Memories 3


If you trundle up to the top of Plessey Road you come to what we called the coal place, it was actually
the pit land of New Delaval Colliery and away to the right was Delaval pit heap and seemingly standing
on top of the heap was the Colliery itself although closed down by then it was still intact and next to
it was a pond in which there was nothing living, I lost count of the times we hauled ourselves up the heap
to introduce fish to the pond only to find the poor buggers belly up next day, of course in those days we
knew nothing of sulphur poisoning and the like and so in the end we soon gave it over, there was another
pond way down off the heap on the flat ground and that teamed with life and my dad taught me there the art
of fishing without a hook there was a grating lying over the stream into the pond and just lie on it and
tie a worm to some thread and drop it through the grate Mr stickleback grabbed it and wouldnt or couldnt
let it go and just haul him in. This aforementioned coal place was so named because it was covered in small
coal wasted from the mine and in those days times were hard and money very short, VERY!! so me and Dad
would go up armed with a garden riddle and some sacks and a spade and we gathered the coal and took it
home on Dads crossbar and into the coalhouse in the kitchen, yes it was indoors and on winter nights the
fire would be roaring up the chimney and the house was always toasty warm. As I grew older Dad took me
fishing down the harbour and here is how we did it, apply oneself to Dads bike crossbar with grape (garden fork)
in one hand and bait pail in tother and cause Dad to peddle furiously in the direction of Monkeys Island,
a small cove in the river Blyth where we dug for rag worm, entice Dad to dig furiously collecting all worms
from the spoil as we went, then cause the same said Dad to then peddle furiously in the direction of the docks
and there we would settle ourselves under the staithes," for fear it rains " Dad used to cry. Once installed,
smile sweetly and wrestle control of the fishing line from the Dad and proceed to fish till all worms were
spent and then smile sweetly once more and hand the fishing line back for Dad to tidy up and take knots out
then remind him of the pint of Exhibition Mam had promised him after his fish and chips and cause the Dad
to peddle even more furiously against the wind up Plessey Road, thats how we fished.


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