The track across the corn field firmed by invisible boots and baked hard by the seasons Sun, a dusty corridor through the golden swathe of dancing corn.
The passage from one world to another, to walk it’s length was to escape the authoritative grasp of school with it’s restrictive rules and regulations, it’s do’s and don’ts, you will learn this language, this is your religion.
Every skipping step took me closer to my world of fascination, singing birds, Linnets, Reed Buntings and Skylark, Gorse and Hawthorn bushes lined the old, now unused canal, a remnant of the area’s mining past.
The wooden towers of the old swing bridge stand witness to the bygone era.
The old Nook pit, workplace of my forebears, had scared the landscape but with the passage of time nature had reclaimed it, turning it into the playground of my childhood.
Snipe, Lapwing, Concker trees and rope swings, I was myself.
We were allowed to roam the fields without any fear or knowledge of anything untoward, although, mind you, the area was wrought with danger, old mine workings and two marl holes to name but a few.
We were not little Angels by no means, we skated on frozen ponds, swam during the heat of summer in the marl hole and climbed down pit shafts using rusty cables.
We camped out, starting with an overnighter in Picnic’s back garden, progressing to a full weekend, and then, the full 6 week School holiday on top of the pig hill, only returning home to replen the food supply.
Times such as these will never return, we’ve had them and that’s that, or is it.
When the Summer Sun warms my brow and all I can hear is natures orchestra, I can go there, to the summer warmth of childhood.
Categories: LT COL BUMF, or was he a General?