Too Quiet By Half

' Clunton and Clunbury, Clungunford and Clun, Are the quietest places Under the sun...':  A. E. Houseman's much loved poem "A Shropshire Lad" sums up the rather laid back nature of the small Marcher town of Clun in South Shropshire to a tee: it's quiet, all right, and there's no denying the fact. In fact, on some days of the week there is seldom a soul to be seen on the streets. Occasionally, there is a flurry of infeasibly large vehicles passing through Market Square, both commercial artics [semi-s for our American cousins] and agricultural vehicles, monster EVs and Harley Davidson's in convoy. In fact, on reflection, the place is quite often somewhat less than quiet, these days, vacillating between these two states of quietude and clamour.

One thing that is definitely quiet in these times is the river Clun [pictured, from on the old bridge that connects the two halves of town], that flows through the heart of this ancient settlement, overlooked by Clun Castle itself. The river used to be teeming with life: thirty years ago, there were wildfowl, insects and fish in abundance along its length, but in our last few years of visits here, life in the river seems to have dwindled to nothing, as it has on so many waterways throughout the UK. Climate change and man-made pollution, lack of river management and chronic under-investment in the environment is wreaking quiet havoc on our once fruitful waterways. For once, one wouldn't mind a measure of clamour against the sterility of the river's quiet current...