He used to confess himself unable to keep up with even the youngest in the extended family. "A crystal-set man myself," he would say. "All this computer world is beyond me" - as he watched his grandchildren working their internets, as he called it. He admired them for their knowledge of the world and their dexterity but always came back to his own simple activities when he was about 12 or 14.
Then the great excitement of the week - the culmination - was to pack a rucksack, an old Army knapsack or something of the kind, and set off with a school friend to the nearby hills. There it was the custom in season to make camp for a few hours at the edge of a lovely, clear steam. They had their billycans and frying-pan. Usually it was the latter and, when they had carefully gathered enough wood - usually hawthorn - they lit their fire against a bank which they used weekend after weekend and early learned the secret of good firelighting. Have plenty of wood beside you, but feed the fire bit by bit.
So it was rashers and eggs usually, though a few times they got their mothers to give them the makings of a stew: meat, potatoes well cut up and the odd veg. A good branch to hold the cooking utensils and it wasn't long before they had their meal ready. That bank and the fence remain clear in their memories; for it was on the wire there that a strange bird landed. They hadn't seen one like it before. What was it? They soon got their answer, for the bird uttered a clear call before flying off: it said "Cuckoo, Cuckoo."
After their meal it was their custom to work their way down that small, clear steam, under a bridge where the waters flowed between wider banks. They saw, and sometimes handled for a minute, lovely small, speckled trout. They admired the dipper, forever doing his knees-bend on a stone before diving in after his prey. They saw lapwing. They saw a large nest and climbed up to it. It belonged to a mistle thrush. In a small bank of stones in a pool where the stream widened, they found a neat nest with eggs which they never distinguished.
Rabbits galore. They thought of snares, but decided against. Many, many years later, one of them visited the lower half of the stream - below the bridge. The water was a yellow colour - effluent from the nearby farm. End of an idyllic picture of youth.