We quickly befriended the boatmen who had boats right opposite our little cottage. My dad, who had been in banking all his life, (boos allowed) did their books for them. Many could hardly read or write and they appreciated the money he saved them, often treating him to a few beers in the pub next door to our little cottage. Dad took full advantage of this much to my Mum’s glowering looks when he staggered back in the door.
Us kids would earn a few bob helping the boatmen haul up the boats, a matter of greasing planks and dashing into the sea to hook the boat onto the lanyard. There was always the risk of being hit by a big wave and washed out to sea or of being squashed under the boat: Health and Safety was not heard of then – if you died, just bad luck.
Then I got to be taken out fishing in the boat. In fact I embraced all of it, beach and pier fishing as well. Fabulous days, setting out for the Goodwin Sands and filling up a boat with cod, skate, the odd bass, black bream – or sea bream if you prefer. The thing was, they were all big: massive skate that would hit the bottom and stay there like a big sack; cod of less than 5lb sneered at. In fact, I caught a near- record black bream once; we weighed it at just under 6lb but no one knew what the record was so I put it back in, too good a fish to just kill for the sake of a meal. Later I found out it was just under the record.
The baits used were called yellow tail lugs, big fat juicy ones that were full of iodine that stained the fingers yellow. This would take ages to get rid of and made you look like you were on 100 fags a day.
The Goodwin sands were one of the weirdest places I have ever been to; the current was so strong that 2 or 3lb of weight was necessary and even then you could not hold bottom on a good spring tide. Imagine trying to haul up a huge cod or skate in a current like that, with 3lb of weight banging about from the deeps. Boy, my arms used to feel like they were dropping off! But seeing one of those huge fish come to the surface is a sight to behold. My young suburban sensibilities were severely challenged by those fish after catching bleak on a maggot, 16 hooks and a 2lb line.
The Goodwins are a graveyard for ships. Many sink into the sand never to be seen again, but one for some reason stuck out of the sea. There was a bell on the mast that would clank all day, and with the mist and surging sea where currents met in a boiling seethe of foam, it was pretty weird. The fishing was superb but a good visit to the toilet was sometimes advisable before we set off.
The sand gets exposed in places on a big spring tide and then (maybe still) an annual tradition was a boatful of cricketers going out there to play cricket. They might get a couple of hours in then dash back in to the boat as the sea surged back over the sands. Only Englishmen would contemplate such a thing and long may it continue.
The boatmen were brilliant, landing the fish and they all knew the marks. One of them (not allowed to mention his name, bad luck to mention a dead boatman) was the youngest ever coxswain of the life boat at the time and I used to be amazed how he got us back safely in the fog, navigating the busiest shipping lanes in the world. Mind you, it was a close thing once; a huge ship loomed out of the mist – a bit close for comfort. He died painting the side of the ship in Dover harbour; he fell and got squashed on the harbour wall. It was an ignominious end for someone so brave, saving many lives in seas that would scare the pants off most of us. He thought nothing of going out in a force 9 in the middle of freezing winter seas. I believe he once went over to a stricken boat on a lanyard through such a sea: he actually looked forward to it. A great boatman lost but a fabulous companion and family friend.
Most of the boatmen were miners. They would do the night shift, come off at 8am, hit the beach at 9am and take a party of anglers out. Back at 4pm, wind the boat up, go home, have a meal, a couple of hours sleep then back down the mine for another night shift. If not, they would hit the pub in which I worked for a spell, giving them a few free beers and ensuring a free boat trip. Sometimes it would be to pull up lobsters pots – maybe the hardest job I have ever done – but again getting some free proper fishing trips in return.
And then there was always the beach and the pier. Good beach-marks became well known to locals, one good plaice bed at the right time of year, mussel bed in fact, probably trawled out of existence now… cod bonanzas on pier and beach between Oct and Feb often accompanied by big whiting. We called them channels and you could fill up a carrier bag or two with them. I used to take two fillets, sprinkle them with cheese and grill them for few minutes. Big pouting were often caught but considered a rubbish fish; often the cat got them, pretty tasteless and bony. I was amazed then to see a top chef extolling the virtues of fillet of pout on the TV a while back; he must have had one of the most spoiled cats in town if he was right, but I don’t think so personally, or maybe we were just spoiled for choice back then: these days a fish is a fish.
Herring and sprat shoals came in the winter and the boatmen used to give them away they had so many, free to locals, 10p a bag to day-trippers. Mum always sent me up the beach, a dozen fat herrings or sprats wrapped in newspaper: very tasty, fresh from the sea.
I went back there last year and the boats had all but disappeared… didn’t comply with some ruling or other: can’t have dirty boats on the beach can we? The local paper was extolling the fact of a 5lb cod being caught off the pier! They wouldn’t have bothered with anything less than 20lb once upon a time. Of course the mines had closed and a whole breed of exceptional people gone.
It’s a shame, times change. But where would I rather be if I was a kid again? Sitting on a crowded 247 bus heading for the Thames with a bunch of maggots and few roach or bleak on the menu? Or heading out to the Goodwins, the sea-breeze in my face, the mists, the clanking bells and arm killing fish from the deep? I was a very lucky lad.
Mark G
To make a comment on this article………
