It was almost surreal, to step into Shakespeare land, the streets he walked all his life, the house in which he lived, the school he went to and the church where he was laid to rest. The short trip to England was a last-minute addition to a month-long vacation, but it wouldn’t be complete without visiting Stratford-upon-Avon. That it should coincide with The Bard’s 400th death anniversary came as the icing on the cake. The family perfectly understood the feelings of a literature student and a memorable sojourn it was.
The Emsleys of the bed-and-breakfast proved to be perfect hosts, serving hot homemade cookies, freshly-baked bread with special strawberry jam and tangy fruit juices. Absolute pampering that left nothing to complain about!
Time indeed stands still in picturesque Stratford. An old-world charm is retained, be it the neat rows of black-white facades — a tribute to the Tudor era — or the long, winding streets that are alive but never in a frenzy. Even restaurants breathe the medieval atmosphere with lanterns and hidden lamps playing with light and shadow.
The pilgrimage starts at Shakespeare Centre, a modern building, where passes are given to visit five places. A statue of the Jester ( As You Like It ) sets the tone for the tour. The first stop is the house where Shakespeare was born and raised in. From the shining wooden stairs to the period costumes (one can even try them on) to the master bedroom, which his parents used, the crib in which baby Shakespeare and his siblings slept, and the hearth, all have been maintained with great care. Portions not safe for walkers are cordoned off. Among the line-up of celebrity visitors is Princess Diana, her iconic portrait gazing from its glass confines. Harvard House next door is another stately Elizabethan monument with its stunning carved oak doors and staircase.
The tree-lined pathways and green surroundings — autumn was just making its entry, painting foliage with delicate ochre and orange — coupled with the quiet atmosphere, but for the subdued footsteps of visitors, provide the right ambience. A highlight is the courtyard, where trained actors oblige onlookers by enacting scenes from some of the plays. A male actor was delivering lines from Richard II , followed by a charming girl, who on request, recited Portia’s famous court speech. From light-and-sound parlours to exhibits that showcase the world’s most famous poet, the mini museum is a treat.
Now, to the place that keeps alive the drama — the Royal Shakespeare Company. The tower, rising 32 metres, offers a breathtaking view of the town, with the Avon shimmering like a blue ribbon. The river is a picturesque picnic spot, where swans gracefully glide in the waters and elegantly climb to the bank to take a look at the visitors. A houseful board greeted us at the Royal Theatre, where Henry V was playing. Disappointment was but momentary, as the town beckoned.
The steeple is visible from a distance. The centuries-old Holy Trinity Church, where Shakespeare is laid to rest, is a beautiful monument with its soaring roof and huge painted glass panels. The original font where the poet was baptised stands close to the chancel. A copy of The Bible dates from 1611, meaning it must have been read from Shakespeare’s time.
Did Shakespeare in his wildest dreams imagine that his works would become immortal? That they would be perennial fodder for talent, and that theatre, no matter what language, would adapt and readapt his plays? From the ridiculous to the regal, petty to the profound, is there a human trait or emotion that his characters have not captured? What would be English literature without his poetry?
Hushed voices break the reverie and it is time to move on. The sombre mood quickly changes as we walk into the town centre, where a village fair is going on, complete with merry-go-rounds, Snow White castle, kiosks selling hot dogs, buns and fluffy cotton candy. The game stalls dazzle in the gathering dusk. A surprise element is the Hollywood play station, which has huge cut-outs of Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger. It is now dark and we amble our way back to the lodge, coats buttoned up to the collar as the gentle cool breeze has ushered in a chill wind.
The train back to London carries passengers, who reluctantly take leave of Stratford, a typical English countryside, Shakespeare providing a poetic touch to its idyllic surroundings.
