WEEKS IN WORCESTERSHIRE 93 



into that marvel of woodland. At Bewdley we 

 espied from the carriage window a Severnside 

 angler plying his art. To our cheery shout of 

 <( Good luck ! " he waved his hand happily, and 

 beamed a big smile in response. As we pro- 

 gressed towards and along the Teme valley, the 

 eye took-in orchards, with apple trees leaning 

 low. Sometimes the lasses were carefully picking : 

 sometimes for want of hands the apples had 

 rolled in heaps. Here, Herefordshire cattle 

 browsed in the fields ; there, the ploughman was 

 at work with his willing team ; and hillside trees 

 as a background were limned against the sky. 



Arrived at our destination, on the border 

 between Worcestershire and Shropshire, we heard 

 the usual tale water had been low all the season. 

 Time allowed an hour's attempt on the Saturday 

 evening in the Teme. Each of the two bottom 

 fishers saw his float go under twice, and could 

 not come to terms with the biter. This stirred 

 their blood. With the dry fly, the green insect, 

 I myself fetched up an odd grayling or two, but 

 all came short. 



On the Sunday morning, it was soothing to 

 hear the sound of church bells wafted across the 

 river, and a walk in the country further revealed 

 the beauty of this part of England. Said the 

 cartage contractor, "It's a relief from looking at 

 drain pipes and bricks." Said the plumber, " If 

 1 had suddenly found myself in some foreign 

 country and seen this scenery I should have said 

 * it beats England.' " 



