Events

Dudbridge Railway Station

  I often walk the cycle track below Rodborough Hill, The old Midland Railway spur from Dudbridge, And I often cycle the track on to Nailsworth, Musing on the springs and watercourses, the ancient holloways, The Roman villa, medieval ridge and furrow, the woollen mills, The occasional mill chimney, still rising high into the Stroudwater sky. But, today, I stand at the blue brick retaining wall At the old Dudbridge railway station, Watching the cars career around the roundabout, Drivers mostly oblivious of the history of Dudbridge; But when I ignore the roar of the traffic, And I find my mind’s historical eye, I can see a medieval pilgrim crossing the bridge, A packhorse with Cotswold wool a mile behind. For here I stand by the confluence of two rivers. But also, at the junction of two railway lines: The interface of water power and steam power, The inexorable march of the industrial revolution: Foundries and forges and furnaces And cranes and pulleys and chains and smoke: A century-old pandemonium at Dudbridge, Where once there was an orchard and there is still a Meadow Lane. Carefully cross the road and study the information plaques On the wall at Sainsburys; the clothier’s 1646 doorway too; The inscription at REDLERS from 1910; The information board at Kimmins Mill, Then retrace your steps carefully back to the blue brick wall, And recite these words from T.S. Eliot to yourself: “And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first...

Chalford and the East India Company

The Golden Valley I first visited Stroud on the train in the early 1960s, pulled by a 1400 class locomotive, 1463, I think. I would study my Ian Allan trainspotter’s book or read my history books until we reached Chalford, when I would stare, mesmerized by the beauty...

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Railway Rural Rides

Citizen John Thelwall, William Cobbett, and Rural Rides on the Train   In the summer of 1797, when the country feared a French invasion and the Fleet mutinied at the Nore and Spithead, ‘the most dangerous man in England’, ‘that Jacobin fox’, the republican,...

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Brimscombe and Heritage

Brimscombe and Heritage   One night in the trenches, Ivor Gurney, the Great War poet, suddenly remembered Brimscombe: ‘One lucky hour in the middle of my tiredness I came under the pines of the sheer steep And saw the stars like steady candles gleam Above and...

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Stroud Time

Stroud Time It’s a funny thing, Time, isn’t it, when you stop to think about it. And I’m not talking Einstein. Just that we measure it in so many different ways: watch, clock, phone, analogue, digital, sun, moon, religion, the seasons, calendar, years, decades, eras,...

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The Hammerman Poet

Life in a Railway Factory: Alfred Williams, the Hammerman Poet Born close to Brunel’s broad gauge at South Marston, While Richard Jefferies measured the red brick growth Of New Swindon’s terraced street advance, You studied express trains from farm and field,...

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Stroud to Swindon and Brunel all the Way

From Stroud to Swindon for a Football Match (Brunel All the Way) Start your journey at the Platform One Café, Coffee and croissants and Katie and Rick, 3 tables, 6 chairs, a trunk, 15 railway puzzles (Always one on the go for travellers with a brief encounter), Sundry...

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