The Ups and Downs of a Municipal Boating Pond.

[Catfish.017]

Back in the middle of the last century if you were a lad (or lass!) embarking on a fishing career you would almost certainly have gravitated to the Boating Lake in Singleton Park. Only just in the Park mind you as it sat tight in the South West corner behind heavy iron railings between two roads that even then we're very busy. Not that we noticed the roar of the traffic, engrossed as we were with outwitting the lovely Rudd that thronged the pond at that time.
Youngsters of all sizes and abilities lined the banks on sunny Summer days, wielding a variety of rods ranging from Grandads Greenheart pier rod through to the ubiquitous solid glass spinning rods and all this in direct contravention of the No Fishing (while the boats are out) rule! The boats, real wooden rowing boats, were also plyed by landlubbers with a varying range of abilities leading to much conflict between the two factions, sometimes resulting in arbitration by the "Parkie" inevitably culminating in the cessation of angling for a while!
There were probably better fish to be caught but it was rare to find an older, better equipped angler here; no doubt most serious exponents of the art would have been put off visiting by the general ruckus caused by the tyros? One Sunday morning however a pal and I went there quite early and found a chap quietly fishing by the Lily Bed in the corner by the Old Ladies Garden. He was a Policeman, still in uniform having just finished a night shift and stopped for a couple of hours sport before retiring. We were a little shy of this figure of authority at first but he was a kindly sort and soon was showing us two Tench he had caught earlier. We were mesmerised of course having seen only Rudd to about six ounces caught before. "You want to use a worm lads" he said, "A big one"
We took the advice on board the next few times we fished there but soon wavered when bites were not forthcoming and soon reverted to flour and water paste and a string of suicidal Rudd. That Autumn however I did catch quite a big Eel on one of those big worms making my heart race for a while.
Coming back to the Old Lady whose garden bordered the pond, she lived in a pretty bungalow with a little Terrier Dog and was a relative of Michael Heseltine, possibly his Grandmother? Quite fearsome she was too and the dog, ever alert to us lads trespassing in her garden in the mistaken belief that this was where the Grandaddy Rudd spent their days in relative peace.
Having served a few months apprenticeship on the Boating Lake it was generally accepted that one graduated to the larger Lake? In the adjacent Brynmill Park and joined the club of that name. The excitement of fishing Brynmill was enhanced by the presence of Carp and the thrill of a keep net full of Rudd was soon put to the back of the mind. But the Boating lake asn't finished with us. Part 2 to follow.

[Dave F]

Roll on the next episode….

[RBTraditional]

Look forward to the next episode….

[Dave Burr]

Fishing back then was hectic for kids, with constant casting and banter, the idea of waiting for bites was almost impossible and the run-ins with the local 'parkie' a constant feature. The youth of today are not entertained by such antics which is such a shame, most of us survived and gained years of pleasure from it.

I look forward to the next episode.