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Martin Skeffington, who was born in 1943 at Earl Shilton in Leicestershire, recalls happy times going fishing with his father.
One of my father's favourite pastimes was fishing. During the summer months when the fishing season recommenced we would often go with Aunt Frances and Uncle Les to a canal where dad and uncle Les would fish. It would usually be near Yelvertoft, Northants, but there were other places too such as Kilby in Leicestershire, or near Gumley in Leicestershire.
We would set off and take a picnic, which would be set up on the tow path close to where the car had been parked. These were halcyon days. Whilst dad and uncle Les fished, mother and aunt Frances would go for a walk along the tow path or just sit and idly stare at all going on around them. Other times as the autumn approached they would go blackberrying along the hedgerows.
Initially, I was given a fishing net with which I would try and catch the small fry swimming about near the surface of the canal, but when I got older I was bought a rod and line to fish alongside my dad. This would last some time but if I was unsuccessful I would start to move along the canal bank to spots where I would consider myself to have a better chance. Often my boredom threshold would be low and I might abandon my rod and line to do other things.
Fishing did have its moments, such as when you cast the line too far and it caught on the bushes on the other side, or the hook became snagged in the water weed. Pleasure craft were only just beginning to use the canal system following the war and often the canal was undisturbed for much if not all the time we were there. It was always exciting to see a boat coming along the canal even if it did disturb the fishing.
It was mainly roach, bream, tench and perch which were caught apart from the memorable occasion when dad thought he had caught a big'un, only to find that he had caught an old boot! How the family laughed as we thought this only happened in cartoons! Dad bought a spinner to catch pike but I can never remember him being successful.
We did not always go with uncle Les and aunt Frances. Sometimes we would get up early and get on our cycles to go and fish the local river, which we always knew as the Normanton River, a tributary of the River Soar. This meant getting up at 4 or 5 o'clock in the morning - dad must have been really keen. Other times we would catch the train at nearby Elmesthorpe Station and travel to Blaby to fish the canal, or Narborough to fish the River Soar where it flowed through Narborough Bogs. Mr. Bonsor a neighbour owned land there and we had his permission to fish.
Over the years we tried most canals in striking distance of home whether in uncle's car or under our own steam. The Ashby Canal at Sutton Cheney, the canal at Mancetter, Warwickshire, the canal at Brinklow, Warwickshire where I would admire the trains passing on the nearby Euston to the North West railway line. On all these occasions however almost without fail we would stop at a local pub on the way home. Usually if mother and aunt Frances accompanied us we would sit outside in the beer garden, or if there was not this facility, remain in the car where we would be plied with drink and a packet of crisps - in my case usually lemonade or Vimto.
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