Return To Ludlow & Edinburgh

 

Today's Columbus Day or as you like to call it, "Indigenous Peoples' Day," but two weeks ago it was just another Monday in Sadiq Khan's London, a warm one at that. Almost as though the Sceptered Isle's capital city hadn't paid enough weather tax, which is Net Zero absurd because of course it has, why else would energy be so expensive there? Regardless, I strolled over to the train station, Euston, and rode the rails to Ludlow, a beautiful market town on the border with savage and doubtless Anarcho-Soviet Wales.

Typical Communist Street Scene

"Why Ludlow?" asked an old friend who I met at the town's small but well put together train station the following day. "Because," I replied with razor sharp logic, "I like it, and I have friends here." He seemed to understand, "Ah, now I understand," and we toiled up the hill to the center of town and the Blue Boar pub, lunch and the arrival of MCP, our old boss or Guv'nor in the mid '90s. Great fun, and I think we drank the place clean of Viognier. Were my friends there Communist? No, they were not, and some considerably not.

Room with a view

Neither, I think, was the town itself, unless you count unspoiled late medieval architecture and a market overlooked by a fortress somehow Marxist. And guess what? The place clearly needs to pay a steep fine for its appalling lack of DEI. Didn't see one single burqa or anything even approaching it. Huh. Go to Ludlow if you can, it's very pleasant or as my old boss would say, "Middle Earth."

Edinburgh

Then it was time to move, that being a sign of life, and the movement took me to Edinburgh and the Royal Scots Club (RSC) thanks to a weirdly cheap off-peak rail ticket via Crewe. I like Edinburgh a lot, once you get past the tartan gifte shoppes, and I especially enjoy the RSC, but was it taken over by the Frankfort School and Rainbow Marxism? I sat at the bar to find out.

RSC

Before long, a group of men set up beside me and we fell to talking, lo and behold, they worked in the arms trade or adjacent and go figure, they weren't commies, not at all, quite the reverse. This same pattern occurred twice over so many days and we all got along famously, go figure. That was the day shift, the evenings were mostly taken up with a trad crew of younger guys who seemed to mostly look up to Enoch Powell. No, they weren't Bolsheviks, far from it, and we had a lot of fun.

Note Tartan as opposed to DEI

As with Ludlow, visit the RSC if you can, not a Snackbar in sight and if you're a member you get a great discount on rooms, but much of the place is open to the public in a small, relaxed country house hotel kind of way, so don't let membership stop you from visiting. The Club was founded after WWI as a monument to the men of the Royal Scots Regiment, Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard, who gave their lives in the conflict.

Fast Mover

Next stop on this whirlwind tour of the UK? Cheltenham, a town of contrasts, lovely Georgian buildings as if set in a park, and bikers. Perhaps I'd find the Islamo-Marxist Caliphate there.

Stay Tuned,

LSP

On To Ludlow

 

All too soon it was time to leave the rain washed, windswept streets of the Athens of the North and the comfort of the Royal Scots and head to Ludlow. I rode the rails to this charming market town, once home to the Council of the Marches and a key defensive point against savage Welsh raiders.

Today the town's less about beating back the ferocious Welsh and recalcitrant nobility and more about butchers, bakers, fishmongers, green grocers, outstanding late Medieval and Georgian architecture and... pubs. We liked the Blue Boar, with its fire and mostly peaceful ambiance.

And walking too. If you go to this gem of a border town, take time to stroll around the castle, the river and, if you're feeling adventurous, climb up into the hills above the town. I asked my friends if there were bears in the woods, apparently there aren't, but we did see a large buzzard which reminded me of home. As did a view of the Malverns, which I used to be able to see from my bedroom window as teenager in Cheltenham. Memories.

Speaking of which, on the last day there, my old boss MCP drove over to visit at the Blue Boar. Onetime poacher turned gamekeeper in the IT world of the '90s and '00s, he's become an author and published a book to critical acclaim in Dublin. It's called Long Lost Log and details his adventures sailing across the Atlantic as crew in an eccentric "thoroughbred" of a boat in 1974. What a lot of fun to meet up.

So well done MCP and big thanks to S&K for great Shropshire hospitality. And now? Back to London for a few days before heading home to Texas.

