Charlie was finally back in Gramps’ house and he realised that his “trip” to medieval England had all been a daydream. He was sitting in Gramps’ kitchen eating his way through a glorious mound of hot toast smothered in butter and marmalade, and Gramps was preparing bacon, eggs and baked beans. The dream of knights, dirty castles and dead robbers was long over. It was almost too good to be true. In fact it wasn’t true at all. Charlie was dreaming. He had sat down to rest on Sir Geoffrey’s bed and had meant to contemplate the day that had passed but as he lay back and put his head on the pillow he had drifted off into a deep sleep. He was in the process of relating the tale to an incredulous Gramps when he suddenly became aware that the house was rocking back and forth as if it was caught in a violent earthquake. He tried to find something to grab hold of and his grandfather was shouting “Charlie. Charlie… Charlie…” Finally, the voice of his grandfather filtered away and it was replaced by the deafening voice of Sir Geoffrey. The rocking motion of Gramp’s house became the hand of the knight shaking Charlie awake. He opened his eyes and realised that he was not back in Putney but was, in fact, still in Sherebrook castle and everything he had thought might be a fantastic dream was, in actuality, real. In a moment of blinding clarity Charlie understood how ridiculous it was to be awoken from a deep dream of normality into a real world of total fantasy.
“Hey up Charlie Watts. I am ready for my bed and you appear to be on it!” Sir Geoffrey stopped shaking Charlie and he got up off the bed.
“I am sorry Sir Geoffrey,” said Charlie, “I was just so tired and I am afraid that I fell asleep.” Then Charlie remembered the instructions given to him by Martin the groom and he said, “I have put all of your belongings
where they should be. I have fetched some new candles and food from the kitchens. Is there anything else that you require of me this evening?”
“No Charlie Watts, except I would be grateful if you would take my breastplate and helmet with you and clean them both in the morning. I will come and find you and give your instructions for the day.”
“Yes, okay.”
“Okay? What kind of word is that? I suppose it is a Putney word eh?”
“Yes Sir Geoffrey. That is exactly what it is. It means,” Charlie thought for a couple of seconds, “Thy will be done.”
“Then it is a good word Charlie.”
Charlie realised that this was the first time Sir Geoffrey had used his name and not added “Watts”; he wondered if that was significant.
By now the knight had removed most of his clothes and was just in leggings and an under vest. “Well, I intend to sleep now so you can retire to the dormitory. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Charlie, “I put the pail over in the corner for you to wash.”
“Wash!” laughed Sir Geoffrey, “I bathed not more than four weeks ago! I won’t need one again for a few more weeks yet. The pail is for my toilet. Now be off with you. Clean my armour in the morning and I will come and find you.”
“Of course Sir Geoffrey,” said Charlie and he gathered up the breastplate and helmet and left the room.
Charlie found that the dormitory was little more than a series of small recesses set in a wall near the kitchens; they were just meant for sleeping and were not designed to be a home of any kind. They all had a piece of rough sacking drawn across them and sounds of sleeping coming from the other side. Evidently they had occupants and Charlie walked along until he found one that was empty. He threw in Sir Geoffrey’s armour and then climbed inside and felt around; there was straw on the floor of the cell, which seemed to be fresh (it didn’t smell) and Charlie was so tired that once he laid his head down he was dreaming in an instant.
This time he was telling his best friends Jerry Squires and Emma Bartholomew about his adventure. Jerry and Emma were listening intently. That was all he remembered about that dream.