Eight

At the age of Eight I had a lot more freedom than the average child of that age in Britain generally gets nowadays.

We lived in Birmingham at the time. I spent a lot of time outdoors. I remember making an underground den. Falling from the very top to the very bottom of a tree and somehow not getting a scratch. I remember staying behind on my own at the swimming pool after school swimming lessons in the winter, and returning home in the dark, along a busy dual carriageway and under a dodgy underpass. I remember walking into Birmingham City Centre with a pal and picking up brochures from the army, navy, and airforce career centres. And also trying to sneak past the security at the central library, that existed because of the IRA terrorism that had been happening in the city at the time (though before the notorious pub bombings).

Probably some of the things I was allowed to do, or my parents weren’t aware of me doing, would have been considered a bit too much even then. Never the less I’m glad I did have the freedom. And as it happens, nothing bad happened to me.

Obviously times have changed. Now there are, rumour has it, scary and deadly dangers to be found everywhere, and children should be made aware, and kept well away from them. At least without the protection of a guardian!

We have, as they say, become a lot more risk averse.

Of course in truth nothing very much has changed. Our world isn’t so much different than it was then, albeit that there are always places and situations that are genuinely dangerous for a young child to experience on their own.

All things considered though, I’m glad that I was eight in 1973, and not now. And I find myself wishing for both a safer and a braver world to live in.

For the sake of the children.


Discover Fee Getting Stuck At Eight