it any use talking about it； i wonder—the sort of fairy light that fish and fishing tackle have in a kid’s eyes？ some kids feel the same about guns and shooting； some feel it about motor…bikes or aeroplanes or horses。 it’s not a thing that you can explain or rationalize； it’s merely magic。 one morning—it was in june and i must have been eight—i knew that joe was going to cut school and go out fishing； and i made up my mind to follow。 in some way joe guessed what i was thinking about； and he started on me while we were dressing。
‘now then； young george！ don’t you get thinking you’re ing with the gang today。 you stay back home。’
‘no； i didn’t。 i didn’t think nothing about it。’
‘yes； you did！ you thought you were ing with the gang。’
‘no； i didn’t！’
‘yes； you did！’
‘no； i didn’t！’
‘yes； you did！ you stay back home。 we don’t want any bloody kids along。’
joe had just learned the word ‘bloody’ and was always using it。 father overheard him once and swore that he’d thrash the life out of joe； but as usual he didn’t do so。 after breakfast joe started off on his bike； with his satchel and his grammar school cap； five minutes early as he always did when he meant to cut school； and when it was time for me to leave for mother howlett’s i sneaked off and hid in the lane behind the allotments。 i knew the gang were going to the pond at the mill farm； and i was going to follow them if they murdered me for it。 probably they’d give me a hiding； and probably i wouldn’t get home to dinner； and then mother would know that i’d cut school and i’d get another hiding； but i didn’t care。 i was just desperate to go fishing with the gang。 i was cunning； too。 i allowed joe plenty of time to make a circuit round and get to the mill farm by road； and then i followed down the lane and skirted round the meadows on the far side of the hedge； so as to get almost to the pond before the gang saw me。 it was a wonderful june morning。 the buttercups were up to my knees。 there was a breath of wind just stirring the tops of the elms； and the great green clouds of leaves were sort of soft and rich like silk。 and it was nine in the morning and i was eight years old； and all round me it was early summer； with great tangled hedges where the wild roses were still in bloom； and bits of soft white cloud drifting overhead； and in the distance the low hills and the dim blue masses of the woods round upper binfield。 and i didn’t give a damn for any of it。 all i was thinking of was the green pool and the carp and the gang with their hooks and lines and bread paste。 it was as though they were in paradise and i’d got to join them。 presently i managed to sneak up on them—four of them； joe and sid lovegrove and the errand boy and another shopkeeper’s son； harry barnes i think his name was。
joe turned and saw me。 ‘christ！’ he said。 ‘it’s the kid。’ he walked up to me like a tom…cat that’s going to start a fight。 ‘now then； you！ what’d i tell you？ you get back ‘ome double quick。’
both joe and i were inclined to drop our aitches if we were at all excited。 i backed away from him。
‘i’m not going back ‘ome。’
‘yes you are。’
‘clip his ear； joe；’ said sid。 ‘we don’t want no kids along。’
‘are you going back ‘ome？’ said joe。
‘no。’
‘righto； my boy！ right…ho！’
then he started on me。 the next minute he was chasing me round； catching me one clip after another。 but i didn’t run away from the pool； i ran in circles。 presently he’d caught me and got me down； and then he knelt on my upper arms and began screwing my ears； which was his favourite torture and one i couldn’t stand。 i was blubbing by this time； but still i wouldn’t give in and promise to go home。 i wanted to stay and go fishing with the gang。 and suddenly the others swung round in my favour and told joe to get up off my chest and let me stay if i wanted to。 so i stayed after all。
the others had some hooks and lines and floats and a lump of bread paste in a rag； and we all cut ourselves willow switches from the tree at the corner of the pool。 the farmhouse was only about two hundred yards away； and you had to keep out of sight because old brewer was very down on fishing。 not that it made any difference to him； he only used the pool for watering his cattle； but he hated boys。 the others were still jealous of me and kept telling me to get out of the light and reminding me that i was only a kid and knew nothing about fishing。 they said that i was making such a noise i’d scare all the fish away； though actually i was making about half as much noise as anyone else there。 