xx England

Ports of call. Far at the world then, strange fascinating lands beckoneth, with us rebel and their exotic spenders.

Come with us as we head for ports of call. Separated from the continent of Europe, by 27 miles of wind-tossed water, and from America by 3000 miles of blue sea, the tiny island of England lies like a green carpet under the soft English sky.

Sailing up the English Channel past the rocky point known as Land's End and the busy harbor of Plymouth, we anchor at the Great Docs of Southampton at the junction of two wide rivers. Four hours by Fast Express and we arrive in London, the greatest city in the world.

It was near London on a St. Louis-June day in 1213 that England's greatness was forever guaranteed. On a broad meadow in Surrey, the feudal barons of England are gathered outside the silken pavilion of their hated King John.

Distant thunder booms and flooding measures, lightning licks about the cloud sharp edges. The air is charged with tension as the barons draw closer. Speak in low tones. Think you the King will sign Oxford. I've heard it said he needs to press for still more time to consider.

He must be deaf and blind. There are not more than half a dozen bannoms till loyal to him, and even their knights are opposed to John. It's true. But if he thinks he can... He thinks he can...

...impress us with this silken pavilion and trappings of state. Ah, he's not even a man much less a king. Majesty! The king! Ah, mark his insolence as he seeks himself. Well, my lord, your king will hear what you have to say in defense of this charter, which you propose we shall sign if your majesty pleases.