TALES OF A YOUNG ANGLER – SOUTHGATE BOATING LAKE 1966

 

My father was a keen angler and my older brother followed suit and in time so did I.

There was a difference between my brother and me however namely that he was a good fisherman like my dad, and I was useless.

Amongst other things I couldn’t bait my hook properly, I was loud and noisy and terribly clumsy.

If I managed to avoid falling in the river, lake or stream. I would drop something in the water instead.

The inherent problem with fishing for me was (A) the fishing rod was twice as long as me and (B) the line had a hook on the end.

I would get snagged in weeds or bushes or trees, passers-by, my dad, my brother, a boat, in fact you name it I would get hooked on it.

But if all of that wasn’t enough to qualify me as a useless angler then the fact that I had never caught a fish would have sealed it.

For three years I fished with my dad or my brother or with mates and nothing.

And the longer it went on the smaller my angling peer group became.

I was so desperate to catch a fish, but the harder I tried the worse I got.

I even dreamed of catching fish and in those dreams, I caught them by the dozen on unbaited hooks and I reeled them in effortlessly,

But when I woke again next morning, I was the same crap angler I was the night before who nobody wanted to fish with.

So, it was for this reason that I found myself fishing alone at the age of nine on Southgate Boating Lake.

I had been there all day and hadn’t even got a bite so just before I decided to call it a day I cast my line in again, this time from the boat jetty.

My float went plop about forty feet from the jetty, and I nodded to myself with satisfaction.

Within a minute or two I became aware of something digging into my foot.

I waggled my wellied foot in an effort to dislodge the source of the discomfort.

But when I put my foot down, I realised I had just succeeded in moving the offending article more securely under my foot.

There was only one solution to the problem and that was to remove my boot and shake out the debris.

I lay my rod on the jetty and sat down next to it and removed my welly.

As I shook it a small pebble bounced off the jetty and splashed in the water which is when I realised my float was bobbing franticly in the still water.

I had a bite, and it was a bloody good one.

I didn’t have time to replace my welly so I quickly stood up and snatched up my rod and line and struck.

I felt instinctively I had it hooked and began reeling it in my maiden catch.

And there I stood on the Southgate Lake boat jetty reeling in my catch wearing only one welly.

Moments later I landed the thrashing writhing monster of the deep, a three-inch long Gudgeon the most beautiful fish I had ever seen.

And in timely fashion just as the fish appeared a small group of angling friends were passing to verify the breaking of my angling duck and I would no longer have to fish alone.

I was so grateful for that tiny fish and incidentally that was the only Gudgeon I ever caught.

THE BAR STEWARD

In the early eighties I worked behind the bar at a pub in Woking called the Surrey.

However, it was not named after the county in which it stood but rather the horse drawn carriage as featured in the musical “Oklahoma” “the Surrey with the fringe on top”.

The pub was built in the mid-sixties as a pre-fabricated temporary structure to service the fast expanding local area and was meant to be replaced by a permanent brick built pub at a later date.

The prefab pub still stands in the same spot and is still in use as a pub.

The pub was a typical example of the period and unlike today you had a wide range of bitters on offer and a small selection of lagers now of course it’s the other way round.

The youth of today take no time to develop the taste for good ales instead choosing something that’s merely cold and wet. 

Anyway, as I said I worked behind the bar, I had been a regular there for a few years Before Phil asked me if I wanted a job and I even played on the darts team for two seasons was mentioned in the Woking News and Mail for best start and highest finish in a 7 – 1 thrashing of the Royal Oak.

It was an alright pub nothing special but alright and with the usual mix of heroes and villains, unremarkable's and unforgetable's, the good the bad and the ugly.

In the unforgettable category came two people of particular distinction firstly was Old Bob who was eighty three when I knew him h was an ex Coldstream Guard and a veteran of the Great War and a real character and secondly Ray Robinson another ex-army man though of younger vintage, Ray was an ex Grenadier turned social worker, incidentally the only social worker I didn’t want to slap, who every Christmas gave up his time to dress up as Santa and be flown by helicopter to various children’s homes, when there was still such a thing, delivering presents.

He would always raise at least one glass to the regiment, and he called his long-suffering wife his Duchess.

He was truly a good man who was sadly taken to young at the hands of cancer, a great loss.

Ray was the only person able to get anything resembling a proper smile out of Phil the landlord.

Phil and his wife Pat were an odd couple they were like a pair of miscast actors in a soap opera and totally unsuited for the profession they found themselves in.

What prompted them to pursue a career in the pub trade we will never ever know but it was a bad move.

They had no concept of hospitality and an inability to foster even an ounce of goodwill from their customers and there was more than a hint of being inconvenienced when they had to stop what they were doing something to serve someone.

They were indeed an unwelcoming pair but although Phil was not accustomed to smiling his wife Pat wore an expression on her face that could stop traffic but thankfully, she kept away much of the time.   

