In 1968, when the world was young and heady, the 19th of May fell on a Sunday, as has been the case this year. Spring that year was slow, but sure, and gave the impression that sooner or later something mighty was going to erupt within the world of Nature. It did, on May 19th.
But May 19th 1968 began with school chapel, which dragged on till 10am. It was, of course, compulsory at boarding schools in that era – on pain of severe pain. Between chapel, and the equally compulsory but utterly inedible Sunday lunch, was an opportunity of less than three hours to go butterflying. Consequently, I ran, in heavy school shoes, dressed as a penguin in full school uniform, the two and a half miles to Marlpost Wood. I entered the wood at the...