Worcester has haunted us both. I guess university years always do. We talked about this back in Joe Bird's house before we left. Talked about 'closing the dark heart of Worcester' which meant we would just go on a long meandering walk through the places that held some meaning to us.
In Joe Bird's house, before we set off on our trip down old English memory lane.
Our first port of call was to be the cathedral gardens. A pleasant place to dream away a sunny day. Arches in crumbling stone walls. Squat blossom-covered trees. A side of the great cathedral watching, stained-glass window eyes. Repeating triptych patterns. I remember, in the dark days that accompanied the end of Ruth and mine's dark narrative, coming here. I remember sitting here with Joe in the June of 1997, talking about Europe. He went. I ended up in Middlesbrough.
When we got there though, the gates were locked. The gardens forbidden. No explanations, just warnings of 24 hour security and guard dogs. Part time work for Black Shuck now the old english lanes are not so well travelled.
We headed for the other side of the river Severn instead. I had a dreadful headache, the result, perhaps, of yesterday in the hot sun. Dehydration. Maybe mild sunstroke, and still that surreal shock of hearing the call centre had gone down.
There was some kind of event in Worcester that day. Boat races on the river. Loud speakers and families. So incredibly hot. We walked past children playing in the fountains (not there when we lived here) traversed the bridge, and entered the cool tranquility of the other side of the Severn. We would walk along here then take a shortcut up into St Johns.
Sat on the steps leading down to the river. I remember coming here in the late spring of 1999 one weekday afternoon, when I should have been at a lecture, and thinking about an impending trip to Middlesbrough.
We lay down in the shade of trees for a while. Gradually the headache began to recede. Worcester seemed so hyper-real when compared to Brighton, the trees brighter, greener and larger. Everything seemed like a dream of England, rather than England itself. We headed up Slingpool walk - a path between the river and the area known as St Johns, where the University is.
Joe stood in Slingpool Walk.
Slingpool Walk took us into St Johns, a broad suburban area, all red-bricked houses, cars pavement-parked and local shops. We visited Joe's old house on Ellis Road, looking surprisingly Tudor. I only went there once, a visit I only vaguely remember. Something about a basketball movie. Bad vibes. Everyone said the house was haunted by something dark. 'Always felt like there was someone in the next room to yours'.
Why I didn't take a photograph of it is beyond me. Oh well.
Cutting through unknown alleys we found ourselves on Bransford Road.
46 Bransford Road. The first house I lived in Worcester. I was happy here. September 1996 - January 1997. The landlady decided to sell the house. We we were told a few days before Christmas. I've never been very lucky with houses!
After 46 Bransford Road I moved across the street into 37. This was not such a succesful house, though there is a bit of a ghost story connected to this one which I'll get round to telling at some point... 37 is the white house, well, the left hand side of the white house. My room was directly above the front door. Seems to be walled up now. A lot seemed to happen while I lived here. I left here in the June of 1997 for 136 London Road, where I stayed for exactly two years.
Some shots from my walk to college. The first photograph shows a piece of vandalism on the railway bridge. Unbelievably it was there way back in 1996 when I started my degree. It says only 'VAND' now, but back then it read 'BIRCH VANDALS'. Hmm.
Being back in the college / uni grounds itself was strange. It seems I don't really have very many memories of being here. There was just a vague feeling of anxiety. Joe had it too. Afterwards we discussed this. Visiting the college grounds, we decided, was the least favourite part of our nostalgic trip.
After Calling back at Joe Bird's house to watch Doctor Who, we set off again. This time up to London Road. I had, of course, been up here the night before, to go to the petrol station. Before we got to London Road we had a rest in Fort Royal Hill Park.
The view from the park. Watching the sun begin to sink, or the earth rise. Everything shifting and arcing. Nothing stays the same.
Joe stood in the pathway to Elmfield Gardens. He lived in a flat here for a few months in spring / summer 1997.
...and finally 136 London Road, where I lived from June 20th 1997 - 30th June 1999. So many things happened here. One night I found at 2:00am I found a black dog curled up at the end of my bed. It was that kind of house.
We stopped at Fort Royal Hill on the way back. I wonder if the cathedral was purposefully built so that the May setting sun seemed as if it was to be pierced by the cathedral spire.
Joe B and Joe W went out that night, but I stayed in and played on Joe B's guitar and thought about returning to Brighton the day afterwards. A strange and oddly fateful trip back to Worcester.
