Bus Runs Route 79 West Brom to Wolverhampton

I’m tellin’ ya, folks, this bus run don’t get no respect.

I went out Saturday intending to finish the 79 route (see Bus Route Runs for details on the project) but an extra, new road on a roundabout and my general dearth wrt sense of direction left me with a little more to pick up on Sunday (18 Feb 2024) so there you have it.

The 79 is Jimi’s most hated AND favourite route as it is the only one he’s been on (he seems to like the bus) but it takes him to the vet. We might try a tram ride together sometime, though, just for the journey.

For me, the 79 is the easiest way to get back to the buurt when laden with groceries in Wednesbury, hardware in Hilltop, or when the weather is shit in central West Brom. So, I’ve never really seen a lot of the sites along the route above Darlaston.

The architecture — industrial, commercial, and residential — changes rapidly all along the path and winter makes it easier to inspect a lot of it. It may be worth revisiting some of it in the summer for comparison.

The map shows the first 9 runs to cover new segments of the route although 2 of the early ones would have been covered by the other 7 easily.

The Trumpet, Bilston

Pub #2656:

Gosh, this is my new favourite bar. The Trumpet features outstandingly friendly proprietors and live jazz, blues, and occasionally rock in a cozy setting where the great and good still drop in from time to time.

Dig deep when they pass the hat during performances…this is a rare jewel that remains endangered after the burglary a few months ago. More like an Atlanta, Boston, or Chicago music dive (in the best possible way) than a British pub, we must struggle to keep it.

Bilston Town Hall, Tech School, Library, and a switching station/Gurdwara

Not much to say about any of these…just some photos of our wee walk east of the Bilston Central tram stop.

Stopped to photograph the old Harthill’s Cycles signage and was confronted with the motor gang here. Live to ride, ride to live.

Bilston Town Hall yielded a Cut Mark.

Just above that we spotted the Blue Plaque commemorating John Freeman. We didn’t know who he was and I haven’t yet found his books in libraries but when I do I’ll give an opinion.

Along the way we passed a Gurdwara occupying an old bus and tram depot and the adjacent Wolverhampton District Electrical Tramways power station, c 1902. This was the generator building for the tramlines back then although they were superceded by buses within a few years.

The local museum and library (probably where I’ll have to go for the Black Country Sketches and Stories noted above) is another fantastic building. The landlady at the Trumpet told us that Bilston was an affluent town and someplace truly special to visit when she was a child. You can pretty well imagine it from some of these buildings.

The Bradley family made galvanized buckets in their Beldray factory, here (now luxury flats). Odd things to note: the automobile in the logo has nothing to do with the output of the plant and the name, Beldray, is the dyslexic signature of one of the children of the founder.

This listed yet derelict school is heartbreaking to encounter and I would invest lottery money — if my numbers ever came in — converting it to our residence.

The walls seem structurally sound but you can tell it needs the entire interior and probably the roof replaced.

Eleven years older than our house, we would know what to expect in these voluminous confines.

Oh well, dream on.

The Old Bush, Bilston

Pub #2630:

I was lost and trying to suss my location without referring to electronic devices. A chippy that I thought should be about a mile away was off to my right and, if this was true, then the Old Bush would come into view just a few … steps … away and there it was. Shit. Well, I decided to make the best of it.

I was wearing a Jim Beam t-shirt and the bartender was having trouble understanding the order I was trying to make so I just pointed at the shirt and said, “large, this, no ice, please.” Each was reiterated in time starting with ‘this’ until he found the right bottle, then ‘large’ followed by ‘no ice.’ Thanks.

The Triangle Bar & Grill, Bilston

Pub #2629:

I was hunting benchmarks without luck and came to realise my map might be wrong. It also had the Triangle Bar and Grill opening late afternoon but here I stood receiving a pint of Carling from the landlord at noon:30. Grand.

There was a table of drunks who were either relaxing before or after their progenies’ football match (judging from the uniforms on most of the children around the pool table). The menu looks good but no one was taking solids so I guess I’ll have to come back and try things for myself.

