"Proper Fishing  ( oh and getting married)"

I met my future wife at a family wedding of an army ate of mine, his sister was getting hitched up in Birmingham.  She was going to be the chief bridesmaid, staying at his place.  I got in first before my mate tried to chat her up, besides I was better looking than him! Needless to say I was hooked and following the usual courting rituals, phoning her up from the camp ( no phone sex in them days matey) and visiting at the weekends we decided to get engaged.  Next I decided a man needs a proper hobby and started fishing once more.  Conveniently for me the GUC (Grand Union Canal) ran close to the village where she lived with her parents, and there was even a small pond just below he church which contained a few fish too. My weekends spent at her home were divided between courting and fitting in some fishing time.  The village pool was small just about twenty yards in diameter and lay at the bottom of the hillside just below the church.  Many years ago it was where the people washed the sheep fleeces before taking them to the market place. Apparently back in the time when Billy Lane ruled as King of the local canal matches, locals used to quietly bring fish they caught to stock the pond for free.  No Environment agency about then to tell them what to do
Whenever the opportunity presented itself I would slink off to the pond or the canal, when I could escape the attentions of my fiancée or her mother.  On Sundays it was comforting to hear the sound of the church bells calling the honest folk to attend the morning service, while I concentrated on my float tip. The only drawback at this place was its proximity to the village sewage plant. In the summer the smell rose a bit when the wind blew towards the church. Having taken a few slices of bread or dug up some worms I had all the baits I needed, though  sometimes I would fetch maggots from the distant town of Banbury when we did the food shopping there. Once you found a clear spot free of the thick weed you   were set for a pleasant days fishing, catching the resident Rudd, Perch and Skimmers. No carp were present in the murky green waters, but some better bream and Tench were rumoured to be in there somewhere. These better sized fish eluded me for quite some time until I caught a decent three ponder bream one early morning  Then the occasional Tench were caught, not a lot of them but they added to the variety of the catch.  I had the place to myself mostly, well until the school holidays when a few children came to gave a dabble, then it was , "wotcha caught then mister ?",every hour on the hour! It was so quiet and peaceful, mostly I had the company of pigeons high in the tree above me , cooing away and aiming their droppings at my head from time to time.

I continued to enjoy many a hour or four down the pond when one afternoon I foolishly got the bright idea to take my wife with me., to share in the fun.  I put up a spare rod , tied on a hook , baited it up for her and cast it out.  Before I could get set up myself, she shouted in my ear, "I've got one, what do I do now/, she asked frantically. Sure enough there was a decent sized fish splashy about on the surface, I told her what to do and then netted it for her.  Would you believe it, she had only caught a nice crucian of around a pound, a fish I had not yet managed to catch there myself..  I unhooked the fish and rebaited the hook with two maggots and placed the float back in the same area, thinking all the while what a fluke catch that was. I was just threading my line through he rod rings  when she shrieked again, " I think I've got another one, help me!"  Sure enough she had only caught another crucian carp, the lucky bi**ch.  I was bloody jealous now, after all I'd been trying to catch one for ages hadn't I? Grumpily I told her she would have to wait before I baited her up again, I was itching to get going myself.  She handed me her rod, turned on her heels and stormed off in a mood, muttering something under her breath!  Oh dear I had no option but to continue fishing all alone, goody I thought now its my turn.  No such luck, sod's Law prevailed and I never tempted another crucian that trip.  Must have been those dreaded female hormones or plain old beginners luck eh?

Some time later I was posted to B.A.O.R.( British Army Of  the Rhine ) in West Germany.  Before I went we both decided to get married in about three to four months time, after which she would come over to start our married life together. I was an Armament Fitter in REME (Royal Electrical & Mechanical Engineers) and I was going to serve at the workshops attached to a Tank regiment equipped with Chieftain tanks. In these times there was always the threat of an invasion from the Eastern part of Germany, held under the umbrella of the Russians. If there had been an attack our purpose was to delay their armoured divisions for as long as possible, about half an hour by common opinion. Still a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do and all that crap? At first I was living in the barracks before the marriage took place, along with all the other drinkers and fornicators.

