On one of our walks Crisp, my aged companion, saw reason to reminisce about her childhood.
A locomotive rolled past us, and Crisp stopped and stared at the writing on the side of the engine.
“I used to visit Hinton as a kid,” she said, “it was a tiny farming community a few miles from home, and on a fine day my friend OB and I would cycle out there and sit by the river.”
She paused for a moment, then went on. “When there was a flood the town was always in trouble, roads would be closed, and farmers would fear crop and stock loss. We kids thought it great fun to scoop up water melons from the flood waters never giving a thought to any disease they may have attracted.”
“Those were the days,” she said as the train rumbled out of sight.