Mythlands: Mythical Origins

3. A Most Extraordinary Meeting

Like so many of us, it took me some time to get used to my new circumstances.

I had gathered early on that this was a land of legends and myth. Fairytale, fable and impossible creatures. All co-existed in this place. And yet ... here I was, a mere mortal. Not one borne of story or legend, but a simple man of words. It appeared that after my death ... my original death, I should say. It appeared that impossibly, regard for my self and my work had grown to such proportions that I had become, it embarrasses me to say, but legendary could be the only fitting description.

For how else would it be possible to explain my arrival here.

To say that I was startled to encounter such mythical creatures as talking cats and dogs, anthropomorphic animals who wore clothes - although the latter was somewhat familiar to the conceits of my time and I was fond of viewing pictorial descriptions; but I digress. Meeting the varied and assorted inhabitants of these Mythlands was astounding but after a while, one tends to adapt to new circumstances, even in the most fantastic of situations.

After a few years I had explored far and wide and made the acquaintance of many of these whimsical and delightful creatures. Why among my social circle is a chap who is every bit the English country squire and as much of a fine gentleman as any I formerly met in London during the reign of our esteemed Queen Victoria. The fact that my new friend, who I was given to enjoying nights playing bridge and whist or discussing the share price over a glass or three of fine sherry - the fact that Mr Toad was in fact a talking toad, though one of almost man-like proportions, why this was quite irrelevant. Toad was a thoroughly splendid chap and one whose friendship I have maintained for some seventy years.

Indeed. Seventy years and I have not aged a jot. In fact on my 'rebirth' I was surprised to see myself somewhat younger than on the occasion of my passing. It was soon explained to me that I was forty something years old in this realm (and would remain so) because that is how people have imagined me - in my prime, and thus said prime was restored to my person.

As I was hardly an old man when I passed, this ... immortality seems quite fair. The universe has balanced its books and repaid me in lost years and as it seems the management is most frightfully sorry for the inconvenience, they have advanced me significant credit in the game of living. Or at least this is how I like to think of things, but in truth we are all, to use the naval vernacular, in the same boat.

One could live here an eternity ... if one were careful. Accident and murder are still regrettably factors in our existence but as for aging and dying, well I see no sign of that particular blight. 

I am also quite fortunate to be ... well, real is too trite a term and I would not wish to insult my 'fictional' friends, for in truth in these lands of Myth, we all share the joys and burdens of reality ... or being real. Rather, I am shall we say ... originally from the mortal realm and therefore protected from certain quirks of fate. As I did not start as a character, I am not subject to that strangest of laws which seems to indicate that some of these poor chaps might fall prey to a repetition of their old stories.

A fine fellow I knew, who also happened to be a talking robin red breast of the feathered variety, came to a sticky end some years ago, in virtually identical circumstances to his fated demise in his original story. Poor Cock Robin ... a splendid hand at whist, a most loquacious spinner of yarns and anecdotes - we shared many a glass of porter and fine cigars discussing the foibles of existence, before fate intervened and posed for the second time, the question 'Who Killed Cock Robin?'

Now some it appeared, seemed locked into their original characters and fate while others were most adaptable indeed. A chap I have encountered from time to time over the course of decades ... one Hare by name, well he was never one to stand still ... so perhaps he was very much like his story had rendered him. But of course I mean he adapted and embraced what is sometimes called Modernity. 

I myself have never quite got used to motor vehicles and as for the changes in music and fashion ... heavens forfend! The Hare however is always trying new things, though I regret his taste in clothing has gone from the sublime to the ridiculous. Once attired in quite smart if flashy suits back in the 1940's, he regrettably looks quite the modernist now and appears taken with these so called tee shirts and ... skinny jeans I believe he called them. At least chaps like Toad and myself favour a nice suit, even if mine no longer adheres to the Victorian frock coats of my youth.

Once again I am wittering on ... an excusable habit I hope, for a man of letters, for the splash of blotted ink is more familiar to me than anything else and I positively refuse to use these new modern tablets. In my day we took tablets for headaches!

So to return to the thing that startled me most ... it was not actually the talking creatures or meeting characters from the works of Shakespeare or Milton ... or indeed meeting those esteemed gentlemen themselves. No, to me, it was the day I met one of my own characters, quite by chance. It was truly astounding to sit and drink and eat a meal - a simple repast of eggs, mushrooms and spinach as I recall. Astounding to meet a man who I personally had breathed life into and he for his part professed a certain awe in regard to my humble self.

Charles was the first of my characters that I met, but thanks to his good offices, I was soon to be introduced to many more, although some would initially refuse. Sydney for instance blamed me for the memory of his end, which on reflection he found cruel and unnecessary. When we finally did meet - Charles broached a peace accord, we came to a rapprochement and have been on good terms ever since. He very fairly acknowledged that I could in no way have imagined I was sending a real person to a hideous death, nor that we would meet one day.

So from that first extraordinary meeting, many more ensued and I have noted which of my characters have remained 'true to character' and which have changed.

Charles, when we first met ... I believe the year was 1947 - a few years after the still mysterious formation of The Mythlands in the wake of the Hitlerian war ... well I almost did not recognize the fellow. He had cut his hair and wore a suit more appropriate to those 1940's than the late 18th century. My namesake now updates to modest suits of the times, as do I, but Mr Sydney Carton, who prefers the appellation Syd, now prefers to dress in most unbecoming leather jackets. He has also, most curiously dyed his cropped hair an aquamarine blue and sings in what is called ... a punk band. The Guillotined - a somewhat ironic name.

Tonight I shall meet my much changed creation as well as Mr Charles Darnay and although we have shared many such dinners over the decades, every meeting is still ... most extraordinary.

Charles Dickens.