roger (III) (died 1282) whose marriage to Maud de Braose brought significant new lands and wealth to the Mortimers. During the rebellions against the king, led

by Simon de Montfort, Roger (III) at first veered to that side, but then came down firmly on the royal side and was a key commander in the royal army. Roger helped to engineer the escape of the heir to the throne from captivity in Hereford and, at the Battle of Evesham, led the forces that killed Simon de Montfort – his head was chopped off. Roger (III) despatched the head to Wigmore as a grisly trophy for his wife (Wigmore had twice been besieged by the armies of de Montfort).

At the start of the 14th century, more than any other member of the family, Roger (IV) – who died 1330 – left his mark on both the affairs of the country and the locations in this area (commissioning extensive building works at Wigmore Castle and Church, Ludlow Castle, Leintwardine and Pembridge Churches). Through inheritance he already owned vast estates in three countries; through marriage to Joan de Geneville he added even more land, wealth and castles (including Ludlow); through ability, he became a key military commander and royal administrator; through circumstances, he was pushed into rebellion, imprisoned, condemned to death; through daring, he escaped to the continent and lived in exile (and became the lover of the Queen), before returning to force the abdication of the King (the first time this had happened) and effectively rule the country for nearly four years; through ambition, he added more wealth and titles raising the family to the rank of earls, as Earl of March; through over-reaching himself, he was executed as a traitor in 1330.

Roger (IV) spent some of his wealth on extensive building works to make Ludlow Castle more palatial: responsible for constructing the new Great Chamber Block, the Garderobe Tower with its ensuite toilets, and St Peter’s Chapel in memory of his escape from the Tower of London.

In 1329 Roger (IV) made a visit to Ludlow, and to his wife who was the lady of the castle, when he was accompanied by his lover, Queen Isabella, and her son, the young King Edward III. Ludlow Castle is unusual in having two major sets of apartments – one each side of the great hall. It’s been speculated that this helped Roger overcome the delicacy of his marital situation: his wife could remain in her apartment, whilst his lover, the Queen, was also suitably accommodated, and perhaps (though there is no evidence for it) diplomatically Roger slept with the soldiers.

After the execution of Roger (IV), the Mortimer family was not treated as harshly as they might have been.

His grandson, Roger (V) – died 1360 – succeeded in recovering all the lands and titles, and married his own son into the royal family. However, a succession of early deaths and child heirs meant that the Mortimers were never in a position to play the significant role in national affairs that matched their wealth and status. Instead, others used the Mortimer position as possible claimants to the crown to rebel in their name. Increasingly, the Mortimers became pawns to be used by others. Arguably the event in the life of Roger (VI) Mortimer that had the greatest impact nationally was his death in 1398, which triggered a chain of events that led to the murder of the King. Appointed King’s Lieutenant in Ireland, Roger was killed in a skirmish with an Irish force. Although very unpopular and under threat from rival claimants, King Richard II could not let the killing of a possible heir to the throne go unpunished. Richard II, therefore, led a force to Ireland but, in his absence, and with the possible Mortimer heir to the throne a child of only 7, Henry Bolingbroke claimed the throne and was crowned as Henry IV. During the childhood of Edmund (IV) Mortimer (died 1425) various groups rebelled against the rule of Henry IV using the pretext that the Mortimers were the legitimate heirs to the throne that had been usurped by Henry. One of the most significant was Edmund’s own uncle, who was forced by circumstances into alliance with Owain Glyn Dwr after the Welsh army slaughtered the English force (mainly consisting of Mortimer retainers) at Pilleth in 1402.

When Edmund (IV) Mortimer died in 1425 he was one of the wealthiest persons in the country, lord of a vast empire of lands across three countries, and very close in line of succession to the throne. But, finally, the Mortimer luck had run out. After over 350 years of continuous male succession, Edmund

died childless. However, that is not the end of the Mortimer story.

In 1425 the Mortimer succession passed to the teenage son of Edmund’s sister, Anne. Richard, whose parents both died when he was very young, had already inherited the Dukedom of York so became not only the wealthiest subject in the Kingdom but also someone with a good claim on the throne. After decades of loyalty, poor government and the infirmity of the King pushed Richard of York into armed opposition. This started the 30 years of civil war known as the Wars of the Roses. Ludlow Castle became one of his main homes and is where his sons were brought up.

After defeat at the Rout of Ludford Bridge on the edge of Ludlow, in 1459, Richard fled into exile, leaving Ludlow to be pillaged by the King’s army. Unfortunately, there is nothing to see to distinguish the site where the opposing armies faced each other and where King Henry VI planted his standard. It is thought that the Yorkist army took up a position just south of Ludford House on the eastern side of the current road. The footpath that loops around the church and the back of the settlement probably goes through the middle of these positions.

The King’s army halted its march and probably took up position between the current Hucksbarn Farm and the cattle market spanning the current road (in 1459 the lane followed the track that goes behind Hucksbarn).

On his return from exile, Richard Duke of York was killed in battle and his eldest son, Edward, Earl of March, took over leadership of the Yorkist cause. After victory at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross in 1461, Edward, a Mortimer grandson, was proclaimed King Edward IV. Ludlow and the rest of the Mortimer estates and titles passed into the royal family. Shortly after his coronation Edward IV spent a week at Ludlow, granted the town a new charter and personally contributed to further rebuilding of the Parish Church of St Laurence’s. In turn, he

sent his eldest son, another Edward, to be brought up at Ludlow Castle under the guidance of ‘the Prince’s Council’. There is a tradition that when Edward IV’s sons lived at Ludlow Castle between 1473-83 they resided in buildings now replaced by the Tudor Lodgings to the right of the Great Chamber Block. On the unexpected death of the King in 1483, the 13 year old Prince Edward departed Ludlow for London where he was fated to become one of the ‘Princes in the Tower’ who disappeared, presumed dead.

