Those who enjoy a pleasant stroll in the park may have noticed there seems to be a distinct lack of children playing. HARRY COLE ponders why this might be .......

IT WAS a nice day recently, so I thought I would take a bus to Lewisham.

As I was thinking that, for the over-60s, the bus pass is one of the biggest advantages, I realised forgetting your bus pass is one of the biggest disadvantages.

No matter what your age, you hope the driver is at least going to think: He doesnt look over 60.

On the other hand, you dont want to explain youve forgotten it in case he accepts you are over 60 without as much as a second glance. (I believe this also applies even if you are over 80).

Anyway, I decided not to risk it but to take a leisurely walk to my destination.

As a short cut I decided to explore because, on a perfect mid-term childrens holiday day, I was the only one present.

Throughout the whole park there was just me, a few pigeons and the odd squirrel.

Where was the noise, the shouts and the screams which would have been erupting from such a park in my childhood?

There would be a sea of children queuing to take turns on the swings, roundabouts, slides, rocking horses and umbrellas.

The sand pit would have been full of dirty-faced toddlers and a dozen kids would be doing their best to mouth the jet of water from the drinking fountain which, more often than not, shot straight up your nose.

Either that, or you would drink from the single metal cup which was chained to the fountain.

Of course, if you drunk from the cup you would first take the hygienic precaution of wiping it off on your jersey after you had washed its sleeve with a generous bit of spit.

Although the park would be packed with kids, there would be few, if any, adults. Adults had no place in our parks.

Children of all ages made their own way there and their own way home again.

There would, however, always be one permanently present adult.

She would be a plump, large-hatted, brown-suited lady with a stern face, who, in every park I attended, would answer to the same name a name which even now, 60 years on, causes me to stop whatever I am doing in case I am incurring her wrath.

I refer to the ubiquitous Mrs Wood. Every park had one, they were an omnipresence. Always the same name, always the same outfit, always the same voice.

I never knew a child who was not in complete awe of her. She could be a tyrant, but if you cut your knee or bumped your head, she was a Florence Nightingale.

I wonder if thats why children no longer go to the park? Oh come back Mrs Wood, we need you we really do.