by Anthony J Ball
Wodensbryi/Wednesbury. Stronger than Iron. Forged in history. Wheels of progression have long been turning. Like the water wheel that supplied the power to the ironworks on the banks of the Tame. Like the hands of the clock tower waving goodbye to the hours of time since 1911, built for George the Fifth’s coronation. It has stood in the body of the busy market stalls, and still stands now like a watchful guardian over the people of today, rubbing shoulders with the ghosts of our yesterday. Whom by skill, by iron, by energy worked hard to make this town great. From the Mayors like Richard Williams, Hunt, Handly, Sir Albert Pritchard, to the shinglers, the preachers, the teachers with their books, the butchers with aprons hanging the meat on hooks, the florists with their flowers, the confectioners with sweets, the bakers with cakes, and flour making the treats. Newsagents, tobacconists, the colliers in their pits, the tailors mending, and sewing new outfits, the singing barber cutting the hair, the greengrocers selling apples, and pears; even the colts, the stallions, the mares, pulling a heavy load up, and down that Holyhead Road. Time, blood, and sweat spent shaping the town, Like the Wedgbury potters of old, into a form fit for this modern day. We tip the hat of a flat cap to those who helped shape the town that continues to progress, Made possible by people like AethelFlaed-The Princess-The Lady of Mercia, Standing forever vigil over us; and We are Wednesbury.
Wednesbury Was Wednesbury
by Anthony J Ball
Wednesday would mean a Wednesbury visit, to see my nan, and grandad Smith from Moor Street, with happy smiles that mirrored the town’s folk shopping in high spirits. I was a child when I first walked into the town; just a little clown laughing with joy, one hand in mother's, my other holding a new Woolworths' toy; from Market Street. Before moving on to Teddy Grays to get some much needed sweets in my belly. Shapes of jelly eagerly peeled from its plastic, and chocolate sticks wrapped in sugar paper, always went down a treat... And I can still taste those choc mock cigarettes now, smothered across my clapping lips. I recall the smell of produce in the market, the buzzing crowd of people hunting for a bargain, Then dad would return from William Hill, to spend his winnings on a family meal at The George Inn; that’s if my mother would stop bloody nattering, It seemed to us that she knew just about everyone in Wednesbury. Spring Street was where I was mostly in my realm, an adolescent buying my dvds from a really nice fellow, who sold me Bubba Ho-Tep, and Abbott, and Costello. Then down the Shambles I’d go, to the discount warehouse, Open in all weather through rain, sleet, and snow. I remember the love that flowed from family, from the people born in, and around Wednesbury. We are WS10. We are Wednesbury.
Born in Wednesbury
by Mike Maynard
Wednesbury town, where I was born, I see the ghosts of people that we mourn. They walked these streets, long ago In summertime and through winter snow. They knew the horrors of the plague, they were fevered and felt the ague. Here we are, in a new pandemic, the suffering of old, just academic. Science, restrictions and vaccination, will help us win and save the nation. How did those folk of yesteryear, manage in times so austere? Should we now consider, the climate emergency, and draw up a plan, with the utmost urgency? Should we now think as a British nation, of the future and the next generation?