When Prince Edward, aged three, went to live in Ludlow Castle with his own court, his affairs were entrusted to a ‘Prince’s Council’ which subsequently developed into the main agent of royal authority in Wales and the Marches.

Henry VII’s eldest son, Prince Arthur, the Prince of Wales was granted the castle, lordship and town of Ludlow.

In 1502, Prince Arthur and his bride Catherine of Aragon lived after their marriage in the top floor of the Solar Wing, but he died there a few months later. (Catherine of Aragon, of course, later married Arthur’s younger brother, Henry VIII). During 1525-28, Henry VIII and Catherine’s daughter, the Princess Mary lived in the castle for three winters with her court. The Council in the Marches of Wales administered Wales and the border regions until 1689.

As well as in Ludlow Castle, much of this history can be seen in St Laurence’s, often described as the cathedral of the Marches. This large magnificent church reflects the patronage of the York family, particularly Richard, Duke of York and King Edward IV, and also the wealth of Ludlow in the 15th century when it was significantly rebuilt.

The superb Victorian stained glass west window depicts various Lords of Ludlow, including Roger (IV) Mortimer, Edmund (IV) Mortimer and their coats of arms, the Yorkist lords, kings and princes, and Arthur, Prince of Wales. In the older north aisle are three roundels which are the

oldest stained glasses in the church dating from around 1320 – they depict the coats of arms of Theobald de Verdon, his first wife Matilda Mortimer (sister of Roger [IV]) and second wife Elizabeth Clare. In the chancel a memorial tablet of 2002 commemorates the 500th anniversary of the funeral of Prince Arthur and the burial of his heart in St Laurence’s.

Much of St Laurence’s was rebuilt around 1450 and the impressive misericords (the small wooden shelves, with intricate carvings, that provided an element of support for people who were standing during extremely long services) and chancel ceiling date from this time, when Richard, Duke of York, owned the town and castle. His badge of the ‘falcon and fetterlock’ is to be found on one of the misericords in the chancels and is also prominent as a roof boss at the west end of the chancel. Other misericords display the badges of Richard II and Henry VI as well as the feathers of the Prince of Wales. On the chancel roof is a boss displaying the white lion of March. There are tombs and effigies of presidents and officers of the Council of the Marches.

The history of the Mortimers finishes with the fact that all the kings and queens since 1461 were descended from them – this, of course, includes the present Queen. After he defeated Richard III at the battle of Bosworth Field, Henry VII attempted to heal the murderous rifts between the Yorkists and Lancastrians by marrying the eldest daughter of Edward IV – she, of course, was a great granddaughter of the Mortimers, and all subsequent monarchs are descended from her.

-------------------------------------------------Philip Hume is the author of: On the Trail of The Mortimers (Logaston Press) £7.50. Stockists include Castle Bookshop and St Laurence’s Church.

Visit: mortimerhistorysociety.org.uk for further information and details on how to join the Mortimer History Society.

11

The new faces and features of Church Street’s Rose & Crown

Crowning glory interviewed by} Jon Saxon | image} Ashleigh Cadet WHY DID YOU GO FOR the revised Rose & Crown? – Gary Seymour: Out of all the pubs in town I’ve always said that – if I could have a pub – it would be The Rose & Crown … there’s just something about it: it’s an extra special pub; brilliant location, and it’s got history: it’s got everything I like in a pub. What’s the bit you are most excited about? – Karlos Heber-Smith: The brand new bar – 22.5 feet – and the brand new kitchen that’s going in. – Gary: Trying to make it THE pub to go to in town (other than the Dog Hangs Well of course).

What’s the bit you’re most nervous about? – Gary: It’s going to be busy from day one, which is what we want, but we’ve got to get it right from day one. – Karlos: The pressure is on us to make sure we’ve got the recipe right from the start, so the first week is going to be crucial. And long may it continue. Can you explain the revised layout? – Gary: There is a new entrance (and a more open-plan feel) with distinct areas now in place. It’s exposed old parts of the pub too that haven’t been seen for donkey’s years – like the big old fireplace.

New exposed beams that were buried in the 1960s – which go back hundreds of years. It’s been sympathetically restored and enhanced I must say, with wood panelling, oak floors, mixed in with quarry-tiles and sand stone: this breaks the space up, as well as being quirky: it certainly doesn’t feel like a huge pub. WILL IT take on a new character, or is THE Rose & Crown STILL THE SAME underneath the alterations? – Gary: It will take on a new character; yet retain some of the better parts of the old pub. Do you believe all of the changes are for the better? – Karlos: Absolutely. – Gary: 100 percent: That’s a stupid question mate. Is there anything you would have done differentLY? – Karlos: No, because Joules have been very flexible with us – with what we’ve wanted to add and put in – especially on my side, with the kitchen. – Gary: We should say, as well, before agreeing the deal with Joules we went around several of their pubs – especially ones that have been going for a while – plus some fairly recent ones, and the thing that really impressed us, was how good a job they do restoring these pubs. When do you hope to open?– Karlos: Middle of July. – Gary: We’re pretty optimistic that that is the case. It might shift a week either side, but we don’t think it will be a big difference to that. opening hours? – Gary: 11 to 11 in the week and 11 to 12 on the weekends. What’s in store for the drinker? – Gary: We’ll have Joules’ three main beers: Pale, Blonde and Slumbering Monk, plus their seasonal – which will be rotating – and then we’ll have two other handpulls, which will be guest beers, mainly from small microbreweries. What’s in store for the diner? – Karlos: Traditional pub grub – good honest food – nothing fancy – bubble and squeak, bangers and mash for example. Seasonal food: game in the winter; salads in the summer. Nothing complicated.

