When I first went to primary school between the ages of five and
eleven, it was normal for kids to walk to school. We lived on the
extreme edge of town with fields and farmland on one side and the urban
edge of town on the other side. My walk was around three miles – most of
which was along a ‘tongue’ of countryside that penetrated into the urban
world. It was a very pleasant walk to and from school; I used to see the
seasons come and go and the various flocks of birds that came and went.
In autumn and winter, huge flocks of lapwings with beautiful plumes on
their heads would fill the field I walked across. Starlings used to
arrive from northern Europe and Russia and form huge flocks that seemed
to fill the sky. They arrived in autumn and left in spring. Walking to
school was interesting; every day was different and I enjoyed it.
Originally our school had been a village school and so had a quite big
catchment area and many, if not most, of my classmates lived five or six
miles away from my home. This made meeting and playing with them after
school a bit of a challenge when the only way of getting around was by
walking.
I had learned how to ride a two wheel bike before I went to school on an
old tiny ‘fairy bike’ that sort of belonged to everyone but no one. The
‘training’ took place when all the kids in the area, who were mostly
much older than me, decided that I was big enough and marched me to the
top of a quite steep hill, gave me lots of tips and instruction with
everyone talking at me at the same time, sat me on the bike and launched
me down the hill. The bike gathered speed very quickly and I still have
the remains of a scar in the middle of my forehead resulting from
head-butting the road which terminated that first ride in pain, tears
and blood. Over the following days I was re-launched several times and
quickly gained a sense of balance and was able to stay in the saddle
from top to bottom of the hill and even navigate the sharp bend at the
bottom to avoid going into the river. The collective decision among the
older kids was that I could now ride a bike.
I must have been about eight when my parents bought me my first bike. It
was a ‘pre-owned’ black Hercules. It was a youths bike, much bigger than
a child’s bike but not quite so big as a man’s bike. Looking back it was
probably a bit big for me because I remember my dad bolting wooden
blocks onto the pedals so that I could reach them and I could only put
my feet on the ground by getting my bum off the saddle and settling my
crotch onto the cross bar. I was immensely pleased and proud of my
Hercules even though it was really heavy and had no gears. After my
earlier initiation by the older kids I was stunned to find out that I
could not ride a bike, I had learned to balance and not fall off as it
sped down hill but I had never peddled and steered at the same time and
never had to get up enough momentum to be able to throw my leg over the
saddle in order to mount the bike. More bruising and bleeding occurred
before I gave in and admitted that I could not ride.
My dad was very good, he ran up and down the street holding the back of
my saddle to give me support as necessary until finally I could reach
the end of the street turn round and peddle my way back without needing
to put my feet down. After a week or two of supervised riding around the
neighbourhood including signalling intended manoeuvres and practicing
looking behind without wobbling before changing direction, I was
declared fit to ride my bike.
Wow, nothing before or since has given me the same feeling of adventure
and freedom. Not even my first car. Before Hercules arrived my only
means of exploring and getting about was walking or by bus and I only
went on the bus accompanied by my parents. With my bike I could now
comfortably visit classmates homes and play with them in the area they
lived, meet other kids that lived near them but did not go to our school
– life was exciting and adventurous.
The school arranged a cycling proficiency test, some examiners marked
out mock roads with junctions in chalk on the school playground. We were
given formal classroom instruction on the highway code and road safety
and general bike maintenance. Then one by one we were observed as we
navigated the chalk roads on the playground. We were judged on our
ability to control the bike, give appropriate signals and demonstrate
that we were sufficiently aware and competent to be considered safe on
the road. Those of us who passed were given a cycling safety certificate
and a badge. Most boys, including myself, took a keen interest in
mending, modifying and maintaining our bikes. By the age of nine most of
us had learned how to mend a puncture, how to mend a broken chain by
inserting a split link, how to strip down hub, wheel and steering
bearings clean them and re-assemble with fresh grease.
In our last year at primary school, a little gang of us went on our best
yet adventure.
Aged around 75, Male, Yorkshire
August 2018
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