Now I was an urban child born in south east London and my adventures were circumscribed by the sheer size of London. Not for me the lonely walk along a country lane, or a journey through an enchanted wood hard by a babbling brook. Apart from our back garden, trees, vast expanses of grass and water was by and large offered up by the local parks and the river.
But the Thames was a working river, which made it fascinating but dangerous and a place where great stretches were out of bounds. Likewise the parks were where grownups had sought to curtail your fun by flower beds, and signs warning you to keep off the grass.
But that is perhaps a little harsh on the park authorities. For some time after it was opened as Telegraph Hill Park in 1895 a small section of the lower park had been given over to a play area, including a hollowed out tree truck which became in succession the conning tower of a submarine, a tank and the gate of an old castle.