The Great Western, Bilston

Pub #2628:

It was Sunday noon and I hadn’t bathed since Friday before the 6 miles already done as I fragrantly (or vagrantly) burst into the Great Western. I sat away from the fellows playing dominos around the other side of the bar. Lively place, I thought as these guys dropped by to greet the alien with the Fosters and the cartoon stink lines emanating from every pore.

If I felt welcome here, you probably would as well.

The Market Tavern, Bilston, West Midlands

Pub #2438:

Running from The Malthouse, I listened to an episode of “Soul Music” focused on Harvest Moon. Rucking up in Bilston this early in the morning I didn’t expect the autumnal experience to be so thoroughly expressed in an early hours pub, but the Market Tavern was not there to disappoint.

I walked in and the busy house seemed to come to a stop as this sweaty intruder was momentarily assessed. Apropos, There’s A Kind Of Hush was playing on the P.A. and I worked my way through the non-distanced crowd of relics already decaying and dying BEFORE the pandemic hit. While there, at least a dozen, distinct hacking coughs were noted. Poetry In Motion does not describe the scene but was next up on the Hits of the Past (I can’t fault the soundtrack, here).

A momentary ebb in the crowd at the Market Tavern

The house filled and emptied a couple of times during this pint but one constant was the overall sartorial splendor. The scene could easily be set in the 60s or early 70s without costume considerations nor anymore room alteration than removing the modern speakers and tele. Were this back then, everyone in the room would have been born between the start of the Boer War and the Armistice; as it stands, most of them were probably Suez or Falklands vets. Those Were The Days came on the tannoy.

I spoke briefly with a guy who returned for the beer he left on my table whilst stepping out for a smoke. I didn’t really catch a word as he has a broad Brum accent and was very, very drunk. I don’t think he could understand my melifluous Southern drawl, either, because he was very, very drunk. Eerily, as this car crash ended and I was leaving, another became the musical topic when Tell Laura I Love Her queued up on the music box.

Spooky.

The Horse and Jockey, Bilston, West Midlands

Pub #2436:

With the Hajj severely limited this year, I postponed my trip to Mecca again.  Maybe next year, but in the meantime there is always a pilgrimage to the HAJ (Horse and Jockey).

Look at the pink unit on THAT guy.

Perhaps a little too friendly, the pub is cosy and was filled with worshippers.  My coving strip, purchased at a DIY shop in the area, kept me moderately distanced from the guys also at my table (who seemed to be plotting something nefarious).

The Greyhound and Punchbowl, Bilston, West Midlands

{Update 30 September 2023: Someone set fire to the pub in the wee hours of the morning.  Cocksuckers.  https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-birmingham-66971299}

Pub #2414:

I put the two packages of 2 meter long coving against a gambling machine and turned to find that the animated conversation at the adjacent bar was about me.  Pointing at the coving, one asked if that was my date.  “She can hold her own for a thin, white girl,” I explained and they turned their mirth to someone else at the bar.

I had the feeling that the Greyhound and Punchbowl is truly ancient.  Looking it up just now, I find that the low timber ceilings are covered in 17th century plaster casts of hop vines and nothing is quite level from centuries of settling (despite a valliant restoration in 1936).  Stone floors, rooms scattered around, the works.  Don’t mind the jackasses at the bar — they probably won’t even notice you if you aren’t toting construction material; and, they might not even be there when you look closely.

The White Swan, Bilston, West Midlands

Pub #2392:

The house refurb continues to control our lives and after a little light going Christmas and Boxing Day we started back into the heavy lifting.  Houses here are notoriously bereft of electrical outlets and the few that they do have are poorly placed; since we had some floor boards up, anyway, it seemed time to put on my sparky hat and remedy the situation.

A run to the nearest B&Q for some electric boxes, conductor, sockets and light switches (anywhere else would have worked just as well) took me to Bilston and, on the return to the Metro, I spied the White Swan which looked okay from without and was fucking brilliant within.

Bilston appears to be a good town for pubs and a perfect mid-range trot from the house.  The Swan is due another look in as the time goes on.