Finding drink led to temptations of another nature , such as the Reeperbahn (red light district in nearby Hamburg, I decided to get some tackle and take up fishing once more. I bought a second -hand VW Beetle car and so could get around a bit. Tackle shops were thin on the round where I was stationed so tackle was ordered by mail from the UK.  In the garrison town where I was located was a thriving group of anglers and I promptly joining their club in order to find out where and how to fish out there. The first problem was obtaining a fishing permit from the local town hall.  You were required to take a theory test paper concerning the welfare of fish (an excellent idea that ) and also be a member of a bona-fide fishing organisation, then pay the required fee of course.  The army anglers were a club of 30 members of which about half fished friendly matches against the local German town teams of course us Brits always set out to win these wars and we usually did. German fisherman then tended to fish for the pot or as a social event ( a little fishing coupled with a lot of booze partaken on the bankside )  For fun we obtained trophies for our own matches which I purchased when I came home for a short leave, together with a suitcase full of line, hooks , reels and floats etc. for the lads to buy off me.  The average angler out there targeted the Perch,.Zander and Pike, with carp as well, which all ended up being serve at the dinner table!
It was common place at one venue I fished to see them fishing from a road bridge which crossed over a lake, to be fishing with boat rods and 40lbs line, once hooked they simply winched up whatever they hooked!  Barbaric Huns..!, no wonder it got called coarse fishing I reckon.  One match that I shall never forget involved a friendly against the team from the nearby town.  We went to the venue, a small river on a local farm, about four foot deep, clear and quite fast flowing, more like a trout water I thought on first seeing it.  There wasn't a draw as such , each team fished an alternating peg, so that on each side of you would be a German, don't mention the war I thought to myself!  I decided to loose feed very sparingly with maggots, mainly because I didn't have many to spare, they were too expensive to be able to feed properly.  Anyhow after maybe twenty minutes of carefully trotting my stick float down the stream, occasionally holding it back in the flow I started to get delicate bites from the resident fish.  At this time in the match my neighbouring anglers, both Germans, had began to walk up and down the bank behind me, I presumed they weren't catching and becoming bored were chatting to their mates . I was annoyed at this distraction but being a true Brit I concentrated on the bites and began to catch 2-3oz Roach one after another.  I soon had a few pounds of these fish in the net , thinking I might do well at the weigh in when I received a tap on my shoulder.  It was the angler from the left side of where I was pegged, he was on his way back from sharing tips and groans with his fellow countryman on my right. He was carrying two wine glasses in one hand and a very large bottle of wine in the other, a cigar clenched between his teeth he asked me to join him in a drinky.  Not being one to be accused of being anti-social I nodded in agreement, at this he smiled and poured me a glass full to the brim of a very nice Moselle white.  Before I had hardly downed that drink his old pal arrived out of the blue and produced an even larger bottle of vino.  Now I was concerned that I was not giving the fishing much of a go, but what the hell we were getting friendly by now, using universal sign language to communicate with.  The use of the word, "danke" and "bitte" together with a big smile seemed to do the trick.  Eventually they got tired of standing and returned to their respective pegs for a sit down. Now I could return to do what I came for I thought as I cast out once more.  I watched the float glide away in the current waiting for that quick bite from those small Roach.  Oh dear my float tip kept disappearing and reappearing of its own accord, nothing to do with the fish, I was by that time a bit tipsy and although not seeing double I couldn't see exactly what was going on.  Anything I caught from then to the end of the match hooked itself, I was merely the holder of the rod by then.
Come the final blast of the whistle I was not too sorry to pack up, I was feeling a bit sleepy from the effects of the wine I'd consumed, but I felt reasonably happy at what I'd caught.  It turned out I'd caught quite a lot of little roach, though these weighed only three and a half pounds, I should have done a lot better if I had concentrated more on the actual fishing.  Still we won the match as I fully expected we might and apparently I had won my section easily as well, there must have been more boozers in it I think!

Unknown to us the German club had laid on an after match meal, all traditional to them of course, very nice too I thought as we retired to a barn were it was to be held.  Inside there were trestle tables all laden with all sorts of goodies to eat, farmhouse sausage soup was served up with large steins of the local beer to go with it. Bread rolls, home cooked hams and cheeses, all the food you wanted to eat, very generous too.  Well we soon got stuck into the grub and of course the booze flowed freely, funny how it seems to slip down so easily, we were all laughing at each others jokes even though half the time we never understood because of the language problem.  The day turned into a mellow evening, lanterns were lit and hung on the beams, this was rapidly turning into a good session, spirits were now the drink to have, schnapps, vodka , bacardi, whatever you fancied really.  What a night we were so pisssed including the Germans we flaked out in the straw and slept in the barn that night .  Boy, what a hangover I woke up with, my mouth  like the proverbial bottom of a birdcage and I was getting splitting pains across my forehead, serve me right of course.  For a while none of us could remember why we were there, we all wanted to die rather than stand up.  Although not strictly sober we got into our cars to drive back to the barracks.  As I left the farmyard a German waved me down and as I stopped and wound down the window he handed me a large bottle of nice Brandy, apparently this was my section prize.  Those Germans were now among my closest friends, as you would appreciate………