Beating the Bounds of Stroud’s Heavens

Through high summer we beat the bounds of the Heavens, my little brother and I. Great sticks thwacking down nettles. In winter it was briars and brambles, in autumn mulched leaves, and in spring – mud. We walked the perimeters of fields, sticking to hedges and stopping at aluminium gates. As we grew bigger, we climbed the gates, pulling down on already sagging hinges. We’d prise apart barbed wire, tugging  down temporary fences blocking footpaths. Keep Out signs read like invitations to us.