Tangler's Tales

"Posting, Pheasants & Poaching"

Having survived the rigours of a three years training course, I achieved the dizzy rank of Tradesman 3rd Class in Her Majesty REME corps of the British army.  After the final passing -out parade , (at which my proud parents were present), I was sent off to my first posting to Barton Stacey, near Andover in Hampshire, at the tender age of eighteen.  Where I found myself too busy for fishing, (well of the legal variety), instead learning how to become a proper  soldier amongst real men. I learnt quite a bit too, mostly how to drink beer, buying my first banger and how to skive as many jobs as possible, you know the vital skills!  Our camp consisted of a large number of wooden huts,  not too luxurious but they did have propane fired heaters inside, bathrooms were in a separate block only a short march away in the wintertime. The camp was surrounded by a wire fence, bordered on the main gate by the A303 road (Andover to Basingstoke dual carriageway) and on the other by a country estate belonging to a certain Lord Captain R. Wills of the famous tobacco empire. His many pheasants would often stroll under the barbed wire into the camp areas given that they were trespassers were considered fair game by me and my colleagues. At the rear of the camp was a road that connected to a neighbouring camp, where the garrison Doctor held sway in his medical centre. To report sick meant a trip in a Land Rover along this route, we had many a laugh trying to bowl a bird over whenever the opportunity arose.

Later a mate of ours was bought a brand new Mini Cooper by his wealthy father, we promptly adopted him and his motor and had great fun rallying it round the adjacent estate at night in the dark.  We had some hairy moments I can recall, not least was trying to avoid the startled deer that were captured in our blazing headlights. These creatures we could not afford to bump into, any collision would have involved an expensive panel repair or two. Any thing else was considered fur game  an often was! Rabbits and Hares romped all over the place, we took all that we managed to bag, taking them to the rear of the cookhouse to barter for ciggies or booze.  The officers were largely unaware of the source of that special treat , Jugged Hare that was presented to them from time to time. During these days I had no tackle or time to pursue any normal fishing, though the famous river Itchen ran through some of the estate.  Camouflage gear has some usage apart from military purpose it was intended for, we needed be well hidden from the attentions of the estate game keepers..  It might be ok for the Colonel to come and shoot or fluff chuck on the river, after all he was invited too, but not us squaddies! Thanks to an abundance of torch batteries obtained from the regimental stores we were able to conduct our activities at night .  To limit the amount of light emitted by the torches and to avoid those prying keepers we would place an army sock over the torch lens, giving us enough light to see our prey.   Quietly approaching the river, we would crawl along the banks, peering in the edges to spot trout swimming in the shadows crystal clear waters.  We would spot both brownies and rainbows , catching them with a makeshift net made from camouflage netting, there was a ready market for these fish among the married men's quarters.  There were some narrow escapes as you would expect, we had to take great care to conceal the getaway car well away from passers by.  If P.C. Plod happened to see any car parked near his Lordship's woods he knew the owner was up to no good and would note the registration at the very least.  Mud was used to obscure the rear number plate in case any attempt to chase us in a keepers land rover was made, we could outrun them easily in the Mini Cooper.  We would end up cold and get our feet wet, but it was great fun and exciting to get away with.  I an certain His Lordship never missed any of his stock, surely he wouldn't begrudge us  a few fish ?, besides none of his keepers dare mention it to his face unless they had firm evidence to produce. Halcyon days they were and better still  I escaped any prosecutions to tell you the tale….