|
I'd like to introduce you all to Ziggy, who at the age of 75 has decided to write his fishing memoirs. Ziggy now lives in Chesterfield but spent his formative years in the Potteries and this is where the tales of his early angling awakenings are set. The first story is a sort of prequel to his angling history and will, I am sure, bring back memories of how we used to amuse ourselves in our childhood days, for our older readers in particular.
Egging is today of course against the law but was a boyhood pastime for many a callow youth in those austere post war days. The thing was we made our own amusement and am sure have little sympathy with the claims of modern youth that they have 'nothing to do'. I have found Ziggy's stories recollections fascinating and I'm sure you will too. Old Whiskers.
Ziggy's Wanderings
Try this as a starter for more. Memories It’s about time that I put type to paper and thought very long and hard at what I got up to in my younger days. Let us start of with my little legs going ten to the dozen when I was 11 years old and travelling miles on my own through my local countryside when I lived at a place called Tunstall in Stoke-on Trent. The whole purpose of all this travelling was to search out and find as many different species of bird’s eggs as it was possible to find in those long agoyears of the 1940’s. Whatever nest I came across I only borrowed one egg, and that was only if the nest contained more than that, so here we go then. I walked to Knipersley near Biddulph which is a fair walk for a young lad and just like fishing for double figure barbel the really good bragging eggs came when you least expect to find them, as on this occasion while walking up this lane, I brushed past the roadside bushes and disturbed what I describe as a Scribble Bunting with all that nice neat reddish writing on a white background. Of course now I think you call them a Yellow Hammer. Other accidental nest finds were Partridge, Sky Lark, Snipe, Robin, Wren, Bullfinch, Linnet, Gold Finch, Chaffinch, Dunock, etc. As you can imagine it was to an 11 year old, a self taught exciting adventure where you did know what to expect, and good exercise as well, which has stood me in good stead for walking the river Dove in my later years. Common nests like Blackbirds, Song Thrush, Swifts, Magpies, Crows, Rooks, Starlings, Hedge and Tree Sparrows, Water Hens, Swans ,Ducks, Geese, were relatively easy to spot but it was not always easy to extract the eggs from the nest. To test the eggs to see if the were haggled we used to place them in water and whether they floated or sank determined if they were blown by sticking a pin in either end and literally blowing the contents out, or boiling them to make sure they lasted and did not smell later. I loved climbing trees, but my Mum was always treating my scratched arms and neck and threatening to stop me going, especially when I told here one day that after managing to obtain a Magpies egg through all that spiky covering protection on the nest, and on the way back down this tree with the egg in my mouth somehow I managed to break it, it did not taste very nice I can assure you. Well you do require two arms and two legs to climb down a tree so where else was I supposed to put it. [ No lewd comments please ] My Mum was mad with me again and I was grounded for a few days, it’s like having a red card in football I suppose. I know what you are dying to ask, did I go back up that tree for another Maggie’s egg, you bet I did, and this time I took my time and got down safely with the egg and yours truly in one piece, apart from more scratches on my arms of course. What brought matters to head was when a gamekeeper caught me one day and threatened to inform the police, so feeling that that was a big let off and knowing what the consequences would be at home I decided to exchange my egg collection for a Beano Annual.What next? I thought. I already played football, cricket, whenever there was a chance, as well as running in the sports events but I wanted something else, I wonder what that could be? Then this idea of going off on my own “fishing”, well for one thing I couldn’t swim and my Mum was dead against it unless I had someone with me to sort me out should I have an accident. My dear old Granddad used to do his best but he was not always able to get up and take me after he promised the night before, but I did enjoy the outings we did manage to go to, like Market Drayton Canal, Mow Cop Canal, and Tunstall Park Lakes, via train or bus (no car in those days). But then this is as they say a new beginning to be told some time in the near future.I sincerely hope you like it as much as did trying to bring back my lost youth.
Ziggys Memory Box
Hi guys, this little ditty is just to remind me as a starter for ten where to obtain my next story line from. Memory Box Following on from my egging exploits in my early youth I just want to remind myself as to what I can still find in what's left of my memories so that I can keep referring back to them to continue this thread.
