Wrexham County Borough 21 - Worthenbury/Day 357/The English Maelor/a tale of two brooks

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Day 357 - I never expected to be standing in Worthenbury located to the east of the River Dee in the English Maelor . Worthenbury is an old place , another one of those small rural villages where there has been a settlement since the 10th century. The Saxons had a stronghold here and the name Worthenbury when broken down has its roots in the old Saxon word a burgh or a stronghold . There may have even been a fortification here ,

I was standing in the churchyard of St Deiniols Church . A church has stood here since 1388 or at least that is when records say there was a church here. As I stood I wondered where the last twelve months have gone. What was I doing this time last year ? Still thinking of holidays . Still convinced I would get away for a break . Still not really worrying about Covid. I was wandering the streets of Wingerworth . Today I was wandering an empty churchyard just me and my thoughts . We were heading to a full year of Covid . Only a few more days to go and it would be a year since Boris announced lockdown . Spring , Summer , Autumn and Winter had passed us by . Here we are again back at the beginning wondering when things will change and life will get back to normal .

Worthenbury is a pretty village but very small. Much smaller than its nearby neighbours of Bangor on Dee or Malpas . Malpas just over the border in Cheshire and in England , There is a conservation area so Worthenbury manages to retain its rural character. Building work highly regulated much like Bangor and Overton on Dee . An attempt to keep the character of the place using the same materials that have always been used . The same bricks , the same sandstone and the same windows.

The village lies between two brooks - the Emral brook and the Wych brook. As I stood I found myself thinking of what was going on last year . I was still going into work this time last year . We drove into Chesterfield twice a week, I caught the bus home twice . How things have changed . . My thoughts flitted between what I was looking at and what I remembered , The sun was shining on me . It felt very much like Spring . What was Spring like last year ? I could hardly remember . The celandines lined the banks of the river . They had replaced the earlier snowdrops and they would themselves would be replaced shortly by the wild garlic . The banks were green with the new leaves and the smell of onions pervaded the air when my shoes stumbled on them . My friend told me that she picked the leaves and used them for garlic bread . In a few weeks the green would be replaced by the white frothy flowers . Heads of yellow daffodils nodded in the grass . A sure sign of Spring . Here and there were the pretty leaves of the Queen Annes Lace . A sign that by May the hedgerows would be full of the white flowers that were so pretty . In between the rich green of the shiny leaves of the Cuckoo Pint . That too soon would be pushing out its white oddly shaped waxy flowers .

I was standing in a disputed land . Disputed between the warring Welsh and English. Known at Wurthymp a word that meant emerald . The fields around the church certainly had an emerald tint to them and the old fields were once full of mills and forests .

I read the notices around the church . Forget 1388 there was a church here in 544AD. The current church a Georgian gem was named after St Deiniol the son of St Dunawd and was built by Richard Trubshaw between 1736 and 1739. It is considered the most complete Georgian church in Wales . I glanced through the locked doors and could see the box pews . Each had a plaque on them naming the family who owned them. The gentry sat closest to God and the altar . A cast iron grate was placed in a few of them to keep the rich owners warm whilst they listened to the sermon on the Sunday service . Covid spoiled my chance to see inside . Another day perhaps . I am sure that once Covid is over or we are all vaccinated then the church doors may well open again and I might get my chance to see the rest of the church .

I walked out of the graveyard with its lime tree avenue towards what now is the village hall. Built in 1862 £150 was endowed by Thomas Puleston and as part of his bequest he requested the money be used to educate 12 poor children. The old school bell is now sign of a dying breed - the village school.

There once was a post office here - no longer . That had long gone . A village shop - that no longer existed and was turned into yet another home . Peddlars and onion sellers used to frequent Worthenbury as they did in most small villages .

Wherever I stood I could look back and see the red brick of the church. It was the most noticeable of features in the village. The rounded shape was unusual , The finials on the roof line very fine. I remembered a pub here - The Emral Arms . We came here years ago and had Christmas meals or celebrated special occasions . Now converted to flats . It had lost its appeal and charm .

My walk took me past the Worthenbury Oak . Not the original tree but a replacement set into the corner by the church surrounded by white railings to protect it . I walked beyond the Plough built in 1823. Again a pub that now has been used as a farm .

The road took me back towards Bangor on Dee and home . Coffee waiting , Amaretto biscuits waiting for me . The road was narrow and twisting , My last look back took in the church again and the Flemish bond brickwork of the Okd Manor. The building was a Queen Ann Revival style house built in the Dutch style with gables. On one hand it seemed at odds with the Georgian church but equally it looked at home nestling in the trees .

I heard the woodpecker in the trees - they always make me smile.

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