Autocorrect chose “saltpetre” for me but yes, it’s an American/British English thing.
It was a different age. The only times I remember there being an adult around was when going down to the river on summer afternoons until we turned 8 or 9 - the place had lots of strong currents and a body count to match, so it made sense for the parents to take turns chaperoning. Aside from that, our parents only had a vague 4-5 miles radius on us at any one time and any injuries short of a broken bone or a serious dog bite weren’t considered worth reporting at home. We carried knives, airguns, catapults and low grade explosives everywhere and nobody thought anything of it as long as we didn’t act stupid; boys will be boys and all that. Giving my own kids a fair shot at growing up the same way is one of the top three reasons I’m trying to move out of the city.
Ach, saltpetre. That brings back memories. Where I grew up (northern Italian countryside, late ‘80s) charcoal and sulfur were readily available to us kids but commercial grade saltpetre seemed impossible to get hold of. At one point we even tried using the efflorescence scraped off an old cellar’s walls - needless to say it was a lot of work for a very poor outcome.
Luckily we had access to all kinds of agricultural pyrotechnics from the local drugstore, that we could dismantle and reassemble into larger, more powerful versions; and several of us had hunting dads or uncles who could be persuaded to part with a few shotgun shells in exchange for chores. Boys these days really don’t know what they missed.
Thanks for your illuminating comments. Have I been spelling saltpeter wrong, or is that the European version? I was growing up in the 60's and 70's when our parents had no idea where we were during the day. We might bicycle 30 miles from home as long as we came home when the streetlights came on. I suffered many injuries that my parents never knew about. Neighborhood moms each had a police whistle with a special sequence for their kids. For more childhood innocence, check out my piece here: https://jcbourque.substack.com/p/the-joy-of-not-knowing-anything-about
Autocorrect chose “saltpetre” for me but yes, it’s an American/British English thing.
It was a different age. The only times I remember there being an adult around was when going down to the river on summer afternoons until we turned 8 or 9 - the place had lots of strong currents and a body count to match, so it made sense for the parents to take turns chaperoning. Aside from that, our parents only had a vague 4-5 miles radius on us at any one time and any injuries short of a broken bone or a serious dog bite weren’t considered worth reporting at home. We carried knives, airguns, catapults and low grade explosives everywhere and nobody thought anything of it as long as we didn’t act stupid; boys will be boys and all that. Giving my own kids a fair shot at growing up the same way is one of the top three reasons I’m trying to move out of the city.
Ach, saltpetre. That brings back memories. Where I grew up (northern Italian countryside, late ‘80s) charcoal and sulfur were readily available to us kids but commercial grade saltpetre seemed impossible to get hold of. At one point we even tried using the efflorescence scraped off an old cellar’s walls - needless to say it was a lot of work for a very poor outcome.
Luckily we had access to all kinds of agricultural pyrotechnics from the local drugstore, that we could dismantle and reassemble into larger, more powerful versions; and several of us had hunting dads or uncles who could be persuaded to part with a few shotgun shells in exchange for chores. Boys these days really don’t know what they missed.
Thanks for your illuminating comments. Have I been spelling saltpeter wrong, or is that the European version? I was growing up in the 60's and 70's when our parents had no idea where we were during the day. We might bicycle 30 miles from home as long as we came home when the streetlights came on. I suffered many injuries that my parents never knew about. Neighborhood moms each had a police whistle with a special sequence for their kids. For more childhood innocence, check out my piece here: https://jcbourque.substack.com/p/the-joy-of-not-knowing-anything-about
I’m reading back through your entire Substack by the way. You’ve got some really good material.
There's mostly duplication but a few more here: http://thefederalist.com/author/jcbourque/
Thank you muchly.