To Stratford-upon-Avon

We are in a whirlwind. Still with very little sleep, we rise early to catch a train from London to Stratford-upon-Avon. We travel through the countryside between small towns with names like High Wycombe and Banbury (Remember the cheese in Merry Wives?). I take a deep breath and try to contain my excitement. Stratford-upon-Avon! We leave the harried traffic in London which chokes narrow city streets, as the ancient history of the city seems to struggle against modern-day commerce. The countryside is just the opposite. Rolling green folds of land dominate the scene, thick hedgerows mark boundary lines and sheep dot the lush landscape. The cars on the roads travel at a more leisurely pace and we get idyllic views from the train. Even the sky is quieter with a few white clouds casting " fair shadows" across the hills.

We arrive at the Stratford-upon-Avon Station around 10:00 a.m. and make our way into the center of town. It is similar to London, but on a smaller scale! People rush in and out of stores and bump into us as we make our way along the street. Taxis and buses whiz by and people dart across the maze of cars which snap around traffic circles with amazing speed.

We spy a park and rush toward the green space. As soon as we enter we sit down on a bench near a fountain at the entrance of Bancroft Gardens.

“Holy cow! I can’t believe how crowded this is.” I say. Richard takes a deep breath. “Let’s just sit here a while and get our bearings” he replies.

We decide that we need to get rid of our backpacks. We head down Waterside Road and find the Thistle Hotel where we have booked a room. The lady at the desk is cautiously cordial when we ask her if we may leave one of our packs as we are a few hours before check-in time. She offers us a map of town and nods her head with authority as she gives us directions.

Will's Childhood Home

We take off and head toward Will’s childhood home. I am a bit giddy when we arrive as there are very few tourists roaming about. Finally, a little bit of peace. Once we walk through the door to the visitor’s center we feel 400 years fall away in an instant. I imagine the whispered voices of the Shakespeare family when we step directly into their ancestral home.

The floors are uneven stones rubbed smooth with 460 years of foot traffic. I kneel down and touch the smooth stones; the floor is cool against my fingertips on this hot, sunny day. I know it must have been freezing for the family to live here in the winter as I remember reading that during Shakespeare’s time there was a kind of ice age in progress and that temperatures dropped alarmingly low during winter months. I get a sense of the extreme struggle just to survive during the sixteenth century. A small lump in my throat forms realizing how easy it would have been for Will not to have lived beyond early childhood.

Mary Arden and John Shakespeare were the parents of eight children, only five of them reached adulthood and of those five only two married. (They lost another son, Edmund Shakespeare, in his 27^th year, so clearly John and Mary withstood unimaginable grief during their lifetime together.)

The Shakespeare Birthplace Trust has carefully restored and maintained the house. In each room a docent/guide answers questions and gives short talks about the house and grounds. Their passion for all things Shakespearean shines like polished pound sterling. I could have spent the day chatting with these women who so diligently and warmly cared for each visitor as we passed between rooms. We appreciated their extensive knowledge and their hospitality.

Going through the house, I feel a growing kinship with Mary Arden, Will’s mom. Intrigued and wanting to know all I can about her, I begin to ask many questions and the docents take visible delight in my curiosity. Mary Arden’s tenacious spirit resounds through out the house. She has taken the half-timbered construction on Henley Street and turned it into a fine home for her husband and children.

The first room has a fireplace, a dinning room table and their best sleeping bed. I ask if this is a sort of parlor/guest room in the house. The docent smiles broadly and nods. “To be near the fireplace was a way to give the best to your visitors during Shakespeare’s time.” She says. “This was a way to show respect to their guests.”

I begin to wonder if this is a clue to Will leaving his “second best bed” to his wife, Anne Hathaway, in his final will which he wrote just before his death. Perhaps Anne and Will had a first “best bed” for their guests who visited them at New Place, the estate that Will bought after reaching financial success as an investor, playwright and actor. Perhaps he honored Anne by leaving her the “second best bed” where they shared the joys and sorrows of their married life together. Although he left his wife and children in Stratford-upon-Avon when he moved to London, I learn on this trip, that Will was closer to home than I had previously thought. I think he might have come back to Stratford on a number of occasions, commuting back and forth, as it were, over the months and years he spent as a playwright and actor. Remember, this is just a theory on my part, as we do not know how often Will traveled between London and Stratford-upon-Avon.

Tomorrow I will tell you about Elizabethan beds, John’s glove making workshop and the room where Will was born. Oh my, you will not believe the size (or the reason for the size) of beds during Elizabethan times… so stay tuned.

