Day 5 - Warwick and Stratford

Warwick Castle is so worth the price of admission, especially with a barely-six-year-old along for the trip. It’s like an authentic, informative Renaissance faire with the most gorgeous backdrop you can imagine. There are still jousts and sword fights with witty repartee, but interspersed with information about pieces of armor and how they were attached, what “retainer” meant and how jaquets were notorious for smelling so badly from the sweat and BOan of their bearers that they were banned from being worn in pubs. They had a half-hour talk and demonstration of a trebuchet, which was really awesome. I didn’t realize that if they’d been encamped for so long they’d eaten the oxen and horses that pulled the equipment, four men got inside what looked like giant hamster wheels and wound the rope themselves. The Ghosts Alive tour was brief d corny, but I screamed anyway the first time someone jumped out, and it was Ty’s favorite part of the trip.

We missed the bowmen and the birds of prey show, sadly, but we did get to see the birds – a huge bald eagle, falcons, a vulture, etc. More mundanely, there were ducks and swans swimming picturesquely on the river. Best of all were the peacocks everywhere! Absolutely gorgeous peacocks. But the best moment came when we visited the gardens and conservatory and spotted four baby peacocks staying close to mum (or at least the designated sitter of the day). They were the most darling things ever.

From there we took a short trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. It was fine, but I suppose, being a sort of pilgrimage for me, I expected the clouds to peel back and angels to sing. (Foo on anyone who says he was too low class to have written the plays attributed to him. Some of the arguments have a bit more weight than others, but the people of his time and the notaries who came later to raise money to turn his childhood home into a monument certainly seemed to think William Shakespeare was their man. I find it difficult to believe that someone would write under the pen name of an actual person who could be associated with the pieces. And if Shakespeare was a front man somehow, I can’t believe it never came out. As the saying goes, two men may keep a secret if one of them is dead – or something like that. But I digress.)

Having been through the house where William Shakespeare was born, I can say with absolute certainty – yup, that’s a house. The town itself was cute, with a sand-castle clock amidst an island in the center of traffic. There was some good shopping, and we all got warm shirts for tomorrow when we plan to explore some caverns. They also had a very nice Italian Restaurant, Bella Italia, that knew how to treat kids – a coloring and activity book, a puzzle and a balloon. Ty thought he’d won the lottery.

On the way back to our B&B we stopped off for desert at a place that had a kids’ area, and Ty had a blast running around with three very nice kids – two girls and a boy (just guess which he approached first). Later, feeling guilt over all the sugar we’d consumed, I did some stretches and the kids wanted to know what else I could do, so we all ended up in a field (no adults but Pete looking on, thankfully) doing yoga and gymnastics – or, in the boy’s case, breakdancing. I’ll gloss the part where I nearly put my hands down in a cluster of rabbit droppings.

As I write, Pete and Ty are out in the back of Swan House jumping on their huge trampoline amidst very pretty gardens with a bunny named Dazzle looking on. The children who live there taught Ty a game called ‘crack the egg,’ where he curls up into a ball hugging his legs and someone bounces on the trampoline until he ‘cracks’ and spreads out willy nilly. Pete and Ty came up with their own game as well, Sasquatch, where the ‘monster’ pretends to be asleep until the other person wakes him and gets scared out of his wits for his trouble.

Ty has decided that the people of Swan House are the nicest in the world. They’ve been very warm and extremely helpful with directions and what to see where.