NEWS

Home
Guestbook
History
Village Mag

Genealogy
Country Fair
Diary Dates
Photo Album
Newsletter
Organizations
Local Services
Links
Search Site

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Looks Best at Screen Resolution 1024 X 768

This London

We went away for a long week end, we travelled by coach to Malvern one Thursday, and came back Monday evening, arriving home at six o'clock, I haven't been to London since I was a young lad, so it was a different picture to the one I had then, not all of it, but some,

Well, although I am always glad to get back from where ever I roam, this was an eye opener for me,

I am not one for travelling any where nowadays, preferring to stay in the realms of my native county, but I must admit to a growing sense of interest in this journey, as we entered the east side of London, we crawled at a very slow pace not through, but with this relentless tide of humanity,

The first mile or so was of poor rundown housing, strong buildings, but lacking many of the finer details of a more affluent society, parked cars were older, and more decrepit than general, and the people jostling along, were of all colours and different styles of dress, one bus that passed us going the other way was full of people in the Arab type dress, swarthy faces of light brown, dark brown, and positively black, were every where,

I felt as if I were in a foreign land, every where was people, where were they going?, where did they all come from?, what do they do?,

Further on, the coloured people began to thin out, and the housing was far superior, the cars were newer and in better shape, the English style of dress was very evident, this was obviously the more middle class establishment,

Then we entered the city of London, it was superb, we crossed the river Thames, the sun was shining, and there in all its wonderful glory stood Big Ben, the clock that rang its tones out over Europe during the last world war,

And there was Westminster, the houses of parliament, whose way of government has been copied by countries all over the world, with a history so outstanding, that if this country did nothing else, would provide the world with tales that could last a thousand years,

Here of course was the famous black cab weaving in and out of the traffic, and here the Rolls and the Jag purred by, this was where the big guys worked , and played,

We alighted from the bus, which by now had aligned up with many many others, I looked around with delight,

This was a beautiful place, bright warm and cheerful, you sat in a kind of glass hall, each hall facing a glass see through wall, with its numbered glass door, above the door, was an electronic notice board, telling you the time of departure, and the destinations of your bus, smart snack bars, very clean and bright toilets, comfortable seats, we sat with a hot coffee, and a Chelsea bun, and listened to the hub bub of the travellers all around, the staff seemed to be almost all black people, happy smiling faces, very polite, and very efficient,

I saw one black lad helping an old lady with her load of luggage, chatting away to her in a broad cockney accent,

Awl right me old Luv, he grinned, as he held her trembling hand, steady now, you 'er nearly there pet,

The journey from London to the Malvern's was an eye opener, we drove through the beautiful Cotswold country side, and I just sat and tried to drink all this beauty in, I was incredibly happy, the sun seemed to shine that little while longer , as if the gods were saying, look around you old man, before they rather reluctantly began to bring in the clouds of dusk,

The next day, we were taken to Worcester, again the sun was shining, we wandered through the cobbled streets of this old city, lingering in very old , and very tiny little shops, that seemed to have been there since the beginning of time, we drank in the atmosphere before crossing rather hesitantly into the huge brightly lit modern stores, which seemed to carry all the worlds goods, in its vast glass counters,

We stopped for lunch in a little upstairs cafe, very warm looking, with its old heavy dark furniture, that could have been here in Dickens times, I gazed out of the leaded window, down into the cobbled alley way, which joined one busy street with another, and tried to picture the kind of people that would have been scurrying by in those olden times,

The journey home, was enjoyable, but I now considered myself a veteran traveller, as I gazed with a critical eye over the streets of London , the journey up, had been undertaken by a country bred driver, he had been polite, and quiet, this return journey however, was in the hands of a Cockney, he chattered all the way, sometimes breaking of his remarks, to scream at some unwary motorist, where the bleeding hell, do you think yer going mate?, the journey home was definitely different, The Coach came to a stop, this was our time to leave,

The Cockney Driver held out a gallant hand to help my Wife down, come on Ducks, he chirped cheerfully, don't worry, I won't let you fall, we were home.

Gordon Langley

  Last Update: Tuesday 17 April, 2007 13:32
  This site is Designed and Maintained by
Nige