Where it all began.... Willenhall Wanderings and Wonderings

More than 40 years ago, this was my world. More than 40 years later, I have walked those streets again. Seen the places where I went to Nursery, and then to School; passed by where I went to Church, and Boy's Brigade - though now there is nothing there to show, as Lane Head Methodist Church closed some years ago and is now gone. But the memories remain.

The house where my Best Friend, Elliott, used to live. We moved when I was 10, and we never saw each other again; although it turned out we were both at University at the same time, the 9 year gap was too much to bridge.

What was Don's the Newsagents

The other friends and acquaintances: Bryn, who, precociously for 1982, picked "Bedser" for the name of his Cricket Team. 

Suzanne, who once joined with me at a Birthday Party in a sort of crazy attempt at Ballroom Dancing as we galloped through the crowd, making them part for us as we charged with hands linked and arms out like a wedge.

Dean, whose birthday was just two days before my own, and at least once I recall a joint party.

Jonathan, who moved into the area and then also joined the BB. 

Marie, who often seemed to end up as my partner when we did Scottish Country Dancing at School.

Philip, who moved up to the Midlands and had a London accent - which once, in Infants, meant that playing "I Spy" saw him choose "A" for "'Andle". 

The Twins who lived just round the corner, who were part of the Short Heath Juniors football team - at one point claimed to be the worst in the country, and on TV as a result.

The house up the road where the footballer Kevin Summerfield lived for a spell after he signed for Walsall. 

Martin, who lived across the road, who once told my Dad he could do magic - my Dad asked him if he could make himself disappear, and he ran back to his own house. 

The Summer Day when they resurfaced all the roads by putting a layer of tar, followed by rough gravel, with what seemed like every kid in the neighbourhood following them; how it made coming off your bike a dangerous and painful experience from then on. 

Don's, the Newsagents where we'd buy penny sweets and Football Stickers while my Mum settled up the Newspaper Bill as Don looked it all up in a huge ledger. Now, it's a Vape Shop - though the Chippy is still a Chippy.

Then up along the road itself, to where "our house" stood and still does. It's been smartened up; the Porch has been replaced. I doubt anyone lives on that road now that remembers us; if they do, they'd probably be thinking of how my Dad at one point had three VW Beetles - his own, on the driveway; one with a seized engine in the garage; one on the front garden, with rusting bodywork but mechanically fine that was gradually donating its parts to the one in the garage before eventual scrapping. 

The day after, I went to Willenhall Town Centre. My hopes of recognising much of it were low - like all places with shops, the pattern has changed. I thought I would at least find the Clock, probably the most memorable (and certainly scenic) bit of it. But then, as a I walked up, the memories began to flow again. The shape was familiar if nothing else; wasn't that where there was a Hintons (later Presto) Supermarket? Along the road - that was where we used to get off the 341 Bus. The other side - that was Sneyd's, a sort of cross between Woolworths and WH Smiths where I grew my Stamp Collection by buying packs from Stanley Gibbons - I still have the Album, though I stopped buying stamps 40 years ago. Much else has changed of course - no sign of any of the branches of Green's, the small sweet shops where it was such a treat to go and buy a quarter of Bonbons from a jar. Going into Suggitts in Great Ayton brings back the feeling, sometimes, even now. 

It all seems, well, smaller. It used to feel a long way to the shops; in reality, less than five minutes walk. Going into town with my Mum on the Bus felt like an adventure; now, the main attraction is probably the large supermarket that's been built there, probably selling more lines than the rest of the shops put together. 

We moved when I was 10, and it was such a wrench. I didn't want to go, cried for hours when I was told. My Dad's job was moving, so we had to move too. Seeing family became a couple of times a year thing, when it used to be pretty much weekly; no-one else spoke like me, and so my accent became, in the way of kids, that point of difference to make fun of rather than just how everyone talked. I'm naturally an introvert anyway, but I do think that helped heighten it; I never really went out much after we moved, happier to stay in with a book than knock around with friends outside. Maybe the age it happened was part of it - a year after we moved, I was starting at a Secondary School which had about 270 in my year alone. I don't think I'm in contact with anyone I went to school with, and while that's in large part down to me and my choices, I do wonder if it would have been different had we not moved when we did. But that's the way of things: this was the early 1980s, Norman Tebbit telling people to "get on their bike" to find jobs - it's just ironic that rather than moving from the North to the South, as so many did, we ended up going in the opposite direction! 

Being down here for a Funeral as well maybe also affects my mood - even though it was led so well by Dee, one of the people I trained with at Luther King House more than 15 years ago.

It was my cousin's husband's funeral; I can remember, at the age of about 5, being at their wedding. This cousin taught me to tie my shoelaces! They lived round the corner from her Mum and Dad, my Dad's Brother; I can't tell you how many times I'd been at my Uncle and Aunt's house, playing in their extensive back garden; the piece of wood labelled "The Sweet", as my other cousin had been into Glam Rock and had held a party at some point. My last three trips down here have involved going to first my Uncle and then Aunt's Funeral, and now this latest one; a family meetup that's involved Bushbury Crem, and the Spread Eagle for the wake. 

This isn't me going "woe is me", either. I have so much to be thankful for: my family life has been a model of stability for the most part; while we've never been rich, we've never been particularly poor either; so many, including people I know, have had much worse times of it. But maybe it helps to remember that life isn't all sunshine and roses; that the carefully curated lives that others sometimes share are not the whole of their existence. There is always light and shade; sunshine and showers. 

I'm about three quarters of the way through Jack Hitt's book "Off the Road", about his secular following of a religious pilgrimage trail to Santiago de Compostela, and some of those same themes emerge. Yes, sometimes it's a scenic walk, with fellow pilgrims gathering to share a meal and that sense of togetherness and shared experience; but there are so many reminders that everyone is making this journey for their own motives, not always pure; that there are those too who will seek to gatekeep, and say what is and isn't acceptable - such as when the author, one night, stays in a Parador (a luxury hotel) rather than a Pilgrim Shelter, and discovers that for some, that means he is no longer truly a pilgrim. 

Which in some ways takes me back to a place I visited on Sunday - my first Primary School. There's a bit of a vogue for "School Assembly Hymns" these days, and one of the ones I remember singing there is by Valerie Collison. Her best known song is probably "Come and join the Celebration" - but this one, maybe lesser known, goes: "The journey of life may be easy, may be hard; there'll be dangers on the way; With Christ at my side I'll do battle as I ride, 'Gainst the foe that would lead me astray." 

While the imagery might be more martial than is currently in vogue, if nothing else it reminds me that through the light and shade, I do not travel alone.