A snapshot in time
Our infant school was at Dunsville near Doncaster, close to the top of Broadway and alongside Hatfield Road. We walked there every day, a couple of miles each way, my brother Graham and I, until the Eleven-Plus exam.
Every now and again, our daily routine was interrupted by looking across the fields or standing for a moment on a farm gate to see what was going on. Cattle let loose after milking, folk milling about in the stackyard, looking for things to do. Or even someone coupling up a tractor and implement such as a plough, more likely a trailer to collect or deliver something or other, to Doncaster market or a wholesaler, perhaps. Each time I saw these things, there was always a pang of regret and the thought “wish I could get involved with whatever they are getting up to”.
Rolling by
The most memorable event, however, would be when the threshing
