L
Les Clark
Guest
Monk ,I know that you have done a lot of articles over the years ,have you ever put them into book form or thought about it ?
T
The Monk
Guest
Cheers Les, yes I`ve written a book but just not got round to publishing it yet, if I ever do, the trouble is most of the book has been published previously all over the place anyway, and like most books I think they are published more to satisfy the author than actually make any money, the cost of publishing is very expensive and I dont think any book I write will ever revolutionise the angling world, the spelling and gramma certainly wont, haha I know my place in the scheme of things.
W
Wolfman Woody
Guest
Yeh, Monk. And have you ever put that one on FM as a main article?
It's a nice story that and brings back a few memories for me. Dad brought home one of those little carp one day and bought a goldfish bowl for it. We must have kept it quite a few years as well.
He was a boiler fireman for the Queen Mill in Dukinfield, it's now a Morrisons supermarket. That's your progress for you, all those trades lost for shelf-stackers and check-out girls.
It's a nice story that and brings back a few memories for me. Dad brought home one of those little carp one day and bought a goldfish bowl for it. We must have kept it quite a few years as well.
He was a boiler fireman for the Queen Mill in Dukinfield, it's now a Morrisons supermarket. That's your progress for you, all those trades lost for shelf-stackers and check-out girls.
T
The Monk
Guest
Che Guevara now your talking jeff, he was my hero for years as a budding rock guitarist in fact I still have the T-shirt.
As for time banditary in this day and age, its a bit difficult now, those nasty people at the dole office actually try to find you jobs these days, its horredous. In the old days of full employment nobody give a toss about the odd time bandit.
Glad the piece brought back memories Jeff, I`ll have to dig a few more out!
As for time banditary in this day and age, its a bit difficult now, those nasty people at the dole office actually try to find you jobs these days, its horredous. In the old days of full employment nobody give a toss about the odd time bandit.
Glad the piece brought back memories Jeff, I`ll have to dig a few more out!
L
Les Clark
Guest
It`s a shame mate becouse the stories you have are part of angling history and should be told ,not as a "How to do it " type of book but more so "How we did it " ,and sod the spelling .
T
The Monk
Guest
thanks again Les, actually I really wish my mate Eric Hodson would have written his book, he certainly owed the angling world a book, but it too ill to write one now, our Rons another one whos dragging his feet
L
Les Clark
Guest
I keep on at Ron ,the silly old git ,but all he wants to write about is cooking chips and morris dancing .
T
The Monk
Guest
hahaha, well he is from Yorkshire Les
Heres one i`ve just found mate
TROUBLE AT MILL.
I can remember well fishing in my earlier years for small roach and perch in the local pits and canals around Lancashire. Magic days, long summer nights, school holidays that would last forever. New fields with ponds in to explore, many untold adventures learning about life, the excitement and anticipation of an early morning worm dig down at the farm. Close season preparations, soaking the nets in linseed oil, an updated scan through Mr Crabtree?s river map where all the fish were marked out clearly in their swims.
One particular outing sticks in mind, this was when my then fishing companion Tommy G took me fishing behind one of the mills in the Chadderton district of Oldham. It was to be a carp fishing trip, although gratitude would to have shown to anything that pulled the float under. ?There?s a big un up there kid?; said Tommy! ?Up where Tommy?; I replied? ?Up there on`t mill roof?,? yea our kid put it up there last year? replied Tommy! ?Is it dead then? I replied, ?Hell no, its swimming about? said Tommy! ?What you mean there?s a lake on the mill roof? said I? ?Sure is, you wanna see it,? said Tommy? ?Yes I do, but how are we going to get on the roof?? I replied, easy! ?see that fire escape?, well that?s how replied Tommy.
Now being scared of heights and only 11 year old at the time, I put off the roof top fishing trip on that particular occasion, but Tommy being Tommy, it wasn?t long before he was round at my parents house with an invitation to fish the water in the sky. Tommy was much older and more experienced in life than me being a mere 4 months away from his 13th birthday. It didn?t take him long however to convince me just how easy it would be to climb onto the roof of the mill and how safe it would be once we where up there.
