Free Range Parenting: The Time I Got Stuck in a Tree

 

Back in the day, circa 1961, about the only thing called free range were chickens. In our mining village in the north of England  parents, generally speaking,  did what is now called free range parenting.  We were expected to walk to school (with guidance on safety), play outside within a certain radius, and stranger danger, traffic rules, ect.  The difference with now is  back then adults looked out for the children and the philosophy of "it takes a village" applied. 

 At 5 and 6 I could wander down to the smithy at bottom of Hill , go to the sweetie shop next to school, or go into the fields opposite or behind our house. 

One day I decided to explore a field next to the wheat field opposite our house.  I should have guessed it had cows or sheep as it was fenced in.  I was halfway across when I saw it heading right for me, a great bloody bull. I can tell you I ran like my pants were on fire trying to reach the stile. I couldn't make it and  scrambled up a tree. I sat there for almost an hour until a kid wandered by and I shouted for him to get the farmer.  This farmer was NOT happy and I got a right lecture, well deserved .  

It's sounds idyllic doesn't it?  It was and wasn't . Like a beautiful rose it can come with thorns, and don't get me started on those horrible earwigs.