Written by Frank Wright

Eric and me were good mates for a long time. It was the late forties. We were poor but didn’t know it then – we were just concerned with living and enjoying each day as it passed. When I think of those long gone days I think of Eric and eggs.

One Sunday we had been off to look at a pond we knew – we were experts on a thousand things that lived, flew over, swam, crawled or just moved in that miniature world although I doubt if we knew the names of half a dozen between us. To boys, time is just a gap between one day and the next and it suddenly dawned on us that it must be around tea time. We made our way home stopping by some farm houses; we climbed over a crumbling wall to have a pee. Then as we were about to move on we saw something exciting and wonderful:  a nest on the ground beneath the weeds with twelve large white eggs shining brightly. We were egg-mad and knew many nests: Thrush, Blackbird, wren – even a Wood Pigeon, but this, this was the ultimate of our wildlife discoveries.

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