Birmingham is essentially made up of (1) the city centre, (2) the inner city ring and (3) the suburbs. The suburban district of Sheldon lies five miles to the east of central Birmingham. The family homestead of 68 years sits on the main Coventry Road, a spur road that carries the town-bound traffic at speed 24 hours a day. The sound of the traffic is in no way intrusive and it was the background hum to my childhood nights.

My mother, 94 now and slower, lives on her own there now perfectly happy and has never had any intention of moving elsewhere. She has the ‘near’ shops and the ‘far’ shops within walking distance and these framed her children’s daily lives growing up in the 50s, 60s and 70s. Those shops have changed identity and ownership again and again down the years but they still remain.

Sheldon is adjacent to the more ‘desirable’ district of Solihull where properties leap in value with the change in postcode. That first drizzly afternoon I set off on foot in that direction, tracing footpaths which were once familiar. Lyndon Playing Fields which was where we used to kick a ball around as kids and wander in and out of the ‘dells’, a couple of old clay pits long disused and reclaimed by nature. During the winter months there were a dozen or so football pitches laid out and the Sunday morning teams would play their matches there. Now it is a green, open space, all infrastructure long gone.

On past the Lyndon pub and into the increasingly affluent Olton and Solihull, quiet and featureless, like much of English suburbia. That’s the way those fortunate enough to own property there like it. Nice detached houses down leafy roads and lanes, each with its own set of vehicles so little need for crowded public transport. At length I come to Robin Hood cemetery. Here in 1966, at age 13, I attended my first funeral, the wife of my school sports teacher. Then I found, at the first try, the graves of my dad and my two younger twin brothers Colin and Kieran.

From there a long, clockwise loop back through Hall Green and Acocks Green. These old Brum villages live on, their shops now largely owned by the ethnic communities I discussed a couple of posts back. Far fewer pubs these days, times have changed and so have social habits. One of the pubs which has disappeared is the Swan at Yardley, again on the main Birmingham-Coventry-London turnpike. A landmark since 1605 it was demolished in the 1990s, an unforgivable act by those with no interest in heritage. Still, the Swan lives on as a district in its own right to many old Brummies.

Down the last familiar couple of miles to Sheldon and – hurray – the ugly and heartless Harry Ramsden’s which replaced the old Good Companions pub has itself been replaced by a bar and grill. And that evening, Mum and I toddled down to the long-time family local, the Three Horse Shoes. The original fine building long since replaced by a nondescript affair with no craft beer, it is nevertheless an oasis in something of a beer desert.

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Off early doors next morning to check out the area north of the Coventry Road. Greater Birmingham generally is blessed with many parks and other green areas and these days Sheldon Country Park graces this part of the city. Following the course of Westley Brook, in my day this was a ragged area of wildness where us kids hung out. Today it is nicely managed and one can stroll along for a few miles as far as Marston Green. Still raining though as I walked past my old primary School, St Thomas More and on towards the viewing area at the end of the airport runway where I make a left turn and out onto The Radleys, Church Road and through the churchyard of St Giles which marks the old centre of Sheldon, the present building dating back to the 14c. And there’s a little tea room nearby where I take my coffee and cake and sit in the little garden area as the drizzle eases. Who knows, this may be the last time.

Finally, a walk to the ‘far’ shops. The old British Legion club is boarded up, the Italian restaurant which was there forever is now a little hotel. The Wheatsheaf, an old coaching inn survives (hurrah) and for my last coffee I choose the Sheldon Café over the brash Costa next door.

Who knows if and when I’ll be back but Sheldon will live on, evolving in its own slow way.