There was no M4 in those days, so the A4 was our favoured (and only major) route. The journey was punctuated by visits to different hostelries along the way and I am fairly sure that at the age of about six I could reasonably navigate myself across half of England via the names of different pubs along the way.
|Petra, following me up a cliff on the beach|
I called to Petra – it was my ‘turn’ for the dog. Assuming that she would trot round the lane route and down into the field, I was aghast to see our lovely pet flying through the air as she took the quick way down – leaping from the bridge to join me below. The strange thing is, I remember this from a third party perspective, as if I am standing by the pub watching both the road and the field below, with me standing there as Petra sailed – perhaps gracefully – down to the ground. Amazingly she was unhurt; perhaps it wasn’t really a huge 20 feet drop – but it did seem incredibly high to a small girl, and probably higher to an even smaller dog.