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.