Will you be offering accommodation? – Karlos: There are no letting rooms, as I will live upstairs. – Gary: ...also: the loos are now upstairs (with disabled loos downstairs) as well as a meeting room that will be available to hire. What other pubs have you both been involved in? – Karlos: The Wheatsheaf in Bishops Frome, Spread Eagle in Hereford, Grape Vaults in Leominster, The Church Inn in Ludlow. – Gary: Mine are mainly ones that I’ve been drinking in, and we haven’t got long enough for me to list them all. Working in: The Sun Inn, Leintwardine, and – in recent years – The Church Inn, Ludlow, which is where I know the town.

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU’D LIKE US TO KNOW? – Gary: Would you like to hear about my proudest moment in the pub industry? Has it got anything to do with The Rose & Crown? – Gary: No. ... but I got to meet the Queen at Windsor Castle didn’t I… for services to the community for everything I did at The Sun Inn. – Karlos: We want to get groups involved.

So if there is a dominoes team out there, for argument’s sake, that want to use us – we have got the function room upstairs – any groups: bee keepers, flower arrangers, local businesses, cribbage – whatever. – Gary: One thing we haven’t mentioned actually is that we’re also looking to put some entertainment on, maybe once a month. For instance, in October we’re going to do something for Trafalgar Night. Karlos is going to do a fish supper, and we’ll have the Shanty Singers in there. We will be diverse with what we put on, from there on, right across the board.

52 MILL STREET, LUDLOW www.blueboarludlow.co.uk

ISSUE #14 EDITORIAL DEADLINE

20th July 2016

ISSUE #14 AD DEADLINE

29th July 2016 ads@ludlowledger.co.uk

Page 10 and cover text and images} Philip Hume

12

Just a small selection of your kind emails, letters, postcards and social posts from Facebook and Twitter

Letters to the Ledger

the SS had shot Canadians after capture in the raid on Dieppe in 1942.”

Her English language was the result of marriage to an English army officer, I was told. This is history in the flesh not in the history books. I look forward to meeting a survivor of Stalingrad in the parlour pub next.

Chris Crowcroft, Ludlow

We’d love to hear from you – editor@ludlowledger.co.uk

– VIEWS & COMMENTS – i’M writing to say to say thank you for publishing my letter in the Ludlow Ledger some months ago. I had some initial contacts directly from that and am pleased to be able to give you an update. ... In the last few months I have managed to bring together six experienced musicians.

On my return from living in France I was determined to carry on playing New-Orleans-style jazz music and, at last, I have a full line up with the addition of an excellent trumpet player who has just joined us.

We consist of trumpet, soprano sax, trombone, banjo, washboard and me on tuba. Our name – Vintage Jazz Revival – is a good description of the music we play, mostly pieces from the 1920s – tuneful, foot-tapping pieces ranging from the lively Muskrat Ramble and Bourbon Street Parade to ballads like Careless Love and Georgia, with the occasional more modern number from the 1940s, like Sidney Bechet’s Petite Fleur.

We are all local (three actually live in Ludlow) and we aim to re-introduce this once-popular music to the area; hence our initial performances will be for only a small fee or on a ‘pass the hat’ basis. We already have several gigs lined up including: Nori’s Café in Leominster on 13th July, and Ludlow Green Festival on 28th August.

For further details please email: jackparsnip1946@gmail.com Many thanks again for printing my initial letter, and hope perhaps this warrants an update in the Ledger.

Rob Jones, Ludlow -------------------------------------------------An open letter to all councillors, businesses and users on the 490 bus route: Thank you, to those who have provided financial supported for the retention of the two midday buses, which Herefordshire Council had originally proposed removing.

There is an encouragingly high level of support for a service which allows people, without access to a car, the ability to travel independently. We are also pleased to see that businesses value a good bus service, especially those in the tourist industry. We are confident your support, especially financial, will convince Herefordshire and possibly Shropshire County Council, to support this service.

We would urge all councils, who are undecided on this issue, to provide support – even if the amount contributed is modest compared to other groups. We would also urge any council who has not supported this initiative to reconsider – the numbers of passengers using the route is very encouraging, since the reinstatement

of the two buses each way, back in May of 2015.

Finally a request to all Ludlow Ledger readers: Please do use the bus services, as once removed it is next to impossible to reinstate them ... after all they benefit individuals, communities and the environment.

Paul Beeden, Ludlow -------------------------------------------------THe company in Ludlow Ledger’s parlour pub ‘The Dog Hangs Well’ is usually interesting, but to meet a 94-year-old Frenchwoman who met Hitler is extraordinary – she was with her son, visiting a Ludlow friend.

Her story was that, in 1940, her father’s house near Dieppe had German military billeted in it, which was awkward since he was the local head of the resistance wing of the armed forces. Because it was near German air HQ, Goering visited.

So did Hitler, on his only visit to France after the French surrender.

“Goering ... he wore uniforms like in opera comique, but Hitler’s dress was military, yes, but plain. Our Italian housekeeper showed him round our house. On the top floor, where the servants lived, a picture was gone, taken by some German soldier going on leave. It was the best picture in the house…our housekeeper complained to Hitler (it wasn’t, but why not?).

Hitler became very angry and shouted at his officers that this was exactly what he had forbidden. The Germans in our house were very scared.”

