Morning Scholar

Notes to accompany ‘Morning Scholar’ (first etching in the series Mr. William Shakespeare, The Life & Times of by Graham Clarke’

© Graham Clarke 1995

“Do you think boys that Master Shakespeare is likely to grace us with his enlightening presence this Monday Morning?” sneers the peevish school master, using that particular style of sarcasm so beloved of his revered profession.

“Don’t know sir’ reply the luckless boys in precise and long drawn unison so beloved by classes of pupils in school. The master then points with a boney trembling finger at the empty desk in the front row. ‘That boy, that non attendant, impudent rapscallion is an utter discgrace, an approbrious buffoon” he bellows, rolling his ‘R’s’ like the trip hammer of a fulling mill.

“What is he?”

“An apprpprrobious buffoon sir” repeat the boys with less unison this time ‘approbious’ being a new word for most of them (and for most of you too I suspect). “That boy, that lazy young whippersnapper will achieve nothing I tell you, nothing. He is an absolute nincompoop”.

“Now, what will he achieve?”

“Nothing sire” say the boys wearily.

Thus ending a theatrical episode oft performed by master and pupils as young William neared the end of his dismal days at Stratford Upon Avon Grammar School.

Where was the nincompoop? The approbious buffoon who within a couple of dozen years was to become the world’s greatest playwright and the only totally undisputed master of any single artform ever?

Down the lane helping to unload a wagon.

While wandering to school, a journey he undertakes six days a week (with much reluctance) he spies something that arouses his interest as indeed nearly everything has for almost every waking moment of his thirteen years.

A party of travelling players is entering Stratford via the splendid new Clopton Bridge. He’s seen such groups before, cheerful, poor, fascinating folk, wandering the breadth and length of Olde England ready to perform in any market town that would make them even vaguely welcome. The temptation is too much for him and he follows behind into a little field beside the lovely River Avon, at the lower end of Sheep Street.

By the time the school master has completed venting his wrath at Shakespeare’s truancy, William is hard at work helping to set up the makeshift stage. By nine fifteen in the morning, school utterly forgotten, he is settling down to watch the dress rehearsal of ‘Brave St George and the Very Terrible Dragon’.

Being born on St George’s day himself he felt it was no less than his duty to witness the piece in full and maybe make a few suggestions for improvement before the performance in the market square later that afternoon.

“Might I suggest a little more nobility and depth of character from St. George” he says “ and considerably more fierceness and less jocularity from inside the Dragon would not go amiss”

Some players are much amused by this precocious one man audience, others slightly annoyed by the little rascal.

“Shouldn’t you be in school or something sonny?” asks the King of England.

“A straightforward answer would be yes “ says William. “However in the long term interests of theatrical achievement I believe I should remain here, I have at this very moment decided to become the writer of numerous world famous plays”

“Oh I see” said the King “scuse me for asking”.

Thus the fortunate little town begot its illustrious son who was precocious certainly but not at all pompous as he might appear from the foregoing episode. The ‘nincompoop’ was merely being truthful. The vignette at the top of this plate shows a somewhat confusing view of Stratford, for those that know it well, and so must be considered as more of a general summary of the place rather than a topographical portrait. We can, however, identify William’s birthplace in the centre. From here his father, John Shakepeare, trader in sheep, wool and mutton, maker of fine gloves, failed Alderman and successful bankrupt, did his business. You can see sheep in the street, probably doing theirs too. His mother, Mary Arden of Ardens Gardens collected this by product of her husband’s trade with a bucket and fire shovel, and made good use of it on her vegetable garden. A thrifty woman and winner of several bronze medals for her dahlias.