Golden Memories: The Rich Friend

Although there were a few exceptions, most of our motorbike gang lived on the local council estates. In the 1970's these had often degenerated into wastelands of delapidated red brick terraces, old railway lines and overgrown gardens. The gardens had once provided the residents with a means of feeding themselves, but the allotment approach to post-war self-sufficiency had now given way to Giro cheques and baked beans.

We had one friend, however, who lived many miles away from the town and on a sunny day in 1972 a couple of us decided to call around unannounced. Imagine the surprise when we turned the final corner and found his abode was nothing short of a mansion set in many acres of garden and meadow. It had a swimming pool, fully equipped workshops, ride-on lawn mowers and, of course, its own name.

To make matters worse (or even better) his parents were a generous and welcoming couple who gladly served us tea and cakes while our friend shuffled restlessly with embarrassment.

He'd been keeping a big secret.

Our place in the world was finally confirmed when we returned to the bike for our homeward journey. The old British beast had a seat stuffed with straw, but this had now vanished down the throat of our hosts' playful horse.

It was a long way back, sitting on the frame.