In the ‘good old days’ of my youth (70s/80s) ponds were a quintessentially British feature, found gracing gardens and village greens alike. I was obsessed with the pond in my grandparents' small garden, so much so that whilst peering in to look at frogspawn I fell in fully clothed.
I jumped out and ran over to my nan crying, accidentally standing on the end of a rake on the way, which then smacked me on the forehead. All very Frank Spencer!
It didn’t deter me from my interest, or they from having a pond, and I continued to watch tadpoles and other pond life with fascination.