Worcester Trip 2: Manufacturing Twilight at Diglis Weird (Last Sunday)

Last Sunday, meet the two Joes at the Commandery, accompanied by Eva the dog. Relatively late in the day, in winter it would have been getting on for nightfall. A barely sketched plan of a walk from the Severn, then by the river Teme and up into St Johns and back again.
Set off across the new bridge at Diglis Weir, then into new countryside I had not walked before.
Across the other side of the Teme was a path I had walked before - in a gloomy dawn of September 1997 with Ruth. I wondered, if I had been across there, would I have remembered the path at all? I remember the path took us past moored boats, across fields where I misplaced my wallet (we had to return for it) and some out-of-town supermarket. I did see some sort oif construction across the river I recognised, something like a train scaffolding, clinging to the bank and legs sinking into the deep and slow moving water.
Despite the side of the river we were in being new territory for me, it still felt oddly familiar. Perhaps these fields we were walking through had been one of those fields I had done bean twirling on over the summer of 1998 for a week? Perhaps, but the air around here began to remind me of autumn as well - not for any particular reason I could think of.
The fields -we could not tell if these were planted with crops or lying fallow- had piles of crates at random points, presumably to pack fruit or vegetables in. Down by the riverbank below us, some strange engine stood silent. A rather industrial looking device, what it did (a pump perhaps?) remained unknown.
Four of us got lost in a field, hemmed in on all sides by the River Teme. Looping, looping, looping, then back to where the engine was - where I couldn't work out how we had doubl;ed back on ourselves. The landscape playing tricks on us. On the horizon a shadowy figure appeared to watch us, then melted into grasses and trees, and turned out to be a fisherman.
A busy road nearby, but unseen, impinged slightly on our sinister idyll.
Out of the country and onto the road that led to St Johns. Tea and pints at some dead-air Harvesters where we sat outside with Eva. At the bar Joe was told that there wa no more ale, he went back outside to discuss this with the other Joe. The man behind the bar commented 'whats wrong with Banks's?' to what seemed to be a regular leaning against the bar.
We made our way back to the new bridge at Diglis Weir. A chaos of dogs and people. Eva trying to lead us back onto the walk across the fields again. Hope turning to disappointment as she watched us walk away. Gleaming dog-eyed sadness, but she soon recovered and caught us up again.
A slow meander across the landscape of the weir, past some huge and empty 'dock' where deep and silent water stood calm and entrancing. high up walls. Looking at our reflection below. Ragged grass and overgrown trees. Littering the edges, remnants of industry, and over the bridge and around here, a strange feeling of deep English twilights... even if it was far too early for twilight, it still felt like some older dusk was approaching. Places like this, away from the town and the street lamps seem to manufacture twilight, a night that rises from the ground as something almost tangible. The light growing heavier and softening. Joe Walmsley commenting on how 'dreamy' the air is here.
Em and myself leave Joe and Joe in a pub, and we walk back home, but we get lost beforehand in a labyrinth of old and newer buildings, all of which are empty as if some apocalypse has happened and someone has forgotten to tell us.
By the time we reach Worcester city centre again it is still day, and will be for another hour, but that feeling of twilight and autumn still persist.