In a field that is now home to a B & B, It used to be where a frightening groundsman carried his trusty rifle and shot at you if you dared jump the fence to go scumpying. Finally the fear has subsided, the views beyond this feircely guarded barrier I finally no longer just had to imagine. Jumping the fence, I trod carefully remembering older children shot at from distance, falling from trees, running dropping apples from their cupped jumpers. I crept toward that infamous apple tree, my childhood Holy Grail. As I rounded the hedge, head down almost on my knees, glancing upon the distant large Manor, I came to a fallen tree, like the hunter, low in long grass, a man on his knees, his reward no longer an apple ladened jumper, but a hip shot of memories. Though initially pointing to lost chances, on reflection it was of conquering fears. A photo of the 'fallen, fear, and fulfilment'. One day I'll buy this land and plant an apple tree for local children to scrumpy. I'll stand from a distance in this field as children fight their fears, no rifle to point, but a jug of apple juice to pour.