We lived in the country, remote from even the village. Trees, the pond and the river were my/our habitat. I and my brother, both with lively imaginations were always busy, often independently of each other. Our paths crossed for various games. But often we adventured alone, with me often as not at the top of some tree. Me, being the eldest by just over a year, was supposed to be the responsible one. A job I was expected to take seriously. Which with my brothers perchant for disaster, was onerous. He did everything backwards, dangerous or without planning. You can imagine the result. He fell off narrow bridges into the river six feet below, often because he insisted on walking backwards. He fell into the deep mud at the side of the tidal river, luckily on his back, not on his face. Where he lay spread eagled with arms outstretched until I could fetch a grown up to rescue him. He lassoed a big tree branch, swinging on it until it fell on his head. This resulted in another run for help and several stitches. He dived headfirst down haystacks attracting the wrath of my Grandfather and the destruction of the stack. He walked through fields of the deepest snowdrifts, up to his chin, both arriving home, frozen, wet and with the hot aches as the blood supply came back. Or toiled hip deep through streams, lined with tall grasses, pretending we were a boat on a river in the Amazon jungle. He/we dug deep holes in my grandmothers rose garden digging for Australia. He set off a rocket on bonfire night, setting light to the nearest straw built pig sty. Another run for help, rather more serious as the pigs were still in residence. It was almost roast pork for supper, the farmer was not amused. All happenings with me either beside, or behind him, well someone had to rescue him and it was my job. He always went at life full pelt, although I wasn't innocent by any means. I was around and involved in some way in all the mishaps. Eventually he discovered motor bikes, when he went roaring off in another direction. Before his twenties were out, sailing for New Zealand.
Me, well I was more of a dreamy child if left to my own devices. I liked being at the top of the tallest tree, swaying in the wind...for hours. Or discovering if I could walk from the branches of one tree into the next, along a whole avenue. Or, spinning on a hilloc, before falling on my back to waltch the sky spin around above me. Or running through corn fields with our dog. I liked to find baby rabbits, snowdrops or violets, catch tiddlers in a jam jar, or watch the birds build nests. I spent hours alone in the top of my grandmothers house, playing with old stuff stored there. Or drawing and cutting paper dolls and designing clothes for them from magazines at my grandmothers table. I was keen to learn how to wallpaper at ten-ish when my grandmothers house had its annual spring clean. Yes, we had a lot of freedom, in which school, which I hated, was only an intrusion. Although once I learned to read, I became an avid reader. By nature, without my brother, I would have been a naturally solitary child. We just grew like two wild weeds..and stayed that way, I guess.
As I said, he emigrated quite early, first to New Zealand, later to Australia. But with a London Father and a Norfolk Mother, we always travelled more than anyone else in the village. London was always our second place of destination. A place we were quite at home in too. I may have been naturally solitary, but I wasn't afraid of anything. Not the streets, the buses, the bustle, or the tough London kids. I was always far too interested in everything before my eyes. I liked to make sense of what I was seeing, to understand why things were as they were, why people behaved as they did. Then despite marrying early, I moved to live in london with my family. Not for me, one house for always. I moved so many times, for reasons beyond my control, I thought nothing of it. Of course, once I could, I travelled everywhere in Britain, then later....around the world.
Each country is an adventure and I have lived in quite a few. Each country is a whole new learning experience. Each country offers me wonderful new friends, new ways of living and new opportunities. I tried living back in England for a few years..I've only recently escaped again. I really mean that, it was an escape. I cannot live there any more. I consider myself a World citizen now and happy to be so. It's great to travel, it's great to see how others live, to learn new cultures, to fit in and be happy.
One thing I will stress, is that in none of the places I lived did I ever ask the government to keep me. Nor do I expect hand outs of any sort. I earn my own money, I keep myself and I fit in with the culture of the country. I never expect any country to offer me special privileges of religion, custom of home, or anything I may have had in my home country. I know if everyone who went to live in new countries had the same attitude, there would not be the unrest with emigrants we are finding so often today. Travel, broaden your mind, expand your knowledge and awareness of the World. But ask no one for special privileges. The new country should not be expected to change to accommodate you! Your task should fit in as seamlessly as you can, to take what you work for, but to give back respect and honour to that country who has let you stay, who has welcomed you.
Viva the world, viva travel and new experiences. The world has so much to show you. All I can say is, see all you can, for somewhere...is the perfect place for you. Or...perhaps the perfect places. Because everywhere you travel is an exciting adventure. Far more so, than the all the practice adventures we had as children. For that was pretend, now I am able to have the real thing.
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