Banana split knees

On Windmill Hills, just behind the Borough Arms pub and at the entrance to the village there used to be a small park. There were some swings, baby swings, a roundabout, climbing frame, a banana slide and a three seated metal horse which needed to be pushed from behind to make it move back and forth.

I was always going home with some minor cuts and bruises from my playtimes' at this park. One day whilst pushing the metal horse it swung back and hit me in the mouth chipping one of my front teeth but this was not the most painful of my injuries sustained at the park.

The banana slide was a tall metal construction with steps leading to the top where you than sat and slid down the banana.

Supermarket sliced loaves were all wrapped in waxed paper at that time. I'm not sure who discovered that this could be used to make the banana more slippery and give a faster ride from top to bottom. One day we got together and decided we would make the slide the slipperiest ever. Next day about half a dozen us went to the park all armed with several old bread wrappers. Our industry knew no bounds as we all furiously polished every millimetre of the slide until we could see our faces in it. The brassy metal glinted in the sunlight and any sergeant major would have been proud of our efforts.

When we were satisfied with our work we were all eager to try out our new super slide. Boys and girls flew off it's end with squeals of delight. My turn came and I ran up the metal steps, sat down. Letting go of the bars I flew down the banana at the speed of light. At the bottom I didn't stop. I continued to fly a few feet through the air until I lurched forward and landed knees first into the gravel with such a force that I felt sicker than I ever had in my life.

After a minute or so I stood up and looked at my bleeding, gravel encrusted knees. I didn't cry, I think I was too shocked by the impact of my crash landing. I hobbled home for some medical attention from my mother. I bravely bore the tweezers and liquid TCP vigorously applied with cotton wool. Was there to be no end to my pain that day?

The pain did go away until a few days later when it was time to take off the heavy fabric sticking plaster. The short, sharp shock of it's removal was bearable but the adhesive which remained on my legs looked dirty according to my mother who reached into the sideboard once again for the cotton wool and bottle of 4711 eau de cologne. What seemed like an eternity of scrubbing with the cologne dampened cotton left my knees adhesive free, red raw and smelling beautiful.

I still went to the park after that but tended to stick to the swings and roundabout for the remainder of my childhood.