I have some lingering memories of our local RAG MAN.
He'd appear randomly and with an off key 'flourish' of his battered bugle, stopping at likely points where children were playing in the street.
His cart was like himself, battered and lacking extreme TLC. His reluctant nag with feedbag attached, seemed to have the weight of all worldly sorrows upon its back and appeared to be resigned to tug the battered cart along (like Sysifus on the hill) forever.
However, kids, when hearing the offkey trumpet voluntary, would lose their minds and rush indoors beseeching ma or granny to part with some articles of old clothing they could exchange for the treasures of the RAG MAN's suitcase. It was a Pandora's Box of cheap Japaneses trinkets, glittery things and other kid fascinators.
I wonder how many valued pieces of apparel went missing mysteriously or even better, how many distraught mothers and or grannies went off in hot pursuit after discovering that the 'wean' had entered into an unauthorised transaction with him?
We all had a Rag Man and to us or anyone who'd give us toys for junk or rags was a hero.
Surely there must be some funny stories 'out there'.
Held prisoner in Scotland from 1953. Escaped to England in 1970 then to Homeland Canada in 1980.