Back Track
The long summer holiday from school, devoid of any looming worries about having to earn a living, was something to be treasured more than we realised at the time, I suspect. School itself didn't worry me, despite certain aspects that I had an unreasonable (or so it seems now) capacity to hate. In my early teens I must have subconsciously developed the knack of larking about and having plenty of fun without evidence of it appearing on school reports any more damningly than an expressed lack of concentration. So, with average or better marks mostly, mum and dad weren't worried either.
Boyish pursuits and activities abounded in the holidays and especially with the trainspotting hobby we were never bored, even if it meant seeing the same engines time and again on some workings. 1963 saw the last long school holiday for me that fits the above bill with no portents or persuasion of crossing over into the adult world. August in particular saw my brother and I, plus my best friend, pleasantly spending variable spells at local railway locations around Bolton every day except
