They led it round the garden and yard on a long rein. They fed it oil. It was black as my jet black boots, heavy as a gate. It ticked, shone. Climbing on it, I felt it shy, lunge beneath me, clatter to earth. They held me up, the men, laughing, shouldered me round, gentlemanly. The guns of Passchendaele bellowed. The men held … Continue reading ‘A Lady Cyclist Learns to Cycle (England, 1917)’ by Jonathan Davidson