Tall tales and true: of Yorkshire moors and the byways of Surrey: One brief shining moment

Runnymede was on our agenda today. We have, over the decades, seen different copies of different drafts of the Magna Carta, and Runnymede, was where King John finally came to attempt to hash it out with the cantankerous barons who had had enough of him, and were up for civil war.

We ran into King John as we parked. He was farewelling a busload of school children. And typical of John, who was one of the most unpopular kings in English history, he literally attempted to tax us right there and then for parking on his lot, as he proclaimed that our National Trust reciprocity really only applied to the attraction itself, not the parking site provided. He was well in character today. But, so were were. Pete had already scanned our Membership card and the National Trust machine spewed out a free day parking ticket for us, so we dared to demur, and waved jauntily as we began the trek to the site of where the talks took place.

King John did not actually sign any agreement here at Runnymede. He did not sign it anywhere, truth be told. When the verbal agreement between the King and the Barons was actually put into writing it was wax sealed, rather than signed, on dried sheepskin parchment. And not at Runnymede. Later.

Prior to this gathering the tension between John and the kingdom's Barons was at breaking point. As well, John had fallen out with the church and lost his lands in France. Trying to claw it all back he taxed the kingdom every which way possible, including inheritance taxes, to help pay for wars, and other kingly expenses. Along the way he murdered a few relatives and old friends and even threw one of his Baron's wives into a cell and let her starve until she became quite insane, dying as she attempted to chew off her dead child's face.

John was not likeable. He was manipulative. He believed he should not be held accountable for his actions. Very much like Trump. The Barons, who had earlier tried and failed to assassinate John while attempting to wrest control from him, agreed to meet up with him here at Runnymede and decide on a way forward. John met them here, stealthily, from his quarters in Windsor, just a hop, step and jump away: more than a little paranoid, fearing trouble every inch of the way.

They agreed verbally, in principle to controlling some taxes and clarifying rights and justice for all and sundry, although details were few and far between, and these really aided the rich, more than the common man, and that meeting was on 10 June, 1215. As early as July, John had a rethink, and asked the Pope to declare the barons excommunicated. Then, in August, he had the Magna Carta declared null and void. Albeit bits of it were dredged up and amended over the next many decades until some of it made it on to the statute book.

For that one brief shining moment, though, there was a germ of hope. The fleeting appearance of that Magna Carta moment in history became symbolic of what might be attained. Hence the Americans used that moment to design and develop their own constitution. In truth, they revere the Magna Carta more than the English do, who seem happy to sweep much of it under the carpet and forget that any of it ever happened. A little like Brexit, I think.

Walking back from the Runnymede memorial we came across Hew Lock's sculpture of twelve bronze chairs, representing the idea of the Magna Carta meeting: the notion of consensus, the need for cooperation and cohesion in the fight for rights and justice. This sculpure is stunningly conceptualised. It is one of my favourite pieces of political art, though some of Banksy's works rate up there, as well.

We stopped at Egham for a pub lunch, and a bit of giggle, when we discovered that Theodor Seuss Geisel had visited before us, on a work stint, during the war. Then, later, when his friend, Flight Lieutenant Sam Beckinsale attempted to prod him to come back to Egham with him, enthusing that it was now green, and Theodor really should see it green. I do not like green Egham, Sam, responded Theodore. Then later, as Dr Seuss, he elongated that discussion with Sam into a bet he had with his publisher that he could write a complete book using just 50 words. He wrote the charming tale: "I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like it, Sam-I-Am."

As it was such a lovely afternoon we called in at Chertsey Museum to discover more about the local folk and their history. It seems there was once a massive abbey on the green at Chertsey. Though it is long gone now, thanks to Henry V111. The finds from the village fields in the museum tell much about Chertsey's history, and include an ancient Iron Age shield of amazing craftsmanship, some great pieces of Roman pottery left from later Roman settlement, a long Viking sword that has seen much brutality in its era, along with charmingly patterned tiles that had decorated the abbey. The museum had a graphic artist draw up an interactive Chertsey Abbey app for participants to follow, revealing the findings to date, which shows that the abbey must have been an enormous place, covering a vast area, involving a large number of people. Now all of that has gone. Chertsey Abbey, too, had a brief moment in time.