Tang Hall Beck

Gold cherry

By Turlough

Sun, 21 Jul 2024
  • 1172 reads
20 comments
 

Tang Hall Beck

 

On boyhood’s bare calves

Wellies that thwack in summer heat

Bring raw red rings of stings  

While water gushes

Gurgling, it finds a hole

To soggy a sock or two

 

A causeway of slimy stones

As green as beer bottles

Shattered and scattered

Leads fresh-faced fisher folk

By tyres and rusty prams

To delve the deepest pools

 

Net heaves on bamboo cane

Wrestled to the bank are

Fins and gills and bragging rights

This spiny inch of beauty

A living trophy from a perfect day

Ichthyic, beloved and mine

 

The salmon of all knowledge

Leaping through my mind

An aquatic sage, valuates the catch

Above any piscine prize

That might shimmer and splash

Beyond my jam jar’s wall  

 

Image:

This is Zimmy the Fish. He isn’t THE fish in the poem but he isn’t just A fish either. He was a much loved family member for almost ten years and we miss him very much.

 

Certificate U
Poem
Poetry in Commotion
Nature
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Such a striking poem Turlough. Oh! For those simple days of going fishing with just a net on a summers day as a child and exploring the day away...you just can't beat those memories. 

Remembering many days at Kingsweston pond fishing for tadpoles. I can never recall what we did with them, but the fun was in the exploration

Thank you for stirring my memories yet again.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

I think it might be for the best that we can't remember what happened to the poor little creatures we used to catch.

I'm very glad that you enjoyed the stirring of the memories Jenny. Thank you for taking the time to be stirred.

Turlough

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

A brilliant evocation of a summer's afternoon - I wouldn't do it now either Turlough, but it was wonderful at the time (not fish for me, but crabbing off a little bridge with a piece of stinky bacon, net at the ready!)

 

Submitted by Turlough on

No, I wouldn't do it now either IPFN. I've been back to Tang Hall Beck in recent years and noticed that there's more chance of catching a deadly disease than a fish.

Thank you very much for the cherries.

Turlough

Submitted by seashore on

Just got back from you-know-where to find this little gem of a poem. I had to look up 'ichthyic'- never heard it before, but I like words, especially new ones.

Thank you x

Submitted by Turlough on

Thanks very much our Coral.

Apparently it's the old Greek word for fish. Sorry I don't know their words for chips and mushy peas.

Tx

Turlough

Submitted by celticman on

zimmy had his day in every watery way. I'm glad you remembered his ancestors here and kept them clear, so we could all see piscine history. 

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Thanks very much CM. I try to take the piscine approach in all my stories.

Turlough

Submitted by Di_Hard on

That was great, how you start with the red ring wellies give bare legs! Argh! I had forgotten those, but they were such a big consideration in Summer, weren't they? The Little Mermaid not being able to walk on her new feet would have understood.
"While water gushes/Gurgling" evokes brilliantly coolness and depth, the thought of visiting a river as visiting a live magical being, like a dragon. Then how you have the mossy natural stones followed by the rusty prams and tyres, showing it's not all rose tinted, almost like the welly rash for the natural world. But then, your fish!
"Net heaves on bamboo cane

Wrestled to the bank are

Fins and gills and bragging rights

This spiny inch of beauty

A living trophy from a perfect day

Ichthyic, beloved and mine"

If only Hemingway could have written like this, I would have enjoyed The Old Man And The Sea at school
ps I still miss my goldfish, too

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Ernest Hemingway's fish was far too big. I could see from the first chapter of the book that the old Cuban was going to struggle. He should have come with me and John Lancaster. If it won't fit in the jam jar, throw it back! That was our motto.

I'm tempted to expand this into a novel... The Young Man and the Beck.

 

Turlough

Submitted by marandina on

"A causeway of slimy stones

As green as beer bottles

Shattered and scattered.."
 

That an evocative poem with pen pictures drawn so distinctly.

Took me to another time and place.

Fine work indeed.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Were there beer bottles in that other time and place that you went to Paul? 

Thanks for saying such nice things. I'm grateful. as ever.

Turlough

Submitted by marandina on

This wonderful evocation of another time and place is today's Facebook and X/Twitter Pick of the Day.

Congratulations, Turlough.

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Fifty-eight years after I caught the fish... those golden cherries have been a long time coming but they were well worth the wait.

I'm immensely delighted so thanks very much for that Paul.

Turlough

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Very big congratulations Turlough - well deserved!

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Thanks very much IPFN. 

smiley

Turlough

Submitted by airyfairy on

Yes, no longer as picturesque as you describe, Turlough, but I think they have tried to make efforts to clean it up. It still floods with great enthusiasm.

Lovely poem!

Submitted by Turlough on

Even back then it was barely more than an open sewer. It was quickly dropped from our list of sporting venues when a frog-infested pond somewhere on Stockton Lane was discovered.

But thank you for reading and commenting. 

Turlough

Submitted by Mark Burrow on

Really enjoyed this, Turlough. Could feel the thwacking of the wellies! Good stuff. 

 

Submitted by Turlough on

Ah, thanks Mark. You can't beat a good thwack.

Turlough