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Bunny

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1970's Style

 

 

Phil Robertson

 

There was a time, not so long ago, when the world hadn’t gone mad with health and safety. Young children were allowed to wander the street, play on the road and go places that nowadays would have the busy-bodies clucking their tongues and ringing for social services. I have to confess, as a parent, there were certain things I did as a child that I wouldn’t be too happy about my boys doing today. On one occasion my friends and I were the cause of having a house demolished as unsafe when one of us fell through to the first floor and broke his leg. The risks we took as children helped form the adults we are today. For me, living life is partly about managing risk. In a risk free society, are we raising children who won’t be able to make sensible decisions and calculate risk for their own offspring?

When I was at junior school, my best friend was Brian. Both of us were mad about go-karts. These were pretty simple affairs made from one long plank of wood, a short plank of wood, four pram wheels, and, if we were lucky, a robust wooden box. The short plank would be bolted to the end of the longer one so it pivoted. One of the pram axels would then be fitted to this pivot. This was the front of the go-kart that we then steered by pushing our feet one way or the other. The box was fitted to the opposite end of the plank to act as a seat, and the second axel was attached beneath. Sometimes a rope was fixed to the front to pull the thing back up the nearest hill. There were no brakes. To slow down you planted your feet on the tarmac and hoped for the best.

Neither Brian nor I came from wealthy families so all these parts had to be “found.” Planks were no problem, but pram wheels and axels were a premium find. When we were building a go-kart (or trolley, as we sometimes called them) we went to the local tip about a mile up the road. This was a public tip where ordinary folk could come and dump anything they wanted. We’d scrabble about on top of the mounds of trash: old mattresses, bags of god knows what, half a washing machine, and so on, until we found an old pram. Often, only one set of wheels was in good enough shape, and we’d have to continue looking until we found a second pram. No-one seemed to mind us kids scrambling amongst the rat faeces and gone off food. In fact, it was a pretty common sight since we weren’t the only ones who built our own go-karts.

Once construction was complete, it was time to race. Wood Street was the closest and steepest hill for miles around. If I had to guess, I’d say we touched speeds of thirty miles an hour (no helmet, Heath Robinson built karts, no brakes) although it felt like seventy. The wind flew through our hair. It felt like flying. We tried to obey some sense of order as we always stayed to the left hand side of the road and waited for a suitable gap in the traffic—we weren’t totally reckless.

The point is we had immense fun. No one died. I did have to go to casualty for seven stitches once when I took a turn too fast and fell out at full speed. We were able to make our own transport with little, if any, interference from parents. We had to resource our own parts by using our initiative. These karts were ours. We raced the things on the road. No one told us to clear off or called the police. We learned about risk taking and had the biggest adrenalin rush going. It was about being a kid in a kid’s world and at the same time preparing ourselves for later life.

I’m not advocating go-kart racing on the roads. We do live in a very different world now. But for god’s sake, we should at least allow our kids some space to take risks.

Incidentally, my youngest broke his collar bone last week. I hope he’s learned from it.

 

 

 


 

 Risk Taking