Cheers,

LSP

Ludlow

 

Shrewsbury's great and part of its greatness lies in its proximity to Ludlow, a mere 40 minutes drive away. So off we drove down the winding roads of Shropshire to what's, to my mind, one of the best market towns in England. Betjeman described it as "probably the loveliest town in England" and he had a point.

typical Ludlow street scene

With the walled town dating back to the late 11th century, Ludlow has an unconscionable number of late medieval, Tudor and Jacobean buildings, to say nothing of a castle and a remarkable church, St. Laurence, which somehow escaped much of the vandalism of the Reformation. 

Ignore useless Knave Altar, look up at Angels and note late medieval rood screen sans rood

Beautiful, but don't think for a second that the place is some kind of half-timbered tourist trap. No, it's a working market town. Viz. Ludlow, population 10,266, has 3 butchers, 3 bakers, 2 cheese shops, a fishmonger and several green grocers, to say nothing of the market itself. So here's what you do.

Stroll from your pal's house, people have lived on the site since at least the 12th century, through the last remaining gate to the town, past elegant Georgian facade hiding medieval interior town houses and into the heart of the place. And there you are, what next?

what?!? a butcher! note game birds

Go to a butcher and get the best pork pies you've ever had, buy some delicious cheese, then head to one of the bakers for the kind of bread you'll be hard pressed to find anywhere in the States. Being on a mission, you pick up some veg from an actual green grocer. Huh, they still exist, and stare in wonder at a real live fishmonger. When was the last time you saw one of those?

some kind of pub

Exhausted by the wonder of it all, patrol through an ancient alley to one of many pubs and have a pint, hey, you've earned it, and then fall back to your pal's castle for lunch. Delicious cheese, bread and pork pies that melt in your mouth. Result.

In the evening you have a choice, stay at home or make the arduous five minute walk into town for a night at the pub, we chose the latter and a good, good time was had by all. I tell you, what a beautiful town, it even has a salmon stream and I'd like to get on those fish one day. Who knows, maybe next year.

excuse me?

In the meanwhile, enormous thanks to S&K for such great hospitality, come to LSPland and I'll reciprocate.

Your Traveling Friend,

LSP

Shrewsbury

 

I know you'll laugh but I'd never been to Shrewsbury, and last week that all changed as we drove off the stormy highlands of the Scots/English DMZ into lush, verdant, pastoral Shropshire. Well done faithful Tigra for making it so far, and well done D for driving.

And there it was, Shrewsbury. Turn right over the river into the half-timbered heart of the town and nav through the narrow cobbled streets to the Prince Rupert hotel, GPS is your friend. Then check in, drink a comp glass of sherry, thanks, Prince Rupert, and try and find your room.

This wasn't easy, on account of the hotel being a maze of corridors in a series of interconnected houses, but it was worth the search because the room was pleasant, overlooking ancient awesomeness. You could even open the window, a rarity in today's hermetically sealed hotel rooms.

That night, an old friend came in from Ludlow and we set off in search of adventure, finding it in an unreconstructed 1980s pub, half-timbered of course, complete with a juke box and "we only take cash," another rarity in disturbingly cashless Britain.

The next day we met with an old friend I hadn't seen in several decades, and he was on fine form, what a blessing to catch up with people you haven't seen in many, many years and even more so to find them just as fun as they ever were, perhaps more so. Great fun, and I introduced GJ to Negronis, such a good drink, at a pub on the river; big hit.

Later that evening, I found myself at the bar of the pleasantly old fashioned hotel and fell into conversation with a retired policeman who felt the country had "gone to the dogs." Perhaps he had a point, but Shrewsbury seems to have escaped the wrecking ball of modernity. 

Close run thing too, apparently some commission told the town's elders that if they persisted in destroying historic buildings they'd lose their heritage status. So they stopped. Good.

random street scene

So visit Shrewsbury, it's gorgeous, and stay at the Prince Rupert, a pleasantly old school hotel. Go too to the Hopping Friar pub where beer's three bucks (parityish) a pint. Next stop? The amazing, remarkable, can't speak too highly of it Ludlow.

Your Touring Pal,

LSP