A STORY OF BOYISH DARING.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2902, 17 January 1911, Page 7

A STORY OF BOYISH DARING.

Mr. David George, Upper Holloway contributes the following : Eighteen years ago, when I was a boy of ten, I lived in the manufacturing town of Radcliffe, near Manchester. One day I was walking along the top of a sluice constructed by the side of the river Irwell, at a point known as Mount Sion. Growing on the side of the bank, which drops almost perpendicularly to the water's edge, were some trees that defied our boyish daring. Volunteering to descend to the trees on behalf of my companions, I began to lower myself little by little by grasping the grass growing on the side and planting my toes into the soil for footholds.

I had not gone many feet before the grass gave way, and I commenced to slip down the steep slope. I snatched at every piece of grass I passed, but one after the other gave way, and by slow degrees I sank towards the deep and dirty stream below, having a prospect of imminent death by drowning or poisoning. Almost frantically I gripped a large clump of grass as I got within a foot of the water.

Holding on to this for dear life with one hand, I felt around with the other for another firm hold, and after finding it I dug my cog toes into the soil as far as my strength would drive them. Then, releasing one hand, I gripped another handful of grass overhead, and then a second, following this operation until I gained the top of the bank, making sure with each fresh grip that I had a sound hold. By the time my scared companions had returned with help in the shape of a man with a rope I was lying exhausted on the roadway above the bank.