“If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten.” — Rudyard Kipling

In the days before it was fashionable for entire generations of people to believe that the world came into being on the day that they were born, and ended on the day that they died, and that it existed during their lifetimes only to cater to their every whim, many generations of little English children grew up learning about their history, about their country’s place in the world, and about how, if they studied hard and lived a decent life, they could, in their own small way, advance the cause of Western Civilization.

For me, the most enjoyable part of that journey has always been the first part — the stories, poems, and songs I learned as a child, and which I remember, and can recite to this day: Canute, demonstrating the limits of kingly power on earth, showing that even he could not command the tides. The future King Charles II, escaping the Parliamentarians by hiding out in the Royal Oak deep in Boscobel Wood. Bonnie Prince Charlie (not the same Charles) and Flora MacDonald — men in kilts! “Over the sea to Skye!” Robin Hood. King Arthur and his knights. Henry VIII and his unfortunate wives (“With her head tucked, underneath her arm, she walks the bloody tower.”) Richard III and the Princes. Richard the Lionheart (not the same Richard) and the Paynim hordes. Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh’s cloak.