How my brother broke his leg. 
There were three of us. “Three in three years, that’s a handful.” Was often illiterated.  In my memory I don’t know who said that but it was a common sentiment and said often with a sort of awe. A stunned acknowledgment of how difficult that would have been. 
Not that we knew anything about it we were just kids being kids. 
Mike was the eldest slightly awkward, but a sauvant at maths. Julie was the girly girl, head in a magazine, helpful in the kitchen. I was the youngest, a tomboy. So it made sense that while Julie was cooking or busy with her nose stuck in a book, Mike and I were off exploring or climbing trees. Getting up to mischief. On the premise that It’s ok to be naughty; just don’t get caught. 
I remember this one day we’d made a see-saw out of a log and a plank of wood. Bored by its limitations we looked for something to extend its interest and make it bigger and by extension, better. So abandoning the log we hoiked the plank onto the hedge thinking that would make a fine fulcrum for the see-saw. And it did for a while. 
The hedge was at the bottom of the garden, it was a short hop up, (the land being on the side of a hill,) but a long drop into the field below. 
“ You’re the lightest so you have to sit on the field side. That way I can control it.” 
Sounded good to me. What did I know. He was my older brother, I just did what I was told. 
The first couple of goes were fun but safe and as I screamed with excitement and chortled “higher” his ego, suitably stroked, gave one almighty bounce. Oh no! (Weapons of mass destruction) the whole thing collapsed. (Seemed after all that his calculations were a bit off.) The plank and I ended up in the lower field and I’ll never forget his expression as he sailed over me before crashing somewhere close by.  
I don’t remember how he got out of the field with a broken ankle but I do remember the fierce warning of “Don’t tell”
And I never did bro’ not until today.