One evening a dishevelled pilot appeared at her door when the German occupiers were out, claiming to be a crashed English flyer. Her father decided to question him but he had no English and the pilot had no French. He tried to establish details of the plane but the pilot refused to divulge them. “Alors, my father came downstairs to find his axe and said, maybe he is German. If he doesn’t answer me, he will have no head. Then my uncle appeared, who spoke some English. He explained to the pilot that if he did not help, the axe would come.

He helped, so my uncle took him away to send him home through the resistance network.”

In 1944 after D-Day, the Germans were on the retreat: “our village was liberated but the next village, where my uncle was, it was not clear. So my father sent me to my uncle to find out. There I found he had put seven Germans from the SS in his shed under guard. He sent me to speak to them – would they surrender? The German sergeant asked me to swear that the troops in my village were English, he would only surrender to the English. Because he feared they were Canadians, and it was said that Canadians shot SS prisoners because

ACROSS 8 Special K for maiden in rendezvous with squawker (8)) 9 Rest for parents who’ve lost their head (6) 10 It soaks up nasty smell in home counties (6) 11 One’s certain to die, though never to be forgotten (8) 12 Repenter traumatised by new

regret over businessman (12) 14 Studying in town (7) 16 He’s got one working in house (7) 18 Fruit steamer has bare wires entwined (12) 23 By comparison, one is from same stock (8) 24 Colour of ring on Aga? (6) 25 Cut earth’s nitrogen fertilizer (6) 26 Pampered Scots livid about English getting enrolled on vacation (8) DOWN 1 Fish go into chippy (9) 2 Fellow outdoes queen in fashion (6) 3 God comes to apostle in drama (5,3)

o hope “I really dhing too t there’s no oing on ... g untoward you’re not and that f winding thinking o ction of the du down pro don’t think I Ledger: I without my could live r read...” regula

4 Good man has abundant trouble (6) 5 Trot briefly, and arrive winning third of minute (6) 6 Tea stirrers oddly absent in cathedral city (8) 7 Secret society for one into jazz (5) 13 Alien’s fire gone out across river (9) 15 God king rises at 1pm (8) 17 Drink hard at river watering hole (8) 19 Singer’s broken rules (6) 20 Architect’s companion proffers spanner (6) 21 Cardinal impounds organ being brought up (6) 22 Hostile monsters visibly yellow (5) i KnoW that us subscribers (especially those in another country, as I am) do get our copies a little later than those fortunate enough to live in Ludlow itself, but am I right in saying that the last couple of issues of Ludlow Ledger have been coming out later, rather than every other month?

I really do hope there’s nothing too untoward going on ... and that you’re not thinking of winding down production of the Ledger: I don’t think I could live without my regular read of your most dynamic paper?

With fingers firmly crossed 3450 miles away, I sincerely look forward to this coming June/July issue – and keep up the good work, hopefully on a more ‘regular’ basis team...

Frank Havas, Dundas Ontario Ludlow Ledger doesn’t necessarily follow the strictest of schedules – largely because of the voluntary nature of the contributions. In time, with relative funds in place, the schedule will surely tighten up. However, in the case of this issue of the Ledger, we have the recent referendum and the Euro Championships to blame, with The Guardian printing presses at full capacity for longer than we’d honestly imagined.

13

Redefine

Feeling uneasy about x text} Simon Pease

– OBSERVATIONS – i’Ve always felt a bit uncomfortable about the way some people use definitions. At the start it seems innocent enough; people may argue about whether snooker is a sport, whether something is ‘proper’ folk music, or whether this or that is art.

It keeps them amused, I suppose, and it has little impact on the rest of us, so why worry about it?

We humans (or quite a few of us at least) seem to want to live in sanitised environments that we control by defining things. This is odd, because a lot of the time interesting and good things happen when people break the rules, mix the categories, borrow from one genre to use in another and so on. Whether we’re talking about music, literature, food or beer, alongside all the good things which fit neatly in a category, there are also good things that happen when people ignore the categories and decide to cross the boundaries.

A little while ago I found myself looking at a bottle of ‘Black IPA’ (that’s India Pale Ale to non-beer lovers). I had to suppress an instant irritation – a Pale Ale could not be dark; I bought the bottle, I drank the beer, I liked it.

Of course, not all experiments in crossing boundaries work. I’ve tasted some spectacularly bad ‘fusion’ cooking, and stared at some ‘conceptual’ art, trying hard to see any connection to something I’d recognise as art at all. But even when I don’t personally like it, I recognise that we can all get something out of being forced to re-examine our assumptions.

It’s when definitions are applied to people that I find myself most uncomfortable; apart from the laughable and, frankly, patronising tabloid approach that tries to tell us “women think x” or even that “x percent of men think y”, based on some half-baked telephone poll of a tiny number of people, there are other and more insidious ways of categorising people. Historically, they’ve been used to justify all sorts of inhumanity, and sadly they still are today (and not just by alleged politicians who want to ban all Muslims). We all need to avoid this trap, consciously, every day. It’s probable that some of us do it because it seems to simplify something complicated, and avoid the effort needed to think about it more deeply, which can be exhausting.

I think I’m going to make a start on changing the world right now.

In future, when people use that polite conversation opener: “What do you do?” – waiting for me to fit myself neatly into a category such as plumber, insurance salesman, or farmer. I’m going to tell them that I’m a citizen of Ludlow. If they look nonplussed at the answer I’m going to explain that, in this town, people don’t fit neatly into categories; we have our citizenship of the town in common, but otherwise we all have multiple layers of definition that make up our identities. Wife, husband, lover, parent, beer geek (we don’t have an equivalent of oenophile). As Brian said: “We are all individuals”. Just as there isn’t another town quite like this one.