Coarse fishing, and how and when did I start to get interested in this sporting activity.Family outings with my Mum, Dad, Granddad and uncles to Mow Cop and Market Drayton Canal networks at perhaps 8 or 9 years of age. My own tuition to my local Tunstall and Hanley Park lakes, Westport Lakes, Knipersley Pool, in my very early youth.With my dear old Dad [bless him] to Stanley Pool, to which I continued to go on my own, and continued this theme by taking my girl friend [now my wife] and we were married while I was serving in the armed forces [ 2 years plus without so much a wetting a line in the water, I was in agony ]. We had our first child two years later and when he was 3 years of age I took him fishing to Stanley Pool on the Bus, what a nightmare that was. Another Son later and we moved house to Sandbach in Cheshire, and I truly believe that this is where my angling experience improved. By fishing the local venues and our annual bus trips to the Welsh rivers and visiting the mighty Trent for the first time. Also taking part in those annual Nantwich Canal events where Miss Nantwich would present the prizes. [ I only participated just to see her, gorgeous she was, standing there on the stage in here next to nothing dress with those long slender legs and trim but full figure, blue eyes and lovely face, inside this large keep net, wow, if only I had a camera in those days]. Sandbach was also where my patience was tested to the limit when I used to take both of my sons to Dam Flash and the Dingle where there would be arguements as to who was getting the preferential treatment of the best pegs and fish catch rate. Other venues to remind me were, Taxmere, which belonged to the United Services Club along with the Dingle, Middlewich Flash and the Shard Ruck as we used to call it. Another pool to which I can't remember but I spent many happy hours there, not only pleasure fishing but also in matches. Then of course there was the River Dane, only a short stretch just below a weir if I remember correctly, but in those days it held some good Grayling and Chub [ No Barbel that I recall ]. Then in 1972 we moved to Chesterfield and another learning curve in my angling education, my local dam had an excellent head of Crucian Carp, plus the usual Roach, Tench, Perch, the odd Bream and Carp, but the main match winning weights were Crucians.Match trips to the Witham, Trent, Nene North Bank,Welland, Sow, Sibsey Trader, Ouse, and numerous pools. Brilliant, just what the doctor ordered. Then I was asked to go to Nigeria, well believe it or not despite being out there for 18 months I still have a great fishing story from here as well. The reason for my coming back home from Nigeria was to ship me down to Brentwood in Essex to work in and around the big City, and here I still managed to catch a few fish even though through work related pressures I did not go as often as I would have liked. Now when I retired in 1995 within four weeks we had sold the house and moved back to my fishing paradise here in jolly old Chesterfield. I dusted my tackle down, bought my first pole, new rods, nets, reels, lines, seat box, trolley, barbel rod and fished all the old places again, tasted the pleasure of hooking and landing my very first Barbel from the river Teme, but most importantly I discovered the King of them all the lovely and serene river Dove, and the Dove Valley Angling Association. I think that just about gives me some food for thought on my next series of articles or scripts as you might call them, so happy days you guys and await the next lot of amusement from the two fingered touch typist in Crooked Spire Land.
|
Let The Good Times Roll [ Part 1 ]
To a young lad at six years of age the prospect of going on an adventure with your Mum & Dad the following morning meant that any thought of sleep the night before was pointless. The excitement of going fishing even at this early age stays with you forever and this I suppose is what makes this sport of ours worth getting out of bed for.
Up at the crack of dawn, my Mum prepared the sandwiches and the Thermos flasks while my Dad and I got the fishing gear sorted out along with those lovely looking juicy worms and a loaf of bread. We set off to catch the bus which would take us to Scholar Green and then by shank's pony to the famous wide swim on Mow Cop canal, and once we arrived the excitement and anticipation was overwhelming. Please, please Dad set my tackle up first and cast it as near as you can to those inviting lily pads and I will keep both eyes on my Avon style float in anticipation of any movement. My Mum set the table cloth on the grass and placed the flasks and food goodies on it and then set off to the nearest farm to get some milk in a jug she had bought with her, and it didn't seem long before she was back with us. I was still staring at my float for what seemed many hours and could not understand why no self respecting fish hadn't yet taken my worm bait. After all, this area was at that time noted as a Tench holding area with all those lily pads about. Then suddenly my float started to move to the right and kept going slowly towards the lily pads, by then my 11ft Greenheart rod was firmly grasped in my little hand and with one hand on my wooden centre pin reel, I shouted "Dad, Dad, I have got something on the end and it's heading towards danger". Before my Dad could get there my float suddenly disappeared, I panicked and instead of striking I reeled in, don't ask me why but I did, and I have never forgotten it to this day. Well I could have disappeared into a hole, such was the disappointment when the fish came off the hook, and it was as my Dad said perhaps a blessing in disguise for the next time, and believe me there were plenty more of those in the years that followed. Do you know I can't remember if my Dad caught anything, but I suppose he must have done as he was after all my Dad. We enjoyed my Mum's food and drink, the good old fresh air which was about just prior to the 2nd world war in the summer of 1939, and this had definitely wet my appetite for fishing.
Part 2 to follow later.
Granddad Wake Up
You never know what the future holds in store, so I say get these stories on paper as soon as you can.
Stories Continued [Part 2 ]
Do you know I cannot remember when or where or how old I was when I caught my very first proper coarse fish. I know that I had caught plenty of Minnows or Redpenks as we used to call them and Bullheads, and also those tiny looking crocodile creatures called newts or something like that. Using one of my Dads garden canes as a rod and tying black cotton at the top and a with a match stick as a float and a small worm on the business end.
