I well recall that bright sunny day when we were still all together – as it turned out, for the last time. All seven of us had met up in the woods, looking for magic mysteries that needed solving, and feasting on wild hayberries. Back in the village, some folk called these “strawberries”, because we covered the ground where we planted the berries in our fields with straw two protect them from the winter cold. We kids thought of ourselves as some kind of carefree Secret Seven, and savoured every minute of freedom, and all those madcap adventures.
Grown up now, I recall those innocent childhood days, where we were blissfully unaware of the slings and arrows of adult life. We never suspected that, because of their colour and heart shape, strawberries are actually a symbol for Venus, Goddess of Love – bringer of joy... and much trouble!
We might, though, have appreciated knowing that Anne Boleyn, doomed wife of one of those Horrible Henries, had a strawberry shaped birthmark on her neck, absolute proof she was a witch. We liked witches.
Jobs, travel, family and a host of adult reasons meant the end of the our little group. Only three of us remain living in the countryside...
Oh, I've just remembered. In that Shakespeare play Miss Dragonmonster made us read at school, we thought it a bit weird that the Moorish guy had decorated his doomed wife's hanky with nine yup, you got it, strawberries.
Strawberries!! – dangerous, enticing, delicious!!
