New readers – Like Henry the Fourth this narrative has two parts, so please scroll down to start with The Lapsed Curmudgeon Part One, below, or click on the link to the right.
Warwick is a great place to visit, built on hill crowned by the famous castle, with streets full of ancient buildings, and a great sense that this is a fine old market and county town, which Will Shakespeare could well still recognise, if he could avoid getting run over…
Be warned, however about the castle. It’s been taken over by Madame Tussaud’s, and the word is that it’s expensive, and that you have the sense once you’re there of a place that’s been taken over by Madame Tussaud’s…The full price of a ticket for a single adult is THIRTY POUNDS.
Leaning, with the air of an Old Salt making a Decision, on an ancient and convenient post-box, Robin announced decisively that if a castle were to be visited, it would be the one at nearby Kenilworth, accessible by bus-pass and under the benign and reasonably-priced stewardship of English Heritage.
Quite so, a good plan – and in the meantime we set about exploring the less costly bits of Warwick, including the marvellous St Mary’s church, full of glorious gothic features, and containing the famous Beauchamp Chapel, which in turn contains the tombs of assorted Significant Aristocrats from medieval and Tudor times. The most Significant is of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, he who had the mixed fortune to be the favourite of Elizabeth the First. He was a busy and prominent figure in these parts in those times, and amongst other activities was responsible for maintaining “Lord Leycester’s Hospital” – which was in fact a hostel, intended for the “needy, infirm or aged”. It seemed the perfect choice for us, so we went there for tea.
Robert Dudley’s tomb
is the one on the left.
He died of malaria soon
after the Armada was
repulsed in 1588, and
his wife Lettice is
buried beside him.
The refectory is the room at the right of the hospital’s courtyard, and we representatives of the needy infirm and aged can report they do a very tidy cream tea.
Albert, who is also quite aged and infirm, lacks a television, so to see the Olympics opening ceremony we set off to the nearest picturesque canal-side Warwickshire pub, assuming the citizenry would be eagerly gathering around the large TV in the bar. In fact a middle-aged rock-group was setting up for a gig which they would be performing directly in front of the telly, starting at 9 o’clock. So we walked inland to another pub, where they said yes, they would be watching it, but they were also having a pool tournament, taking place in the same room as the TV…We began to sense that enthusiasm for this Great National Event perhaps didn’t stretch quite as far beyond the M25 as Mr Cameron might imagine… Anyway, notwithstanding the odd pool-player’s elbow in the face, and a general air of resentment when the landlady kindly turned up the sound for our benefit, we stuck it out and awarded full marks to Danny B and his team. Great stuff, though I shall have to enquire quite what the Chinese chums made of Sir Ken Branagh playing Isambard Brunel playing Caliban in a stovepipe hat…
But we were in Warwickshire, where Shakespeare is never far away. Our visit to the lovely Kenilworth Castle was terrific, despite occasional brisk showers of hailstones.
Kenilworth was in medieval times one of the homes of the great John of Gaunt, a key figure in the “Wars of the Roses” plays, and in Shakespeare’s time was owned by our friend Robert Dudley, where he lavishly entertained Good Queen Bess. In “Hidden Shakespeare” Nicholas Fogg offers the thought that the young Will could well have witnessed some of the entertainments laid on for the Queen during one of those visits.
When we were there actors were at work, costumed in Lincoln green, teaching medieval combat to groups of kids, who merrily chased each other about the ruins, clearly having a great time.
And so to Stratford. In a previous life Robin was stage manager there for the RSC, back in the days when Terry Hands was in charge, and the likes of Alan Howard and Helen Mirren the leading players. We visited with my Stratford resident pal, Charlie Twigger, a stalwart patron and key supporter of the present regime. Robin was fairly gobsmacked by all the recent rebuilding, and Charlie – who served as local representative on a consultative committee during the process – was able to fill in background info and gossip. Inevitably we sat in the sun outside the Dirty Duck, and almost as inevitably we met one of the Radagrads from my time, a distinguished actor using the Duck as a convenient place to stop for a pee while driving to Wales!
We made a couple of visits to Stratford, the second time meeting up with a very old friend from my early days as a director, Dominic Denny, who’s now living in Warwickshire after years plying the music trade in Canada. Tearing ourselves away from merry and intense chat at the Duck, we slipped off to Illyria.
There’s a smashing, spikey Malvolio from the brilliant Radagrad Jonathan Slinger, and a drop-dead gorgeous Viola from the wondrous young Irishwoman, Emily Taafe, who delivers a great performance despite having literally to swim underwater to make her first entrance onstage!
And so back to our journey over water, as we turned Albert’s bow southwards. The sun still shone, a bit more fitfully than the week before, the locks were rather less hard work, and there was time to savour the beauty that still sits at the heart of our country. The best time is often the first of the morning…
I got back to London for the last few days of the Games, a bit browner, a tiny bit fitter, and distinctly less curmudgeonly, ready to work with new clients at ellisjonescoach.co.uk.
We watched the fireworks on the last night. This is the time of the year when the earth passes through a great belt of meteors, and later that night I wandered out into the garden to try to see shooting stars. But the clouds of autumn were already gathering….
