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John's hypertextual youth Why? Who? How? Really? Leave this self-indulgent tangle!
In our last year at Wisewood Primary School we went on a field trip to find the source of the Don (a South Yorkshire river). The few people in the class who I still have contact with have vivid memories of the event, though we didn't find the source and nothing otherwise dramatic happened. Many people had cameras, and perhaps it is the photographic records which are the links along which memory reaches back. I recall being thrown out of a dam-keeper's garden for standing there to take a photo. I don't know where the photo is now, but I imagine that in intervening years I associated that picture with the ejection experience. I have another memory though, that can't be explained this way. When we returned, the class composed a poem, though I think Mrs. Long, our teacher, had the biggest hand in it. I can still remember the first verse perfectly. I doubt very much that anyone else even remembers the poem's existence, so here, for posterity, is the verse:
 
From high upon the Midhope Moor
From ditches of black peat
The wild and windswept rains pour
The tiny rivulets meet.