Frogmore 2000. Sun, Rain and Memories.

I awoke to a beautiful summers day in July of last year. After the usual 'wakeup' cup of tea and long relaxing shower, Dave and I sat at the breakfast table discussing our plan of action for the day. It was a tossup between shopping in Watford and a leisurely days fishing.

No contest. We threw ourselves into our usual routine; Dave at the kitchen sink wading his way through dishes and me making the bed and sprucing up the bathroom.

When it comes to a days fishing we have a remarkably good system for getting ready and being 'on the road' within half and hour. Dave usually makes the sandwiches (he gets more if he makes them) and I see to the flask and tea and any other bits and pieces that will keep my dear husband going for the day. We then load all our fishing equipment into the car and double check that we haven't forgotten anything. How on earth two human beings can possibly need so much tackle ceases to amaze me. I remember as a kid having just a rod, reel, line and a tin of worms. Still that's another story.

The drive to Frogmore only takes twenty minutes and there is always a bubble of excitement when we reach the lake gate. What a joy it is to leave the world behind, take the short drive down the lane to the lake and think to yourself 'oh yes, this is where I want to be'. We both wander to the waters edge and survey the swims looking for the world as if we know exactly what we are looking for, which of course we don't. We are not die hard fishermen you see, just pleasure anglers. I just look for the swim that has the sun behind me and has no obstacles for me to get tangled in. How I would hate to spend the day disturbing Dave with complaints of being caught in water lilies or reeds. (Come to think of it, the cussing usually comes from him as he looses yet another hook in a nearby tree).

We set up our adjacent swims in complete silence, me doing everything in my usual methodical way, and Dave's swing looking as if a bomb has hit it. I have to add here that it doesn't' stay that way and within a very short time we are both set up with our eyes glued to the water. I often think at this stage of the game that it will probably be of long duration before Dave actually speaks to me again. He sits there not moving for what seems an age and I find myself taking him a cup of tea just to make sure he's still alive, and we've only been there half and hour. He assures me that he is fine, "Haven't' caught a fish though". "Patience dear" is my reply, hoping to God that I don't catch one before he does. He gets a bit cross if I do, I can't imagine why. Maybe it's a mans thing.

So there we are, content, comfortable and at peace with the world. I often wonder what people think about when they sit for hours waiting for the 'whopper' to bite. I never know what Dave is thinking. Whenever I glance over he always looks as miserable as sin, but I am assured that he is enjoying his day, it's just concentration he tells me. As for my thoughts. Well, I hope of course to catch a bigger fish than Dave but that would be just to annoy him. On this particular day my mind was pretty clear, I didn't really care if I caught a fish or not, if I did it would be a bonus. I was just completely content to sit by the water, watch the carp swim leisurely by, keep an eye open for the kingfisher and just generally enjoy my surroundings. It was a beautiful day, blue sky and still water. Perfect, just perfect.

It must have been at this stage that my mind began to wander. I found myself at Temple Lake with my Grandfather. He lived in a lodge on a large estate near Newbury and was allowed to fish the wonderful lake there. This was back in the early fifties when all you had was a rod, reel, line and worms. What a wonderful place that was. We had to walk through quite dense woods to get to the lake side , it was so wild, no such things as 'swims' in those days. My Grandfather just found a spot he fancied, forced his way through the ferns and tall grasses and that was it, that was where we stayed. Funnily enough I can't ever remember him catching a fish there although my brother assures me that he did. Maybe as a child of eight the 'catching' isn't as important as the 'going'.

I was interrupted from my dreams of my childhood by Dave bringing me another cup of tea. He does tear himself away from his swim on the odd occasion. I thank him for the tea and wish him luck in his quest, he hasn't as yet caught one. While I savour my tea I notice that it's not quite so sunny as it was when we arrived and there's a bit of a chill coming on. Not to worry it's better fishing that way.

I return to my world of dreams to find myself back in the sixties. Now those really were the days. Mods and rockers, scooters and bikes. It must be said here that I was a mod and Dave was a rocker, how did we ever get together. Course I didn't know him then. I often laugh to myself when I think about my fishing experiences in the those days.