Although a little apprehensive at first, my spirit of adventure had got the better of me, and I agreed to make the trip. Two days later Tommy and I made our way down the canal bank and on to the distant mill. Crust was to be the main bait backed up with worms (all four of them). On arrival at the foot of the mill gazing looking up, I began to have second thoughts, but Tommy reassured me that it was perfectly safe and soon put my mind at rest. Through the hole in the gate, and we arrived beneath the iron fire escape. The bottom section was built on a kind of balancing weight system and Tommy had to stand on some old skips in order to reach the first rung and bring the pendulum section down by using his body weight.
Heres one i`ve just found mate
TROUBLE AT MILL.
I can remember well fishing in my earlier years for small roach and perch in the local pits and canals around Lancashire. Magic days, long summer nights, school holidays that would last forever. New fields with ponds in to explore, many untold adventures learning about life, the excitement and anticipation of an early morning worm dig down at the farm. Close season preparations, soaking the nets in linseed oil, an updated scan through Mr Crabtree?s river map where all the fish were marked out clearly in their swims.
One particular outing sticks in mind, this was when my then fishing companion Tommy G took me fishing behind one of the mills in the Chadderton district of Oldham. It was to be a carp fishing trip, although gratitude would to have shown to anything that pulled the float under. ?There?s a big un up there kid?; said Tommy! ?Up where Tommy?; I replied? ?Up there on`t mill roof?,? yea our kid put it up there last year? replied Tommy! ?Is it dead then? I replied, ?Hell no, its swimming about? said Tommy! ?What you mean there?s a lake on the mill roof? said I? ?Sure is, you wanna see it,? said Tommy? ?Yes I do, but how are we going to get on the roof?? I replied, easy! ?see that fire escape?, well that?s how replied Tommy.
Now being scared of heights and only 11 year old at the time, I put off the roof top fishing trip on that particular occasion, but Tommy being Tommy, it wasn?t long before he was round at my parents house with an invitation to fish the water in the sky. Tommy was much older and more experienced in life than me being a mere 4 months away from his 13th birthday. It didn?t take him long however to convince me just how easy it would be to climb onto the roof of the mill and how safe it would be once we where up there.
Although a little apprehensive at first, my spirit of adventure had got the better of me, and I agreed to make the trip. Two days later Tommy and I made our way down the canal bank and on to the distant mill. Crust was to be the main bait backed up with worms (all four of them). On arrival at the foot of the mill gazing looking up, I began to have second thoughts, but Tommy reassured me that it was perfectly safe and soon put my mind at rest. Through the hole in the gate, and we arrived beneath the iron fire escape. The bottom section was built on a kind of balancing weight system and Tommy had to stand on some old skips in order to reach the first rung and bring the pendulum section down by using his body weight.
T
The Monk
Guest
Heart in mouth, and nervously gripping the handrail, up and up we went, into the clouds, leaving the little terraced houses far below, some twelve stories in all, leading eventually to a single wrought iron ladder which took us up and over on to the roof itself. The view from up there was incredible, unbelievable, I?d momentary forgotten my fear of heights and was filled with anticipation and adventure. You could see rows of mill workers houses out below, and the surrounding fields which stretched out as far as the eyes could see, way beyond these where the Pennine Chains rising to the East. The mill lodge was but a puddle from up here.
As I turned to the roof itself I couldn?t have possibly imagined the sight that met my eyes. High up there in the clouds was the most unusual lake with water iris, weed beds, a variety of grasses and even a tree at one end. It was a truly magical place away from everyone, with no bailiffs to hide from, our own private water.
The mill roof had a large tower at one end while the floor of the roof was tarred and flat, but over the years the upper roof section had warped and sunken considerably and allowed for flooding by rain water, while over the proceeding years grass seeds and fish eggs carried by birds, had presumably become established. The mill was in a semi-derelict state and had been so for some time.
At the edge of the pool the water was quite shallow, but due to the weight of the water and the nature of the roof surface, some inverted deep bubbles lay below the water line where the tar had been warped and stretched. Numerous fry were in evidence, stick backs mainly, but with a few roach and possibly perch. Tommy told me he had seen the carp that his brother had put in, only days before. He had seen this over towards the weed fringes near the over-hanging tree.
We walked round to the weed margin where Tommy decided to cast a crust with the aid of a bubble float for extra weight. Suddenly a huge dorsal fin appeared only feet away from Tommy?s bait. The carp moved in for the kill, then all of a sudden!
