Louis' Big Adventure

Lie in until eight this morning and then get up to a cold, grey day, the garden wet with overnight rain. I have promised to take my grandson, Louis, out for the day and will need all my strength. Although he is not five years old until June 8th, he is a force of nature, and as big as a seven year old. Fortify myself with a full English breakfast and lots of black Italian coffee and then hang out a line of coloured shirts, before driving into Beverley and parking down New Walk, two minutes from Sarah's house. When I get there Sarah is ill with sinusitis, and glad to have Louis occupied for the day. My nickname for Louis is "Chugs", because he comes on like a train, and is one hundred percent boy. I dress him warmly, with two pairs of socks and his wellies, as it is muddy where we are going and only five degrees centigrade outside, nearer freezing exposed to the cold north wind. When I was his age in 1949, before television, cars and health and safety, we used to go on expeditions, or adventures. The game we always played, en route, was, "follow my leader", the leader had to find daring, (dangerous), things to do, and everyone else had to follow. If you chickened out, you were plagued, (teased), mercilessly. Every so often the leader would change, and the challenge would be to outdo the kid before you. After making our way round Seven Corners Lane and across York Road onto the Westwood, we started the game as we entered the woods at Newbegin Pits. There are nice easy paths through the woods, and there are muddy, slippy, steep paths that are about equally challenging to (almost), five year olds and there demented grandfathers. Unfortunately the Tarzan swing over a swampy old bomb crater, that we call "the pit of death", had been taken down and we emerged from the woods muddy, but otherwise unscathed, onto the pasture below Black Mill. There are several hundred cattle pastured on the common, and Louis wanted his picture taken next to a group that included some young bullocks. He likes to pat the dogs that are being walked, and I have taught him to let them sniff the back of his hand before he touches them. At Black Mill we shelter in the lee of the bitter north wind for a few minutes, before making our way to Limekiln Pits to see the baby owlet, in it's nest in the hole in the beech tree. Louis and the owlet got on well, it came to the front of it's nest to have a good look at him, and Louis insisted I lift him up to wave goodby before we left. We walked into the cold wind for half a mile then until we arrived at a bench on the south side of Burton Bushes, (a few acres of primeval woodland, that has never been cultivated). It is our favourite spot in the whole of the area, and we stop for a snack of apples and oranges that we eat sat on a bench beneath a large oak. The woods are thick with bluebells, the paths are constantly changing as trees fall, or are blown down, across existing paths. Consequently there are lots of dried, old, sticks lying on the floor and I whittle some of these with my Swiss army knife, making swords and an approximation of a couple of pistols. Against overwhelming odds, and with considerable bravery, we fight our way out of the woods, with only minor wounds, a scratch for me and more mud for Chugs. The adventure has already lasted nearly three hours, and we head for home across York Road, and onto the Hurn and Beverley Racecourse. Home is about a mile to the east but it is all downhill, we walk through the pasture in the centre, with the circular, fenced, race track, curling around us. There are several hundred ewes and lambs grazing here, and the older, more adventurous lambs, have formed little gangs, these dash about and play together. One such group are playing "king of the castle", by a water trough, and I persuade Louis to approach them gently, and manage to take his photograph with them, before they dash off somewhere else. We get back to Sarah's for three o'clock, swap the wellies for trainers, and head to the Leisure Centre for a swim. My objective is to tire the little fellow out, so that all his Mum has to do is put him to bed when he gets in. He cannot quite swim yet, but I believe it's more important for children to learn to love the water, not to fear it, by playing in the baby pool until they are happy ducking under the surface. Today I was variously, a shark, a crocodile and a killer whale, all of whom were wrestled into submission by Louis the fearless. After showering and changing we ate in the excellent cafe, Louis chose fish fingers, chips and beans and I, Aberdeen Angus quarter pounder, salad and chips. We arrived back at Sarah's for six, Louis clean and fed and his grandad, rather than him, exhausted. Hung on for six thirty mass at St. John's and then drove home to bed.