I would never have described myself as a good fisherman, never really caught much to write home about; however I have had some very enjoyable experiences. For me it’s always been paramount to spend my time wetting a line in nice surroundings, watching wildlife, enjoying the smells of the countryside.
I was born in South-east London. Food rationing was still in force and when I was eighteen months old my parents got their dream-home: a brand new council house in Essex, positively rural compared to SE8. According to my dear parents it was like winning the lottery! Dad continued to work in London until he got something more local and it was here that he worked until he retired.
My introduction to fishing was, of course, on a gravel pit. I remember dad’s bike with me and the rods on the crossbar, rucksack on his back, a flask of tea, a box of sarnies and a simple loaf for bait. I recall catching my first crucian carp, then rudd and tench and perch and pike as time went on: it was a wonderful experience.
Until the age of around 14 or 15 stillwater fishing had been my only choice so my birthday presents of a B James Mk1V and a Mitchell 300 were the best gifts imaginable! I thought all my Christmases had come at once and I was able to continue with my still water expeditions with a little more style!
During the closed season of 1965 we visited my uncle, aunt and older cousin back in The Smoke. They were fishing lovers but had to use the train to fish the Medway and Kentish Stour. I heard my uncle say he was about to get a car and join a club run by a tackle shop owner based in South East London. The club was called ACT, meaning Angling Club Thomas, set up by a larger than life fisherman called Terry Thomas. He had secured the fishing rights to stretches of the Medway, Beult, Kentish Stour and, later, a couple of small lakes. So, fees paid, we were set to undertake a new adventure. During the early trips we had to use the Blackwall Tunnel but the 1964 opening of the Dartford Tunnel made things far easier.
Fishing rivers was a rude awaking: the water moved and we only had 10ft rods – hardly suitable for float-fishing and trotting the various stretches of the Beult at our disposal. These were named after Mr. Thomas’s nearest and dearest: The Kitty, Jean and Elsie and each had its own special character.The Kitty was a wide, deep and very slow stretch with a bream, roach, dace, perch and pike aplenty, but also a lot of roach-bream hybrids which fought like hell.
After a few visits it became clear that rods of at least 14ft would be the order of the day so my uncle’s 14ft 6in cane beast was passed down to me when he acquired a lovely14ft 6in Hardy Golden Jubilee: a beautiful looking thing it was too! When my cousin bought a Milbro Enterprise it meant we were all able to fish at 12ft depths and boy, did we catch! Huge bags of battling hybrids and 20-40lbs bags of beautiful roach came our way, filling our keep-nets and swelling our summertime spirits.
A Bedford Dormobile ‘Romany’
The following season my father and uncle purchased camper vans: a Bedford Romany and a Commer Highwayman respectively. Night fishing at the site was prohibited but Dad had a word with Terry Thomas and gained permission to park-up in the fishery’s car parks … pure heaven! They were actually small clearings in the woods just a short walk from the river: absolutely perfect!
A Commer Highwayman
Our sessions here spanned from June until the end of October and it was wonderful to be in such close proximity to the farms; we could purchase the freshest eggs and milk and were even invited in for breakfast every now and then: it was truly wonderful. Around that time oast-house conversions were becoming popular and we watched with envy as wealthy folk created their dream homes within the glorious Garden of England.
Worth a fortune nowadays…
So now we could fish from dawn until dark if we wished. Sometimes my cousin and I would leave the grown-ups to lay-in and sneak out on our own, returning after a couple of hours for a full English fry-up.
My mother and her sister would walk the mile or so into Yalding village and stock-up on supplies; it was something of a ritual and a good excuse for them to catch up with each other’s family news. Come the evening we would wash and brush-up then walk to the local pub for a pie and a pint or six, well…the men did; I think the ladies stuck with the sherry. I was just sixteen so half a bitter-shandy was my tipple. This and a game of bar billiards or skittles made for the most memorable evenings and the torch-lit walk back through the woods was always great fun! On our return we would sit outside our camper-vans drinking tea and watching shooting stars until the early hours. Magic.
The club had three stretches of the Beult: the broad and sullen Kitty, and the Elsie and the Jean which were very different. These featured weirs and steep banks with rapid runs and small, promising eddies where our 10-footers could be put to good use trotting down free- lined crust or, sometimes, a minnow – for the chub. This was great sport with fish close to 4lb coming to the net, but we’d get the odd perch or jack pike too – lovely stuff.
I will never forget my cousin trotting down and out of sight into a pool where I acted as his eyes. I watched his float slide away and shouted to him to strike. The pool heaved and my cousin’s reel screamed as a pike fought for its freedom…the battle seemed to last forever, the 5lb line and size 12 hook always in danger of failing, but no! After an age a pike of 18lbs (eighteen pounds!!) was cautiously drawn to the bank and lifted onto the grass – what an achievement!
The Elsie was named after Mr.Thomas’ s wife and was considered a little special. They stocked it with trout and provided you only used fly or lobworm you could fish during the close season for a pre-booked fee of 7/6 – not something we took advantage of as we were happy enough to have a break and to recharge our batteries; and anyway, the Jean was the apple of our eyes because it was rarely fished, very overgrown and somewhat mysterious. There were voles and kingfishers in abundance…grass snakes, slow worms, all types of wild flowers…oh! How I looked forward to Friday evenings when dad got home early and packed the van for another weekend in heaven! How lucky am I – I often think – to have been born in early 50s Britain when things were simpler and people were just pleased to have survived the war. I have grown-up with a National Health Service and never been hungry. But most importantly I remember when fishing was an uncomplicated, innocent pastime. Happy days!
Michael Loveridge.
