The Silt - Walter Letters #5
October 10th 1966
Dear Mr Walters
Hurrah - I'm back! The sad news is that the family got homesick after just over a year in New Zealand, but great news that we are back in old Blighty again. The NZ postal service is even worse than the UK, as I didn't even receive one of your replies to the long letters I wrote every month telling you of my thrilling fishing exploits 'Down Under'.
Still, I'm back and ready to take up that kind offer of a trip to your fishing hut, the one made on our last visit there, just before I set sail for the Antipodes. It might have been the 12 cans of Long Life beer you had just drunk that made your voice sound a little strange, and it may have been smoke from the campfire that brought a tear to your eye, but you did sound very emotional when you said that it was a real shame that I was going to the other side of the world.
In fact, I couldn't tell if you were laughing or crying when you said that if I was ever passing by I should drop in. Perhaps that was one of your famed satirical comments, as I was hardly likely to have been just 'passing by' when I am 12,000 miles away. I'm afraid your sophisticated humour is a bit above a simple northern lad like me.
Yours etc
Don Silt
October 14th 1966
Dear Mr Walters
Wow! Just goes to show why our Post Office is the envy of the world. No sooner do I get back to England and send you a letter, than I get a reply straight back, normal excellent service is resumed! I have to say it's nice to see you still have your sense of humour, it really tickled me when I read that you would rather burn your beloved hut to the ground than have me set foot in the place again, what a wag you are!
Anyway, I have been hearing all about your latest exploits at some place called Arsesilly Lake, (what a funny name, it makes me giggle every time I see it) and I must say that those are some really impressive perch that you've been catching. I wouldn't mind the chance of a day there and you know I will gladly do anything just to be learning at the side of the master, so to speak. Is there the slimmest possible chance of me joining you on one of your days out? I promise to sit still and not speak until spoken to.
Best wishes for now
Yours etc
Don Silt
October 29th 1966
Dear Mr Walters
I see from your last letter that you really are on top form, although just a little bit near the knuckle, I must say! When I said I would do anything for a the chance of a day's fishing, your joke that the best thing I could do was to bend over naked on the bankside while you shoved your rod butt into a certain part of my anatomy to act as a rod rest was very, very funny. A bit naughty, but very funny!
Anyway, you did mention that I might be able to come down and fish Arsesilly Lake if I brought my own bucketful of lobworms. As you say, these are v.expensive to buy and you thought that the recent hard frosts meant I wouldn't be able to dig many up in the garden, and that meant that sadly, you won't be seeing me anytime soon.
Well, you were wrong about the garden, as our tiny back yard is covered in flagstones, so the Jack Frost can do what he likes out there! But whilst I was cycling home by the railway the other day, I saw an old boy out on his allotment. He was having a right old time trying to dig over the frozen ground, I can tell you. I went over and asked if he wouldn't mind if a fit young chap like me dug it over for him, in return for any worms I might unearth (unearth, earthworm, just my little joke!).
He took some persuading, I can tell you. He said I might dig it all wrong, and if I pinched all his worms then the soil wouldn't get aerated properly. In the end we agreed that if I dug the whole allotment, properly mind, I can keep half the worms I find, and he'll only charge me ten bob for doing it. What a result!
And it gets better because after I started, some of the other old boys saw that I wasn't doing a half bad job, and want me to do the same job for them too. And let me tell you, I made jolly sure than none of them charged me more than the going rate of ten bob per allotment.
One of them really doesn't like digging at all, because he said I was more than welcome to do his b*st*rd trenching (can't write the whole word) for ten bob. How all the other old boys laughed when they heard him swearing like that, they are a bit of a rough lot, I must say.
So far I've dug over three full allotments and I've got less than half a bucket of worms up till now, so I'll be down as soon as I've managed to top the bucket up, my arms and shoulders stop aching and the blisters on my hands have gone down a bit. It hurts to hold my bike handlebars, and I want to be sure I can get a good grip of my rod handle when I do latch on to one of those giant Arsesilly perch!
Bye for now
PS
Sorry, in your last, very brief phone call, (it was a bit rushed as you couldn't speak for long as it was your bill) I thought I heard you say that if I was coming down what were the chances of me getting up on the Church roof to nick some lead for your bums.
This did confuse me a bit, but I now realise that what you actually meant was could I get some lead for your bombs. Sorry for mishearing that, and I would of course be delighted to help in any way with supplying materials to use in the development of the exciting new Arsesilly Bombs you are using.
Probably no lead left on our church roof now anyway, but there is a live firing range up on the moors, I'll pop up there one day and see if I can pick up some bullets. Will they do?
Yours etc
Don Silt
Woody the Moaning Marlow Meldrew
