Gloucester and the Vale of Severn

View from the Cotswolds over the Severn Valley

This is the view from the top of Birdlip Hill on the Cotswold escarpment looking over the Vale of Severn towards Gloucester. It must be one of the grandest in England.

The Vale of Severn

The Roman legions marching on their way from Cirencester to Gloucester along Fosse Way (what is now the A417) would have been able to take in this magnificent view. The unmistakable silhouette of the Malvern Hills is in the far distance with Shakespeare country to the NE.

My mother’s home village of Elkestone is only a few miles from Birdlip Hill. Her father was rector of the church there.

White blossom of hawthorn tree

If England, her spirit lives anywhere
It is by Severn, by hawthorns and grand willows.
Earth heaves up twice a hundred feet in air
And ruddy clay falls scooped out to the weedy shallows.
There in the brakes of May Spring has her chambers,
Robing-rooms of hawthorn, cowslip, cuckoo flower.
Wonder complete changes for each square joy’s hour,
Past thought miracles are there and beyond numbers.

‘By Severn’ by Ivor Gurney

In the mid distance we can just see the silver thread of the winding River Severn. In May the hawthorns are full of blossom and meadows of spring flowers while the leafy lanes are lined with Queen Anne’s Lace. The whole Vale is steeped in history. Berkeley Castle, Sudeley, Tewkesbury Abbey and Chedworth Roman Villa are all here.

Ivor Gurney

The Gloucester poet and composer Ivor Gurney loved this his home county, especially his village of Maismore. His war poetry, written from the horrors of the trenches of the First World War, are full of homesickness. He dreams of being back home in his beloved Gloucestershire, wishing he were there:

Only the wanderer
Knows England’s graces,
Or can anew see clear
Familiar faces.
And who loves joy as he
That dwells in shadows?
Do not forget me quite,
O Severn meadows

His poem, set to music – ‘Severn Meadows’.

Gloucester Cathedral

Evening light catches the elegant spire of the Norman Gloucester Cathedral with its famous fan vaulting. In the past there would be the distant sound of the monks singing vespers in the original Abbey. Today it might be the sound of the Cathedral choir singing choral evensong. This has always been a place of music. Ralph Vaughan-Williams was born nor far away at Down Ampney. His Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis was first performed here at the Three Choirs Festival. Elgar’s great The Dream of Gerontius was always my parents’ favourite whenever they attended the Festival. Gloucester-born Herbert Howell became one of our major composers especially of church music. Gustav Holst and Gerald Finzi also loved Gloucestershire. The Severn Valley rings with music!

The City of Gloucester

The Romans established a town here, followed by the Saxons. William the Conqueror started the Domesday Book at a meeting in the Cathedral Chapter room. Henry III was crowned in the cathedral and Edward II was buried there. Nearby (above photo) is the memorial to saintly Bishop Hooper, one of the reforming bishops who was burnt at the stake in Queen Mary’s reign.

George Whitfield, one of England’s greatest preachers, was born at the Bell Inn. During the Great Awakening of the 18th century his preaching caused a huge stir, drawing crowds in Bristol and London and during his preaching tours in the American Colonies.

The Tailor of Gloucester's shop
Photo by David Stowell

Sheltered in the shadow of the Cathedral is quaint St Michael’s Gate. The last building on the left is the Beatrix Potter museum. Her delightful story The Taylor of Gloucester brings back memories of Old Gloucester of the 18th century with its cluttered townhouses and cobbled streets. You can just see the Cathedral tower over the rooftops.

Beatrix explains her story in this letter to young Freda:

MY DEAR FREDA,

Because you are fond of fairy-tales, and have been ill, I have made you a story all for yourself—a new one that nobody has read before.

And the queerest thing about it is—that I heard it in Gloucestershire, and that it is true—at least about the tailor, the waistcoat, and the

“No more twist!”

Christmas, 1901

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