At fifteen years old I decided that school wasn't for me. Let's face it, that was normal for any boy those days. I was bored with the lessons, you weren't allowed to enjoy being taught, then it was merely monotonous repetition of facts until some of it stuck in your cranium.  So for a skive me and a mate called Tom asked if we could take the afternoon off and visit the Army Recruitment Centre ,on the pretext of finding out about careers in the forces.  So off we trotted thinking we were so clever, then we met the recruiting sergeant, who was delighted to have two likely lads turn up in his domain on a dreary afternoon.

"Come in!, come in!", he cheerfully said to us, "would you two like a cuppa and some cake before we get started?" "Not 'arf!" we both replied. We sat google-eyed as he proceeded to trot out a vast choice of army trades open to us and furbished both of us with loads of nice shiny brochures to take home and show our parents, goody, goody!  At the end of the afternoon, still before school was finished, we found ourselves out in the street with four shillings each, as pay for our time.  Straight round to the newspaper shop to buy some fags then, skulking over to the local public playing fields where we could light up. We both were laughing our heads off, this was a great stunt to pull and getting paid for it made it sweeter still

A week later the headmaster called us both into his office - bloody hell, what did he want us for?.  We both soon found out. Apparently the sergeant had followed up his original investment, so to speak, and contacted the school to invite us both back to his lair.  How could we refuse without making the headmaster suspicious?  The outcome of all this was that not long after we were talked into joining up, both as tradesmen apprentices.  I was keen to go now as it meant I wouldn't have to take the exams at Easter, because my joining date fell before this, lucky me eh?  I had to convince dear old mum first. She refused at first, oh how I nagged her to let me go in the army.  Eventually I talked her into signing the permission papers and then found myself back at the recruiting office swearing my allegiance to Her Majesty. Tom went off smartly  to the Royal Engineers in Chepstow while I was destined for colder climates, far up north to Carlisle!

I expect by now you are beginning to wonder what has this to do with fishing. Well I shall get to tell you about that soon enough but I shall need to set the scene for you firstly.  Despite thinking I was finished with school lessons I found myself marched along to the education block every evening after coming from the cookhouse, to study Maths, English, Physics, Engineering Drawing and worst of all subjects General Knowledge!  Hell I thought it was going to be more fun than this, you know action man stuff and fixing tanks etc. (my chosen trade was armament fitter). Only now if you nodded off during the boring bits you were double-time marched around the barracks square in the freezing cold. Despite my laziness I finished my 3 year apprenticeship with a Certificate of Army Education first class, somewhere equivalent to, say, 'O'  levels.

My life and my time was no longer my own for the next 6 weeks (actually the next three years) that consisted of square bashing, kit cleaning and inspections, scrubbing barrack room floors, several haircuts, three in one week, all the usual delights of basic training.

I was going mad with all this. I wrote home to dear old Mum, "Please get me out, its only twenty quid to buy me out". Needless to say she refused and told me to stick with it.  So to distract myself and give me something to do at the weekends after parades on Saturday and compulsory church attendance on Sundays, I took up some of the activities open to me.  I went canoeing, fell walking and dinghy sailing to escape the confines of the camp..  seeing all the lovely scenery and especially the lovely lakes of Cumbria made me long to take up fishing once again.  Unfortunately at that time the army did not officially recognise that fishing was a sport, it was not active enough I suppose. So obtaining a light spinning rod, some lead shot and a packet of hooks I used to sneak off to the far side of the sports field. Here ran a small beck or stream, it did not look too promising but as it remained within the fence of the camp I was ok to be there in my off duty hours.

Bait was a big problem though. Taking any food from the cookhouse would get you a spell in the nick, not recommended, no colour TV's or pool tables there! Occasionally I would slip a slice of bread into my pocket, being careful not to be spotted by any of the other squaddies of course. I solved the problem in my own way - along the banks of the beck grew large swathes of moss, and by pulling up a handful you were sometimes lucky to expose a nice juicy fat worm or two.  The stream was barely seven foot wide and about 18" deep at most. It ran through in a kind of dark brown colour so I had no idea if it contained any decent fish. It got me away from the crazy hullabaloo of barrack life and I spent a good few hours in pursuit of fish.  The only thing I managed to catch were bootlace eels, a fish the beck had an abundance of. If any were over the pound in weight I considered that to be bagging up

Despite being up amongst the beautiful scenery of the lake district most of the fishing was of the fluff chucking variety, the sport of the senior officers and not for the likes of me. Storage of any fishing tackle proved too difficult, you were supplied with a steel locker that had to contain only your uniform. Civilian clothes were taken off of us for the first twelve weeks until we were deemed smart enough in dress uniform to venture downtown into Carlisle, to sample all the delights of the alehouses and maybe the local dancehall as well.

The river Eden did flow through Carlisle but getting there was too difficult, there were few buses from camp to town. I wanted to drink beer and chat up the local talent instead of going fishing. Looking over the parapet of the road bridge on the outskirts of the town I could spot many fish when the sun cut through the shadows - lovely sized chub, dace darting about, and the occasional trout rising to take an insect off the surface while I enjoyed watching.

So for the next three years my fishing experiences were very limited, but once an angler the desire to dangle a line never really leaves you in peace, does it?

More to follow....Tangler