Really you could dispense with the match stick because you could see whatever creature you were after taking the bait and moving off with it before you lifted it out of the water. In those very hot summers of the war years and living on the Stanfield Council Estate just outside Tunstall, we kids amused ourselves by racing these newts on the pavement outside our respective homes. We were always careful not to overtire or get the newts too dry with the sun, so plenty of water was on hand. Betting or bragging on the outcome was part of the fun, no money was involved just exchange of goods that were part of the shut up or put scenario, oh to be back a joy to behold, never mind eh.
It was 6-00 am on this warm summer morning and I was saying, Granddad wake up, wake up, you promised to take me fishing and we will miss the bus if you are not up soon. Well we did make the Mow Cop bus, got off at Scholar Green and found the Canal and set up by one of the bridges. To this day I can still see my dear old Granddad sitting there on my right hand side, legs crossed and with his favourite clay pipe stuck in his mouth puffing away to his heart's content while keeping a wary eye on his porcupine quill float just in case something happened. The other eye of course was on me as I was nearer the bridge and fishing the far bank near some reeds and on this particular day receiving plenty of attention from the roach population present at that time. Bread flake or paste on the hook and heavily wetted or mashed up bread for feed in small doses was the order of the day. Perfect, especially when we called in this pub for a drink, me a mineral water and my Granddad who loved his pint of bitter and noggin of Cheddar cheese said bah gum that's bloody marvellous. I think we both fell asleep on the bus on the way home, my Granddad through the heat and exhaustion and maybe the pint of ale, and me so that I could dream about my exploits that had taken place on that magical day.
Once again I hope that I am not boring you and you never know it might just jog a few memories of your own.
Typing this part took me back to those nostalgic years in my sharp active prime of swinging in those numerous quantities of roach and gudgeon. Enjoy!
Private Enterprise On My Local Park Lakes
Once again the promise the night before, but in the morning my Granddad was not feeling to good, so although disappointing to a young lad keen to continue his angling education, I accepted the inevitable. Well not quite, I sneaked my wooden line winder from my Dad's tackle box which had enough line on and with float and hook already attached and carefully placed it in my trouser pocket, and cut two rounds of bread from the large loaf we kept in the Pantry. As I went down the steps and through the gate I heard my Mother's voice shouting "I hope you are not going fishing on your own" "No Mum" I replied through grated teeth, "I am just going down to the park to feed the ducks". So down the road on the estate, turn left onto the main Tunstall Park Road, over the railway bridge, through the gap in the steel fencing to the Park, down the embankment and across the playing field, through the playground, turning right down to the two lakes.
The first one you come across is the smaller of the two lakes, more like a concrete basin really with no vegetation whatsoever, but full of what I called bits, a bite a chuck. The larger lake was a different story, although one end and the long side were clear and at the top end there was a boathouse, the right hand side looking towards the boathouse end had a lot of cover for the fish in the form of Rhododendron Bushes there was a gap about halfway up with a set of semi-circular concrete steps where formed, this is where I was heading for so that I could dodge just inside the bushes and catch a few of those ravenous Roach and Gudgeon that were so dense you could almost scoop them up if you came across a shoal of them. Bread paste on the hook and bread feed made by me chewing it into small particles and feeding it a bit at a time, what a day that was, fish after fish from under my feet with a makeshift stick as my rod and my faithful home made short quill float and one and only hook. I never thought about sharpness of hooks in those days because 'If it isn't broke why bother mending it' was my motto. I have since changed my mind of course because sharp hooks do matter.
During the war years and just after these lakes were like a magnet to me and I soon got into the swing of filling my boots each time that I went, in as much that the senior guys down there that went Pike fishing down at Westport Lake at Longport wanted a supply of live bait so yours truly duly obliged and sold them at the princely some of 2 pence each which paid for all my angling needs throughout this period. There were no restrictions in those days, not to a young lad's knowledge anyway and by this time I had discovered Westport Lake for myself. First of all a change of an excellent hook bait was discovered in the form of bloodworm which I gathered from the vegetation roots at the side of Little Westport Lake, by pulling up the roots giving them a gentle squeeze and bingo! as many of those lovely juicy glistening red dynamite natural baits you could ever wish for. Using this bait one day at the bottom end of
Tunstall Park lake at the side of the bushes, resulted in my catching my PB best perch of 2lb 2oz on light gear. Wow, I was made up. This was however soon to be beaten by one at 3lb 1 oz while spinning for jack pike at Little Westport Lake along with two small pike one evening after work. Well I did start work a14 years of age so I needed the bike exercise and the excitement of a sporting activity and into larger fish. Speaking of larger fish my very first pike came from Westport main lake using live bait and three of those large bobbing like floats which incidentally I still have somewhere tucked away in the garage.
The next story is about Knipersley and Stanley Pools and why my beloved wife gave up coming with me on fishing trips.
|