Gardening

Nightmare on Elm Street text} Nicki Lewis-Smith | image} Shawn Scope

– GARDENING – THeRe are moments in life when, if something seems too awful to watch, we will instinctively and immediately hide our eyes with our hands – perhaps while viewing a film that’s way too monstrous or fearful.

But, really, it makes no difference as, inevitably, our fascination with all things macabre (combined with an inbuilt ‘must-know’ psyche) means that we will, like it or not, have to have a teensy little peek through the slim gaps between our fingers.

It happened to me the other day.

No, not while watching a re-run of The Exorcist, but by looking innocently out of my kitchen window.

Most people would have taken no notice but, as a horticulturist and plants person, I was horrified at what I saw and, unfortunately, I had a front-row seat.

What I was watching was a jobbing gardener, who I have since been told is very good at cutting hedges, but he wasn’t cutting hedges he was cutting trees. I don’t use the word ‘pruning’,

as this appeared to be a million miles away from any sort of sensible cropping that would merit the use of the verb ‘to prune’. I prune, you prune, but he certainly did not prune.

I have watched and worked with tree surgeons, and I admire the way they respect the trees that they work on. The way they observe their growth patterns, their surroundings and, of course, their health – almost to a point that I imagine them snuggling up to these woody giants to whisper sweet nothings. And that’s not mentioning their tremendous, backto-our-primeval-beginnings way of shimmying up through those great twisted tree limbs, trailing swags of orange ropes, and finding impossible footholds high up in the canopy.

I was not watching any sort of tree surgeon though, I was watching a portly, middle-aged bloke with loppers and a van, and with every branch he cut, my heart broke.

One Silver Birch tree reduced to a six-foot stump – if there is one tree that is difficult to prune successfully unless you are a professional, it is the

Silver Birch. Then there were three Magnolias – not huge mature trees, but unusual varieties, fat with furry buds that were beginning to grow into agreeable little trees. What he did to these poor little trees, in my view, was completely unnecessary – he just randomly snipped off any tall branches to leave ugly, blunt ends.

And then there was the beautifully cone-shaped mature Maple – a classic tree shape – well, it was.

So there I was, peeking through the gaps between my fingers and, with every snip, he made me want to run out there screaming, to pummel my fists on his chest and stick all the branches back on. I didn’t, obviously. But when those trees drop their leaves, the view from my kitchen window will again be a sharp reminder, and one that I am sharing with you, that there are people out there who profess to be what they are not – especially in the horticultural world. Freddie Krueger – eat your heart out.

editor-in-chief Jon Saxon sub editor Sally Newman-Kidd photographers Ashleigh Cadet, Catherine Evans, Alejandro Rodriguez, Claire Carter, John Paley, Shawn Scope authors Simon Pease, Robin Spicer, Nicki Lewis-Smith, Philip Hume, Peter Burden, Mike Sargent Crossword John Jarvis Cartoon Roger Penwill –––––––––– publisher Son of Saxon 14 Corve Street, Ludlow, SY8 1DA 01584 872381 www.ludlowledger.co.uk jon@sonofsaxon.co.uk –––––––––– printer The Guardian Print Centre Media Park, Longbridge Road, Parkway Estate, Manchester, M17 1SN paper 100% recycled 52gsm 76ISO improved Berliner newsprint –––––––––– Online Website: www.ludlowledger.co.uk Twitter: @ludlowledger –––––––––– advertising There are a number of different ways to explore advertising in Ludlow Ledger: Download ludlowledger.com/advertise email ads@ludlowledger.co.uk or phone 01584 872381 Office Discuss advertising in person at 14 Corve Street, Ludlow, SY8 1DA –––––––––– legal All rights reserved.

No part of Ludlow Ledger may be copied or reproduced, in whole or in part, without the strict written permission of the publisher –––––––––– production schedule ISSUE 14 Editorial: 20th July, 2016 Print: 8th August, 2016 ISSUE 15 Editorial: 22nd August, 2016 Print: 3rd October, 2016 ISSUE 16 Editorial: 23rd October, 2016 Print: 5th December, 2016

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14

Edward Bell

A landscape of Vogue and Scary Monsters text and image} Peter Burden – PROFILE – TALL and lean, with a misleading air of faint disapproval on his time-worn features, Edward Bell is often to be seen around Ludlow. Recognisable at once as a man of creativity, he is dressed in a classic striped shirt, a silk foulard knotted around his neck, and ancient jeans – all habitually topped off with a quality vintage camel overcoat.

This garment, liberally splattered with dabs of paint and perhaps a work of art in its own right, has become something of a trade mark; he has often been asked if it will be hung in his next show. “Do you sometimes get paint on the canvas, too?” Most usefully, the state of the coat tends to reflect his prevailing choice of pallet.

But what might appear to be a somewhat public display is a working garment, disguising a self-contained, private person who dresses to paint every day. “It’s what I do,” he shrugs.

“I don’t do much else.”

He will paint wherever he is, but most of his creative time is spent in and around his studio – a converted beast shed on a hillside above Llangollen.

Up there he can walk out almost any morning and do what he loves. “I don’t need holidays,” he says, “because I never work.”

On the Berwyn Hills he’s able to contemplate and reinterpret the unrepeatable skies and their relationship with the landscape, although painting freely from nature is something he came to after a long, successful career as an illustrator and portrait painter.

