One bitterly cold Friday evening around 1964, I was out playing with my mate. But we got so cold we couldn't feel our fingers or toes. I went home, my mom had come from work and she had bought me a book called the Adventures of Robin Hood. It contained all the traditional stories about him and had painted illustrations in it. That Friday night I lay on the settee in front of the coal fire and read that book. I loved that book I kept it for years until it fell apart. I never replaced it but I never forgot it. Now although I love stuff by Ken Follet, Conn Iggulden and Bernard Cornwell, I was looking at the Kindle store last night and saw The Adventures of Robin Hood, I immediately bought it for a couple of quid.
Robin Hood for me is the ultimate super hero, and is so ingrained in our traditions and culture even though there's no evidence he actually existed.
I had a Robin Hood jig saw around the same time with Robin, Marrion and the Merry Men gathered together in the greenwood.
There have been many film's and tv series about him, most of them rubbish like Kevin Costner and Keith Allen's efforts.
The best for me although it's now dated and corny is still Errol Flynn, every kid's vision of what a super hero is.
The best series was Robin of Sherwood which also toyed with the legends of the spirits and folk tales of the old English woods, and also the only one that suggested that the stories were based on more than one person.
I defy anyone to walk through an English wood in Spring or sit outside a country pub with a glass of English Cider, and not think of the tales of long ago.
Anyway, there you have it. Robin Hood.
