On a hot August day in 1966, the tall skinny figure of a sixteen-year-old boy emerged from a Cotswold stone house. Pushing back the lick of dark brown hair from his forehead, he shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun and looked across to the line of trees, which followed the bend in the lane. As he had already suspected, there was not a breath of wind in the air and he knew that the four-mile bike ride from his ho...