Here's something over at Nanny Knows Best and for the full thing, pop along here and read The Last Rebels. It has an 'over the pond' slant but it's close enough to jazz for this side and it should interest some of you wot be of an age and frighten some of you that aren't of an age.
I do remember, even in those free wheeling days of yore, the one thing I wasn't allowed, and I wasn't alone, was a bow and arrow. However, back in the day, this didn't particularly daunt us. Hay, we had knives, knew what a tree was, where to get string and also knew pidgins dropped flights, or as pidgins know them, feathers, and, by using that ol' process known as trial and error, soon had passable bows and arrows.
From there we learned a little field craft as we set about stalking and hunting small fury animals with our little bows and arrows. Please believe me when I tell you there was nothing, absolutely nothing, safer in front of us and our little bows and arrows than small fury animals.
Fortunately, November the fifth was quickly approaching and penny bangers became available in the shops to one and all so our crooked bows and bent arrows were consigned to the foundations of the local bonfire. Some new adventure always came along the next year did it not?
Quote; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Almost….
"I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
I lose all my arrows like that."
Robin Hood's Deathbed.
Robin Hood was lying on his death bed. He called all his men together and said, "I want you to do one last thing for me. Give me my bow and one arrow and where-so-ever this arrow lands is where I want you to bury me."
Later, they carefully buried Robin in the ceiling.
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