This is the fifth and final part of a series of reminiscences of Trumpington in the 1920s. For an introduction to the series, see Trumpington Fifty Years Ago: Reminiscences of the 1920s .
Corn stacked in the rickyard was usually threshed in the spring. Then it was sport to gather round with sticks as first the mice would dash out as the sheaves were lifted, and then at the base of the stacks, the rats. It needed a quick eye to hit them as they shot out. I remember once bringing down one rat in mid-air as it leapt out almost into my face. One stack once seemed strangely bare of mice until the reason suddenly emerged, the snaky form and vicious pointed face of a weasel, which stared out at us, snarled and then in a flash was gone.
In those halcyon days the summers seemed longer and hotter than they are today. The grass in the meadows grew brown and crisp with drought and quite often sparks from passing railway engines would set fire to the shocks of corn and the stubble and then the fire engines would go swaying perilously down the driftways and water would be pumped out of the brook onto the smouldering corn.
Looking back, those days seemed good days, but then no doubt it was because we tend to remember the enjoyable things of the past and forget the others.