finally they wouldn’t let me sit beside them and sent me to another part of the pool where the water was shallower and there wasn’t so much shade。 they said a kid like me was sure to keep splashing the water and frighten the fish away。 it was a rotten part of the pool； a part where no fish would ordinarily e。 i knew that。 i seemed to know by a kind of instinct the places where a fish would lie。 still； i was fishing at last。 i was sitting on the grass bank with the rod in my hands； with the flies buzzing round； and the smell of wild peppermint fit to knock you down； watching the red float on the green water； and i was happy as a tinker although the tear… marks mixed up with dirt were still all over my face。
lord knows how long we sat there。 the morning stretched out and out； and the sun got higher and higher； and nobody had a bite。 it was a hot still day； too clear for fishing。 the floats lay on the water with never a quiver。 you could see deep down into the water as though you were looking into a kind of dark green glass。 out in the middle of the pool you could see the fish lying just under the surface； sunning themselves； and sometimes in the weeds near the side a newt would e gliding upwards and rest there with his fingers on the weeds and his nose just out of the water。 but the fish weren’t biting。 the others kept shouting that they’d got a nibble； but it was always a lie。 and the time stretched out and out and it got hotter and hotter； and the flies ate you alive； and the wild peppermint under the bank smelt like mother wheeler’s sweet…shop。 i was getting hungrier and hungrier； all the more because i didn’t know for certain where my dinner was ing from。 but i sat as still as a mouse and never took my eyes off the float。 the others had given me a lump of bait about the size of a marble； telling me that would have to do for me； but for a long time i didn’t even dare to re…bait my hook； because every time i pulled my line up they swore i was making enough noise to frighten every fish within five miles。
i suppose we must have been there about two hours when suddenly my float gave a quiver。 i knew it was a fish。 it must have been a fish that was just passing accidentally and saw my bait。 there’s no mistaking the movement your float gives when it’s a real bite。 it’s quite different from the way it moves when you twitch your line accidentally。 the next moment it gave a sharp bob and almost went under。 i couldn’t hold myself in any longer。 i yelled to the others：
‘i’ve got a bite！’
‘rats！’ yelled sid lovegrove instantly。
but the next moment there wasn’t any doubt about it。 the float dived straight down； i could still see it under the water； kind of dim red； and i felt the rod tighten in my hand。 christ； that feeling！ the line jerking and straining and a fish on the other end of it！ the others saw my rod bending； and the next moment they’d all flung their rods down and rushed round to me。 i gave a terrific haul and the fish—a great huge silvery fish—came flying up through the air。 the same moment all of us gave a yell of agony。 the fish had slipped off the hook and fallen into the wild peppermint under the bank。 but he’d fallen into shallow water where he couldn’t turn over； and for perhaps a second he lay there on his side helpless。 joe flung himself into the water； splashing us all over； and grabbed him in both hands。 ‘i got ‘im！’ he yelled。 the next moment he’d flung the fish on to the grass and we were all kneeling round it。 how we gloated！ the poor dying brute flapped up and down and his scales glistened all the colours of the rainbow。 it was a huge carp； seven inches long at least； and must have weighed a quarter of a pound。 how we shouted to see him！ but the next moment it was as though a shadow had fallen across us。 we looked up； and there was old brewer standing over us； with his tall billycock hat—one of those hats they used to wear that were a cross between a top hat and a bowler—and his cowhide gaiters and a thick hazel stick in his hand。
we suddenly cowered like partridges when there’s a hawk overhead。 he looked from one to other of us。 he had a wicked old mouth with no teeth in it； and since he’d shaved his beard off his chin looked like a nutcracker。
‘what are you boys doing here？’ he said。
there wasn’t much doubt about what we were doing。 nobody answered。
‘i’ll learn ‘ee e fishing in my pool！’ he suddenly roared； and the next moment he was on us； whacking out in all directions。
the black hand broke and fled。 we left all the rods behind and also the fish。 old brewer chased us half across the