?Right lets be having you?, I turned round and noticed a policeman had appeared behind us? Tommy jumped six feet in the air and the carp also made a quick getaway. Apparently we had been spotted climbing the fire escape from one of the houses in the village and the local policeman had been informed, we were busted.
Led off like criminals with a policeman?s thumb on each of our ears, heads down in disgrace, he took us through a door in the tower and down an internal stairway. The policeman took us home, this resulted in a good hiding from my father, I was kept in for a month and my Eagle comic was cancelled indefinitely. Needless to say it was a long time before I went fishing with Tommy again and I never did catch the roof top carp. Great days though!
As I turned to the roof itself I couldn?t have possibly imagined the sight that met my eyes. High up there in the clouds was the most unusual lake with water iris, weed beds, a variety of grasses and even a tree at one end. It was a truly magical place away from everyone, with no bailiffs to hide from, our own private water.
The mill roof had a large tower at one end while the floor of the roof was tarred and flat, but over the years the upper roof section had warped and sunken considerably and allowed for flooding by rain water, while over the proceeding years grass seeds and fish eggs carried by birds, had presumably become established. The mill was in a semi-derelict state and had been so for some time.
At the edge of the pool the water was quite shallow, but due to the weight of the water and the nature of the roof surface, some inverted deep bubbles lay below the water line where the tar had been warped and stretched. Numerous fry were in evidence, stick backs mainly, but with a few roach and possibly perch. Tommy told me he had seen the carp that his brother had put in, only days before. He had seen this over towards the weed fringes near the over-hanging tree.
We walked round to the weed margin where Tommy decided to cast a crust with the aid of a bubble float for extra weight. Suddenly a huge dorsal fin appeared only feet away from Tommy?s bait. The carp moved in for the kill, then all of a sudden!
?Right lets be having you?, I turned round and noticed a policeman had appeared behind us? Tommy jumped six feet in the air and the carp also made a quick getaway. Apparently we had been spotted climbing the fire escape from one of the houses in the village and the local policeman had been informed, we were busted.
Led off like criminals with a policeman?s thumb on each of our ears, heads down in disgrace, he took us through a door in the tower and down an internal stairway. The policeman took us home, this resulted in a good hiding from my father, I was kept in for a month and my Eagle comic was cancelled indefinitely. Needless to say it was a long time before I went fishing with Tommy again and I never did catch the roof top carp. Great days though!
L
Les Clark
Guest
"A updated scan throught Mr Crabtree`s river map where all the fish were marked out clearly in their swims "
_
"I was kept in for a month and my Eagle comic was cancelled indefinitely "
_
Super mate ,well worth reading ,any more ?
_
"I was kept in for a month and my Eagle comic was cancelled indefinitely "
_
Super mate ,well worth reading ,any more ?
Murray Rogers
Well-known member
Priceless stuff mate!!!!
Keep em coming eh.
I have in me shed at the mo a box of 'Mustard Gold Strikes', i can remember them being the Bees Knees, now I look at them and cringe,,,,,,,How was anything ever landed on them?
Keep em coming eh.
I have in me shed at the mo a box of 'Mustard Gold Strikes', i can remember them being the Bees Knees, now I look at them and cringe,,,,,,,How was anything ever landed on them?
T
The Monk
Guest
cheers Les, I`ll see what I can dig out mate
Yes its amazing how we used to fish and what we used to use. I can still remember going spinning for pike with a gaff thrown over my shoulder.
Ron still uses his, but only on carp of course!
Yes its amazing how we used to fish and what we used to use. I can still remember going spinning for pike with a gaff thrown over my shoulder.
Ron still uses his, but only on carp of course!
Steve Spiller
Well-known member
Mr Monk, Les is right! Do the book mate, just delete all the slappers, if possible.
Seriously, go for it.
Can I have mine signed please?
Seriously, go for it.
Can I have mine signed please?
T
The Monk
Guest
haha, delete all the slappers, that wont leave many pages mate
L
Les Clark
Guest
No leave the slappers in ,you never know you may have a reunion ,will the Albert hall be big enough ?
Steve Spiller
Well-known member
It's the life story, not the women.
You said to me you wished you had done it in reverse, but you didn't!
You've been there Nick, and done it, it would be great to read all about it.