To reach that point, Edward had moved a long way from his roots and a deeply conventional upbringing in what his father proudly described as the ‘Queen of the Suburbs’, Surbiton in Surrey. It was indeed suburbia at its most turgid, Edward recalls – detached houses in tidy gardens on torpid avenues. His father, like so many other men of his time, had been damaged by the war (emotionally and psychologically) and, after it was over, sought the quietest, most uneventful existence (gardening on Sundays, wife, two kids). Company Secretary at Hovis, he pursued a life utterly unencumbered by social activity or entertainment.

Brought up in this friendless, stultifying background, Edward was sent off to Haileybury – a minor public school in the Home Counties founded to educate the sons of members of the British Imperial Service. It was an establishment which, in the charged, creative, brouhaha of the late sixties, was profoundly conservative. Edward already recognised his own affinity with ‘art’ in the broadest sense, and this, along with an aversion to playing rugby or, indeed, any kind of sport, endeared him neither to the bulk of the other boys at the school, nor to the masters.

“I was a late developer,” he says, “called ‘Titch’ and bullied like mad.”

He hated it from start to finish and found relief only in the art school, where he would retreat whenever he could. When he left, he had the obligatory ‘career’ discussion with his father. He told his father that he wanted to be an artist. His father thought otherwise: “That’s not a proper job. That’s a life for sissies.”

His suggestion that Edward should train to become a chartered accountant hit a brick wall. For one thing, Edward pleaded, he hadn’t even managed a Maths O-level. A compromise was reached in architecture – a profession, at least.

A single term in the revolutionary, self-consciously unstructured learning environment of the Architectural Association was as much as Edward could take, although the freedom of it

had awakened a young man’s urge to travel, and a short odyssey followed, starting with a stint planting early spuds in Jersey and extending to the islands of the Aegean in a haze of cannabis.

He came back to England, fully committed to pursuing a life of art and, to his father’s disgust, got a place at Brighton Art College to do a foundation course. He knew at once that this was the world in which he belonged. From here it was a short step to London’s King’s Road and the Chelsea School of Art where he studied graphics, because (he thought) that would be easy. But it was dull too and he began to grow more interested in photography. Now he was finding his stride and a tendency to think that no one who taught him knew what they were talking about – an attitude that persisted when he went on to the Royal College of Art to specialise in photography. The RCA was run by a bully called Hedgecoe and Edward became so disenchanted at this august institution that he simply stopped going, and Hedgecoe refused to grant his degree (although it did turn up unexpectedly in the post).

By then he’d developed his own techniques for hand tinting his photographs – an area that was opening up in the mid-70s. He was interested in portraiture and, to a certain extent, fashion with its demands for more creative photography.

He told his grandmother he was thinking of ringing Vogue. “Then you must be sure to tell them that my gardener’s son works there as a photographer.” He duly rang the magazine and asked if he could come in and show them his portfolio.

“Who are you?” – “Edward Bell.”

– “We’ve never heard of you. What have you done?” He told them about his grandmother’s gardener’s son. “Oh, fine. You’d better come in.”

For a few months he worked in the Vogue studio with prevailing luminaries Terry Donovan, David Bailey and Brian Duffy. He had also shown his work to other fashion glossies and art editors at any publications that bought photographs; soon he was working as a freelance photographer/illustrator, not only for Vogue (who paid peanuts but provided prestige) but also for Tatler, the colour supplements, and even the Radio Times (who paid first-class rail fares). He quickly built a reputation for his distinctive shots and the way he extended them, by colouring prints, photo montage or tracing round projected transparencies as a basis for portraiture, like artists from Vermeer (with his camera obscura) to Hockney (with his polaroid camera).

For a short while he worked for Curious Magazine (which mostly published pictures of genitalia) and the infamous Oz magazine (where the late Felix Dennis cut his sharp little teeth).

One of his more inventive projects was a series of ‘street style’ shots (the first of its kind) depicting men at work – posties, plumbers, navvies, bus drivers, farmers and so on in their working garments, to show that style didn’t need to be just about labels.

Vogue bought it and ran a two-page spread, leading, inevitably, to further diluted variations on the theme.

In 1980, in his Earls Court flat, Edward was introduced by a friend to John Painter, who was about to open a new gallery in Covent Garden. John liked his work and asked him if he’d be the subject of the inaugural show at the Neal Street gallery.

Edward’s first exhibition, ‘Larger than Life’, was a collection of big portraits that were more about the mask than the personality, with plenty of colourful make-up. Vogue were supportive and Brian Duffy came

along to see if there were any ideas he could pinch.

At the private view Edward was standing amidst the crowd when the gallery owner sidled up to say that someone was keen to meet him and nodded across the well-filled room.

Edward saw a slight figure, tastelessly clad in scarlet trousers and citrus yellow shirt; even more offensive was that this slender character was peering at a painting through dark glasses; most probably an American tourist, Edward disparaged. He went over; they shook hands. “Hello, I’m David.”

During an interesting conversation it gradually dawned on Edward that this wasn’t just David ... this was David Bowie and he was asking if Edward would paint the cover of his next album, Scary Monsters...

Working on that project, the painter and the singer began to know each other in what was the start of a long, sporadic friendship during which, from time to time, Edward became quite close to the enigmatic musician. They would listen to the Psychedelic Furs or Iggy Pop in the Earls Court flat or sit in

pubs, David anonymous in dark glasses, a pair of misfits buying one another drinks and shadow boxing around the eternal questions.

Contact became tenuous during a bad period in Edward’s life in the ’80s, until, coming out the other end, on a long sojourn getting to know the Italian Masters, he met Bowie by chance at dinner in the Venice Palazzo of a mutual friend.

