Fishing with Harry: A tale of piscatorial mayhem

Fishing with Harry: A tale of piscatorial mayhem

Fishing with Harry: A tale of piscatorial mayhem

Fishing with Harry: A tale of piscatorial mayhem

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Overview

Harry, an incorrigible, engaging and dapper biscuit salesman in his forties, ex-Army and the City, becomes the unlikely angling companion of young Tony, the love-struck, shy 19-year-old accountant who is courting his step-daughter.
Throughout the 1960s, this unique fishing friendship is cemented via a series of largely nocturnal fishing jaunts across London, Essex then further afield, to ponds, gravel pits and rivers.
As mods and rockers hit the scene, Harry and Tony set off at first on buses, then on a scooter and later, more luxuriously, in Tony's battered green Ford. With huge excitement and more than their share of mayhem and mishap, they cast their lines wherever fish are to be found (or not, as the case may be!)

At times touching, at times bawdy, always amusing – this is a book not just for anglers but for anyone who enjoys a finely-told story.

** All royalties from sales of this book will be donated to the charity CRY (Cardiac Risk in the Young) **


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781906122768
Publisher: Merlin Unwin Books
Publication date: 03/15/2014
Sold by: Bookwire
Format: eBook
Pages: 240
File size: 10 MB
Age Range: 18 Years

About the Author

Tony Baws went to Grammar School in Southend and worked as a Chartered Accountant in London and Essex. He was a voluntary warden of his local National Nature Reserve, which is part of Essex Wildlife Trust. He is married to artist and illustrator Suzie Baws and they live in Leigh-on-Sea.

Read an Excerpt

Gaining my full licence a month later gave me the right to carry a pillion passenger. Suzie was stick-thin, quite à la mode for the fashion-conscious Sixties, and I hardly noticed her weight on the back seat. Harry, at 16 stones and over six feet, would be a different matter.
Our first scooter outing was also to be our first expedition as members of a bona fide angling club (albeit one with an apparently limitless membership). Simply by paying the requisite subscription at an angling shop in Southend, we had acquired membership cards, badges and a map of club waters in the Chelmsford area.
So on a bright morning in late October we prepared to head out to Little Baddow on the Chelmer and Blackwater Navigation, the canal in mid-Essex which connects the rivers Chelmer and Blackwater. Harry chose this precise moment to pass on some unwelcome information.
'I've always been bloody hopeless with anything on wheels, Baws.'
Oh joy! Hang on though ...'What about that open top sports car then, Harry? The one you always talk about?'
'The little Singer Le Mans you mean?' said Harry. 'I had that for a while when I was at the War Office — used to think it was fast as buggery! Probably only did about 60 flat out. Modern cars would probably piss straight past it. Still,' he said, with a wicked smile and a twinkle in his eye, 'the ladies liked it. It went well with the Sam Brown belt and the swagger stick.'
Yes indeed. My very own mother was apparently one of those ladies. After being introduced to Harry for the first time (or so I thought), she took me to one side and gave me some rather disquieting news.
'Do you know,' she said, 'I swear I was once picked up in an open top sports car in Hadleigh by that man. I remember him distinctly. Thin moustache, hair parted in the middle, army uniform. He hooted to me from his car and waved at me with some sort of stick. I was walking along the London Road down towards Thames Drive. There were no buses, so I was grateful for a lift.'
I had been enormously relieved when she assured me that there was no more to the story than that. I attempted to shut the event from my mind as I pressed Harry about his driving skills.

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