Hooked on trout
Iain Mcgregor
Oo didna aw leeve on 'spam an tatties' bit makin oot in the 1950's in a coal mining hoose wis guy hard. Sum memories tho wir kinda guid. I was echt at the time. It wis airlie in a Setturday mornin in Mey whin the post cum. It wis a wee white letter wi a tuppenny hapnay stamp backin ta ma mither. She telt iz it wis fra Uncle Tam, ma mither's big brither an that he wis cumin doon in the efternin ta tak iz fushin up the Medin that viry day. Whin she pit the letter doon ma mither seemed to git up tae high doh aboot whit I wis gan ti weer. A wis telt a wisna to wear ma auld patched breeks if a wis gan oot in Uncle Tam's new motor. At that a wis dragged doon the Co-op ta buy a pair o new lang troosers. O course a groused and mumped, an protested, bit if a wanted ti gan fushin a had better hawd my weesht.
Whin a cum back a thocht a hid bitter rake ma fushin wand oot fra abin the stairs and see if it wis still aw in yin bit. The wond was made o greenhert and yaised ti belong ta ma Uncle Wully. Uncle Wully's deed noo. Killed doon the coal-heugh. Went unner a boggie or sumhin. A hid a wee brass reel wi sum blek trooser thread fur the line. Uncle Tam wid hae gut and hooks and stuff, bit a bitter gan oot an dig sum brammel wirms frae the moppie midden.
Setturday wis aye busy. Mither spent maist o the mornins in the scullery makin the denner an oniebodie that wis aboot lent a haun ti peel the tatties. Ocht that wis fozie I fed tae the moppies.
A didna want onie denner. A wis sae dementit that a wid run along the lobby tae the front door an hae a deek oot ablow the nets every time a heard a motor. In the hinnerend Uncle Tam's bleck Ford Popular did cum, an sae did Aunty Peggy an big kizzen Ann.
A wis hotchin ta go, sa a stappit ma fushin wand an aw the gear inta the boot. Uncle Tam an ma mither blethered. He telt her thit we wid be bac fur sipper wi sum big trouts. A sat in the front seat aside the driver as it wis only the twa of us gaun. Ae felt real prood.
Oo skelped on fir aboot an oor, bit it wis braw ta sit in the motor an gan up lang hills an pass ither motors. A thocht ta masel thit whin a growe up a wid buy a motor an go fushin every day. Uncle Tam could da ocht. Mither sayed he wis a war hero an hud meddles ta prove it.
Oo sneekit the motor inta an auld hemmel at the ferm an gaithered up oor gear. Oo haid tae scrammle ower an auld dyke, corse a field wi a sheep-snell afore oo paidled over a fuird. Uncle Tam telt iz no ta go oot ower the bit-heeds or ma mither widna be weel prood wi thaim. The Medwin wisna a sonsie burn. The watter wis broon wi pates off the hill an oo seed my first whaup an sein peeweets an corbies an ten rid groose pouts. It wis braw.
Uncle Tam started fushin jist as the dreezle poored doon. Hee threaded a brammel wirm onto a hook and kiest it inta a big pool. The wirm rummelt doon the haskie water afore a big troot grabbed it in its gob. Uncle Tam lifted the top of heez wand an plyed the troot up an doon the pool fur aboot a meenit, afore it gied up an birlt onta its back. The sicht o yon troot will lest in ma heid forever wi its dark broon back an reid an yella spots on its siller painch. It wis a muckle fush to me, e'en it wis only aboot haulf a pun.
Noo it wis iz shot. Uncle Tam sorted iz hook an telt iz ta walk roond a big boolder an drap the wirm in jist ahint the stane an let it droon. A did that an nocht took it. A tried again. A felt a troot sookin the wirm but whin a lifted the gut oot the watter the wirn wis off. A rewirmed the hook an tried ower a bit. This time whin a felt the troot sookin the wirm a lifted the heid o the wand oor quick an the hail thing flew oot my haun wi a troot fleeing through fresh air. The hail caboodal crashed on the bank. The troot wis louping up an doon daein backward summersults aboot a fit abin the heather. A wastit nae time thinking a grippit the heather on the bank an jumped oot onta the troot an pinned it doon on the grund. The hook had cum oot its gob so a lifted it cannie-like wi baith hauns an banged its heid on a stane. A wis a real fusher now so a proodly wrapped it in sum hillfog an drapped it in ma fushin bag.
Oo kept fushin fur the rest o the efternin. Uncle Tam grunded onither fower an a kepit getting stuck in the weeds but na mair fush. By teatime a wis gled to walk back ta the motor as ma claithes wir ringing weet an a wis stane-tired. Oo pit oor fushin gear inta the motor an sterted the drive hame. A must ha fawn asleep as whin a wakened up a wis back at ma mither's hoose. Oo aw admired the troots an big kizzen Ann gutted thim , fried them in pinhead oatmeal an oo aw hid a gid supper. An then off ta bed an dreams.