To undergo such a maiden pilgrimage

I recently found that it took Will Shakespeare four days of walking or two days by horse to get from Stratford-upon-Avon to London, a distance of about 87 miles. Commercial coaches were seldom used during Will’s lifetime as a form of public transportation so we know he either walked or rode horseback whenever he traveled between his hometown and London. For Will, the dangers of the road, the uncertainty of the weather and staying in questionable inns along the way must have taken its toll.

For Richard and me, to leave our hometown and travel to London takes only one night. We leave at 3:15 p.m. and arrive at 10:00 a.m. in London. After boarding Virgin Atlantic Airlines it takes us a mere six hours and 27 minutes to cross the pond, just enough time for me to take a nap, read a short book and do some writing. Although our travel time is not nearly as long as it took Will and our trip a lot less dangerous, Heathrow Airport, with its gauntlet of security checks and custom officials, makes what used to be a fairly simple airplane ride into a real adventure.

The first time Will traveled to London must have been very exciting. We have no idea if he ever went there as a child or if his first time was when he actually moved there as a young man sometime before 1592. Whenever he did go, all of his senses must have come alive the moment he passed through the gates of London and over the Thames River. Will must have been enthralled by the sight of crowds filling the streets, the sounds of merchants selling their wares at the market place, the stench of city life, and the excitement of street performers, royal processions and colored banners waving in the wind. London was one of the major cities in Europe during the 16^th century. Will entered a world very different from the one he left behind. I have similar feelings on my first trip to London some 400 years later.

As we enter London the noise of traffic and the fast pace slaps me awake. (Remember, I have only taken a short nap on the plane.) The smells, a mixture of diesel fumes and oily fish and chips permeate the air. Coming from a small town in New Hampshire the sheer crowded-ness of London is most impressive. I find it exhilarating and confusing all at once.

Our Cast of Characters

Our travel companions are David, my younger brother, a true jester at heart, and his partner, Aysha, a merry wife as clever and mischievous as Mistress Page of Windsor. As soon as we arrive at our flat on Holland Road we walk up to Kensington High Street where buses, taxis and cars rush by on the “wrong side” of the street. Thank goodness at every intersection painted in bold white letters on the asphalt just beneath our feet are the words “LOOK RIGHT” to remind visitors to look in the opposite direction before crossing the street. The noise is so loud it defies thought, the cars speed by at 50 miles an hour and crossing the street poses significant danger to four weary travelers.

We feel shell shocked with jet lag as we wander down the street. Profoundly sleep deprived we stumbled upon a beautiful park with children happily running about. We stagger toward a large oak tree and fall asleep on the lawn. The day is warm and the grass soft. As soon as we awake we realize we are in Kensington Gardens and only a hundred feet away from the palace of Princess Diana. All along the black iron fence and woven into the gold plated gate are poems, photos, flowers and tributes to commemorate the tenth anniversary of her death. It quickly becomes clear how dearly loved Diana was and still is in her country. The poems are heart-felt and the tributes of photos and flowers quite moving.

I think Will would have loved her story. He might have even written a play about her. Will had such clear insights about life in the royal court. I think Will would have pondered the intrigues of Queen Elizabeth II’s reign as much as he did Queen Elizabeth I. Although the Queen today does not have the kind of power that Queen Elizabeth I had, the royal family is still very present in the life of the British people.

I take a deep breath in anticipation for what I will discover during my short stay in England.

Tomorrow Richard and I go to Stratford-upon-Avon by train. It takes only two hours and 30 minutes from Marylebone Station to Stratford-upon-Avon. Can you find them both on a map? We are staying on Holland Road (a very busy street) in a small flat. It is very loud at night. I have decided that no one sleeps in London…ever.

Further dialogue with Will:

Will: (With admonishment) “Oh that [thee] might sleep out this great gap of time.”

(He pauses a moment collecting his thoughts)

“Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth!”

Jan: (Sighs with happy exhaustion)

To awake, dear Will, implies that one was asleep. Now I to bed, “to sleep, perchance to dream!”

Homework for the Curious:

If Will were to write a play about Princess Diana, how many roles do you think he would have included in his script? Do you think he would have been more sympathetic to Princess Diana or more toward the royal family? Why? Did Will ever write a play about Queen Elizabeth I or her court? Why?

We will begin these rites, ... The first blog post

Getting ready for our trip to England, I am starting to resemble Emma Bombeck's passport photo on the cover of her book titled, When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, it's Time to Go Home. Jeepers! We haven't even left yet and I look a bit haggard. Maybe that's a good thing. Airport officials will easily recognise me from my own horrible passport photo and let me through customs without delay. My passport photo was taken in February and that, I tell myself, is the reason it came out looking so horrendous. (Who looks good in February?)

