England Dispatch, Part the First
A Random Encounter with a Friendly "Geordie" in Shakespeare's Hometown
Anglo Envy
It’s been five years since Becky and I boarded a trans-Atlantic flight from Nashville to Heathrow Airport in London. Our friends the Wheelers in Tennessee are fixin’ to return this week.
Our trip with them in 2020, just before the COVID jack-in-the-box popped, consisted of joining a painting crew of Americans serving a residential study center called L’Abri Fellowship.
We were there for a week in the tiny village of Greatham, a place we’d visited twice before. When not painting in the living room of the sprawling manor house, I was in exploration mode, re-acquainting myself with the hole-in-the-wall gate, the forest trail to the larger village of Liss, or the 12th Century graveyard on site.
God knows I wanted to go back this year to catch up with the staff at L’Abri and to hang out with our friends the Gordon-Smiths who are very British but who also spent two years in Alabama. They know a thing or two about ‘merica, and they’re brilliant fun to be with.
I’m using this column as therapy to put some salve on my envy and to regale you with one crazy encounter I experienced with a local son.
Accosted by a Cabbie
Our 2020 jaunt ended with four nights in London. It was a chance to catch up with American friends and to explore the St. Paul’s Cathedral area. We also rented a small Mercedes and drove up to Stratford-on-Avon so Becky and our long-time pen pal Julie could do the Shakespeare immersion thing.1
I like the Bard, but I chose to stroll around the town searching for some kind of sociological trouble to get into.
In truth I was looking for a wall plug for my dying phone battery, so I made my way out of the quaint town to a “commercial center” complete with box stores and a Greggs, the English equivalent of Dunkin. 🏃🏻♂️➡️
As I was staring into the window of Greggs and finding no outlet, I was startled by a friendly gentleman tapping on the plate glass. His large hands beckoned me to come inside.
I complied and found myself being interrogated by the Ghost of Christmas Present himself.
“You’re not from here! Whereyou from?”
When I said I was an American from near Philadelphia he simply went off in the most jovial manner about Rocky and other facts about Philly I already knew.
Immediately I was seen, heard, appreciated, and entertained by this guy. His warmth and extroversion were surprising. If you’ve been to the U.K. you’ll know what I mean.
He insisted on buying me a hot chocolate which I heartily accepted because, if you know anything about me it’s that I enjoy nothing better than chatting it up with locals anywhere I go, especially when hot drinks and pastries are involved.
It sure beats the tourist traps, even the literary ones.
Geordie? Now, That’s a New One.
It didn’t take Mr. Wilson long to inform me he was a cabbie in Newcastle, a place where some of the people in that region still speak with a Geordie accent, a working class badge he was quite proud of showing off.
Meantime, a young man sat across the table watching him (and my reactions) closely with a bit of amusement and admiration for his older extroverted dad. Whereas the cabbie was ruddy of face and round of belly, the son was uber fit and wearing a smart green athletic outfit: Beckham minus the tatts.
Stratford is where the two meet up when Ben is playing for the Coventry City football club.
That day, on a strange yet fitting whim, I gained some ethnolinguistic knowledge and made two friends: A jolly cab driver and a refined professional athlete.2 I can’t remember if I got my phone charged.
Every year or so I message Ben on Instagram, and he has been gracious each time to remember me and reply. He says his dad is doing well and sends his greetings. I hope to re-visit them both soon on their turf or see them over here in the City of Brotherly Love.
I’ll buy the chocolates, and we’ll have a gritty dash up the museum steps together.
Video by me. Notice the temporary Balboa statue at the top of the steps placed for the RockyFest celebration. The legend keeps growing!
We made it up and back on the left side of the M40 motorway without a scratch, but the tiny roundabouts in London kept me on my toes. So did the entrance to the travel plaza where I might have almost caused a head-on collision at 5 mph.
The TV show Welcome to Wrexham about a Welsh football team features a game against Coventry. I wanted to believe the goalie I saw in it was Ben. He tells me, though, he didn’t play that day. Still, it’s remarkable to know he not only watched the show but lived in it for a moment, just how for a window of time I inhabited a sit-down with him and his “Da” in Greggs.
This brings up many lovely memories from my 6 weeks at English L’Abri this summer (also inspired by the Wheelers). How delightful to see Sarah make an appearance! That footpath to Liss is wonderful!