the fog and me

[fishfish 17]

As a lad living on a council estate in the 1980’s things were hard , everybody’s dad was on the dole and we kids had to make our own entertainment. Many would cause mischief on the estate ,burning cars , trying to find a phone box to loot that hadn’t already been done ,but there was a small group of country lads and I was lucky enough to be among them , we all had an airgun or a bow and certainly we all had fishing kit of one description or another and it got used regular! It was only a few miles to the Hampshire Avon or its tributary the Nadder , but the Avon had a fishery stocked with trout , and trout’s good eating when there’s little meat to be had , our local chippy owner liked trout too and was always keen to do a trade with us lads 4 trout would get you large chips and 4 bangers , to be redeemed on a Saturday lunchtime .

So what about the fog I hear you ask? Well the ‘fog’ wasn’t a literal fog it was a person, a river bailiff to be exact, an old boy slight in stature not tall nor short and had a grey beard and smoked a pipe. There were many stories about him some said he was an ex marine who fought on the Normandy beaches , and that wouldn’t surprise me none. He got the nick name the fog as he was silent never broke a twig under foot or raised a coot, you could be sat on the river bank bull rushes all around and he would find you ,one minute no one there the next you felt his firm grip on yer shoulder. At school I would ask one of the lads if they’d caught anything the night before and often ide get a reply of ‘no the bloody fog was about!’

One foray deep into the woodford valley I remember well, it was a summers evening and Bert and me met at a pre arranged time up on the Devises road at the top of stink pot alley , it was late but not quite dark we were both equipped with our telescopic rods and a baccy tin full of worms in one pocket and a couple of crumpled up fags in the other . We made our way down past the old pig farm and left up along the quiet Durnford road ,it wasn’t far to the fishery And before long we could hear the water as it dropped over he hatch, behind us we heard the engine of a car so we jumped into the roadside ditch stingers and all! The car passed and we waited for a minute hearts pounding it was probably CID !! All was quiet again just the song of the grasshoppers, so we got out the ditch moaning about the stingers and how were we gonna find a dock in the dark.

We arrived on the river bank ,the air was cooler than on the road and afew mallards were disturbed and made for the other side noisily protesting at the disturbance, we made our way up the bank to the beats well above the bridge and set up our rods ,simple ledger with a gurt bunch of brandlings .We settled down feeling the line for the tell tale nocks of a trout .Burt was first there was a splash a whispered ‘ime in!’ came up the bank , I hurried to see his catch, not a trout but a fine grayling of over a pound ,grayling is good eating so in the bag it went!

Within an hour or so we had banked a good dozen fish all rainbow stockies ,and a couple of browns returned alive with the respect they deserved. I had just hooked another when Burt came up the bank ,and not alone, firmly grasping his upper arm was the fog, I got up and made to run but the fog called out ‘don’t be daft boy I know yer mother’ well he marched us to the farm on the corner where the rod room was sat us down and proceeded to call the plod. After what felt an eternity the bobby turned up it was seargent Jack Smith , ‘oh its you two!’ he said, ‘lets be having you then’ we were uncerimonially bundled into the back of the Ford Capri police car and so we went to the police station on the Wilton road in town . the custody suite smelt of coffee and fags ,in fact the air was blue with cigarette smoke, ‘what we got ere then’ he said Smithy proceeded to tell him the circumstance of our capture and handed him the rods and the bulging bag of trout, he looked in the bag and exclaimed ‘my we’ve been busy haven’t we?! , better put the in the evidence fridge!’ he said with a wink to sergeant Smith.

Our respective parents were called and briefed on the goings on of the evening, being 2 in the morning when my mother arrived having walked the mile to the police station she was less than amused, she was polite to the officers and assured them that this was a one off and how this would definitely not happen again. I was led off by my ear and lecture all the way home where I got a good leathering.

The next day Burt and I met at school ,I told him of my woes and how I was grounded till I was 21 and the leathering I got, he said he too had a damn good hiding off his dad , not for the poaching but for getting caught AND losing the fish!

Did this stop us? No we wee just more careful, occasionally we fell foul of the fog but more often than not we got our chippy lunch on a Saturday.

 

[Fidgety 8]

Nice write up ........... ahhh, childhood!

[fireman 11,422]

Ahh stink pot ally lol,can picture where you were mate as i grew up near there.Don't remember sgt smith but do remember a lanky ginger c**t called sgt lounes proper git and jonny the jap copper who once drove into a unlit skip on the way up to harnam roundabout and did'nt we laugh lol.Grand little story and brought back some memories.

[BBB 7]

oohh i... i remember my old man dishin out the LEATHERING'S. i havent heard that term in years..

[Malt 379]

Another great read Fishfish mate!

[mackem 29,792]

Nice pics mate

It's a sausage in batter

[J Darcy 5,871]

A1