I had a dream today. I dreamed of bluebells over the white cliffs of Dover, of Good Queen Bess and Robin Hood, of battles won on the playing fields of Eton, of Francis Drake who found time to finish his game of bowls and deal with the Spaniards, too. I had a dream of the Union Jack fluttering over foreign fields, the thin red line and Omdurman. I had a dream.
I had a dream of William Shakespeare and William Brown, of Jennings and Biggles and the Famous Five, of Hobbes and Locke and Mr Plod, The Heart of Darkness and Rupert Brooke now lying in a foreign field that is forever England. I had a dream today.
I had a dream today. I dreamed of the spires of Oxford, of little old ladies and friendly policemen, of walking with my father to Giggs Hill Green to watch cricket on the green and have scones for tea. I dreamed I was back at Rutlish playing rugby for the first XV, playing hard but playing fair and may the best man win. I had a dream.
I would hesitate before using dreams in novels. They may cheapen the impact of the story. If a writer has doubts about including a dream sequence in a book, the chances are that it is not needed.
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