Among its other claims to fame are the loveliest cricket ground in the land, the cathedral and the oldest newspaper in the world
What’s going for it? Worcester has many claims to fame. The sauce, of course. It’s full of sauce. The factory where they make it is still here, unshipped out yet to China or Ulaanbaatar. The porcelain factory has gone, alas, and the glovemakers: Dents no longer stitches its hides here. It’s also lost its famous oak tree, in which Charles II hid from parliamentary forces after the last battle in the civil war, though there’s a nice old pub up town named after the event. The River Severn, languidly sliding south. Cricket! You can’t escape cricket in this city. The loveliest ground in the land is here, photobombed by the cathedral. Yes, the cathedral and its fabulous tower, where ’Orrible King John is buried. The sixth-oldest school in the world. (“Reputedly”, bet-hedges Royal Grammar School’s website.) The oldest newspaper in the world – Berrow’s Worcester Journal – in continuous circulation (for 328 years). Makes the Guardian (197 years) look young in comparison.
The case against Routine flooding, often cutting the city in two, though I’m told new defences have made life better.
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