Fishing

As I was writing about the river Ter yesterday I shall add George Monbiot article in the Guardian about the cleaning up of the River Wandle in London and the return of trout to its waters.  To be honest I think the fish in the Ter are graylings and have been fished out over the years, for I saw none this time.

But it reminded me of childhood, staying on a farm in Wales, at a place called Ffarmers I think and fishing for trout as children.  We even tried 'tickling' trout, and the farmer would come down  and catch a trout for tea, even sometime eel.  This poor eel wriggled around in his bag as we made our way home through the fields and even when chopped up and put in the frying pan, managed some spasmodic moves... The joy of fishing in a beautiful small Welsh river with the farm dogs and the pig for company is not to be missed!

Both Monbiot and Thomas  are bleak writers,  but are obviously able to write in a more happier mode.

 a snippet from - Song for Gwydion: by R.S. Thomas 

“When I was a child and the soft flesh was forming
Quietly as snow on the bare boughs of bone,
My father brought me trout from the green river
From whose chill lips the water song had flown.

Dull grew their eyes, the beautiful, blithe garland
Of stipples faded, as light shocked the brain;
They were the first sweet sacrifice I tasted,
A young god, ignorant of the blood’s stain”