The playgrounds were better in our area than the rich ones, because our parents knew how to make stuff. We weren't the kids of the lawyers and the ultra rich - more the builders and the plumbers. So when the government said the schools could get materials for free, ours were the best by year's end. We had it all, conservatories too. We went from sink school to waitlist and it was so ace. It made everyone smile a bit inside, cos for once we were winning.
Others climbed trees or whooped up on the zip-line as soon as playtime began, but my friends and I always ran for the bikes and the big-wheeled scooters. We went over that earthen loop in all weathers, making tracks in the rain, sending mud flying in satisfying arcs behind us. I think we measured our fun by how muddy our faces became. There was more to the school playground though; there were the tents of peas and beans by mid summer, softly filtering green light within. There were the tree-houses and the adventure course. There were the sit-in giant wind chimes and the fish who swam in clear pipes between the raised ponds. Even now the aroma of a garden transports me back to those days, to the laughter we shared. On days it feels as if a flood might wash me away, these memories are my boat and my anchor all in one, bringing happiness in any weather.
It was a maze of runner beans and corn, our school playground. We ran around and around, sometimes grabbing a green pod to eat. Around the fences were the berries: blackberry, raspberry and strawberry - tomatoes too. They were best on those sun-warmed days, the flavour as bright as the colours and so sweet. They were our candy until the fruit-trees were laden come autumn - then we'd be in the branches as happy as monkeys, grins wide and eyes smiling.
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