From Ridgedown, where he left the bus, Lybury Lane led due north. That he knew; for the rest he trusted to luck, being one of those lucky enough to be a born compass, who disliked asking the way. He had that instinct, and as a rule, it served him well.
I’m really fortunate to have been born and raised in the village in the 60’s and 70’s. But what really does hit home is that I experienced things that kids today have no clue about. Our world consisted of the village boundary, things were small. Simple. And exactly what we needed at that moment. Nothing more, nothing less.
Sitting on a shelf in my office is a small crystal bottle, this bottle is gorgeous. The evocative design was made of daydreams, but it isn’t the bottle what attracts attention, it was what was inside.
I went to school in Redbourn during the early 1970s when the chances of finishing a school cross-country race in one piece were about the same, as those of a Russian cosmonaut returning safely back to Earth.
The morning sun was already above the trees and peeking in to the back garden, I finished my cornflakes and walked out of the backdoor, it was 6 a.m. It would be a warm day for Redbourn especially the first week of October. I was dressed in light brown flared corduroys and Dr Martin boots. I wore a long-sleeved cheesecloth shirt and my knife was sheathed on the left of my belt and an old army tin water bottle to the right. I had an anorak tied around my waist just in case of rain.