Somewhere I Belong

I get the feeling, from the Brits that I’ve spoken with, that Grantham is kind of like a blip on the map of the Midlands, which is kind of a blip on the rest of the UK. Nonetheless, it’s where I live, and yesterday I got to take a tour from a man born and raised there.

Malcolm has lived in Grantham for eighty years, so he knows a thing or two. We got stopped by professors, priests, and random passers-by who said hello to him. A pretty cool guy.

 Just a few of the sites, for those interested.

Somewhere about the middle of Grantham is a small park area, which houses this statue:

Sir Issac Newton didn’t actually live in Grantham, but grew up in an orchard down the road. This park is right next to an eight hundred year old road, named after the shopkeeper who used to be there. It kind of boggles the mind.

This building was a memorial to Queen Victoria. Within, nurses have been giving healthcare to the poor since the time of her death.

Malcolm really likes it, because "It's useful for someone other than pigeons." 

Not pictured is one of the first dissenting churches in London, now Cottage Church, a nursery. Also a cool place, where worship was hidden for a long time.  

Also on this road we passed The Beehive, an inn that's a century or two old. The funny thing about the Beehive is that the actual hive is the equivalent of a national landmark. No one is allowed to harm the hive, and only the owner of the inn can take the honey.

That little white box is the construct around the hive.

Malcolm showed us this painted circle and shared quite a few stories. It was painted in 1940 and would have changed color were the town attacked by gas. The other circles have faded by now. He was 10 during the worst of the bombing. He said that the soot always fell out of his chimney and coated the dog and whatever food they had out. As far as people to casualties and bombs goes, Grantham was the most bombed town in the UK during WWII—probably because it was an industrial center.

 
Next we went to St. Wulfram Parish Church, where the relics of St. Wulfram (shockingly)  are still held. It was quite a sight. It’s been around since the time of the Saxons—estimated to be 1000 years old. Includes Anglo-saxon, Norman, and English renovations. As Malcolm said, "The Saxons weren't very good builders, but if you gave a Norman two rocks, he would put one on top of the other."

An Angel inside whose face was taken off during the Reformation.

Once the highest spire in England (around 1200--it was outdone in the 1400s.)

Across the street from the church is a home with an old Georgian façade. Fun fact: Georgian style valued symmetry, but there was a high tax on having glass windows at the time. So sometimes the windows got painted on.

Can you find the reject window?

We wandered through another small park and ended up at the Angel and Royal Hotel, where I stood in the same room that Kings John and Richard II had stood, once—again, quite a feeling.

And, for now, that’s all I have of Grantham. See you next time!