Once Upon a Playground

Teasing Times Roundup & Interview for August

Image of children playing in a garden by Junior Aquiles Jr. on Pixabay

My Creative Roots

I grew up in an old, sprawling house, which offered plenty of spaces for four kids to play, in every conceivable way. In a garden big enough for riding bikes and scooters, we had a climbing frame and a swing, and grass for running races. There was a pear tree so crooked, I used to ride it like a horse, and a slope for tobogganing, (if we got enough snow, but usually we didn’t.)

From my den within a bush, I’d watch my family pass, confident they couldn’t see me. Between the roots of a tall sycamore tree, on a carpet of moss, I dreamed there was fairy inhabitation, even supplying tables and chairs from our dolls’ house to make the tiny visitors comfortable.

My home dated back several centuries, and provided a rich source of hiding places when friends came to play — cupboards in odd nooks and crannies, fireplaces big enough to stand in, a winding staircase up to the sloping attic, and chilly, stone steps leading to the cellar.

Most friends lived in pristine houses, which looked like something out of a catalogue, but my quirky home had kudos, was redolent with history and a promise of mystery. A space which sparked the imagination — when daylight faded and we drew curtains against the darkness, I sensed…