“Guest room 217 is rumoured to be haunted by an unnamed spirit. Guests staying in the room have reported to have left in fright, with many refusing to stay in the room due to the paranormal activity. The bed in room 217 has been known to shake and the lights within the room have switched themselves on and off.” Wikipedia

I woke with my first hangover of the trip. The ghost of Sarah Hughes no doubt pulling the strings in my brain. The English have an obsession with heat. I suppose it is why they pile off to Greece and Florida at every opportunity. The heating in our room was set to incubation level and we hadn’t noticed the sign on the old sash window that read “this window works”. After adding some good, chilled midlands air to the mix we made tea and I did a little research on the haunting the locals at the Beacon had told us about. Sure enough, the hotel was supposedly haunted by the ghosts of a homicidal philanderer George William, his victim Elizabeth Hitchen, local historian George Lawley, and little Catherine and George. More to the point the room that was supposedly haunted was 217, the room we were in. Apart from the heating being set to Benidorm we didn’t notice anything untoward.

We set off in search of breakfast. Now having defended the Black Country , and I do not resign from that position an inch, I do have to admit that around our hotel there was some grim urban decay to be seen. Actually, that is not correct. There was some grim urban renewal to be seen. The Wolverhampton / Black Country area has a tram line system and currently they are being extended up behind the hotel next to the Dudley high street and a dated shopping mall. The disruption is considerable and the streets we walked up were strewn with dead businesses. A sign read “breathing life back into our streets” directly below a gutted pub whose smashed out windows gaped in the breeze.

We walked up the hill and through the mall looking for businesses that might sustain life. I came across a Costa but fancied something else so pushed on. I was rewarded with a Greggs. Greggs are a working class aimed chain who specialise in bad sausage rolls but I correctly deduced it would be warm and full of people watching potential. We snagged a table and I grabbed a chicken and bacon filled roll from the cabinets and then queued to order some breakfast. I was served by a Desi lady with an accent that landed somewhere between Cheltenham Ladies’ and Walsall. I tried to order two bacon and omelette rolls to be told they didn’t have omelette. I modified the order to just bacon and she looked over her shoulder at her coworker and asked “do we have enough bacon for that?” I felt the Python cheese sketch coming on. Fate rewarded me with two pig baps and 2 flat whites. We sat and breakfasted as broad accented Dudley folk scolded naughty children, talked about the weather, plotted community campaigns and generally went about their lives.

After breakfast we meet up with Stu and set out for Batham’s brewery. Batham’s are the old family brewer in these parts. They maintain a small, tightly regional, deeply loyal trade. Alice Batham is of the newest generation to take on the family company, she has recently become head brewer after doing an apprenticeship as it were around other breweries in Britian including at Thornbridge. Despite having contracted hand, foot and mouth from her niece she pulled herself out of her sick bed to show us around. Truly going above and beyond.

Batham’s is a Victorian tower brewery like Hook Norton or Harvey’s but unlike those examples it is wee. We clambered up and down the tight stairwells, smelt the fermenting room, met Alice’s dad Tim the former head brewer who has passed on the mantle, although he was stood there on a Saturday skimming yeast from a batch of bitter.
We ended in the adjoining pub which is affectionately known as the Bull and Bladder by locals. Batham’s brew 2 beers year-round, Bitter and Mild with a third strong ale at Christmas. Both beers are rich with a hint of butterscotch but in an underlying, body boosting way. The mild is particularly delicious, and several pints were consumed with massive baps of ham and tomato.

We then headed out to The Bird in Hand which is a Batham’s pub. We watched locals sat at the pub together and exchange banter like they did every Sunday afternoon. We watched a gentleman buy his pint and decant it into a banged up old pewter tankard. It was clear that he had done this thousands of times before and god willing and if the rivers don’t rise he would do it thousands times more.

Then we went on to the Holdens brewery tap and sat and drunk mild and bitter with an array of “English Tapas” before us. Scampi Fry, Pork Scratchings, and Pork Crunch helped us pass an hour or two. We were sat by the door and elderly couples were progressively piling out of the pub to wander home for their tea after a few drinks. Everyone of them said good bye to us strangers directly as well as all the other locals they knew. I leaned over to mum and said “we aren’t in Manchester yet but you are getting the Coronation Street experience”
Then it was on to a final Batham’s pub The Britannia Inn. We sat in the lounge bar and talked about families and their ups and downs with Stu. Several more pints of Batham’s Mild disappeared. Then it was time for Stu to head for the train south and mum and myself retired to the curry house up the road. The Midlands did better than Devon had on the curry front although the Biryani still came with the odd little mixed veg curry. Then it was back to our haunted hotel room to sleep off the days exertions.