As a famous voice over once said "Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on"
Go on mate, I and others would love to read it.
You said to me you wished you had done it in reverse, but you didn't!
You've been there Nick, and done it, it would be great to read all about it.
As a famous voice over once said "Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on, Go on"
Go on mate, I and others would love to read it.
T
The Monk
Guest
haha, your all mad, OK here`s a tantalising preview of
CHAPTER 34, Taken From,
Tales of a Manchester Carp Hunter
YORKSHIRE INTERLUDE.
It has been quite a number of years since I have visited Yorkshire for the fishing, this was probably way back in the early seventies venturing up to the Wharfe, at Grassington for the winter grayling, the Swale at Topcliffe in pursuit of barbel and the Aire at Connelly in hope of anything other than trout? In those days the M62 was still to be built and the journey over to the Yorkshire Rivers was quite an adventure by itself. We would follow the old A62 up and down the undulating moors, our transport in those days was an old Vauxhall 101, the trip would entail an over night drive, calling at most of the local hostelries en route, and arriving at the desired river in the early hours. At times the fishing was fantastic and a nice change from our usual venues of the Ribble and the Dane, which in those days didn?t contain barbel so the trip over the hill to Yorkshire was often well worth the effort.
Christmas 2000, and my old mate Ron Clay gave me a ring at the office, and invited me over to visit him for a few days. Ron was now living in a little Yorkshire hamlet called Rotherham, which according to the history books was a town, built on coal and steel. It had been a few years since I had visited Ron, this was when he was residing in the up market village of Warwick (that?s down South) and we had a pleasant few days in pursuit of pike on the Warwickshire Avon. Rotherham however was a different kettle of fish (no pun intended) and it was usually difficult to travel over the mighty Pennines in the wintry months. Still I was due to have a quiet Christmas and it would be nice to see how Yorkshire had progressed since I was last over there.
CHAPTER 34, Taken From,
Tales of a Manchester Carp Hunter
YORKSHIRE INTERLUDE.
It has been quite a number of years since I have visited Yorkshire for the fishing, this was probably way back in the early seventies venturing up to the Wharfe, at Grassington for the winter grayling, the Swale at Topcliffe in pursuit of barbel and the Aire at Connelly in hope of anything other than trout? In those days the M62 was still to be built and the journey over to the Yorkshire Rivers was quite an adventure by itself. We would follow the old A62 up and down the undulating moors, our transport in those days was an old Vauxhall 101, the trip would entail an over night drive, calling at most of the local hostelries en route, and arriving at the desired river in the early hours. At times the fishing was fantastic and a nice change from our usual venues of the Ribble and the Dane, which in those days didn?t contain barbel so the trip over the hill to Yorkshire was often well worth the effort.
Christmas 2000, and my old mate Ron Clay gave me a ring at the office, and invited me over to visit him for a few days. Ron was now living in a little Yorkshire hamlet called Rotherham, which according to the history books was a town, built on coal and steel. It had been a few years since I had visited Ron, this was when he was residing in the up market village of Warwick (that?s down South) and we had a pleasant few days in pursuit of pike on the Warwickshire Avon. Rotherham however was a different kettle of fish (no pun intended) and it was usually difficult to travel over the mighty Pennines in the wintry months. Still I was due to have a quiet Christmas and it would be nice to see how Yorkshire had progressed since I was last over there.
T
The Monk
Guest
Christmas eve had been a busy one, as I struggled to catch the printers with the latest edition of a journal I publish, the three days previously had been spent proof reading well into the early hours, so I was looking forward to a hard earned break. Boxing day found me packing the car ready for a teatime departure over the mighty black hills and onto the land of steel making descendants. The light was fading as I made my way to the M62, the moorland tops were shrouded in the white stuff and things outside the car looked pretty grim as I crossed the border into Yorkshire. Hitting the M1 as the last glimmers of day light evaporated into darkness, it was in no time at all that I had reached Junction 35, the Northerly most gate way to beautiful down town Rotherham. It wasn?t long before I had arrived at Ron?s cottage, it was situated in a small village just to the North of the might metropolis and was without doubt a friendly anglers abode, wall to wall rods, fridge full of larger and bait, and angling books in every crevice. That evening we retired to a local den of iniquity to have a sufties at the local slappers (Lancashire term for weight up the local ladies).
