Well now, I find myself feeling rather wistful today — a rare and pleasant sensation, much like the discovery of a forgotten biscuit tucked behind the teapot. You see, I have just heard the splendid news that two of the village’s own, young Tom Quicknutt and Jim Fattlumps, have graduated from their respective universities.
Tom, if I recall rightly, pursued a degree in Advanced Rural Logistics and Barrow Dynamics, while Jim went the slightly more modern route of Heritage Shed Management with Practical Hinges. Fine choices, both. Entirely practical fields in today’s baffling economy, if you ask me.
I can still remember those boys as they once were — scurrying around the allotments in their wellies two sizes too big, pestering me with questions while pretending not to listen to the answers. Over the years I did my bit to share a few pearls of wisdom, though I admit not all my lessons would have made the official syllabus. I am particularly proud that it was me who first explained to them which end of the toad to lick for a proper psychedelic experience (purely for educational purposes, of course). I daresay that bit of knowledge never made it onto any exam paper, but I like to think it has served them nonetheless.
What I remember most, though, is seeing them — and so many of the other children of The Little Country — tearing around without a care. No gadgets, no glow-in-the-dark trainers with microchips, just pure mischief. There were whole summer afternoons spent careering down Church Hill on ramshackle go-karts cobbled together from pram wheels and bits of Mrs. Trubshaw’s old ironing board. Their brakes were largely theoretical but their grins were very real.
And the rope swings! Those wonderful, entirely unsafe rope swings hung over the River Twp. Who first tied those ropes? No one knows. They just appeared, year after year, swaying gently and daring some muddy-kneed child to launch themselves skywards. I used to watch them from my garden with a cup of tea, marvelling at their sheer abandon.
It’s all so different now, isn’t it? It takes a monumental effort these days for a child not to turn out a wrong-‘un. The constant noise and negative influences, the bombardment of nonsense aimed at their supple little brains from screens and adverts and algorithms that think they know best… well, it makes me doubly proud when I see youngsters like Tom and Jim rise above it. To cling to their curiosity, their eccentricities, and their ambitions in spite of all that noise — that is no small feat.
Now, as they step blinking into their futures, I can’t help but reflect on the sheer mountain of effort required just to get to this point these days. University is no small undertaking. Not just the essays, lectures and late-night existential wobbles over a mug of instant coffee, but the staggering fact that many of them emerge from this endeavour already up to their eyes in debt before they’ve even taken a proper stab at life. The courage that takes… it makes an old man proud and a little concerned in equal measure.
And so, I’m delighted. There is something rather wonderful about watching young people choose a path, however winding, and stick at it with a stubbornness I heartily approve of. The world is theirs now, full of opportunity and bewilderment in equal measure, and I wish them every success.
I like to think that, along the way, a bit of my rustic, arcane nonsense has rubbed off on them too. Perhaps, when they’re standing in a bric-a-brac shop or tending an academic shed somewhere, they’ll remember old Virgil muttering about soil quality or the medicinal properties of nettle soup.
So here’s to Tom and Jim, and all the other young folk setting off into the future. May they find exactly the right kind of nonsense to fill their lives with, and may they always remember which end of the toad is the polite one.
🧓 Virgil
(sitting in the shade, wiping a tear from his eye, and quietly hoping they’ve also remembered how to rotate a compost heap properly)