A few months later Edward was in California to produce a cover for Bowie’s album Tin Machine II, released in 1991 to a baffled and unimpressed audience. Bowie was disappointed and hurt by the reaction and, to some extent, this reflected (irrationally) on Edward, who didn’t hear much from Bowie over the next few years. But slowly contact was re-established with intermittent phone calls about plans to meet up, until as recently as 2013, to discuss a painting Bowie wanted.

In the time between, Edward had lived for ten years in the North West of Ireland with a woman who owned a castle there. It was here that he developed his enthusiasm for landscape

and allowed his affinity with the work of his hero, JWM Turner, to burgeon.

In 2005 when it was time to leave, he had nowhere to go, and came to stay with his brother Michael, in Ludlow.

Like so many of us, Edward fell in love with the town and decided to base himself here. The nearest thing to a studio that he could afford at the time was a semi-derelict barn in the valley of the Dee, but he descends frequently to Ludlow. His painting has continued to bloom alongside his fascination with the infinite variation and moods of the skies over the hills that surround him. He is massively prolific, spending most of his time crouching on hilltops, with tubes of paint, brushes, pallets and the small boards on which he likes to work scattered around him.

“Maybe I don’t feel like painting every day, but it is a compulsion. I take the dogs, go walking in the countryside, supremely alert to the weather, cloud transformations, light and colour (stop and paint) forget everything ... once sitting, al fresco, alla prima.”

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15

Hamlet

Short sharp makeover text} Prue Britten | image} Catherine Evans – EDUCATION –

SPOTTED – local award-winning photographer Claire Carter’s bird of prey photography workshop

In their production of Hamlet, Rooftop Theatre Company took a much-loved, much-used and lumpy, seventeenth-century feather bed and gave it a prodigious shaking. The form, contents and purpose remained the same but were much invigorated.

A judiciously-edited script, some liberty-taking with The Bard’s plot (who killed Polonius?), and a fine cast gave us an updated and totally satisfying production.

Daniel Wilby was a Hamlet of the twenty-first century: a young man of confusion, love, passion and anger.

The voicing of his father’s ghost by Hamlet himself worked well, thanks mainly to Wilby’s ability to have discourse with himself in two very different voices.

It was good to see Poppy Wilde (Ophelia) really getting to grips with the character. Ophelia has the potential to be beautiful but rather ‘drippy’; Wilde is beautiful but the understanding she brought of a young woman whose father has been murdered and whose lover, having suddenly denied any feelings for her, is verbally abusing her, was very far from ‘drippy’.

Polonius (Ewan Gibb) is often seen as, in Claudius’s words, “a tedious old fool”. However in this production he might have been tedious (the script requires it), but Gibb gave creditable sense and pith – notably to the “neither a borrower nor a lender be” advice to Laertes (the excellent Morgan Rees-Davies). We could entirely accept that the two bright young things, Laertes and Ophelia, could be his children.

Technically this production of Hamlet was most competent; lighting and sound complementary but not intrusive. Occasionally a loud and speedy speech could have been more effective if delivered more slowly, thoughtfully and in a lower register.

The Stanley-knife was good, although it should be known that a successful suicide is dependent on opening a vein from wrist towards elbow, and not cutting straight across... Horace deserves many plaudits.

The conceit of having narrators overcame the perils presented by a small cast and a somewhat truncated script. The inclusion of such gems as ‘Mr Sandman, Bring Him a Dream’ and excerpts from Brief Encounter caused the attending audience much mirth and, let’s face it, there’s not a lot of that in the original Hamlet.

This, therefore, might not have been a production for the purists.

‘The play, I remember, pleased not the million; ’twas caviar to the general’.

There were predominantly generals in that audience.

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Spotted image on p15 photographed by} Claire Carter: carterart.co.uk

16

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The Doctor’s Mon

On the road with Shropdoc text} Mike Sargent | illustration} John Paley

– LITERATURE – SUMMeR, late late evening. I am driving with Dr Gutsell through north Herefordshire, and Stretford church is just 400 yards up a narrow lane.

Every time I pass this church I always think of Cosmas and Damian, the two saints to which Stretford church is dedicated.

They were physicians and surgeons.

Known as the silverless doctors because they accepted no fees for their services. In AD 348 they removed the diseased leg from a Roman and then transplanted the leg from a black man, a dead Ethiopian gladiator. The operation is symbolised in Stretford church by the black and white candles.

Because it was the first limb transplant ever recorded, the opening page of the Fellowship of Surgeons shows the badge granted to the Fellowship by King Henry VII in 1492. Cosmas and Damian flank the crowned rose.

Twenty minutes later we arrive at our destination. … I remain in the car, watching Dr Gutsell pause and look at the door before knocking.

His eyes saw a thumb latch on a framed, ledged, braced and battened door. The door was painted black. The door was as old as the house. An estate carpenter in the estate workshop would have made it from a tree felled on the estate. Two men would have cut it into planks. They would have used a sawpit. The one who pulled the shortest straw would have pulled the saw in the bottom of the pit. The sawdust would have dropped on his head. He would have worn a flat cap.

After the wood had been seasoned the estate carpenter would have made the door for the new house.

Dr Gutsell held the handle and placed his thumb in the latch.

Throughout the life of the house every time the thumb latch was lifted, the door would have been the silent witness to all the entries and exits of man, wife, daughter and son.

And so I watched my doctor step into the lives of a family who already knew the destiny of the sick father.

I had driven through a rivulet of black stinking water to get to the house. This vein of greasy mud runs across the Bog into the Black Pool.