I have spent the past couple days getting ready for our big trip. My to-do list gets longer as the time to prepare gets shorter! For example, it took me all morning just to figure out how to create and post a blog. (Hmm, do you think I'm showing my age?)

I created this blog for all of you. I wish I could take everyone of you with me to the country where our man Will Shakespeare lived, worked, played and wrote. Those of you who know-me-well know that traveling to Will's old hometown and stompin' grounds is a journey long overdue. My dream of going to England has nibbled at my ear lobes and tousled my hair for the last 14 years. (Enough already, I am not getting any younger, my ear lobes ache and my hair's a mess...it is time to go!) Remember, dear students, that "We are such stuff as dreams are made on..." Pursue your dreams, do good work and you will be rewarded with great happiness.

This blog thing is all new to me so please have patience while I navigate my way through cyberspace, my blogship has a few kinks in it and as soon as I learn how she flies, I will be a better pilot. Hmm, I wonder; Would Will have created a blog for himself if he were alive today?

To Blog or not to Blog?

I have two minds about whether Will would have had a blog if given the chance. I think he would have gotten a big hoot out of the idea. It would have given him freedom to compose, edit and finalize at greater speed. I also think he would have loved getting published as soon he wrote the final draft of his blog-post.

However...

I imagine Will (being the sensitive guy he was) loved the smell of ink, the sound of his quill pen scratching across parchment, and the light of his candle flickering in the late night hours. We all know he loved to write and lived for the theater. I envision him, in the 1500's, breathlessly charging into rehearsals, a little late (always a little late) to deliver his script on scraps of parchment to each of his actors. They had to learn their lines quickly because he was never quite done until right before opening night. (Which was really opening-day.)

The very nature of his genius delights those of us who appreciate the power of inspiration. He was, I think, very turned-on by his creative ideas and lived a highly-charged and full life. I mean, 37 plays in one lifetime is pretty high-octane-kind-of-writing (and living) especially when everything he wrote is considered the best.

Perhaps a blog would have, well... bloggled his mind. Perhaps he would have grumbled at all the technical stuff and gone back to his late night scribbles, ink permanently staining his middle finger. I think Will was born at the perfect place and time; no distractions from computers, blogs, web-sites and the harried pace of living that comes with all of our technological advancements. Will is considered the greatest writer who ever lived and I think his place in time hugely contributed to his genius. I feel very fortunate to be going on this trip. I look forward to getting to know him even better.

And go we to attire us for the Journey...

As I get packed and readied for the flight across the pond, (that's what the British call the Atlantic Ocean) I am reminded how crazy everything gets right before a trip. (Hence the look-of-passport-photo on my face.) I am at the point in travel preparations when I always ask myself, "What were you thinkin' girl?" Everything gets a little frenzied. (I know all you moms are nodding your heads in agreement.) Richard tells me that right before a big trip all molecules start gyrating with greater speed. Sheesh, no wonder I feel excited!

Richard and I have our passports ready (only took 16 weeks to renew them) our plane tickets safely tacked to the bulletin board (so we don't misplace them) and new shoes, all sparkly and waiting by the door. I still have a number of things on my list to do so I will close for the day. But here is an example of my dialogue with Will as I prepare for the trip. (Oh, didn't I tell you? Will often talks to me.)

WILL: "The lists and full proportions are made." (Written with a flourish of his quill and a wink in my direction.)

JAN: Now I to the work! Dear Bard, the full proportions make not themselves.
(Feeling like most women do right before a trip.)


Homework for the Curious

Until my next post; please find London on a map of England and look for Heathrow Airport. (You can find it on the web.) That is our destination for now. We leave at 8:00 pm Wednesday (out of Boston) and (hopefully) sleep until we arrive on Thursday morning at 7:30 am. (Yawn!) Hey, I thought the flight only takes six hours? Why does it take us so long to get across the Atlantic? Can someone explain this?

We spend Friday in London and then we head toward Stratford-Upon-Avon, now there's a hometown worth exploring! (Can you tell how far Stratford-Upon-Avon is from London?) Remember, in Shakespeare's time, the only way to travel was by foot or by horse and carriage. How long do you think it took Will to get from Stratford-Upon-Avon to London? Write me and let me know. Hint: Look up Shakespeare's Way on the web. It is beautiful!
I hope to hear from you soon. Cheers!