Monday 30 June 2014

Stratford on Avon

I'm writing this from the churchyard of the Holy Trinity Church, which sits on the banks of the River Avon and is the place where William Shakespere and his family are buried.

I caught the bus out here from Oxford this morning - a task which seemed very complicated on paper but which was actually pretty easy.  English bus drivers seem to be blessed with endless patience and are happy to answer all my crazy questions, point me in the right direction to wherever I'm going and even tell me when the next bus will be coming along.  From Oxford, I changed buses at a village called Chipping Norton and then took another bus to Stratford on Avon, driving past sodden fields of sheep and Cotswold stone cottages.  The rain streamed down, the windows fogged up and I was glad I had pulled out my winter jacket from the bottom of my bag again.

It was still raining when I got off in the town square but it was easing off so I put up my umbrella and walked down to the river.  The sun came out and all the raindrops glistened off the willows along the riverbank and I strolled along comfortably, accompanied by some very hopeful swans and ducks. 

The Holy Trinity church has been a church of some kind since 713 when the Saxons built a monastery there. The present building dates from 1210 and while it isn't as grand as some churches, it's a solid, comfortable place. 

Shakespere's grave is down the side and is throughtfully marked out by a band of blue braid.  People were standing around exclaiming about the grave, but hardly anyone seemed to notice the bust up on the wall to the side of the grave which is his likeness and was made just after his death.

When I left the church I wandered through the graveyard at the back along the river - accompanied by three very hopeful ducks who were convinced I was carrying a stash of bread about my person that they were determined to enjoy as soon as I produced it.

There was a 'modern' rendition of one of Shakespere's plays being held in the park next to the church so I stopped to watch a scene or two before finding a cute little pub next to the river for a pint of Peroni and a burger.  A Robin came and sat on my table, looking for crumbs and kept me company.

I wandered through the town until it started to rain again and then I went into the Shakespere exhibition and the house where he was born.

The house is presented much as it was, but given that the Tudor style homes were pretty bare, it was all a bit dry - you traipse through the five or six rooms and out the door fairly quickly. "Quickest tour I've ever done," remarked an American tourist who was walking behind me.  However the exhibition did have one of the First Folio books on display, which was great to see as I've just finished reading Bill Bryson's book about Shakespere and it discusses it.

I retired to a cafe for the sake of my sore feet to drink tea and eat cake under a low ceilinged tudor teahouse, where I eavesdropped on a woman reading her husband the saucy Spanish phrases her new mobile phone app was teaching her for their holiday.  I wandered through the town while I waited for my return bus and watched hundreds of tourists and Saturday shoppers milling the streets.

After more than 12 hours out and about, I got back to Oxford at 8.30pm and crashed out in bed with a takeaway.

 Church at Stratford.


 Shakespere's bust.


Home where Shakespere was born.


The First Folio.




 

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