On one Sunday I was working the lunchtime shift when Pat appeared from the back room, it was very rare to see her at all on a Sunday but putting in an appearance at lunch time was totally unheard of, but there she was.

A man put two glasses on the counter, one pint and a spirit, just as Pat stepped through the door and he called to her.

“Pint of lager and a vodka and lime”

Pat hadn’t seen the man put the glasses on the counter but picked up the pint glass that stood in front of him and asked.

“Is this the lager?”

“It’d look bloody stupid with a vodka and lime in it” he retorted

Pat put the glass down and turned round and upstairs.

It was an interesting job at times, and it had its perks.

For instance, I always hate New Year’s Eve mainly because it’s such a pointless celebration that now seems to be another excuse to let off fireworks.

Also, I hate it because if you stay at home there’s nothing on TV if you go out the pubs, clubs and restaurants are packed and all the organized parties end at 12.15, house parties never end but then house parties are pants unless your sixteen.

The best ever New Year’s Eve I ever spent was behind the bar at the Surrey what a great night, plenty of room behind the bar, free entertainment, wages and tips by the bucket load.

On the same Sunday that Pat had put in her brief appearance I was also working the evening shift which, due to heavy snowfall, was the quietest shift I ever worked we only had three customers in all night in fact Phil even went the other side of the bar to make up a foursome on the dart board.

At the end of the evening, we sent off our three intrepid customers and locked up and after clearing away, which didn’t take long, I headed off myself.

My car was buried at the wrong end of the car park, so I decided to leave the car and walk.

I could half get the car out if I’d wanted but I like the snow and we don’t get much of it, so I took the chance to walk home in it.

When I got to within a hundred yards of home, I needed to cross the road just after a junction.

I looked up the road and there was a car heading in my direction, but it was fifty yards away and as I was crossing after the junction and the car was already indicating left, I deemed it safe to cross.

When I was halfway over, I noticed that although the car was indicating left and the front wheels were turning to the left the car was not in fact it was coming straight for me.

I decided I would move quicker but suddenly I was like a cartoon   character with my legs going like pistons and yet I was still in the same spot.

It was a surreal slow-motion moment with the car getting slowly closer and I could see the panic in the drivers face and I was still not moving.

Then simultaneously the car suddenly veered violently to the left and it slewed round the corner and my feet at last gained some traction and I found myself on the pavement where I fell on my backside.

A few months after my near-death experience I gave up my job at the Surrey in order to run the Social club bar where I had my day job but I still frequented my local on my free evenings.

LUSTFUL INTENT

 

It was a warm summer’s night in the 1974 and we were alone in a tent together when all at once the flaps flew open.

The tent flaps that is and not hers.

“What’s going on in here?” the voice said through the opening

I was lying under my sleeping bag and Marilyn was kneeling fully clothed, well almost, on an adjacent one.

The voice belonged to her father Ronald

“I might have known Cooper would be in his pit” he continued pompously

 

Her father Ronald was an Assistant Commissioner and we didn’t get on even before I started feeling up his daughter.

We were staying at the Lochearnhead Scout Station in Perth and Kinross.

It was once a working station before it fell foul of Dr Beeching and his cuts.

It was bought from British Railways soon after it closed, by the Hertfordshire Scouting association and was used as an activity centre for all levels of scouting in the county.

Which explains why I as a Venture Scout and Marilyn as a Cub Instructor were there.

At least it explains why we were in Lochearnhead, though not why we were alone together in a tent on a warm summer evening.

We had been seeing each other for about 3 months and we had reached the point where a kiss and a grope in the woods and a bit of fingering in the unisex toilets wasn’t enough for her and she wanted to go to the next level.

The reason we found ourselves in my tent was that Janice, the girl Marilyn shared with was entertaining a waiter from the local hotel in hers.

 

We had been planning the deed for about 3 days prior to that night as it was to be the first time for both of us.

But in the end as first times go it was pretty rubbish, in fact I’m not even sure it qualified as a first time.

As I managed to get myself into a condom but I wasn’t convinced I got into her before the incident came to a premature end.

Which is why she was almost fully dressed by the time Ronald arrived.

“Get back to your own tent young lady” he said

“You’re so embarrassing dad, Nothing happened” she responded

“I’ll deal with you later” Ronald said

“For God’s sake Dad, We didn’t do anything” Marilyn said

Which was true enough though it wasn’t for the want of trying

As they both walked off into the distance still arguing I thought she looked really horny in her uniform especially as she had her “Love is…” knickers stuffed in her uniform pocket.

 

Fortunately as we were both virgins and unlike the young of today we were incredibly naïve about sex, we were so much less aware back then.

Luckily Marilyn had no high expectations for the night, having no yardstick to measure it by.

So I got a second bite of the cherry so to speak which I took a couple of days later in the heathered hills of Glen Ogle and afterwards were left in no doubt whatsoever that we had had our first time.

 

The only downside was I got a tick bite on my arse for my trouble and guess who the duty first aider was.