Visiting the Bard...
On the weekend we went to Stratford-Upon-Avon. The town was hosting a big
celebration of Shakespeare's birthday so we were really lucky to be able to be
there. It is a beautiful place - the streets are lined with gorgeous Tudor
buildings, all warped and tilting on their foundations - not a straight line or
wall in sight. The Avon runs through gardens full of brand new beds of spring
flowers, old river barges painted in bright reds and blues and greens meander up
and down the canals, and everywhere you turn, a smiling face with a pointed
beard and receding hairline greets you. He looks down at you from a mosaic above
a bank entrance, from an alabaster plinth in a dress shop window, from a stone
grotto surrounded by cherubs in a garden, or from a profile merrily swinging on
a pub sign. He is everywhere and he is very much loved in Stratford. William
Shakespeare.
Soon after arriving on Saturday morning we lined up with other tourists and
locals to watch the civic parade head down Henley Street. The mayor lead in his
red robes, followed by dignitaries from all over the world, thespians in
Elizabethan costume (here Hilary drooled at the velvet dresses) scouts, guides
and school children in their uniforms; all carrying bunches of flowers to lay
upon the Bard's grave. We watched proud parents wave and take photos of their
kids, people clapping and cheering as the Morris Men came jingling up the rear.
It was great. Something that belongs to the town, a day when they can show the
world that the Bard was, and is, theirs. And then we heard a loud, nasally voice
behind us... "Well that parade wasn't very interesting. Where were the floats?"
Her compatriot then says "This is England. They don't have floats here. It's not
like home." "Well if I were putting on a parade for Shakespeare I'd have floats.
A big one of his head." No prises for guessing where these ladies were from. We
had some lunch at the Garrick Inn which dates from the 16th century. We visited
King Edward VI school where Shakespeare most likely went to school. The original
Tudor school house is still used as part of the modern school today. The
middle-aged guide had himself had lessons in the room, as had a young bloke in a
leather jacket who was proudly showing his girlfriend around. It was fantastic
to be able to walk around gazing at the huge hard wood gables and the ancient
wooden desks sporting the carved initials of generations of listless school
boys.
We then went for a stroll along the Avon and up to the Holy Trinity church,
where the Bard and some of his family are buried. What we saw was simply
amazing. An entire corner of the church completely covered in flowers. There
were wreaths from the Chinese Embassy, sprigs of Ophelia's rosemary, roses,
lilacs, tulips, every kind of country bloom you imagine. They carpeted the cold
stone of the floor and completely covered the slab that marked his burial place.
Shakespeare had a Spring of his very own, burgeoning within the hallowed walls.
It was a living shrine to someone, who for this one day, was considered greater
than all the stained glass saints who looked down upon his resting place. It was
very moving and I felt genuinely honoured to be standing there. And then we
heard a loud, nasally voice behind us... "So like, is he actually buried
underneath there?" Following a mumbled confirmation; "Wow, like, he's really
under there huh? Cool." Aaron and I squeezed each others hands very tightly and
quickly left. Like no, he's not actually buried under there at all. The RSC have
him pickled in a big jar in the cellar of the Dirty Duck.
The rest of Saturday afternoon was spent leisurely strolling around the town,
enjoying the sunshine and eating ice cream. It felt so good to be in holiday
mode again. As we were walking up Sheep Street we came across two huge wooden
gates opening into a cobblestone side street. This street, with it's 500 year
old stones, runs the length of the Shrieves House Barn, a 16th century Tudor
building that is reputed to be the most haunted in Britain and is now home to
the Falstaffs Experience - a paranormal experience for tourists and many of the
country's mediums as well. On regular occasions professional mediums hold vigils
there were they observe and record paranormal activity (of which there is much
apparently). They were offering regular half hour tours of the building that
night so, of course, Aaron was sold. We bought tickets :O) We returned at 8.30
that night and went on the tour with about 10 other people. The building was
very very dark. All we had was a lantern held by the guide. He told us that
mediums had identified 40 individual spirits in the building including the
original owner one William Shrieve (we were told he was a benevolent spirit) and
a spirit of another man who was a murderer and rapist (which made the group feel
very comfortable...not). As with the vaults in Edinburgh I put on a brave face
and dug my finger nails into Aaron's arms as we were lead through the dark. I
don't like doing things like ghost tours because even though I'm not a sceptic
or an ardent believer I'm just a plain fraidy cat and I hate being scared. But I
do it for my man because I know he gets a huge kick out of these things. I can
honestly say I didn't see anything that night. But that didn't make the whole
experience less terrifying. And some people may scoff at what I'm about to say.
