Christmas Eve.
I had been standing, day-dreaming, on a village green style recreational area known as The Circle where two giant walnut trees stood tall adjacent to our family home at 61 Freedom Avenue, Yeovil, Somerset.
I recall the time and space as a fresh experience, a new memory already laying down pathways in my young mind.
A song plays over and over again in my head.
Earlier, my brother John and I, (John being 8 years my senior), had been in a workshop with the boys from across the road while they clamped a Cox Tee Dee gas powered motor (with hard nylon propeller) into a metal vice I was staring at level with my eyes and less than 6″ from my nose.
Unaware of any plan unfolding but enjoying the atmosphere and the fuel filled smell of the workshop, I looked on, fascinated, while the four of us squeezed close together in the cramped area as one of the boys primed the motor for ignition.
And then a finger flicked the prop a couple of times and the little engine burst into life!
Except … immediately, lethally, the spinning motor vibrated itself loose from the vice right before me and flew, near vertical, to the ceiling before bouncing back down onto the bench where it began ricocheting back and forth across the bench and inches from my eyes.
The next moment, three boys unwittingly propelled me from the shed, not in some gallant selfless act of bravery but simply as a consequence of the laws of physics as their own terrified fight or flight response trampled me as they raced for the door!
The song that was playing in my head?
The Beatle’s had a number one hit with “We can work it out” that Christmas.
I used to put my hand over my ears at the point in the song where they would sing,
“Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend”
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