After looking at the Pets and Animals post, it occurred to me that my father had probably told me something about that particular time.
While working in the garden my father had scratched his arm, perhaps removing brambles, and i’d asked him some scars running across his upper arms. He told me that as a a kid he’d ridden into a wire that had been strung across a road. If you look back at those donkey pictures you’ll see the, presumably resultant, bandages.
Memory is a very strange thing. The set of recollection i have from that time is really limited: water the garden with the bath water during a summer drought (1976?); trying to dig up the body of the family cat which my father had run over in the drive and buried in the garden; finishing a box of tissues blowing my nose when it wouldn’t stop running; being chased by a horse in a field at the end of the garden; and now this tale of wire across the road.
Don’t know anything about guns, and will therefore assume that this is an Enfield Rifle. How could i possibly be wrong!
The above is probably my favourite photograph from this time – even though it’s poorly executed, the expression is really good. With slightly better framing it could have been wonderful.