I cannot say why or how or anything. I can't say with 100% certainty that what
happened to me was a paranormal experience. I'll just relate exactly what
happened. We came to a staircase. It was modern but had been built over a
pre-existing older stair case. The guide asked the group to stand on the stair
case for a moment and see if they felt anything. I stood looking down through
the gloom at the wood steps (mainly because I was too scared to look around).
Almost immediately I felt my pulse rate start to increase dramatically. My heart
was pounding and I could feel my pulse in my neck. My chest started to feel very
heavy and my breathing became a little laboured. Ordinarily I'm pretty shy at
these sort of public tour things but at that point I didn't know what was
happening and so I said aloud "I think I'm getting something." The guide
immediately asked if I wanted to get off the stairs. I said yes and moved off
them up to the landing next to him, leaving Aaron looking very concerned on the
stairs. After a few deep breaths I felt a lot better but slightly confused and
disturbed (and a little embarrassed) about what had just happened. The guide
then asked what I had felt and I explained my symptoms. He then says, "If you
don't mind me saying so, that's excellent. I'll be informing our resident medium
about that tonight." He then tells the group that a couple of hundred years ago,
a man was strangled on the stairs and buried under the floor beneath the stairs.
Since then, people stopping at a certain point on the stairs had often
experienced shortness of breath, nausea and an exponentially increased heart
rate. At that point, two people actually left the tour and walked out of the
house. That's all I'll say. The rest of the tour consisted of that ghost-train
scary/funny type stuff such as the guide deliberately banging his staff on the
floor and cracking jokes about having to charge us double if we became
possessed. Aaron felt a breeze on his face when there was no breeze but nothing
else happened. When we left the building and went to the nearest pub for a
fortifying ale we both felt a strange feeling of sadness. A lot of very awful
things had happened in that place over the centuries - murders, body snatching,
plague deaths. It was a stark and disturbing contrast to the Stratford we'd seen
during the day. A Stratford of willow branches wafting by the river and laughing
children throwing pennies into fountains, had turned into a dark Stratford where
children were sold to anatomists and people where strangled in the dark. British
history is so bleak at times, it permeates even the most beautiful places.
Sunday started with a full English breakfast and another walk down by the river.
We sat and watched the whole process of getting a barge into and out of a weir,
which was pretty interesting. We then went to see the house that William
Shakespeare was born in. Again, it was wonderful to be able to wander around the
aging rooms, being in a place of such history. The house that John Shakespeare
and his family lived in had been lovingly restored over many decades and was a
place of pilgrimage for many of my other literary loves including Dickens,
Keats, Tennyson and Hardy. We sat in the gardens outside the house for a while,
listening to the birds and enjoying the flowers (even though there was a light
drizzle). We then decided to take a row boat out on the river, Wind In The
Willows style. It was hilarious. Neither of us has ever been in a row boat
before but I think, for our very first attempt, we did extremely well. Aaron
rowed and I tried to guide. We did end up in the over hanging willows at one
stage but once we'd pushed off and Aaron got the hang of the oars (which were in
pretty bad shape to begin with) we glided down the river in very smooth
'patches.' It was a bit of fun anyway though I think Ratty and Moley did a lot
better. The rest of the day was spent in a couple of nice pubs before heading
back to London in the evening. It was a wonderful weekend that went far too
quickly. But in another couple of weeks we're heading off again, and this time
for two months, not two days.
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