The Pound, Leebotwood

The Pound in Leebotwood (now a restaurant and watering place) has recently undergone a facelift. Its new thatched roof is a wonder to behold. What an art and craft!

The Pound, Leebotwood

I wandered down to the village with my faithful old camera and took some pics of the thatchers at work. (I did ask permission of the men! I thought it a bit rude just to snap away.)

Artists at work...

 The Pound stands on the side of the notorious A49.
(Close ups of the finished roof.)

The Pound, circa 1457, started life as a drovers’ hostelry. Early in the 19^th century it was rebuilt after a fire destroyed the original building.

One of its claims to fame is that in 1841, or thereabouts, it briefly contained William Davies after he had absconded from Westwood (near Much Wenlock) after murdering Nanny (aka Nancy) Morgan, The Wenlock Witch, with whom he had been co-habiting. He was apprehended nearby and after a short time at The Pound taken back to Much Wenlock in a spring cart. (A two wheeled sprung cart pulled by one horse or pony.) Exciting stuff!

Could this the THE springcart?

I have it on good authority that the upstairs area of The Pound has a ghostly atmosphere, not the sort of place to be alone at night! Aghhh!!!

Thanks for your time.

The Old Country Crone xx

        

Wenlock Edge...

For most of my childhood I lived in the shadow of Shropshire’s beauty spot, Wenlock Edge, famous for Major’s Leap, Ippikin and Clattering Glat amongst other bits of folklore. A beautiful spot, but maybe I’m biased. Even though I’ve lived but a crow’s flight away for the last 40 plus years, when I travel through Longville in the Dale, up Longville Hill and along Wenlock Edge it feels like the native returning home.

View from the Edge...

 Longville in the Dale (in Ape Dale, no funny remarks please) has changed dramatically since I was a kid. My friend and I walked the roads for hours in comparative safely, roamed the woodlands en route to see ancient relatives and composed irreverent songs about the various country ‘characters’, all of whom have long departed to that village in the sky.

Longville in the Dale...

 The country atmosphere of Longville in the Dale has altered beyond belief. Gone is the overgrown auction yard, replaced by semi-mansions no country dweller could ever afford. The old pond at the back of the Longville Arms, or whatever it is called these days, where we caught tadpoles and made dens has been filled in and replaced by houses, and where have all the trees gone? Anyway, I deviate…  

The Major’s Leap came about when Major Thomas Smallman, who resided at Wilderhope Manor, was fleeing from the Parliamentarians in the Civil War in 1640s or thereabouts, he was chased to the limestone edge and being surrounded had to jump or face the consequences. He survived his leap of fate, saved by a conveniently placed tree, but his unfortunate horse fell to its death.

The view Major Smallman would have seen had he had his eyes open at the time... 

 Ippikin was head of a band of robbers whose hideout was a cave in the limestone escarpments of Wenlock Edge. During a severe storm the limestone collapsed burying Ippikin and his dodgy band in the cave complete with their ill-gotten gains. If travelling along Wenlock Edge be sure not to call out, ‘Ippikin. Ippikin, come out with your long chin‘, or you will be lured to your death over the edge, and over the years, it appears, many have succumbed!

Going down Longville Hill...

 Clattering Glat (good name for a band!!) came about when a son killed his father and hid the body behind a hedge. The next day the body had disappeared and no matter how many times the glat or gap has been filled in it always materializes again!!

Thanks for your time.

The Old Country Crone xx      

 

Blackbird at Dawn...

Our resident blackbirds are well on their way to rearing their second batch of chicks. For weeks now the male has been busy searching for food. He is constantly perusing the lawn and garden for worms, and amazingly can actually still sing with squirming wildlife hanging from his beak. Quite a feat. He is occasionally joined by his mate.

"What's for tea sparrow?"

Yesterday, whilst chilling with my book on the lawn my eye was drawn to a baby blackbird taking refuge behind a flowerpot. As we have two marauding cats I felt duty bound to rescue the tiny mite. It seemed hardly ready for life outside the nest. I picked it up and it warmed itself in my hand.

"Ahh..."

Meanwhile the male blackbird was singing in the nearby buddleia. The baby bird relaxed in my hand, then suddenly it squawked, which produced an immediate reaction from the parent. He sounded his alarm call and dive-bombed me. Even though he was small it was quite scary. I released the baby into the hedge where I have seen both parents scuttling in and out over the past few weeks. (I haven’t been able to locate the nest.) Hopefully the baby survived its ordeal. I could hear more young ‘chipping’ in the hedge so the escapee wasn’t alone.

The cats were given short shrift too. Both were seen at different times of the day hastily retreating from the parents' onslaught. Good on 'em! The male blackbird was leading the dawn chorus at 3.45 this morning! That makes for a looong day!

Thanks for your time.

The Old Country Crone xx