'Is this a sonic screwdriver I see before me ... '

Yes - the long awaited trip to Stratford-upon-Avon to see Niamh Cusack (again) and Christopher Eccleston in the Scottish play. 

Only a flying visit, on account of the dog, whose care had been contracted to my son during our absence. But long enough for a wander along Shakespeare's Avon before the play started, where we encountered this guard swan. 

It was interesting to see flowers on the grave of a woman, Mary Ann Page, who died in 1879 ... 

... and this female blackbird, just as unafraid as the swan, scrabbling about in the leaf litter at our feet ... 

... and chucking leaves all over the place. 

We popped into the church quickly to pay our respects to Master Shakespeare, but I'm not going to write about that because I've done it before at length. 

Then there was just enough time at the Dirty Duck for a swift pint.

After the horror of the RSC's Antony and Cleopatra last year, which was so awful I didn't even write about it, it was a relief to be watching a production that worked, albeit at a rather too frenetic pace.











We both liked the child witches, who were clearly channelling the Midwich Cuckoos and the twins from The Shining, but felt that Macduff was miscast - the whole pretty chickens scene was toe-curling and not in a good-but-harrowing way - but the two leading actors were as great as you'd expect, and the Northerner was only two seats away from having his hand held by Lady Macbeth, which would have made his day (though he'd have never got the spot out. Or indeed washed his hand ever again.) 

Henry V in Stratford-Upon-Avon

And so to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see Henry V, which I was excited about as I hadn't seen it before. Not without mixed feelings, though - I love the poetry, but felt worried by the perception of nationalism, and the victorious Henry's suggestion at the end of play that he and his conquered queen beget a son who 'shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard'. 

First, though, a wander along the bank of River Avon, where the already-drawing-in night produced some beautiful plays of light.  

What would Stratford be like without the legacy of its extraordinary son, I wonder?  A stolid, red-brick working town, I should imagine. (Like Devizes, maybe).  

Instead famous actors have memorial stones ... 

... and in the churchyard of the Holy Trinity, where Shakespeare is buried, there's the suspicion that we could be in Narnia. 

Even the doves seemed to be auditioning for Othello as they settled into their habitual roosting sites. 

By now it was time for us to settle too, into our front row seats for a play that has been described as the 'National Anthem in five acts' and thus apposite in a week when the refusal of the Labour leader, Jeremy Corbyn, to sing 'God Save The Queen' was bigger news, according to the press, than the gravest refugee crisis in decades, the slashing of tax credits, and the continuing attack on the rights of working people.  

Yet there's nothing noble in Shakespeare's depiction of Henry's invasion of France, and in this production, the speech on the Eve of St Crispin's Day is delivered not vaingloriously or even patriotically, but as a rather forlorn attempt to rouse disheartened, outnumbered soldiers with no realistic hope of victory. A bit like this, in fact:

 

My evening was complete when Pistol, played by Antony Byrne, presented me with part of the leek from Fluellen's cap, with which the Welsh captain had beaten him around the head and forced him to eat.  Not quite enough to make soup, though. 

Ghosts of the Past In Stratford-Upon-Avon

Off to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see Gregory Doran's production of Henry IV Part I, the play I studied for my O-level in days of yore and still one of my favourites.  First, though, a wander around town where the ghosts of the past loom as large as Hamlet's father's ghost on the battlements of Elsinore.  

  

One of our favourite games is 'What Would Shakespeare Have Seen?' and this time I spotted ... 

... the 14th century sanctuary knocker in the porch of Holy Trinity Church, where he was baptised and buried ...  

... some graffiti with serifs from 1575 ... 

... sunlit cow parsley ... (He's got to have seen the sunlit cow parsley, right?) ... 

... the Garrick Inn (although apparently not a pub in Shakespeare's day) ...  

... and the ancestors of these swans. (Sorry, no bread for you today.)    

Here's another ghost (albeit not a very spectral one) from the past, Ms Angela Prior-Kimball, who recognised me as I shuffled through town despite the fact we hadn't seen each other since she graduated 31 years ago.   

