We had a new teacher.
He was a local land holder, rare breeds and old fashioned sheep.
He was focused on us surviving, surviving what was not clear at first.
Drop spindles and fleece gathered from barbed wire made basic yarn.
Which side the moss grew and how to identify animals.
All classroom based and safe, we could do this surviving lark, and no tests and writing either.
Oh a walk out to the hill with trees and meadows and the river, how to find directions and sunshine.
A nice wander to enjoy today, not sure how we would need the how to make and lay a snare.
Whole day in the forest now, finding branches and other stuff for shelters, fun.
Working out where to dig toilets wasn’t fun, and downhill and water tables.
Playing in mud but finding the "right" sort of clay to make pots, fired on campfires we made.
How to gather and make fire, how to do it with no matches or lighters.
Odd but no writing and no classrooms.
Foraging for edible and what wasn’t edible, not so much fun, messy, and not nice.
Making weaves, clothes, coverings, animal furs and woollen layers.
Beds made form bracken and ferns, laid thick to keep us off the ground.
Hunter gathering and how to cope if/when the world ended.
We were 7 and 8 the fear of the survivalist fearing the cold war and nuclear death went right over our heads.
I can still drop spindle and weave, I still know up hill and water tables, forests make me smile.
I doubt I would want to survive a nuclear winter, but that spring and summer in early 1970’s, not in school, was one of fond memories and adventures in a future that never happened.