Since my sister was younger and a bit of a whingeing wimp at times, I often went about in the summer holidays with Susan, my own age and always up for a lark.

We haunted Dalton's farm, about three miles from home. Mr Dalton had varied livestock, and we enjoyed trying to ride on the backs of the dairy cows (when he wasn't looking), feeding juicy elm leaves to the pigs (rather dangerous sows, especially when they had piglets) and best of all, making faces and shouting taunts at Billy the enormous bull, who was always tethered by a ring through his nose to the yard wall.

One memorable day, we performed our usual dance of mockery when he suddenly jerked his rope free, turned around with his head down and charged at us. We screamed blue murder and fled across the field, Billy in hot pursuit. I'll not forget the thundering sound of his hooves getting ever closer behind us. We flung ourselves through the hawthorn hedge sobbing with terror, and he turned and strolled away.
Susan had wet herself. My knees were like jelly. Served us jolly well right!