Tiny feet, big imaginations
ALL MY BEST MEMORIES as a child stem from being on walks with my parents in the landscapes of northern England. But they weren’t simply walks – they were fantastic, outlandish adventures. While the adults behaved like Walkers – scrutinising unwieldy maps, making admiring remarks about the scenery and talking about boring grown-up stuff – we kids completely disappeared into warrens of fantasy. We ran amok through bracken and boulders. We concocted stories that stretched out into odysseys with a lifetime’s worth of triumph and tragedy compressed into a matter of hours. Misty old lead workings on the moors became abandoned mining outposts in far-flung alien worlds; mossy ash woods became tiger-prowled jungles; the sinuous limestone cataracts of the River Wharfe became the world’s greatest water park. Good times. Our lead features…