Made to Order

If I were to create my own town I’m pretty sure it would look like an awful lot like a replica of Shrewsbury, Wales. Never before has one place catered to so many of my fancies. Tudor houses, Christmas lights, a Christmas market of over 50 stalls, churches, a cathedral, a castle, a library, used bookstores, gardens, and all surrounded by the splendid River Severn. I spent all of two days walking around town and am reconsidered leaving for Stamford on Friday. My bed and breakfast wasn’t exquisite, but the location was prime and the price (25 pounds, which I try to forget is $50) relatively low and it’s run by a Swedish woman named Pia who speaks with an accent and wears sandals around the house all year long. The dining room – where I enjoy a breakfast of eggs, toast, tea, bacon (in the UK it’s more like ham), beans, tomato, wheatabix and orange juice - overlooks the quaint town streets. I love Christmas. I love traveling. I love the UK. But it will be nice to lodge and eat for free in a week.

After checking in I headed to the nearby Shrewsbury Castle, home of a Regimental Museum. I truly enjoyed seeing the uniforms, colours, displays of silver, and military decorations. It was good to have a little background on the town as well. It amazes me how much history is in these little towns when I compare them with places I’ve visited in the States. I believe I saw the colours flown in the States during the Revolutionary War, and did so with a very different perspective than I once had.
Then I headed to my favorite part of any town – the Visitor Information Center. Quite a few leaflets later I was ready to explore, though not quite sure of where I was going. Such was the case for the remainder of my time in the town. I checked out some Charity shops – far superior to the American equivalent of the thrift store – and a few card shops so I could begin the writing of seasonal epistles. The spire of St. Alkmund’s caught my eye and I approached the door. As I took out my earbuds I was startled to see the minister. I stood a bit baffled. “You look like you were about to say something” he said. I made no sound. “Can I help you? Or did you just want a look around?” “I was just looking around” I responded sheepishly. I always feel a bit awkward “touring” a church. He graciously showed me the correct door and I approached a stained glass window bearing the image of a pilgrim making her journey. As I read the description of the picture tears welled up in my eyes. The thorns along the road representing the trials and pains of the journey were only too fresh in my mind. The necessity of cleaving to the cross, of grace, was exactly what I needed to hear. I sat down for a while, thinking, staring, praying, and realizing why I am so drawn to churches regardless of which town I’m in. Nowhere else is there such a feeling of peace and acceptance and quiet. Why have people forgotten how to be quiet?
At some point I returned to The Lucroft Hotel, but only for a short while and a cup of coffee – if my mother knew what I’ve been drinking here she’d shutter in disgust, instant granules aren’t exactly sumptuous. I headed out again to a city covered in twinkle lights, greenery, and Happy Christmas signs. It was a Wednesday night, which meant all of the shops were open extra late in order to accommodate Christmas shoppers. On the town square there were over 50 stalls set up for a Christmas Market, including roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, Christmas tea, handmade crafts and culinary delights. Lantern carolers sang familiar seasonal tunes and I was quite content, despite the fact that I never could locate a place with free wireless. Dinner was a sandwich at a small French bistro, followed by my own supply of raisins, tea and other instant meal options. The evening consisted of a wonderfully hot shower, some journaling and little reading. As long as I can have my Christmas music I’m pretty sure I could be on sabbatical for quite a while.

13th December
I woke to the darkness of 6.45 am. The plan was to eat breakfast at 7.30 and head to Shewsbury Abbey for morning prayer at 8.30. I guess snoozing was just a bit too appealing. I made it to breakfast, but not until 8.00. I would have to try morning prayer again on Friday. Knowing that there were a limited number of daylight hours and that many shops would close early that day, I was a little rushed to fit in everything I wanted to do – and this was supposed to be a relaxing trip.
After a breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon (which in England is more like ham), beans (have I mentioned baked beans for breakfast in Britain?), orange juice and tea I was ready to go. Though I’d missed morning prayer, the abbey, by way of the River Severn, was still my first destination. Walking along the river in the frosty morning was chilly, but beautiful. I made my way to the English Bridge, crossed, and continued through a small park, past the abbey, round a column, and back towards the city center. On the way I found some wilderness trails that wound over train tracks, across meadows and about the countryside. I met Jolly, the jumping chocolate Labrador and crossed paths with a number of other dogs and their walking companions. It didn’t take long, nor was it difficult, for me to become a bit disoriented. Such was the case for a decent portion of the day. I ended up at the Roman Catholic Cathedral, where I walked in to find toilets and warmth. I also encountered Christmas music, prayer and the peace that washes over me when I am alone in a church. It is now obvious why they are so often a stop I am happy to make. How I will miss this when I return to the States.
I left the church to snoop through some used bookstores and a few Charity shops (which are far superior to American thrift stores). By 1 pm I had made it to the Gateway Center for an afternoon Christmas Concert given by a vocal student called Gemma, and followed by sherry and minced pies. Over the past two weeks I’ve had a lot of minced pies. In my attempt to find Somerfield and pick up some groceries I found myself and a 150 pound check in a residential area near the river. I turned in the check and kept by the water until I ended up in the Quarry Park. Tucked in the middle of the park is the Dingle, a garden with a maze of British landscaping. Even in the winter months it was lovely. After finally finding Somerfield I returned to the Lucroft to relax. At 7.00 pm I was out again and off to the oddly shaped St. Chad’s for a high school (year 7-13) carol service. I thoroughly enjoyed the children and myself.

Friday morning I was up on time, fed, and ready for morning prayer by 8.30. Following the short service I met some of the lovely people of Shrewsbury Cathedral. The strangers along the way can be one of the best parts about traveling, particularly when one is alone. A few snapshots and I was ready to catch my train to Stamford. On the way there I sat across from quite an attractive young British man. It is unfortunate that we got off at different stops.