Soon one of the marvels of the new times
appeared in our house. My elder brother bought a "devil's wheel." For us
youngsters and for the grown-ups too, motor vehicles were like rare living
creatures. People would stop whatever they were doing and stare at them.
Even the respected village elders would stare in awe as a truck or other
vehicle went rolling by.
At first my brother wouldn't even let anyone near his bicycle, and couldn't seem to get enough of riding it. Later he began to take us on rides. He had the finest bicycle money could buy, one that even had a headlight.
To this day I can remember how we would go racing along in the pitch dark; the wind smelling of burning wood, the quivering beam of the headlight illuminating a small scrap of the road, and the air filled with shiny white specks of dust and swarms of midges drawn towards the light.
And I remember the high-pitched, melodious voice of the wandering folk singer.