My dad ran a building firm, so my play time was spent on building sites, as my dad would buy the land, build the first house to move us into and then go on to build the rest of the houses around us to form a small cul-de-sac.
My older brother and I were intrepid adventurers; we climbed long, long ladders to scale the scaffolding, dug out great big holes in piles of sand, jumped off towering piles of bricks and built our own houses out of whatever we could find.
When I was about 5 (1970!), I was out to play wearing a fetching pair of navy velour short shorts with a matching navy velour long-sleeved turtle neck top, accessorised with wellingtons! I was amusing myself exploring a new site. Suddenly I found myself up to the knees in some very smelly mud! The nasty, cold, stinky, sticky slime stung my bare legs as it slid down into my wellingtons. I couldn't get myself out of the slippery slime! Eventually my brother found me standing there crying, and laughed and laughed as he explained that it wasn't mud, IT WAS POO!! Yes, I'd literally stumbled across a backyard privy!!