T
The Monk
Guest
Early the next morning, still drying out from the night before (its good stuff that Yorkshire ale), Ron took me down to visit some of the local inhabitants and indeed to have a look at the infamous River Don, once home of the European Sturgeon of which a 200lb specimen stands as testimony, now preserved in Doncaster?s Natural History Museum. The first port of call was to visit Dave Parkes angling shop, Dave was on a match at the time, but his beautiful daughter Barbara Parkes treated us to a hot cup of Yorkshire coffee (I think it was love at first sight when Ron introduced me to Barbara, although the language barrier would have to be over come?) Dave?s shop is an absolute
gem in angling terms, a long established business, Dave caters for all forms of angling, game, course and sea with a good learning toward the specialist scene, well worth a visit, if only for a brew from his delightful daughter. Moving on, I took Ron for the time honoured Big Breakfast at the ever-reliable Mac Donald?s, surprisingly we found a Mc Donald?s in the centre of the town (is this a relative of Jim Macdonald?), thus proving that civilisation had indeed arrived in Yorkshire. By this time I was grasping some of the local lingo and did start to try my new found skills out on some of the local inhabitants. My first attempt at this was at a checkout at the downtown Tesco store, when I made inquiries as to the location of the lemsips? Ooer deer bak O snap shelvv (roughly translated)? Well, maybe I hadn?t quite mastered it?
We viewed the river Don as it glided gently through this picturesque little town, and to its credit, only one shopping trolley was in evidence, (a far cry from some of my local Manchester waters, eat your heart out the River Irwell). Climbing back into the car, we made our way even deeper in to darkest Yorkshire to view the potential of the lowland Yorkshire barbel. Once down on the river bank however, me old mate Ron was taken short, which he blamed on the MacDonald?s breakfast, so we had to make a post haste dash to the nearest pub. This pleasant hostelry was situated on the banks of the river, a charming little house, set amidst a delightful local authority estate, with many of the hamlets bearing the results of a damaged economy, with boarded windows and arsonised roofs. The local inhabitant were however unusually friendly for a company of giro-ites, and after sampling a few pints of their exquisite ales, we returned to Ron?s cottage for a journey over to Sheffield. I wanted to call at my old mates Eric Hodson, it had also been a few years since I?d seen Eric when I had the privilege of spending two weeks with him fishing for carp in Northern France. On the way over to Eric?s Ron showed me the Hollybush Hotel, an hotel famous for being the inaugural meeting place of the Northern Specimen Hunters Group, a Group which needs no introduction, although I will mention its significance in specialist angling.
The Northern Group was the predecessor of the National Association of Specimen Groups (NASG), now the National Association of Specialist Anglers (NASA) and soon to change again. Ron Clay founded the Northern Group and their first secretary was Eric Hodson in 1962. The Northern Group survived for a numbers of years and in 1965, through Eric Hodson, the NASG came into being.
Moving on again and leaving the historic Hollybush Hotel behind, we made our way over to Eric?s, called in a local house and sampled some of the North Derbyshire?s fine ales and generally caught up on old times. As darkness began to creep in we said our farewells to Eric, Lots of tears etc, and headed back to Ron?s humble abode. A fine meal was in order over at the local slapper house, the finest Yorkshire pudding money could buy, followed by buckets of Yorkshires lovely ales, and another dabble at the local talent.
gem in angling terms, a long established business, Dave caters for all forms of angling, game, course and sea with a good learning toward the specialist scene, well worth a visit, if only for a brew from his delightful daughter. Moving on, I took Ron for the time honoured Big Breakfast at the ever-reliable Mac Donald?s, surprisingly we found a Mc Donald?s in the centre of the town (is this a relative of Jim Macdonald?), thus proving that civilisation had indeed arrived in Yorkshire. By this time I was grasping some of the local lingo and did start to try my new found skills out on some of the local inhabitants. My first attempt at this was at a checkout at the downtown Tesco store, when I made inquiries as to the location of the lemsips? Ooer deer bak O snap shelvv (roughly translated)? Well, maybe I hadn?t quite mastered it?
