by Elisabeth Allen
I spent a weekend in Shropshire in July. Those of you who read P.G. Wodehouse will remember that Blandings Castle, the home of the Earl of Emsworth, is situated in Shropshire. The south east of the county, where I was staying, is beautiful.
Shropshire is a bit wild in places. In the car, on the way to the place where I was staying, I passed cliffs and ravines and deep rushing rivers. In other places it’s domestic and pretty.
Early one morning I went for a walk. I found a public footpath and bridleway. It wound away into the distance.
I wandered down the lane to the end. It opened into a field. Imagine my alarm when a tiny, elderly, frail woman appeared with a huge, eager, strong dog on a lead. I’m not very fond of dogs at the best of times and this one looked as if he wanted to eat me for breakfast. He strained at the lead and his owner was nearly pulled off her feet. I decided not to stop and play with the dog like Elizabeth Bennet. I hurried up the lane to the road and paused for breath when I couldn’t hear the dog growling.
Later than day I took a walk in the opposite direction. Thankfully I met no dogs! I stood in the midst of the long grass beside an old tree and leaned on a fence.
The sun and the wind were playing with the grass.
In one direction there was a crop of grain ready for harvesting.
In another direction was a pretty farm and barnyard.
The countryside was so beautiful that it made think of heaven and hope that, somehow, there’ll be a corner that looks like Shropshire!