When we remember the summers we enjoyed as children, they were always warm and sunny. It never rained, there were no unseasonal cold spells, and everything was golden. Over the years I have looked at many dozens of autobiographies, recollections, diaries and journals, and so often there’s that nostalgic sense of happy times. My grandfather, who grew up in the Edwardian period in inner-city Manchester, never forgot a treat he had one magical Sunday. He was seven or eight, so it must have been 1904 or 1905.
A truly imaginative teacher, far ahead of her time, took her class on a day trip to the country – Grandad couldn’t remember where, but 75 years later he could still recall the tall trees, the grassy fields and the hedges full of…