We viewed the river Don as it glided gently through this picturesque little town, and to its credit, only one shopping trolley was in evidence, (a far cry from some of my local Manchester waters, eat your heart out the River Irwell). Climbing back into the car, we made our way even deeper in to darkest Yorkshire to view the potential of the lowland Yorkshire barbel. Once down on the river bank however, me old mate Ron was taken short, which he blamed on the MacDonald?s breakfast, so we had to make a post haste dash to the nearest pub. This pleasant hostelry was situated on the banks of the river, a charming little house, set amidst a delightful local authority estate, with many of the hamlets bearing the results of a damaged economy, with boarded windows and arsonised roofs. The local inhabitant were however unusually friendly for a company of giro-ites, and after sampling a few pints of their exquisite ales, we returned to Ron?s cottage for a journey over to Sheffield. I wanted to call at my old mates Eric Hodson, it had also been a few years since I?d seen Eric when I had the privilege of spending two weeks with him fishing for carp in Northern France. On the way over to Eric?s Ron showed me the Hollybush Hotel, an hotel famous for being the inaugural meeting place of the Northern Specimen Hunters Group, a Group which needs no introduction, although I will mention its significance in specialist angling.
The Northern Group was the predecessor of the National Association of Specimen Groups (NASG), now the National Association of Specialist Anglers (NASA) and soon to change again. Ron Clay founded the Northern Group and their first secretary was Eric Hodson in 1962. The Northern Group survived for a numbers of years and in 1965, through Eric Hodson, the NASG came into being.
Moving on again and leaving the historic Hollybush Hotel behind, we made our way over to Eric?s, called in a local house and sampled some of the North Derbyshire?s fine ales and generally caught up on old times. As darkness began to creep in we said our farewells to Eric, Lots of tears etc, and headed back to Ron?s humble abode. A fine meal was in order over at the local slapper house, the finest Yorkshire pudding money could buy, followed by buckets of Yorkshires lovely ales, and another dabble at the local talent.
T
The Monk
Guest
The final morning had eventually arrive, a quick pint of Andrews equipped me for one final visit to downtown Rotherham, a quick visit to Dave Parkes, alas his beautiful daughter was not in the shop this time. Leaving Dave?s, we made our way across the road for breakfast, Ron refused adamantly to ever visit a MacDonald?s again, and instead took me to a delightful little caf? known locally as Dirty Harry?s. The breakfast was quite exceptional despite the images my mind mustered up, and it was soon time to say
farewell and cross the mighty Pennine moors back into civilisation. The return journey was not without event. The snow had fallen heavily in the night, but I did fancy a ride over the mighty Woodhead. Within 30 minutes of leaving Ron?s, I notice my temperature gauge was quickly approaching the danger mark, I stopped the car just before Stockbridge and discovered the radiator had frozen, leaving the car to cool for 15 minutes, I drove back to the last garage I had passed and treated the old girl to a bottle of anti-freeze (something I always forget to do), a quick brew at the petrol station and I was soon back across the moors and home into sunny Manchester.
In conclusion, a Christmas break in Yorkshire is to be fully recommended, if only for the beer, the River Don looked good and a trip is in order, the locals are friendly and as soon as I renew my passport, I shall return. Special thanks to Ron Clay, Eric Hodson, Dave Parkes and his lovely daughter Barbara, Dirty Harry, the Yorkshire Brewery?s and all those lovely Yorkshire ladies. I`ll be back!
farewell and cross the mighty Pennine moors back into civilisation. The return journey was not without event. The snow had fallen heavily in the night, but I did fancy a ride over the mighty Woodhead. Within 30 minutes of leaving Ron?s, I notice my temperature gauge was quickly approaching the danger mark, I stopped the car just before Stockbridge and discovered the radiator had frozen, leaving the car to cool for 15 minutes, I drove back to the last garage I had passed and treated the old girl to a bottle of anti-freeze (something I always forget to do), a quick brew at the petrol station and I was soon back across the moors and home into sunny Manchester.
In conclusion, a Christmas break in Yorkshire is to be fully recommended, if only for the beer, the River Don looked good and a trip is in order, the locals are friendly and as soon as I renew my passport, I shall return. Special thanks to Ron Clay, Eric Hodson, Dave Parkes and his lovely daughter Barbara, Dirty Harry, the Yorkshire Brewery?s and all those lovely Yorkshire ladies. I`ll be back!