GONE FISHING
Long before I showed any interest in family history and all
of the sea related connections that went hand in hand with my particular story,
my Father would take me fishing.
I was
born and raised in West Hartlepool on the North East Coast of England. My
Father was born in Old Hartlepool, known locally as the Headland and sometimes
in the past it is referred to as East Hartlepool. When my Father was around the
age of 4, the family moved across the port to a small village called Middleton.
Cousin Jim seemed to think that the family moved across to Middleton when times
were a little hard, as the rents in Middleton were a little cheaper.
We, or should I say Dad
would dig for the bait we used. He usually dug for it between the Jetty and the
lifeboat station, in days gone by it was the location of a boat / shipbuilding
yard. The beach in that area was extremely rocky and you had to be strong and
skilled if you were going to catch the large rag worms; Dad was both. Once he
caught sight of one, then the chase was on with sand and boulders flying all
over. Once caught, the worms would be placed in a part filled bucket of sand.
A
benefit of all the digging activity in this area would be the copper nails and
brass screws that would be regularly brought to the surface. The were relics
from the boat and shipbuilding that went on in that area and were eagerly
picked up for a “Weigh in.” at a local scrap yard once a bagful had been
collected after laying deep in the sand for years.
We would
sometimes go fishing off the North Pier in Middleton or at times off the Jetty.
To be honest I liked going out in the boat much more. It may have had something
to do with the fact that I never seemed to have much good luck when fishing on
the piers and Jetty?
Certain fish
were fished for at certain times of the year. It always seemed to be the summer
holidays when we fished for Pennick, usually off the Middleton side of the Old
Ferry. The Pennick were a small fish, which followed the sprats into the
harbour. Dad would make us fishing rods using a Bamboo Cane. We would buy a
small reel and eyes for the cane and Dad would sort it all out and … hey presto a Pennick rod.
At this point of writing I thought… What is a Pennick? I
knew what they looked like, but what were they? I know my spell check didn’t
like them. I reached for my copy of Sir Cuthbert Sharpe’s History of
Hartlepool. This excellent book informed me that Billet and Pennick are both
the young of Gadus Carbonarius, better known as Coal Fish
One of our
regular fishing trips was to Motor up the coast so that we were in line with
Crimdon Dene Caravan Park, we would then turn the engine off. We would just
drift until we started catching fish then we would drop anchor. We would stay
in that chosen position until the fish stopped biting, when they stopped it was
time to motor back up the coast and repeat the earlier manoeuvre.
I also have fond memories of boat fishing for Mackerel during the summer
months. One particular trip springs to mind when we went out into Hartlepool
Bay on an evening after a day at school; it just made it feel like an extra
treat. The rods had six hooks on each with feathers and bait. There must have
been lots of fish around as we were catching them 3 at a time.
Not often, but from time to time we would go shrimping in Hartlepool Bay
between the Jetty and the North Pier. The shrimps would be boiled and eaten at
the Fisherman’s Cabins that were located were Middleton Village once proudly
stood.
One of the memorable days of my life involved a fishing
trip. It prompted me to write the following song lyric.
WE'VE ALL GONE FISHING.
ITS A DAY TO REMEMBER,
A DAY TO RECALL,
THE DAY WE WENT FISHING,
AND WE HAD A BALL,
THE LAMPLIGHTER'S CREW LEFT NO SIGN ON THE DOOR,
WE'VE ALL GONE FISHING
THERE WAS ME AND MY FATHER,
AND HIS BROTHER TOO,
THE SEA WAS SO CALM,
AND THE SKY WAS SO BLUE,
WE ROWED OUT TO LONGSCAR,'BOUT HALF MILE FROM SHORE.
WE'VE ALL GONE FISHING.
A BOAT FULL OF FISH,
A FACE FULL OF JOY,
A TIME THAT WILL STAY,
WITH A MAN FROM A BOY,
A STORY TO PASS FROM FATHER TO CHILD,
WE'VE ALL GONE FISHING.
MY FATHER AND UNCLE,
HAVE BOTH GONE TO SEA,
ONE DAY I WILL JOIN THEM,
IF THEY'VE SPACE FOR ME,
THE CREW ALL TOGETHER AND WEATHER SO MILD,
SO WE'LL ALL GO FISHING.
As the song suggests I went out fishing with my Father and his Brother,
Uncle Scal.
I remember, people on the
North Pier pointing at us as we left the West Harbour, as even back then
(1970’s) you didn’t usually see people rowing out to sea. It was a brilliant
day I caught 26 fish where as Dad & Scal only managed a handful each. There
was no skill involved just potluck. Dad had made some lures from some old
jewellery donated by our next-door neighbour and we also had bait on for good
measure. Sometime later, Dad was asked to take his boss out on a fishing trip
in a fibreglass boat that I presume belonged to his boss, Mr Plews. I went
along on the trip and Dad told them all the story of how I had caught 26 fish
on a recent trip. I wouldn’t say that they didn’t believe him but maybe it was
just a proud Dad boasting. Well again I managed the biggest catch… I caught 19
that day, I would guess more than all of the other crewmembers put together,
but again it was potluck, not skill. As when I caught the 26 fish, most of the
catch was given away. Something that always stuck with me about Uncle Scal was
when he ate Seaweed fresh off the pier. Things like that impress a young lad.
I remember one particular trip. We had left the West Harbour and rather than
go to the end the North Pier to make a pick up at the Middleton side of the Old
Ferry, Dad took a shortcut under the iron bridge that connected the two parts
of the North Pier. I knew at the time that it was one of those moments to
remember. I wouldn’t say it was dangerous, as Dad wouldn’t have put us into a
dangerous situation but suffice to say not many would have had the bottle do
it. Even the picking up of people (Fellow fishermen.) at the Old Ferry was a
memorable event.
In the winter months Dad would put pegs out on the beach. The pegs were
metal rods with a short length of fishing line attached with hook and bait. The
pegs were pushed into the sand just ahead of the rising tide. A good few hours
later, as the tide receded you had to be stood ready for the catch to appear,
thrashing about as it was left stranded by retreating sea. Going down at
nighttime to check the pegs was even more exciting. We would have torches and
it was a matter of sweeping the darkness ahead hoping to see a flash of silver
in the water. A tip Dad passed on was, that if you were going down to check the
pegs at night on your own was to take two torches. This was to make it look, to
anyone on the Pier or Bank top, that there were at least two of you on the beach.
There would be less chance of someone coming down and trying to steal the fish
off you. Knowing my Dad as I did, I don’t think that there was anyone big
enough to do that to him… maybe it was for my benefit?
My
Father died back in 1982 and I have never been fishing since. However they were
some of the happiest times of my life, so I will be forever grateful to him for
that. Now that my attention has turned to my family history, then thanks to
Dad, I feel a certain affinity with our ancestors who lived
and died on the Sea.
Beach Buoy
