42 YEARS AGO-CHAPTER FOUR

 After our adventure at the garage at Cheltenham, Triloki did not want to venture again to hire a car without a proper driving license in his own name. He therefore approached the Gloucestershire County Office at Gloucester. He told them that he would like to give a driving test so that they could issue him a license to drive a car in the United Kingdom. There was a long waiting list for giving the test.

Having been bitten by the wanderlust bug, Triloki and I could not let the absence of a license to hire a car stop us from visiting the neighbouring places As it is United Kingdom is a small country in size, but its impact on our minds and lives is immense. We in India have to compulsorily study two languages in school. One language is essentially English. When one reads English Literature, there is no way that one can  avoid the "Bard of Avon". It was therefore decided that Triloki and I would venture out on our own to see this wonderful place which gave to the world "Shakespeare."

No need to tell you that we had to choose the cheapest mode of travel. There are delightful Deluxe buses, the National Express buses and then there are the Red buses which are like passenger trains which halt at every stop. They are slow, stop everywhere and take all the time in the world to take you to your destination. Time was not in short supply and we were not in a hurry. So the Red bus it was that was to take us to Stratford upon Avon. Stratford upon Avon is towards the North East from our base Cheltenham.

On a Saturday morning Triloki and I walked to the Bus Station with home made sandwiches, chocolates and water in a small backpack which in those good old days was called an air bag. We bought our tickets and were thrilled to see that we were to travel on a double decker bus. We quickly climbed the steps and occupied the seats right in the front on the right hand side. Soon the bus left Cheltenham and we were off on a journey across the countryside. The distance was about 30 miles and we expected to reach our destination in an hour.  I soon realised that reaching in one hour was an optimistic expectation. It seemed as if the roadways was bent upon fulfilling my every wish. The bus  instead of rushing, actually ambled along the way. It took a longish picturesque road, and went in to small little villages, drove along the river and went on and on and on.

A VILLAGE

I was delighted to see a small little village approach and our bus stop outside an inn. The inn was exactly like what I had read about in various books. It was a small little cottage with a thatched roof and a garden in front. There was a brook flowing across the road. The only thing lacking was that there was no Stage Coach and no horses in front of the Inn. Suddenly to my utter surprise and joy, I saw the place where the Stage Coach was supposed to halt in olden days,  and also saw the stables where the horses were changed. Oh Wow! so I was actually seeing an inn around which surely some story must have been woven, some time ago.

After the stop at the fascinating inn with an equally fascinating name, the bus had to take a right turn and go on a bridge which was across the small little river. The bridge  was tiny and the turning appeared quite sharp and the bus looked like  a mammoth as compared to the tiny bridge  and the turning.

A BRIDGE

Looking out of the bus from the front I was dreading what would happen next, but the huge double decker Red bus deftly took one turn and we were on the bridge, soon we were across the river and I let out a quick breath which I had been holding on to for dear life. Yes of course I know, buses go on that route everyday, there is no problem for the driver, but then what do you tell an anxious passenger who has nothing but fear written all across her face?

The countryside was beautiful, there was not a leaf out of place,  there was not a speck of dust anywhere, and there were no people to be seen anywhere. The lovely cottages with the English Rose creeper climbing up the slanting rooftops, the tiny little gates and the number of the house written outside each cottage door was a visual delight .

A LOVELY COTTAGE GATE

The bus went on and on and went into more villages, halted, took on more passengers, took more turns on bridges,  and lulled us into a sense of complacency. We had actually set out on a journey to watch the world go by at its own pace. The names of the villages were very quaint. One needed a lot of time to take the name of the village, and yet the names were not abbreviated, the full name was always taken.  How does the name Bishop's Cleeve, Bourbon on the Water, Stow on the Wold sound to you? Yes, they are names of little towns that we crossed on our slow journey towards  Stratford upon Avon. Had the names been abbreviated then the first one would be BC, the next BOW and the third one would be SOW.

Soon we saw that the road became a bit wider, and we were entering the urban town of Stratford Upon Avon.  I got transported from the early Eighteenth century inns and Stage Coach stations with horses  and tiny little bridges across tiny little brooks to the  Twentieth Century, where there were tourists and National Express buses and cars and taxies, and a little bit of noise. The Red bus had brought us to our destination by a lovely memorable road.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE'S HOUSE

We went straight to the house where William was born in 1564.  His cradle is still kept in the room which was where exactly the Bard of Avon was born.This Cottage is a museum and has been maintained as it would have been in the days of William Shakespeare. There  are many  objects of those days preserved and displayed for the viewing pleasure of the tourists who come in hordes to see the house.

ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE

We then went to see the house of Anne Hathaway, his wife. It was a little away and the thatch on her house was denser and more brown. It is really amazing to time travel and see these memorials as they were in those days about 500 years ago.

As it is, I am quite fascinated with the name of the place itself. Stratford upon Avon where Strat is actually a street and a ford is a shallow place with good footing from where a river or stream can be crossed by wading or on a cart. Avon is the river upon which this town was built. 

This town was a market town and is about 800 years old.

Shakespeare was a poet, playwright and also an actor. He was born on 26th April 1564 and died at the young age of 52 on 23rd April 1616. He married Anne Hathaway when he was eighteen years old and Anne was twenty six years old.

The journey of 30 miles which took us through beautiful lands, lovely cottages, swift rivers and tiny bridges were like a journey through a story book. The Red double decker bus took me through four centuries of immense natural beauty, peace, calm and literature.

RAMBLING ROSE

It was just a chance decision to travel by this cheapest mode of transport which went slowly around every bend, every bridge and every village. The peace, calm and patience that I felt on that journey perhaps never got replicated.  It was only incidental that we reached Stratford upon Avon and saw the places that we actually set out to see on that beautiful Saturday in 1973. 

This slow bus journey was one of the most beautiful and  memorable journeys that I have performed in my life, and I can tell you that I have been on a lot of bus journeys. Regular weekend bus journeys from Chandigarh to Delhi and back for almost one year and weekend journeys from Dehradun to Delhi and back for four years is a lot of bus journeys , you will agree. This journey was more enchanting than reaching the destination was. Triloki and I were both a captive audience to each other. The bus was nearly empty, at least the top deck was exclusive to us. The view from the window was beautiful, the speed of the bus was soothing, there was no speeding, no rushing, no tension, everything was as if, " All's well with the World". There were no cell phones to take away attention from each other or nature's best view from the window. It was in the morning and we did not doze off to sleep also, as they say in Urdu,"Kharama kharama chale ja rahe thhe". There was not a care in the world, no hurry, nothing but a soothing beautiful slow journey through life.

Thank you my dear friends for being with me so far.

Next week I will take you with me to Weymouth and Southampton. 

"There are stories and incidents and adventures galore, 
wait for them till I narrate them my dear fellow traveller."
Buona Sera, Namaskar, see you later....