Our Brief Career in Amateur Slug Science
Getting to school in Trapp was supposed to be simple: catch the bus at 8 a.m. sharp. The reality was rather different.
The system relied on us getting ourselves up, dressed, and ready with no parental supervision whatsoever. My mother wasn't getting out of bed for anyone, least of all to make sure her children caught a bus to receive an education. I honestly can't remember how we managed to wake ourselves up, whether we had alarm clocks or just relied on some sort of internal survival instinct, but whatever method we used, it frequently failed.
Missing the bus meant a four-mile hike to Llandybie, which sounds grim but actually turned into one of the better parts of living in the Welsh countryside.
Hitchhiking for Beginners
The locals took pity on us wandering the lanes looking pathetic. Our most reliable rescuer was the bread delivery man, who'd spot us trudging along and pull over in his little van. There was no back seat, so we'd all squeeze together on the single passenger seat like sardines. This was long before anyone had heard of seat belts, when the only safety requirement was not falling out of the vehicle.
The bread round became our morning entertainment. We'd accompany him to isolated farms and cottages, watching him deliver loaves and chat with customers. We didn’t mind how long he took, the longer the better and the less time we would have to spend at school.
On other days, we'd catch rides with the local farmers' sons, young men who all seemed to drive Mini Coopers and fancy themselves as racing drivers. They'd tear along those narrow, hedge-lined lanes at speeds that would terrify modern safety inspectors, but the roads were so quiet that the biggest danger was probably meeting a tractor coming the other way.
The Halfway Point Discovery
About halfway to school stood a small rubbish tip. If we'd failed to get a lift by that point, we'd always stop to explore. You never knew what people might throw away.
One particular morning, we struck what we thought was gold: a bag full of syringes, complete with needles still attached. To our eleven and twelve-year-old minds, these weren't medical waste, they were the most sophisticated water pistols we'd ever encountered.
We grabbed a handful, removed some of the needles to avoid the obvious dangers, and filled them with water from a nearby puddle or ditch. The rest of the walk to school became much more entertaining as we conducted water fights with equipment that would send modern parents into therapy.
Scientific Curiosity Takes a Dark Turn
But syringes and needles in the hands of bored children were always going to lead somewhere questionable. As we walked, our attention turned to the slugs that seemed to populate every damp corner of the Welsh countryside.
I'm going to blame my brother Peter for what happened next, partly because it's probably true and partly because I need to protect what's left of my reputation. The conversation, as I remember it, went something like this:
"I wonder what would happen if we injected a slug with water?"
"Only one way to find out."
And so began what can only be described as our brief and disturbing career as amateur research scientists. The results, I'm afraid, were exactly as horrible as you might imagine.