The spring starts in the high trenches dug during the Civil War. The Bog was once meadowland but was stripped of its turf by Colonel Woodhouse to make fortifications for that war in 1650. Nothing except gorse has grown on the Bog since the War. The track to the house ended at the whitewashed wall of the privy and a chicken run. I wondered whether or not the the Bog had ever dried up.

It should have done during the great drought in 1976.

I waited. … The day was sinking into the greyness of dusk and I decided to turn the car. I reversed and saw footprints made by pigs leading from a pigsty.

There was a woman standing in the garden. She was about 25 and started to pick peas. They were late, or no one had bothered to pick them. She split the pods and then removed the peas with her tongue. There were two rows of peas. They were all sticked with hazel sticks. Some of the plants still had white flowers on them. As the woman bent over to reach ripe pods I could see her shape and form.

I looked away and saw a small orchard. Half a dozen trees laden with small green apples. The far corner was overgrown, wild with neglect, fierce with thistles, and bristling with nettles.

I turned on the radio. Mozart.

Sonata number 21 for piano and violin.

I looked for the woman shelling peas with her tongue. Gone.

I reclined the seat. … Lying back, I saw the sky at the top of the windscreen move.

It was a slow movement.

I sat up, returned the seat to its original position. The car was moving.

The handbrake was on. The car was lifting itself. It was starting to rock and roll. ... There was nothing in the rear view mirror. … There was nothing in the left or right hand mirrors.

The car was rocking; it was rising and falling without human intervention.

I was more than a little scared. The Bog people. There were little people somewhere near the Bog. Or under the Bog. They had been seen. A cold sweat.

The dead from the Civil War. I looked in the driver’s mirror. I opened the door. Something was rubbing against the rear of the car. I walked to the back of the car.

And then, suddenly, I saw him. I saw his broad back and the mud clayed to his side. He looked at me. He had teeth and tusks on each side of his lips.

He stopped his rubbing and he sniffed at me. He hunched his shoulders. His brown eyes bored into me, he saw me. And suddenly his mouth opened and he let out a roaring grunt and he took towards me and I backed away, but not fast enough. He held onto my trouser leg. He twisted himself and took a bite of material out of my trousers. I ran around the car. He came after me. I was moving around the car, the boar was moving after me. I looked behind, the beast was still coming. I managed to get back inside the car and I slammed the door on his snout.

The enraged creature roared.

I was inside.

He looked at the car.

His eyes were like bursting shells.

He did not know what to do. I turned the radio up a few notches. His head moved to one side. He started to bang the car door with his head.

There would be a dent.

I turned the volume up a couple of notches.

I had no other weapon.

The boar lifted his ears, then slowly turned and moved towards a gorse bush. I listened to the rustling of the plant as the boar retreated into one of his familiar haunts.

He did not like Mozart.

The sonata finished.

The gorse bush moved.

The boar’s head appeared. Saliva dripped from the beast’s lips. Sonata number 25 started. Arthur Grumiaux applied the bow to his violin.

The boar withdrew.

The animal did not like the sound of the violin. He did not like Mozart.

I could still make out the clouds; they hid in their folds the last pockets of brightness.

I saw the doctor turn in the doorway.

He was talking with the woman who had been shelling peas with her tongue. She was holding the 12-page guidebook, “What to do in the event of death.”

“GET INTO THE CAR QUICKLY,” I shouted to the doctor as soon as the woman closed the door.

He was not quick enough.

The boar came out of the gorse bush.

The doctor turned to see what it was.

“GET INTO THE CAR,” I shouted.

The boar charged Dr Gutsell. He held his leather Gladstone bag at arm’s length pushing it into the face of the boar. The boar bit the bag, holding it with his teeth. I got out of the car and kicked the boar’s nearside back leg.

The boar let go of the Gladstone bag and grunted.

Dr Gutsell saw the beast’s tusks.

I saw the beast’s tusks.

They were ivory white.

The boar liked the taste of the Gladstone bag so much he tried to take another bite out of it. Dr Gutsell ran across the Bog. The boar was in pursuit. Dr Gutsell was a fell runner and could therefore run. He could run faster than the boar. I followed the hunt. I lowered all the windows in the car and turned the volume right up. The car’s headlights were on full beam, I was hitting the horn button and noticed that Gutsell could run at almost 20 miles an hour, faster than the boar, who turned and looked at me forcing me to stop. His eyes were phosphorescent. I thought that he was going to charge the car like a rhino.

I would have to fill in an accident form. ... Boar charges car.

No one would believe it. Dr Gutsell would witness it.

Where was he? I could not see him.

Where had the doctor gone? It was getting dark.

Where was he?

The boar was looking at the car.

He moved his head to one side.

He was listening.

He moved towards a gorse bush.

He did not like Mozart.

Dr Gutsell had run right to the very edge of the Bog. He was standing behind a five-bar gate. He was holding his leather bag. It was resting on the top bar of the gate. I flashed headlights at him. He climbed over the gate.

Once inside the car he asked me what kind of pig it was.

“That was a wild boar,” I said.

“They are extinct,” he said.

“Not in the Welsh Marches,” I said.

“They are extinct, there’s none left in Britain,” he said.

“You just ran halfway across the Bog with one snapping at your heels,” I said.

“It was a pig, a male pig,” he said.

“That’s a boar,” I said, “and what’s more he was wild.”

-----------------------------------------------The Doctor’s Mon is published by Left Field Editions: signed copies are available at Ludlow’s Castle Bookshop.

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If you’re still making your way through the last issue’s crossword then you had better look away now

CROSSWORD CLUES #12

See page 12 for this issue’s crossword

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