My brother had a beaten up bright yellow 'banger' and we'd all pile in the go off for the day to numerous lakes and rivers that my brother knew. I think my biggest memories of those times was going sea fishing at Walton-on-the -Naze with my boyfriend at the time. He had the most horrendous Scooter which when I look back was a death trap. Nevertheless I had to sit on the back with all of our equipment. How on earth did I do that? It took us forever to get there (we lived in Stevenage at the time) and by the time we did it was time to come home.

This was my first experience of watching fish being killed. I was horrified and swore I'd never go sea fishing again, which I didn't. I also refused to speak to the boyfriend for a whole week afterwards. While I sit there with a grin on my face at the memory of that crazy scooter I am interrupted by Dave's voice telling my that if I'm interested I have got a bite. Oh I really must concentrate. "Thank you", say I as a haul in a three and a half pound carp. Oh that will do nicely, I'm happy now and if that's all I catch today I shall be content.

Dave returns to his swim a bit disgruntled after having taken the hook out. I still can't get the retched hook out of the fish I'm always to frightened of hurting the poor thing. Maybe it's a women's thing. I take a breather from my daydreams and notice that once again the weather is nowhere near as good as it was when we arrived a couple of hours earlier. It's getting decidedly black looking and time to put on a fleece. I do hope it doesn't' rain, I'm not sure if that leak in my brolly was mended or not. Oh well, only time will tell. Time goes by of course and far too quickly.

My next recollection of fishing was in the early eighties. The seventies where taken up with courting, marriage a the rearing of a son and daughter. It wasn't' until Dave started shift work and had time on his hands that maggots came into my mind again. "For goodness sake Dave, find yourself a hobby, your going to drive me crazy. Why don't you go fishing or something?". Well, that was it of course and however I hate the expression I have to use it. He was HOOKED.

We had some great times with the kids. We would go to Kings Langley or Lady Capels whenever we could. Sometimes four times a week. We used to go for whole days at the weekend and after school until late in the evening. I'm convinced this is where our kids learnt so much about life. Joy, patience, excitement and disappointment of course. They loved being out in the open and I'm sure will have many a tale to tell their own children of our family fishing trips.

I came back to the present to suddenly realise that the world had gone black. The beautifully still waters of the lake where beginning to ripple and it looked as if I'd got ten seconds to get my brolly out of my rod bag before the heavens opened. And open they did. All you could see around the lake where fishermen scrambling for brollies and desperately trying to get everything under cover. One guy pulled out a black bin liner and shoved it over his head. The bravest of all was another guy who'd arrived in shorts and T-shirt and what did he do? He's completely ignored it, just carried on fishing as if nothing was happening. Everyone else looked like people from a cartoon. The heavens continued to open for what seems an age. Ones thoughts are strange when this happens. I was telling myself that there was NO WAY that I was going to emerge from under my brolly and if this carried on all night then I would jolly well stay here. The noise of the rain on canvas was deafening, and the water cascading off my brolly was rapidly turning my cosy swim into a soggy puddle. The lake water was boiling and the fish in there wisdom had vanished. The plants and trees began to sag under the weight of water, it makes one wonder how on earth they ever recover.

Our peaceful day had come to an end and in my misery I realised that my brolly hadn't been fixed as water began to trickle down my neck. I glance across at Dave who looked as miserable as everyone else, expect for the guy in shorts, he just carried on. So this was it was it, how the rest of the day was going to be, wet and cold and no way of seeing the float let alone catch a fish. You couldn't see a thing, it was like midnight although it was only three o'clock in the afternoon and the torrential rain continued to fall. And then it happened. The rain stopped so suddenly it was as if a tap has been turned off. It remained dark but the sun showed it's face between the clouds and everything glistened like ice.

The lake become still, like a mirror. It was the most amazing experience. Nothing moved and the silence was deafening. I glanced round the lake edge and all you could see where fishermen sitting under their umbrella's probably doing exactly what I was doing. Savouring the sheer joy of being where I was. I have never felt such peace before. Total, complete peace, if time had stopped there I would have been content. The clouds dispersed and brollies put aside to drip while men, women and wildlife shook themselves and got back to the job in hard. The sun came back with a vengeance drying everything rapidly. Within an hour it was as if nothing had happened.

I have a lifetime of memories of fishing, they have been the happiest of my life but that one afternoon last year at Frogmore will remain my most vivid of all.

Frogmore. Sun, rain and memories. Kate Godding (May 2001)