Dad said: "Shall we try to get to Dunchurch before nightfall?"

"I will show you some stocks used for people who don't behave."

"Stocks? What are they?" I said.

"Well, my son, they are made of strong wood and fixed to the ground with spaces for arms, head and legs. People would throw things at the victims."

My interest was growing. We seemed to walk faster. As midday approached the heat increased. The face cloth was often taken from the haversack.

Reaching a bend in the lane, was a small Inn.

"We will stop here son. I will break the sixpence the lady gave you."

I sat on a log of wood fashioned into a seat. Soon Dad arrived with bread and cheese, pint of beer for him and a bottle of ginger beer for me.

"I sold the gentleman some laces and studs so we still have our silver sixpence intact."

It was now late afternoon, still three miles from Dunchurch. With vigour in my walk, I was keen to see the stocks. Then the milestone said 'one mile Dunchurch'. We quickened our pace. It seemed only a jiffy and there was the stocks. I examined the structure in detail.

"Could they put us in them, Dad, for sleeping out?"

My father was startled by this remark. Quickly he replied: "Only bad people find themselves restricted in those obstacles."

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