"Swing low, sweet Harriet" a London Travel Page by CliffClaven

In the wonderful world of memory people never age. Harriet is now most likely a dumpy granny, tutting at her grandchildren's tastes in clothes and music, trotting off to bingo at weekends and forever moaning about the meagre pension the government gives her.

But to old Cliffie she will always be Harriet on the swing, golden hair flying behind her, laughing as she kicks her legs from below her flower-print dress. She must have been the first girl he fell in love with. He followed her around the playground, he carried her schoolbag home, they giggled over milk and cakes as their mothers talked. They were five-years-old and wide-eyed at the world they were discovering.

It wasn't all wonder and enchantment, though. Those were the postwar years when things were still rationed and gloomy bomb sites still littered the London landscape. Television was a tiny nine-inch set with only one channel in the evening. But Cliffie and Harriet didn't worry about that, as they skipped happily to school on summer days that will always be remembered as sunny and bright.

Wherever you are, swing low, sweet Harriet.

(Fragonard, "Girl on a swing", 1767)