I was walking on a remote road in the mountains once. Not too remote, since there was a road, but it was in a bad shape, so remote enough.
Housed along the road, in temporary ramshackle shacks, were housed migrant workers who were rebuilding the road. In a clearing nearby, their children played.
Who had taught them the games they were playing?
Children's games are not written down in any book, or at least not in books children read. Nobody tells children of the games that they should play, except other children, but childhood is an institution of great churn, with individuals joining and leaving in abrupt ways.
In this temporary remote conglomeration the lack of apparent (formal or informal) mechanisms of knowledge preservation is even more stark since the migration families had no prior connections. Some of them were from Bihar, some from Nepal. I mention specifics to emphasize that there were no strong geographical, or cultural, threads that connected these children.
Yet this institutional knowledge remained, and they knew what games to play.