Welham Lake

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Banksy
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Location: East Yorkshire

Welham Lake

Post by Banksy »

Early July in 1988, a friend and I had booked a day on Welham Lake, a special treat, the whole lake just for ourselves.

Welham is an old estate type lake, located in the middle of Malton Golf Course, and mostly surrounded by mature trees, a lovely peaceful place, and at the time one of the best tench fisheries in that part of Yorkshire.

The booking was from midnight to midnight, so keen to make the most of it, I decided to arrive in the evening ahead of our session. My friend was to arrive at daybreak.
The lake was deserted when I arrived, so I set up camp on the dam wall. No bivvies in those days, just an umbrella, a folding chair and an old army blanket to keep the dew off.

Just after midnight, I heard the distant sounds of the last farewells and of car doors slamming in the golf club car park, then all was silent. It had been a warm evening, with lots of activity out in the water. But now a chill mist crept over the lake, and my white peacock quill indicator remained still. I reeled in, made myself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette, shielding my eyes from the flame to preserve my night vision. Although there was no moon, the glow from the nearby town was enough for me to get my bearings. I dozed for a couple of hours.

Then I became aware that my friend had arrived. There was no sound, he prides himself in moving silently, but there was a definite presence. I reached for my flask to offer him a brew. He was not there.
I was suddenly overwhelmed by a most intense feeling, not of fear, but of sadness. Of hopeless, longing or loss, a deep need to go somewhere unreachable. A depth of despair too powerful to describe in words. Uncontrollable tears rolled down my face, though I knew not why I wept.
It was not frightening, but it was very moving and very real.

Time passed, and so did the presence.
Then I heard a car coming slowly across the golf course and down the track. My friend had arrived.

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Old Man Oakley
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Re: Welham Lake

Post by Old Man Oakley »

Beautifully written.

OMO
Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing - absolutely nothing - half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.

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