'The great Globe itself'

We’ve been sitting drinking wine in the Anchor* pub on Bankside, complaining about the misleading information on their menus, which proclaim the pub to be on the site of the ‘original’ Globe Theatre.

‘Hmmm, only of the Globe was really huge’
‘Maybe it had a very big yard’
‘Actually, sitting here, we’d probably be in a brothel, or a bear pit’

There’s a further issue about the plays proclaimed to be ‘first performed’ at the Globe. Henry V, Richard II, ok.
‘Romeo and Juliet?! I don’t think so!’

Coza decides she needs to take me past the real site of the Globe on the way back to the station. It is a couple of streets back from the river, and adjacent to the Rose Theatre.

There’s not much to see. The ground has been marked out, but the majority of the theatre site is buried beneath a listed Georgian building. I look at it. It’s not an impressive building. You’d think they could have sacrificed it for the history beneath the stones.

‘Just think what could be down there’
‘Cardenio…, or perhaps Love’s Labour’s Won!’

Just for a moment, my mind drifts. The sense of history as I stand here is almost overwhelming. This was the centre of Elizabethan Theatre, and I’m in the footsteps of Will perhaps more than I ever am in Stratford. Never mind that who knows what I’d be standing in! THIS is where it happened.

*A pub with an orderly queue at the bar. Tourists!