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Published: September 8th 2014
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A goods night sleep always helps, so feeling refreshed and having repacked and recharged the batteries Aunty Carys dropped us at the car rental place. Woolly says – I was ready for anything, well I have to be when it comes to travelling with Jo! While Aunty Carys waited we trotted into the office and handed over the confirmation, the man looked carefully at the document and then looked at us. Jo’s bottom lip started to quiver so I thrust my still soggy bandana into her hand and glared at the gentleman. ‘We don’t appear to have your booking’ NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoo, I felt my bottom lip start to shake as Jo flopped into a chair ‘bear with me I will sort something out’ he told us. I helped Jo outside and encouraged her to breath, forty five minutes later we finally had everything in and a car engine purring beneath us. Putting the ticket for exiting into it’s slot the barrier rose and then promptly shut again! You have to laugh, you really do! Woolly chugged back to reception and received a new ticket and the road ahead was finally beckoning. Next stop Henley in Arden to meet daughter Zoe.
Woolly says – IF we ever got there, with the M1 going at twenty miles an hour it seemed that it would take the rest of the day, I called daughter Zoe to tell her we would be late, how long she asked, hmmm today I informed her. Three hours later and as we shot through Henley in Arden for the third time in our quest for the train station I was losing all reason, I suggested that we do something sensible and stop and ask someone, well someone has to be in charge and I seem to be the only one qualified for the position. Daughter Zoe hove into view and with a resigned sigh I handed over two more bandanas, I really need to sort out a clothes allowance! Lunch in the Black Swan and a saunter round the Tudor houses of the town left us feeling more relaxed so with hope in my heart we drove to our next stop. Our plan was to visit nearby Stratford Upon Avon and take in a bit of a bit of history. Stratford is a market town on the River Avon and is best known as being the birthplace of the
William Shakespeare, Over the years we have all been here many times usually on School visits which would of included a trip to the theatre, this was one thing we didn’t plan on doing on this visit but for the first time, we thought we would go to the various houses linked to the Baird. Woolly says – A horse, a horse, a mammoth for my horse! I had been practicing hard for my new role at the RSC. Mary Arden was Bill’s Mom (as a fellow thespian I feel I know him well enough to shorten names) the family home set on its own farm was on our route, so with the thoughts of lots of animals to pet and some slopping floorboards to walk on we parked up (I think I need to show Jo HOW to actually park!) and in we went. Feeling very much poorer we entered the museum, an empty farmyard presented itself to us so following the path we wandered into an area with a beautiful tilting thatched cottage, I scurried inside and started to look around. A large kitchen with a huge fireplace was decorated with shining brassware and earthen pots. Next door was a four poster bed grandly covered with reds and gold’s and it was the right size for ME! The curator told me that this was a great symbol of wealth at the time, the Tudor equivalent of having a Ferrari, I wonder how many beds I need to appear to own a Ferrari?
With Woolly mumbling away about doubles, singles and king-sized we took the steep wooden staircase to stand under the beams and try and work out how tiny people were then, shorter than my proud five foot one and a bit height which made me feel taller somehow. Woolly says – Next door we found a bakery with real Tudor’s baking apple pies and bread in the traditional kitchen with the produce used at the time. I was quite happy to wait around and help them eat their creations but Jo caught me by ear and whisked me onwards. The family house was where Shakespeare had been born, where the future of literature was changed forever, the bed were the birth took place was very ordinary, no baby mobiles hanging above to keep baby Bill contented and no disposable nappies, they really weren’t very organised at all. Born in 1537 Mary Arden was the daughter of a prominent family from before the Norman Conquest. She was the youngest of eight daughters, being the only child to inherit her father's farm, when he died in December 1556. John Shakespeare was the tenant farmer for the farm and from getting married in 1557 (I do like a good wedding, looking forward to going to our friends, Sammy and Ray, in a couple of weeks, hmmm lots of nice cake!) Eight children later, with William being the third the house must have been packed. The rest of the building was fairly bare but so beautiful with its oaken beams contrasting with the white, arriving outside again we peered into the pig sty where the brown piglets were grunting happily. All too quickly we seemed to have finished and were in the shop which is the signal to tell you that you have now completed your day and need to get your purse out.
This historic area was a lot smaller than it looked on the map and forty five minutes after entering we were done, that worked out at 34p (GBP) a minute! It would be nice if they used some of those pennies to provide some good information boards which would have made our visit more enjoyable and would at least stop the mammoth from chasing the goats.
Woolly says – I wasn’t chasing them I wanted to ask them about Mr Shakespeare and what he was like! The country lanes opened up to us as we drove towards Stratford and the probability of having a drink. Alas poor Mammoth I knew him well.
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