This strange fantasy is another play that interests me. John Bull has trouble remembering his persona and, as he travels along the Ridgeway, he is sensate once more and finds that he is still being followed by a mysterious traveller: Charteris. Who is Charteris and how does he know so much about John Bull? I have included an extract from the play below.

John Bull:   You will see his footprints if you look closely enough. The stranger in his own land crossed the Ridgeway and traversed where many had over the long centuries. I saw one old farmer, at work in his field, clamping spuds for winter keeping. They were the old-fashioned taters, not blighted, forced. My preference is for potatoes grown in sand.  So different are they. My feet did not ache as much as I believed. The tracks were still visible to my eye as I paused to survey the countryside. A voice, probably belonging to a child, shouted out that I was an Admiral of the Fifth Fleet. Unsteady as my gait is, I was not inebriated. The mile stone I saw caused me to pause for a moment as I tried to breathe deeply. One can sense mendacity. It is not just in a man’s bearing, in a side-glance, it is in how he presents an argument. I have always been vociferous. A lively exchange between company is all the better if the facts are known. How can you trust anyone when they betray a confidence? Trustworthiness is a long time in returning when there is an ill wind, my friends. All schoolchildren used to be taught facts and figures when I rested in draughty classrooms, eavesdropping. I sat with the children and learnt as much as they did.  Charteris is forever in my wake. I know not his reasoning. His attire is different on most days. Still jovial, he has the mien of a jester, his face is grey with tiredness, and his sideburns are flecked with grey. He will stand a few feet from me until I converse with him. Or will I?

John Bull:    What do you want on this occasion? I am weary of your presence. Your tattered waistcoat should be discarded. A gentleman should be well-dressed.

Charteris:     They no longer believe in you, my friend. Can you hear me? 

John Bull:    I know not of what you speak. I have just stopped here to get my breath before I return to my cottage in Norfolk. There I will light a roaring fire and suffer more chilblains. My travelling is never at an end.

Charteris:    There were tears in your eyes when last I tried to speak with you.

John Bull:     I remember that time well. I had just been eating onions.

Charteris:    If you say so. Do you always feel lethargic and that you will sleep forever if you lay down?

John Bull:    Why, yes. My arms did not feel firm yesterday. I could not see my feet while I put my boots on.

Charteris:   Well, I do not wish to disillusion you. You are probably dying.

John Bull: (Laughs)   I am as alive as you are, you interfering old busybody. Just because I have been absent does not mean I am unaware of momentous calamity.

Charteris:    Even so, you are a corpse, an illustrious corpse. Europe cares little for dear old Blighty, especially you, John Bull. The times are not what they were. The parasite of unelected panjandrums has eroded what was once believed in. The sleep you have endured is ended as you become one of the faceless inhabitants who have no country and no common heritage.

John Bull:     My memory has been a little fragmented of late. Why should I believe you? My name is still remembered from that bastard war.

Charteris:    Of course. The darkness has conspired against those who were silenced. Others, in their sheep’s clothing, cajoled nations into believing that they knew what were right for them. They were unaccountable because they were afraid to be seen.

John Bull:   What of the ordinary man? Did they not protest?

Charteris:   There was little chance of this. Trust was whispered, but it had disappeared as unelected men and women decided what was right for people they did not know. Freedoms ceased.

John Bull:    How did it come to this?

Charteris:  Has a race ever been won and then re-run so there is a different outcome? Anonymity is the best cover for people who remain faceless. Family is of no concern to some, nor the strong passion they have for where they were born.

John Bull:    What of the men of old? Surely they are not forgotten?

Charteris:   There is no remembrance of the past because of old enmities. The dungheap called Europe is withered, directionless. The paths walked are no more, my friend. A glove that does not fit perfectly is how it should be described.

John Bull:    What pretence is this foolhardiness? I will never believe you. Albion has shown subtlety with the men who challenge such unorthodoxy. 

Charteris:   They are yet to appear. I understand your words and I still see them if I close my eyes. The people could not understand the silence in the land once the men had departed for foreign shores. They were subdued. They little understood that blood would be spilt.

John Bull:   Would men fight today to protect what they cherish most? 

Charteris:   In desperation, most men will be confrontational. They do not listen to the needless untruths that are spoken by others, complaining that the land they call home has no name.

John Bull:    What treachery is this? I still quake at the sensibilities that are imbued in my fellow countryman and he would be ashamed to be called a coward if he did not fight for the good name of the land of his birth.

Charteris:    There is much apathy with the colonies these days, old John Bull. They are bemused that a land so miniscule could weld such power. They are mistaken if they believe modern sensibilities can be imposed on past actions.

John Bull:    They are bedwetters.

Charteris:    I would call them something worse.

John Bull:    Why do I fail to comprehend?

Charteris:   The answer is that you have always known. . .