A Pershore Mystery which has puzzled people for many years - maybe for centuries - concerns the young people of the town and the strange hidden forces which motivates them to set off for Bredon Hill year by year on Good Friday.

No-one to this day appears to know just why this should be.

I was born in a cottage in the High Street, the fourth of Mr and Mrs William Smith's "five little boys", and I can remember to this day how my feet started to itch as soon as I was old enough to join my school friends on this much talked about "expedition of a lifetime".

During the run-up to Easter the self-same question was on the lips of the vast majority of young people all over the town: "Going up Bredon on Friday?"

Of course, older brothers were not prepared to have their freedom of movement restricted by having to play nursemaid to younger members of the brood so my knapsack had to be prepared separately by my mother with tin plate, enamel cup and all the other essentials such as eggs, bacon and sausage "for the use of".

One member of each party was deputed to provide the camper's friend - a frying pan.

The smell of wood fire in the open air, allied to the appetising smell of frying, are joys to be experienced by hungry youngsters and Bredon Hill has played host to countless numbers of young pilgrims over the years.

Bredon Hill is perfection in every way to the young in heart who clamber up its grassy slopes, explore its leafy glades and wooded areas or try to trace its hidden hillside rivulets which abound.

But it is equal joy just to sit relaxed at the top close to the tower, strangely named Parson's Folly, or near the elephant rock which to young eyes is quite lifelike.

While I was still wet behind the ears I used to believe the strange story recounted by my older brothers and their friends that whenever the elephant rock heard the bells of Pershore Abbey striking midnight it would roll down to the River Avon to quench its thirst.

It took me a little time to wake up to the fact that a large stone mass did not possess the powers of hearing, although I recall puzzling in my young mind how the elephant rock managed to roll back up the hill again.

What a wonderful experience it is to gaze out upon the panoramic setting of A E Housman's "coloured counties" stretching way out into the distance as far as the eye can see and on a clear day to pick out the Black Mountains of Wales, the Bristol Channel, the loft spires of Gloucester Cathedral, the Severn Bridge and Shropshire's much vaunted landmark, the Wrekin.

Further joy is provided by the church bells of villages nestling in the shadow of Bredon Hill while the bells of Pershore Abbey can clearly be heard when all around is still and the wind is in the right direction. What unforgettable memories Bredon Hill provides.

I discussed this unsolved Pershore Mystery over drinks with Brian Johnstone when he brought the BBC radio programme Down Your Way to Pershore in 1984.

He responded by referring to Mrs C F Alexander's favourite children's hymn "There is a green hill far away" and suggested that perhaps the young people of Pershore over the years had looked to Bredon Hill as their own "green hill far away".

Now there's an interesting and imaginative theory. Sadly, we can merely speculate.