One day in late Spring last year I decided to visit my local lake in South Ockendon. I had known Eddie for some years as we were members of the same club, the Moor Hall & Belhus Angling Society, and the lake, Hill Farm, was not too far from my home. The lake, of around five acres, had been purchased by the club around 1980 and it had been stocked and developed as an all round fishery to provide sport for the ‘float basher’ as well as the carp angling fraternity, so it quite suited my rather casual approach to fishing in general.
Although I wasn’t in any particular hurry, I woke before sunrise and crept downstairs being as quiet as I could in order not to wake my wife.
My sandwiches were made up ready in the fridge and as it was only a day session all I needed to do was make a flask of coffee to go with them. So I packed my gear into the car, grabbed the maggots from the fridge that I kept in my garage, and headed off looking forward to a good days fishing.
As I drove towards the lake the sun was coming up and it looked like it was going to be a very nice Spring day indeed. Gradually the sun shone through and the bright blue sky was dotted with lovely white fluffy clouds, cumulus, I think they’re called. Eddie had put me onto a swim that he had caught some decent perch from and it was these that I had in mind. He told me had caught them up to three pounds and as my p.b. was just under two pounds I was hopeful of a new p.b. at least.
Driving through the gate entrance and onto the car park area I saw that someone was already there, as a car was parked up in the first space next to the toilet block. I recognised the car as belonging to Mick, another long standing member of the club.
Before fishing I like to take a walk around, or if someone else is there I will go and see how they’re getting on.
I made my way to where Mick was fishing and saw that he was in his favourite swim close to a small patch of lilies. The bank behind him at this point is rather high and he was positioned at the foot of it with the footpath some ten or twelve feet above. As I quietly approached him I savoured the fresh, sweet smelling air and the stillness of the early morning and listened as two blackbirds competed with each other as to which of them could sing the loudest or the longest. I do so love the spring. It is such a wonderful time of year as we emerge from the grey and cold of winter to warm sunshine and brighter, warmer days.
‘Tis Sweet to meet the morning breeze,
Or list the giggling of the brook,
Or, stretched beneath the shade of trees,
Peruse and pause on Natures’s book.
John Clare – Poet.
Mick was sitting there float fishing, as he often did, and was a picture of concentration, so I thought it best not to disturb him. Instead I sat at the top of the bank, slightly concealed by some shrubbery, and watched him fish. I don’t think that he even knew I was there at all, as my approach had been so quiet.
I was tempted to make my presence known, but did not wish to startle him in any way. As I sat there my thoughts drifted back to a tale that Eddie told me happened some years ago involving him and Mick when they were both a lot younger and in good health. He told me that one day he and Mick were the only anglers on the lake. Eddie was fishing the car park swim and Mick was on The Island, a swim that is on the other side of the lake and virtually opposite the car park swim. It was late in the day and darkness began to fall and Eddie, who was float fishing, turned on his bicycle lamp and shone it on his float. Meanwhile, on The Island, which was actually a gravel hump, Mick had decided to pack up and he could be seen and heard moving about.
Looking across towards The Island Swim (On the left of the reeds)
At the point in time that Mick was leaving The Island, Eddie left his torch shining on his float so as to make it appear that he was still fishing, and hid in the bushes adjacent to the footpath along which Mick would have to walk.
As he heard Mick coming towards him, in the dark, and when he was only a few yards away, Eddie leapt from the bushes, shouting and screaming like a demented lunatic, while at the same time holding onto and shaking the bushes for all he was worth.
Mick froze with fear, his heart pounding furiously, and he stood rooted to the spot, as if turned to stone, for several minutes before he could either move or speak. When he did “You bastard Benham “ was all he could utter.
Chuckling quietly to myself at the thought, I sat silently watching him fish. His float slid away a few times and he caught a roach or two, but at no time did he even glance in my direction.
I was beginning to think it was about time I went back to the car to collect my gear and start fishing myself, when I heard hurried footsteps coming up the path towards me. I looked over my shoulder and could see that it was Ron, one of the club bailiffs, and he looked rather concerned I thought.
As he reached where I was sitting he brushed past me as if I wasn’t even there, not even an “Hello, Brian, how are you? “, which I thought was rather rude of him.
“Mick, Mick!”, he called out breathlessly, “It’s Brian, he’s sitting in his car and it looks like he’s had a heart attack. Mick, I think he’s………….”
