A few weeks ago I almost achieved a long term goal. I have
for some time wanted to walk from William Shakespeare’s Stratford to William
Smith’s Stow. There was no particular reason for this – Shakespeare was a man
of words and Smith was a man of rocks, but the slimmest of connections can
provide an excuse for a challenging walk.
The distance involved was significant for an amateur walker, but the
attraction overwhelming given the countryside traversed and the fact that
getting to Stratford-on-Avon is facilitated by a Johnsons Excelbus that leaves
Moreton-in-Marsh station every morning arriving at Bridge Street, Stratford on
Avon at approximately eleven. In fact I cheated a little by daring the traffic
of the Fosse Way and cycling from Stow-on-the-Wold to Moreton.
The day was perfect, if anything a little too sunny and hot,
and I quickly found the Avon and strode south past the Royal Shakespeare
Theatre towards the rather striking church that boasts the Bard’s grave. Whilst
passing that church a gentleman more advanced in age that myself called out,
“Tarry a while sir on this beautiful day,” and I responded airily, “Sooth, I
cannot tarry – I am walking to Stow”. At least words were exchanged to that
effect. I felt fit and looked forward to the long march, though the bus journey
had caused some stiffness in my left leg.
Leaving Stratford by following the river to the south was
interesting, though uneventful. My objective was to join the Monarch’s Way, a
long meandering footpath which is supposed to trace the escape route of the son
of Charles I (later to become Charles II) after his defeat at the Battle of
Worcester in 1651. However, as often happens, the map did not coincide with the
surroundings at one point, in other words I became lost. I waited for a while
at a bridge crossing a tributary of the river in the hope that someone would
come by - and they did, and they knew the way.
The someone was a man of about my age and, since we were
heading in the same direction, we walked along together for a while. He was on
a short walk and his pace was a little slow for me given that my destination
was still some eighteen miles away, but we got on well so I matched his pace.
He lived in a village nearby and told me that its only pub had closed when the
landlord suddenly died, so the villagers were now trying to purchase the place
and run it as a community asset. Given that his book club usually met in the
pub I was surprised that my walking companion was not involved in this valiant
effort. Naturally, I asked him what the club read and he told me that they had
recently completed “The Rosie Project”, an amusing novel about a genetics
professor with Aspergers. I made a mental note to sample it on my return.
Along the way, my arbitrary companion took a phone call from
his wife and I seized the opportunity to resume my normal pace, leaving him to
it. At that point I was walking along a very long lane bordered by trees
shielding predominantly flat countryside, but the views became more interesting
as I approached the outskirts of the Cotswolds and I consumed my packed lunch
at the top of steep meadow grazed by cows below and swept by noisy red kites
above. The sun shone brightly onto my shading tree and all should have been
perfect, but it was not. My left leg seemed to be in a semi-permanent state of
cramp so walking and sitting was becoming rather painful. I limped on through
the grounds of Hidcote House and then through ripening cornfields to the pretty
village of Ebrington.
Finally I arrived at Paxford where I hoped to cure my leg
with the administration of several pints of beer, but the pub was closed! I had
just four miles to go to reach Moreton in Marsh and my bicycle, but without
alcohol my leg just could not do it. Fortunately a young man was also hoping to
enter the pub and he gave me a lift to Moreton in his mother’s Mini Cooper S
and, during the journey, we discovered that we were both motorcyclists and so
had plenty to talk about.
I downed a few pints of Wye Valley Bitter in the Redesdale
Arms and then cycled back to Stow. Beer did anaesatise the ailing leg, but the
uphill journey to Stow via the raging traffic of the Fosse Way – never again.
How I love the arbitrariness of life. I did sample the book
recommended by the other walker during our brief encounter and was so taken
that I bought it despite the excessive price asked for the Kindle eBook. Yes, I
thoroughly enjoyed the “Rosie Project” and you might too. It is a love story
set in unlikely circumstances and is both amusing and thoughtful. Don and Rosie
are most unlikely lovers sitting at each end of the mental spectrum. My
leanings are towards Don, the Aspergers professor, but I guess that most people
would probably empathise with Rosie.
