Carol-Jean and I still wanted to explore nearby Windsor Castle (see picture, round tower), so we dedicated a full day to the enterprise. Needless to say, by the time we got going it was afternoon, but thankfully Windsor was less than an hour's drive from Maidenhead where we were staying. I don't have any inside pictures of Windsor; photography within the buildings is prohibited. These external shots are nevertheless some of the best I took on the trip, IMHO. Windsor is an active residence, the Queen's primary abode, and you don't get to visit when she's at home.
The previous time we were at Windsor (2008) she was in residence and we only got to look inside the compound through an iron gate. Fortunately, this time Elizabeth II and the royal family had gone to Scotland for the summer, which apparently is their custom. Windsore Castle has several baileys, inner courtyards. Inside the stone walls we discovered the England of old--art treasures and suits of armor. There was even a huge room with swords and polearms literally papering the walls to a height a vaulted ceiling.
In regard to the art, there were three--count them--three Rembrandts side-by side in a room where every wall surface was covered with priceless paintings. I kept seeing images that I remembered from history books, to include the portraits of rulers like Queen Victoria and King Henry VIII. Kings and Queens, living and immortalized--No wonder they had soldiers patrolling the grounds!
We had one more mandatory stop-spot on our English summer 2010. As a writer, I wanted to make a pilgrimage to the town where a youthful William Shakespeare courted a well-to-do Anne Hathaway, Stratford-Upon-Avon. (See full picture of Anne Hathaway's house, top of the blog.)
This would be our last full day of unrestricted sightseeing. We drove to Stratford-Upon-Avon with a more-or-less minimum of loss time, due to map-reading goofs and endless games of "Which Exit Do We Take?" at the ubiquitous, dreaded, left-side-driving, clockwise-flowing roundabouts.
Parking at a pay lot and boarding an on-and-off tour bus, we managed to see most of the main Shakespeare-related sites, narrated by a great, pre-recorded, plug-in system in every bus. Anne Hathaway's cottage is a mandatory stop. (Heck, how many of you had to BUILD a model of the thatched-roof country farmhouse in high school? Show of hands,please? Ah-huh. Thought so. Me, too. In 9th grade, I think. At least I recall working on something in class.)
You probably didn't include this view (inside window), because it was taken surreptitiously from inside the second floor of Anne's house. They said no pictures inside, but this actually looks OUTSIDE. (No flash, just available light, so it did no damage. And I didn't get caught.) I remember wondering if Wild Bill made it up here alone with Anne some Saturday afternoon when Mr. Hathaway was in town marketing his produce. Maybe this part hadn't been built yet.
In those days, families slept together in the one room with a fireplace. CJ and I had visited this well-preserved historical bulding twice before, and not surprisingly it had not changed much.
The drooping, thatched roof and time-worn wooden rafters are still there, still evoking the real presence of a flesh-and-blood mortal who gave the world such treasures of the pen and stage. Here an 18-year-old Will Shakespeare walked across open fields to court 26-year-old Anne. His mental scent lingers in the flowers and vegetables of the garden surrounding the house of Anne's father and mother and many siblings.
Shakespeare didn't need to travel to exotic locales to study with great masters--although those who feel the call to seek guides and gurus are equally wise for their endeavors. However, the small-town youth who became the greatest author in English history found inspiration in the winds of May and the stories taught at ordinary schooling, even though formal education was far from ordinary unless, like Will, your parents had "the chinks" (coin).
When we boarded the tour bus to continue our circuit of Stratford it was late afternoon. I wanted to visit the Bard's grave, but he is buried inside Holy Trinity Church in the town, along the banks of the Avon. We retrived our rental car and followed tourist maps, but by the time we arrived the old stone parish had closed for the day. I was intensely disappointed at first, then we found the church property included a lovely park by the river. 
I sat on a bench in the shadows of old trees and communed with Shakespeare's presence. (Leave it to a Unity minister to find a way to transcend four hundred years of history and a thirty-minute tardy arrival.) I closed my eyes and did a self-directed guided meditation, imagining Brother Will on the other end of the bench. We had a nice talk, and he suggested a few plot lines for my new sci-fi novel. He's a Trekkie, by the way.
Then it was back into the rental car and navigate the traffic circles and country lanes back to our apartment atop Silent Unity-UK's building at Maidenhead.
As I write this I am sitting at the kitchen table of our Maidenhead flat. (See picture. If you've been following my wife's blog, you might recognize this as a view from within CJ's Window. ) This will be our last night here... Sunday I speak a London South, and Monday we attempt a Space-Available return flight on military aircraft. Not necessarily a done deal, but we feel so good about this summer that we are open and receptive to whatever comes our way. Carol-Jean and I are filled with the joy for this time in England, but we are ready to come home...
