Woods, woods, woods

Woods are what we have and where we walk, so woods are what I do. This is the military land again. It must have been lunchtime for the troops since they'd retreated by the time we got there. An old chap was bent over picking spent rounds off the ground. He said he sold them for scrap.

"Any live ones?"

"Yes, here, want one?" They were "live" blanks. He told me he gave those to a friend he had in the cadets in London since they didn't have many blank rounds for their training nights.

I couldn't help wondering how much taxpayers money might be saved if the soldiers were to shout "bang" every time they fired. I seem to remember they did that in Dad's Army. In fact whole wars could be fought this way, a lot less painful but you know what would happen. People just wouldn't stay down when they were "dead". I remember it well. The arguments we had in the playground:

"You've been got!"

"No, I haven't."

" Yes, I shot you, you're dead."

"No I'm not."

"Private Hitch, I've seen you, you're alive!" Whoops, I seem to have strayed in to another war. Sorry!