Last week the SNJ told how footloose Ashley Davies had visited Strouds in Australia and America but harboured ambitions of visiting our civic namesake in Canada. Well he's been beaten to the post by English teacher Ben Sandell, who visited Stroud, Ontario in 2001. Here he recalls his trip.

IT had always been a dream to visit Canada - and while planning the trip I happened upon a map of Ontario - Canada's most populous province in which the biggest city, Toronto, is situated.

Just north of Toronto, perhaps two hours away by car, I spotted a familiar name - Stroud.

And even more exciting, a neighbour called Painswick.

This had to be more than just a coincidence - I had to visit.

I caught a bus, well, more like a coach by England's lamentable standards, to Newmarket - the very northern extremity of Toronto.

At Newmarket, I changed for my destination - Stroud and Painswick. I arrived in late morning, stepping from the bus into blistering July heat.

The air-conditioned bus had driven through the Holland Landing - Ontario's most fertile farmland area, and after nothing but barns and thousands of acres of arable land, I was pleased to see something of interest.

But Stroud was not like coming home.

I spent an hour there - I didn't expect much - and didn't get much either.

But I didn't care - this was Stroud - a little patch of the vast North American continent named after home.

I walked around, skirting the sides of Highway 11, otherwise known as Yonge Street - pronounced 'Young Street'.

Now this was genuinely exciting - it is the world's longest street, running 1,178 miles from Lake Ontario in downtown Toronto right up to Rainy River in the far north-west.

It wasn't long before I bumped into an old guy who could hardly hear me greet him.

The conversation went like this:

"Hey there, I'm from England, - a town called Stroud too." "What, you say England?" "Sure." "England, Europe?" "Yeah - the very same." "Git outta here!" "No kidding old timer." "Well isn't that neat? Hey, I was stationed out there during the war, eh." "Oh, where?" "Eh?" "Where in England were you stationed?" "Oh, I didn't know anybody" "Ah well anyway, I've gotta go get a bus right now - catch you later" "Yeah boy - you go careful now."

Perhaps the residents of Stroud, Ontario are not renowned for their lucidity.

That said, this gentleman's warmth would have rivalled that of any true "Stroudie" back home.

The village itself didn't offer much, both Stroud and Painswick are villages, constituent parts of a greater township called Innisfil, nestling on the shores of Lake Simcoe.

Yet, like most North American settlements housing more than a modest collection of amoebae, this tiny Stroud had its own McDonald's 'restaurant'.

Stroud also sports a Presbyterian church more akin to a mock medieval castle and an impressive looking municipal library seemingly modelled on Dursley swimming pool.

Painswick was a few miles away off of the main bus route, but I found a sign celebrating the 'Horticultural Society', so I was satisfied that Painswick was maintaining the affluent middle class approach to life of its English counterpart.

My curiosity satisfied, I walked out to the village limits, took a photograph of the Stroud welcome sign as continuing proof of my 'pilgrimage' and returned to the centre of the village to catch the bus south.