 I suppose this must mean we've hardly aged at all ...    :-)

Then it was off the the theatre.  Here's the review I've written about the production for a couple of local journals.  

Henry IV Part I, National Theatre, Stratford-Upon-Avon

Shakespeare reveals a fascination for doubles in his plays, and in Henry IV Part I the audience is invited to compare the dissolute Prince Hal, future King Henry V, with another Henry, namely Hotspur, the honourable son of his father’s former friend, the Earl of Northumberland, who is now fomenting rebellion. 

Early in the play King Henry expresses sorrow that Northumberland is ‘father to so blest a son … who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride’ while ‘riot and dishonour stain the brow of my young Harry’, and for the play to work properly, we must see the development of Hal as he begins the process of breaking away from Falstaff’s negative influence to become the equal of Hotspur in valour on the battlefield and, later, the victor at Agincourt.    

The problem with this production lies not with Alex Hassell’s portrayal of Hal, which, aside from a rather flippant interpretation of the famous ‘I know you all’ soliloquy, is spot on, but Trevor White’s Hotspur, who, far from being an dutiful and heroic foil for Hal, is a maniacal liability.  He is almost cartoonish in his aggressive impetuosity, with the result that all the tenderness in the scenes with his witty and patient wife Kate is lost and you can’t help thinking that the King might want to reconsider his wish that some night-tripping fairy had swapped the infants at birth. 

Elsewhere, Antony Sher is a gloriously ebullient Falstaff whose assertion that his recruits are ‘food for powder’ as they limp and shuffle across the back of the stage, prompts a look of incredulous horror from Hal and reminds us of the ruthless and predatory side of the dishonourable knight’s nature.  Perhaps the better comparison in this production is that of the young prince and Old Jack.  I look forward to seeing Hal’s inevitable rejection of his companion in Henry IV Part II, which is being broadcast live at Cinema de Lux, Cabot Circus, Bristol on 18^th June.    

In The Churchway Paths

I hadn't been to Stratford since I went on a primary school trip -or was it Brownies? - anyhow, it was in the 60s.  And to my astonishment, it hadn't changed a bit.  At any moment, I thought, I would see flower beds planted with scarlet geraniums - and lo, there they were.

We decided to while away the time till the performance by wandering down to Shakespeare's church, Holy Trinity.  This is the font in which he was christened three days after his birth on 26th April 1564, much damaged (having served between 1747 and 1861 as a water cistern!) but still a thing of beauty.  

It's not known where he and Anne Hathaway were married, but we do know that they married in haste to avoid scandal, as Anne was pregnant at the time.  Baby Susannah, their first child, arrived six months later.  

 And here he lies in the chancel, his tomb joined by those of other family members in the vault he had built.

The monument was installed by Shakespeare's friends after his death but its Jacobean sepulchral style and the fact that it has been restored and repainted over the centuries means that it's impossible to know whether what J Dover Wilson described as 'a self-satisfied pork butcher' is a genuine likeness or not.  

What we are exposed to in childhood has a potent affect on our imagination.  I pictured Shakespeare gazing around the church during a boring sermon and set about reconstructing in my head what it might have looked like .  The 14th century rood screen would have been there then, having already survived the depredations of the Reformation.

Some mediaeval stained glass has survived, as has the stone altar which was found hidden beneath the floor in Victorian times, so although it predates Shakespeare, he almost certainly would not have seen it in situ.  

 This 15th century misericord could almost be inspiration for The Tempest ... 

 ... and this for Benedick and Beatrice?  

A late 15th century angel in the nave. 

A number of the tombs predated Shakespeare's death.

Some traces of mediaeval wall painting - all that remain of the profusion of paintings that would once have covered every surface.  By Shakespeare's time they would have been whitewashed over.  

Richard Hill died in 1593.  His memorial is covered in graffiti with serifs (my favourite sort), including a William with an upsidedown initial W.  Pretty safe to say that it wasn't our William wielding a sharp implement one particularly dull Sunday. 

Puck: 'Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide, 
Every one lets forth his sprite
In the churchway paths to glide'