Must be Bard time

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Following my literary trail of thought, the next destination was Stratford-Upon-Avon, home of the Bard. I'd been tossing up between Stratford and other destinations, and realised that I was just being silly - I couldn't pass up the opportunity to go to Stratford. Not just because because of my interest in its most famous resident, but also because it's supposed to be one of the prettiest towns in the country. I was in the mood for pretty.

At Oxford's bus station I found myself in the queue behind a tour group of Argentinian students and their teachers, also Stratford bound. It's only an hour's coach ride from Oxford, but I didn't want to shell out for a local bus when I already had my handy dandy BritExplorer, so I was lucky that there was one seat left on the bus after they'd gotten on - my seat!

I found a B&B on the main road just south of the Stratford-Upon-Avon town centre, run by a saintly lady who gave me a discount (I felt slightly guilty about it, but she was lovely, and I must have looked scruffy and alone enough to deserve it.) I settled into a very comfortable quilted room to update my photo archive and free up some memory space, wishing I could just lie down and sleep - but as I really only had the day to explore, I had to get moving. I examined the outside of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, which is currently undergoing exetensive renovation - it should be awesome when it re-opens. Nothing was playing that night, which was expected, though slightly disappointing - but after all, how much better to come back when the theatre is all done up!

When I got out my camera to figure out a way of taking a picture of the theatre against the strong light and reflections in the Avon, I found my tiredness had indeed been overwhelming, and of all things, I had left the memory card in my computer. I had to return to the B&B to retrieve it, and while doing so discovered to my discomfort that Straffordians do not always clean up after their dogs...

After such an inauspicious beginning, things could only get better, and I had a lovely walk up the old tramway and through the town to Henley Street, the site of Shakespeare’s Birthplace. The Shakespeare house survives to this day, and is now owned by the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust. They demolished the houses on either side of the Bard's to reduce the fire risk, and have built a fairly good museum just down the way. Serving as the entrance to the site, it gets you into the mood with a series of displays depicting life in the Elizabethan era and giving a brief history of Bill’s parents, his early life - much of which is supposition, although reasonably probable - and his removal to London. There are models and examples of goods from the time, as well as lots of facsimiles of letters and texts to, from, or about William Shakespeare.

Outside, a path through the modern recreation of an Elizabethan garden leads you to the back of the cottage. The house has had a turbulent history, for the Shakespeare family did not have a lasting decendency, and the ownership of the building passed into other hands. At various times parts of the house have been a pub, lodgings and a butcher’s shop, before it became a tourist attraction in its own right and the tenants of the nineteenth century began charging sight-seers for admission.

It's now possible to walk through the entire house, and it has been returned to as close to the original state as possible. What is not period is carefully re-crafted, like an upstairs window replacing the original, which is on display - it was destroyed by the thousands of intials etched by the very first pilgrims, including several prominent British and American politicians of the time. Costumed guides are on hand to give you as much information as you wish, although unfortunately I did have to run away from a maid who seemed to think I was not overwhelmed enough to be standing in "the Birth Room," (where Shakespeare was probably born.) She kept trying to educate me, loudly, when I would rather have looked, silently.

After seeing the house, I was hit by Shakespeare fever, and began to be cross that I could not see a play. The problem was solved when I walked past the sale at HMV, and came out five minutes later jauntily swinging a bag containing Kenneth Branagh's Much Ado About Nothing.

Before collecting fish and chips for dinner, I walked past two more properties owned by the birthplace trust - the New Place, an additional town property purchased by Shakespeare, and Hall's Croft, the home of the Bard's daughter Susanna and her husband Dr Hall. Hall's Croft is just down the road from the Holy Trinity Church, Shakespeare’s parish church and now his burial place. The church is set in the midst of a mossy, tree lined graveyard, right on the bank of the Avon. Like every other church I have seen on this trip, it's being restored and repaired - the spire is covered with scaffolding.

Practicing rowers were cruising up and down the river between the town bridge and the weirs, with their coaches cycling on the bridle path alongside the water, shouting instructions and encouragement through megaphones. Swans glided calmly alongside the boats, and I admired the tranquil scene until the one thousandth midge tried to fly up my nostril, whereupon I retired to my bed with DVD and takeways. Have better characters than Beatrice and Benedict ever been created?

The next morning I paid a business next to the Tourist Office to hold my bag for an hour, so I could go back to the little church before my bus left. I stood in the picturesque church and gazed at William Shakespeare's grave, greatful for the wonderful gift of his writing. Laid in the sanctuary next to him are the graves of his wife, Anne, two of his sons in law, and his daughter Susanna. The church is famous not only for the graves by the altar, but also its marvelous sanctuary knocker and the skew-whiff chancel - instead of being in line with the body of the church, it tilts to the north: it's a "Weeping Chancel", symbolising Christ's head on the cross.

I walked back though the now brilliantly sunny town, through the Mop (town fair) being set up on the High Street, and on to a very full coach.

Onward, to The North!

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