Whenever I arrive at Stratford-upon-Avon (invariably by train, as neither Mrs Larman nor I have ever mastered the finer vehicular arts), I always have an ineffable sense of excitement. This, I think, is the place where the greatest writer in the English language lived, breathed and walked the streets, where the inspirations for such indelible characters as Falstaff, Hamlet and Iago may have trodden, and where many a pint pot was raised, often with many a curse as well. I feel like I’m treading in history. And then, a couple of minutes’ walk into town, I see the Chicago Rock Café, offering 2 for 1 cocktails ‘and big tunes from 9pm’, and start to wonder if I’ve come to the right place.
Actually this does Stratford a grave disservice. For starters, the dreaded Rock Café has now closed its doors, leaving only a baleful exterior to terrify passers-by with. And for another, the walk into the centre is still sublime, as you walk past beautiful buildings and historic churches en route to the river. And along the way, you find yourself near one of the greatest gems in the town, namely the Church Street Townhouse. This stylish and quirky little boutique hotel has set out to master the difficult task of being the connoisseur’s option in a town not unblessed with places to stay; thankfully, it more than succeeds.
Calling it a hotel is perhaps inaccurate; in fact, it’s probably better described as a restaurant with rooms. But what rooms! We were staying on the top floor in spacious and welcoming quarters indeed, with a view overlooking the famed King Edward VI school, the so-called ‘Shakespeare’s School’ and one of the most prestigious grammar schools in the country. Mrs Larman was particularly impressed by how polite and well-groomed the pupils looked. ‘I bet you didn’t look like that when you were at school! I’m thinking grubby fingernails and uncombed hair, and that’s just for starters.’ Reader, she stretches back into my past all too clearly. Although I would like to point out that my fingernails were never grubby.
But this is besides the point. The Church Street offers a well-chosen selection of little treats that make the whole experience a more welcome one. By now, it’d be more of a surprise to stay somewhere upmarket that doesn’t boast comfortable beds, a suitably eye-opening shower and all the usual creature comforts, which is why the small touches matter more. A small decanter of (excellent) port lies winking on the side table; opening the miniature fridge reveals a small selection of shortbread and flapjacks, which are eagerly devoured.
But then food is central to the Church Street experience. Prior to watching Jasper Britton chew the scenery with gusto in The Jew Of Malta, we pop into the restaurant for a quick pre-theatre dinner. The food was of a very decent standard and priced with the budget-conscious firmly in mind; chicken liver parfait and (surprisingly excellent) cauliflower soup to start, belly of pork and gnocchi as main courses. Mrs L expressed her usual slight concern at the gnocchi not being quite as excellent as she’s had in Italy, but pronounced it a decent standard anyway. I’d stick to more carnivorous treats, but then I am unreconstructed. Crème brulee was very good, as far as these things go, and I was very pleased to be able to accompany the food with a bottle of Maisels Weisse, which is for my money one of the – if not the – best wheat beer on the market. So all delectable.
After the play, and a quick pop into the time-honoured Dirty Duck (where we didn’t see Antony Sher or Mr Britton, alas), it was time for bed – ‘to sleep, perchance to dream’. Which we did very well, and before we knew it, back we trotted to the dining room for a splendid full English that made use of local butchers for some fine sausages and bacon. It doesn’t attempt to redefine the wheel, but, like everything else about the Townhouse, it takes tradition and offers a contemporary, stylish spin on what we’ve been led to expect.
And so, at last, it was time for Mrs L and I to depart, bound for the rather less salubrious environs of Birmingham. As we trotted up towards the station, she turned her lovely face towards me and asked, in all seriousness, ‘What do you think Shakespeare would have made of the Townhouse?’ There were almost too many replies that I could have made, but I settled instead for an expression of great sagacity and replied ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Which, admittedly, makes no sense whatsoever, but seemed to satisfy her. On reflection, I think I’d cite Jon of Gaunt’s words from Richard II instead – ‘this other Eden, demi-paradise, this fortress built by Nature for herself.’
Which seems to sum things up rather better.
The Church Street Townhouse, 16 Church Street, Stratford upon Avon, CV37. For more information, visit www.churchstreettownhouse.com.
For more information about Stratford-Upon-Avon and its heritage, visit www.shakespeares-england.co.uk.
