Stratford-Upon-Avon

When J returned from the States, we spent a lovely week together before I hit the road for a much needed mini-break after having tended the home fires for 42 days solo. This Vestal needed to step away from the hearth.

I knew that I wanted to go somewhere where I could relax and shrug the pressure of visiting sites. I opted for Stratford-Upon-Avon having been there before.

So while J hunkered down with the kids who were quick to smother him with cuddles and snuggles, I boarded a plane for Birmingham without having so much as stuffed a single prepared casserole in the freezer.

Once in Birmingham, I walked to the train station where I caught the 'Shakespeare Express' regional to Stratford. Upon arriving in Stratford, I checked in to my lovely hotel, The Arden, where I was met with the providential news that I had been upgraded!

I spent the weekend shopping, lolling about town, visiting Anne Hathaway's cottage as well as the birthplace, and seeing a production of 'Hamlet' put on by the RSC (wonderful, wonderful). Additionally (and unbeknownst to me beforehand), the weekend of my visit marked Stratford's heritage weekend where many sites normally closed to the public opened their doors to visitors. I came home refreshed and restored.

Currently, archeologists are conducting a dig at 'New Place,' the home where Shakespeare died. After the home passed out of the hands of Shakespeare's descendants, it was eventually purchased by a reverend who was no fan of the bard. Tired of having curious onlookers and tourists peeping through his hedges and unwilling to pay property tax, the reverend had the house grazed. The lot where New Place once stood is now a garden.

I'm convinced that they who chose to plant a medlar tree in the courtyard of the birthplace are a cheeky lot. Actors stood in the courtyard and took requests from passersby and enacted scenes from Shakespeare's plays on demand and from memory. When I entered the courtyard, the actors were on break and took to mingling with the visitors. I noticed a tree and approached it as the fruit? blooms? looked odd as they were puckered. Seeing my expression, an actor approached me and asked if I knew the name of tree. Telling him I did not, I saw a slight humor pass across his face as he told me the tree was called a medlar. The actor bid me to sit down and announced the troupe would enact a scene (Act 2, Scene 1) from 'Romeo and Juliet.' Failing to immediately catch the humor, I enjoyed the scene and my ears perked at this remark from Mercutio:

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he sit under a medlar tree

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit

As maids call medlars when they laugh alone.—

O Romeo, that she were! Oh, that she were

An open arse, and thou a poperin pear.

At the scene's conclusion, I blushed as the actor approached me saying, 'Even then, men were quite taken with asses.' It goes without saying that I will never plant a medlar tree.