Thursday 3 August 2017

Walking from Shakespeare to Smith and meeting Rosie

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.