In the old days, as children, we'd play along the side of the road, to and fro, home to school. Squeezing through the farmers' hedges, for the blackberries shielded from the dusty road, foraging for the small, sweeter turnips, to crunch raw. Although, granny giggled, they did make us backfire... not that we cared. If a hearse would come, the little boys would take off their hats. We'd all stand silent, to attention, facing the road, and bow our heads as the hearse passed. A moment of silence, respect for the dead.