England and Scotland for Dad's 70th
Day 8 - Thursday -
England
The clouds have blown away since last night's storm,
and Dad and I leave
for the train station under yet again sunny skies. I see a great
picture of Tower Bridge from the night before with lightning ominously
popping around it in the Times
and put it in my notebook (it's so nice
and spooky). We have to change stations in Birmingham, following
the red painted line from the main station to the little semi-abandoned
station a few minutes away. We should have gotten some form of
lunch at the main station. I get us two boxes of delicious Ribena
blackcurrant drink (another favorite of mine) and some crackers at a
paper stand, which we finish before our Stratford train arrives.
When we pull into Stratford-Upon-Avon, Dad asks one
of the train guys
how fast the train goes, and he tells him that they're limited to 100
mph and proudly adds some other details I didn't hear. Then we
catch a taxi to our B&B, and make arrangements with the driver to
pick us up at 7:15 the next morning (such a drag our train's leaving so
early, but there it is). He gives us a card to call and confirm
in the morning.
Mary Kenton greets us at the door, and she's very
nice. Our
bedroom is upstairs, she explains how the key works to get in at night,
and asks if we can manage all right. Dad starts pulling out
payment, thinking she asked for money, and she laughs and gets
flustered (the money part makes her nervous). She gives us a tour
of her garden outside, which Dad loves. She asks about our schedule the
next morning, when our train is leaving, and what time would we like
breakfast ("6:30?" she asks - yikes! I guess so), and how she
can't imagine how we can face a full English breakfast so early.
It's after 1 o'clock, and I'm game to see what we
can of the town in
our squeezed schedule (the only other time I'd been to Stratford, our
class arrived Saturday after 5, everything was closed, we didn't go to
a play, it rained, and we broke free after breakfast to make a
successful run to Shakespeare's grave before our bus left). I'm
all turned around, I don't know where anything is, and Mary pleasantly
points over her garden at the church steeple (the Holy Trinity Church
where Shakespeare is buried) and says the theater is a couple of blocks
left of the church. And we can catch a tour bus at the end of the
street, turn left. Perfect!
So first we visit Holy Trinity Church and see
Shakespeare's grave,
which is cool, then catch a tour bus that takes us to all the cool
sights, including way the heck out of the town to Mary Arden
(Shakespeare's mother)'s house. So that's our first stop, taking
advantage of the longest drive out and not having the time to repeat
it, and we have lunch there, sharing a shepherd's pie (Dad's first) and
some scones. We visit the house and learn a few disgusting things
about early floor sealing (they used milk or animal blood to dry and
seal it) among other things, watch some falconry, and I realize I've
killed way too much time.
We get on a bus and return to town,
where we visit Shakespeare's first home (born and lived there until he
was 26), a big 2-story house in the middle of town (he did not start
out as a starving artist). We get back on the bus (after hitting
the gift shop where I got a 3-D fold-out of MacBeth and the witches),
not having enough time to tour Anne Hathaway's house, which Dad wanted
to do (doh!), or, as the tour guide said, we may get there but the bus
wouldn't be running to bring us back, and Dad said that was more
important. We did get to enjoy the rest of the tour by bus,
seeing the site of where Shakespeare's later years house was before a
later owner, tired of sightseers coming to pay respect, tore it down
(the town was so furious, they outlawed anyone with his last name --
which he was the only one -- to live in Stratford-Upon-Avon). We
also saw the home of the man who later moved to America and founded
Harvard, so that was kind of cool.
Tour ride finished, we walk over to the RSC theater
and get tickets for
The Tempest (not my first
choice o' play for me or Dad, but hey).
Then we walk around town, check out some gardens, look at some swans on
the Avon, see a guy with a chain ferry pulling it across the river, get
some dinner (fish and chips for me, which I let Dad taste -- he gets
lasagna, because he doesn't like fish, but he wants to have some fish
and chips), and back to the theatre.
And it's a magnificent production. I've seen
the play a couple of
times (including an RSC production in London) and never "gotten" it,
but this time I understood it and really liked it (plus Caliban,
Trinculo and Stephano were hilarious). And we're sitting almost
on the stage, so there's no getting away getting into it!
Show over, and we walk the couple of blocks to Mary
Kenton's
B&B. I'm so close to falling asleep in my little twin bed I
can almost taste it. Dad gets out of the bathroom and announces
to me (after he's sure he has my attention) that the bathtub is
slippery and if I plan to use it, I better use the bathmat. Just
as I'm thinking What makes you possibly think I'm taking a bath toni--
I'm asleep.
England and
Scotland for Dad's 70th
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