My parents home was a brand new four apt in a council housing scheme in the heartlands of industrial Scotland......and every Winter my Dad built a boat in the back garden and every Spring our next door neighbour had to wait until the boat came out through his side of the block before he could get his garden in
I reckon that we really grew up in every wee boatyard on the Clyde, Dad knew them all and we spent most weekends down there.
The thing about a lot of those old schemes was though, that they were surrounded by countryside, and we wandered, "Down the burn" "over the woods" "across the bing" "through to the loch", and we were outdoors from dawn to dark, grew as brown as the gypsies, felt the seasons move as our games changed. Gathered the wild fruit, guddled for fish in the burn (and got yelled at, "You'll get typhoid from that"
) and generally took our time to grow up.
I sometimes think kids get rushed through being children nowadays in our society's haste to give them everything but our time.
My grandparents lived in a sandstone cottage that was one of a street that my great grandfather had built (Victorian, engineer/builder/contractor) and life there was rich in traditional crafts and skills, and again we wandered; grandpa walked miles everyday, old roads, farm tracks, woods and engineering yards
, and the grandkids just tagged along.........it's amazing what you can learn when there's someone interesting to go walkabout with. Granny's (and her sisters and daughters) households, gardens and *hens* (chickens, bantams, ducks and the occasional goose), followed the seasonal round too. Very traditional cooking; I can make real haggis, sausages, singed sheeps heid, pies, soups, stews, roasts, breads, jams, jellies, pickles, syrups, puddings......... because that's how it was done. I *hate* plucking hens though and I don't care how soft goose feathers are, I really, really don't like all those little bits all over me
I also have very distinct memories of *having* to keep the fire going, of having to have the chimney swept, of having to re-wash the stuff on the clothes line because it got rained on and the rain was dirty with industrial soot and coal fires. But what a smell on a cold dreich damp day coming home from school half frozen and knowing the fires were being lit because you could smell the smoke from coal just catching alight
Our modern world doesn't smell good anymore, maybe why so many of us relish our days out and about.
Well this turned into a ramble of an answer, I reckon out and about is just me still playing
Cheers,
Toddy
A strange post given the pro Ray :notworthy content of the thread! Though interesting! Id be interested to see the threads that gave you your impression.
