It was an old piece of wasteland at the back of a church. A place where we were not allowed to go, but to us it was paradise. The ground was rough and overgrown with weeds and contained many dips and hollows large enough to crouch down and hide in. This was our world and when we played in it time had no meaning ; we were totally absorbed in the game until we were dragged away or light faded from the sky.
Here grew burdocks in wild profusion which made fine ammunition to startle the enemy. They stuck on most types of clothing and we had pitch battles with them. So my memory retained a soft spot for the burdock plant which played such an important part in the innocence of boyhood.