Along a precarious winding country lane, flanked by high hedges and bountiful blackberry bushes, we find ourselves at a narrow opening leading to a lush green meadow. Peeking inside, we survey the scene that unfolds before us.
Each individual blade of grass glistens under the glare of the midday sun. Apart from those that lie in the shadow of the sleeping red dragon.
This is the story of eight year old me.
I grew up in the countryside, in the middle of nowhere, quite literally. A cluster of three dwellings, a cottage, a house and a farm, so remote they didn’t even warrant a place name. Our postal address simply read “near” Horton.
Both neighbours were pensioners. There really was nothing to do. So I had to create my own entertainment, letting my imagination run free, inspired by the multitudinous books I read.
Enid Blyton was a favourite. I loved the Magic Faraway Tree, a huge tree the children climbed and at the top a land of adventure, only available for a limited time until it swung away to be replaced by a new land.
Our garden became my adventure land at the top of the faraway tree. Bordered to the right by the high hedges we’ve already encountered.
To the left, a steep drop to a stream, with an equally steep slope on the other side. This ravine marked the boundary between our property and the farmer’s field and the cows were wise not to try their luck crossing it.
Like them, my terror at the prospect of falling to my death kept me well away from that edge of the garden.
On this bright, sunny summer’s day, I donned my adventurer’s costume – poppy red trousers and daffodil yellow wellies – and stepped outside to see which magical land awaited me.
And there was the sleeping dragon. Gleaming red and black in the middle of the grass.
And the brave knight – my father – striding over to it. Without fear, he mounted this beast, which roared to life under him, breathing fire
... as the petrol engine kicked in. He lowered the cutting blades, put it into gear and started a slow circuit of the garden, up, down, up, down, up ... ok, you get the picture.
I was transfixed. I’d never seen this dragon before. I simply had to ride it, show I could be a brave knight too.
Can I? Can I please?
My parents confer. It’s a big heavy dragon. Will she be safe?
Please
Oh go on then, just a short ride. Up and down the garden once. That’s all.
Yes!
I climb on. My Dad fires it into life. I grasp the steering wheel and I’m off. I’m really doing it! I’m training the dragon.
I’m so proud of myself as we fly up and down the garden and I bring him in to land right back in the middle, where he was sleeping.
l’m beaming from ear to ear as I prepare to dismount.
But the dragon has other ideas. He’s making a bid for freedom, heading straight towards the ravine, and taking me with him.
The brave knight is gone, replaced by a terrified eight year old.
I don’t want to die today. I’d miss all the other adventure lands. There’s only one thing for it. He’s won. I have to save myself and let him fly away.
I hurl myself off the dragon, landing in a sprawling heap on the grass.
Slowly, I raise my head, preparing to face the wrath of my parents as I’ve let the dragon escape to the faraway lands.
They’re in hysterics!
The dragon has rolled barely a metre across a slight dip in the garden that I’d never noticed before and come to a demure halt.
The only thing that’s died today is my pride.
I leave my yellow wellies at the front door and trudge inside.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll just go blackberry picking!
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