To a Skylark.

Whilst dreaming in the Buddha state my mind recalled the happy hours of my youth spent traipsing the *banks* as we called the heath land opposite our house. The skylarks were numerous and we often watched then scurry across the ground after landing..sadly these birds are now in decline .To me Percy Shelley’s To a Skylark is mnemonic ,it brings back recollections of the halcyon days of my youth.. The smell of the banks ablaze often started by us and the image of a horde of boys -and the odd tomboy-with jackets off trying to stop the blaze spreading before the Fire Brigade was called. Building underground huts with corrugated iron roofs adorned with turfs or dried grass to hide from the marauding menace of the boys from beyond the rusty brook.
Trolleys out of control ,shaky bikes all built with discarded prams and old wrecked frames later converted to cycle speedway bikes. Scrap was numerous and everywhere so was the Rag and Bone Man with his ubiquitous Goldfish.
Being young was idyllic.