Nostalgia - the apocalypse thread reminded me of something....

[Stabs 3]

An unpublished article calIed Nostalgia For An Age Yet To Come

 

I once wrote of a particular part of Kent that although unremarkable to the casual observer and occasional rambler, will forever hold a special place in my heart. Despite not having any outstanding landmarks to differentiate it from the other thousands upon thousands of acres of farmland and woodland in the vicinity, it is special to me by virtue of the fact that I spent so many mornings, afternoons and evenings there simply enjoying myself with a few dogs at my feet and in the company of decent lads, some of whom are still in the business; whilst others are irreparably damaged – some physically, some mentally. I think of that place and in my mind’s eye I see dogs pushing through undergrowth, lurchers waiting on the periphery bouncing in nervous anticipation, sunshine beaming down upon us, and above all I see smiling faces. I know for a fact that the sun can’t have shone all the time, as the photos of that place look pretty wet and grey looking back on them, but I can be certain that we would all have been smiling and laughing. That much is not subject to the fickle revision of nostalgia. I’ve recently read an interview whereby an artist criticised the constant critical appraisal of his own earlier work as the “morbid fascination with nostalgia” and I think there might be only very few of us who don’t sometimes hark back to earlier, more carefree (I won’t say better) times. I know I do, and I’ve recently finished writing a book (purely for my own amusement – total copies in circulation = 1) about the glorious summer of 1990, where (you guessed it) the sun was constantly shining (it actually was!) and nothing but good times were had by one and all. The reality may have been slightly different of course, but that’s one of the peculiarities of memory, the weighting tends to be placed on the positive aspects of life. As the famous American news columnist Doug Larson once said “Nostalgia is a file that removes the rough edges from the good old days.” A self-defence mechanism if ever there was one. If you’re one of those people who look back over their lives and your overriding memories are negative, then I truly feel for you and you have my sympathies. In these times of austerity and frugality, it’s easier now than ever to think back to times when your only worry was what time you had to be in at night, or if that bird you fancied would say yes if you asked her out. Times when there was no mortgage hanging over your head; when there was no tax bill to pay; when you didn’t struggle to scrape together enough to kit the kids out in new clothes. To paraphrase Owens Lee Pomeroy, nostalgia is similar to a lesson in English grammar – you find the present tense, but the past perfect. Reading that back, it sounds a bit like a song from The Kinks (and by extension, The Jam), but hey, I guess that’s why those bands were so damned popular – whether intentional or not, they tapped in to a common denominator of our psyche. And with all of that preamble, I hope you will indulge me as I wander down memory lane once more.

 

There is a park near to where I used to live and this place wasn’t your average park or recreation ground, being 180 hectares in size. Originally it had been a country estate but was gifted to the nation in a public display of philanthropy, so rarely seen in real estate circles these days. Judging from the proliferation of houses crowded around its substantial walls, the value of this land on today’s market would be simply astronomical. These are the times that we live in though. Our nation is crowded, our towns are growing and spreading into our ever dwindling countryside and still we invite more to come and live in our lands. More kids are going to be born not knowing the country ways and there are going to be less and less people to show them should they show an interest. Hunting is not killing alone, but I just have to look about me at this very moment to realise that the subtleties are already fading and in some instances, have long since disappeared already. The media are often guilty of picking the low-hanging fruit and lazy journalism is nothing new, but the more technologically savvy amongst our ranks are often the younger and more urban based and sometimes their isolation from country ways becomes apparent through their postings on social media websites, which is manna from heaven for the aforementioned hacks. As kids, we were lucky. Despite growing up in an urban environment, it was nothing compared to the inner city estates that produced such filth that graced not just the nation’s, but the world’s television screens during the “civil unrest” that erupted in Britain last year. Nesting, hunting, fishing and shooting thrived among our suburbs and in particular the ones that required the least capital outlay. I will exclude nesting from those as there were only a few of us who still haunted the hedges with a pocketful of nails. The vagaries of traditional past-times I guess, although legislation did have a lot to do with that one. Cock-shying on Shrove Tuesday went the same way, although that one is probably a little harder to defend! Should any of you ever fancy delving into our nation’s traditions and sports, then I would wholeheartedly recommend reading The English Year by Steve Roud – I believe that it’s even available on Kindle, Ceefax or Etch-A-sketch.

 

This particular park that I’m talking about had everything including rolling hills, marsh, woodland, flat grassland and a dark, lazy stream. I frequented that place for twenty+ years and it was a little oasis where we could indulge in our very own versions of fieldsports. We frequently raced home from school to get changed before meeting over there for a spot of hedge bashing and I can remember a mate of mine, who I would see over that park years later in altogether different circumstances (more of that later), blowing his first egg on the banks of a small hill made entirely out of spoil from when the lake was dredged. It was a Goldfinch’s egg and probably not the best to start with due to its size, which allied to the unfamiliarity that my mate had with eggs meant he literally ended up with egg on his face (and in his mouth) as the egg cracked, and no amount of Top-Deck Shandy could seemingly get rid of the taste.

 

Older kids (or kids who wanted to be older) frequented the playground as evidenced by the liberal distribution of cigarette butts, empty cans of cheap lager and cider and the occasional condom. Privacy was always at a premium for teenagers so “carrying on” (as my Mam calls it) in a public park would seem an incongruous thing to do, but darkness affords the privacy and intimacy that is often unavailable when mum and dad are downstairs watching Coronation Street on low so they can detect any audible signs of enjoyment. We went drinking over there ourselves a few times and as there was a Paki shop that had no qualms about selling lager to obviously (very) underage teenagers, we were never short of a can or two. I would like to think, however, that we always used the bins provided for our empty cans though. I can remember the biggest end of any era that I have ever experienced which we spent in that park, and that was the last day of school. There was five of us over there, great mates, been together for years. We’d experienced everything that was important to us together (well, nearly everything) and this was it, this was the end. No cheap Paki lager for us on this auspicious occasion. Dave thought the occasion fitting for some of his family’s home brew, and this stuff was nectar. Dave’s family had a proud military tradition and he loved nothing better than showing us photographs of his grandfather walking down the Champs-Elyse the day that Paris fell – not August 1944, as you might expect, but rather June 1940. You see Dave’s grandfather wore an altogether different uniform than our grandfathers had! Dave’s grandfather not only had an appreciation for Hugo Boss clothing (which meant something other than it does today), but he also had a keen eye for brewing his own beer. This had evidently been passed down to Dave’s dad and as we sat on the kiddies roundabout, wearing our blue and gold striped ties for the very last time, we saluted Dave’s brewing heritage as Dave himself sang some song about some bloke called Horst Wessel that we didn’t understand, but cheered anyway. And away we went – cast to the winds. That was twenty plus years ago and I’ve only seen three of those lads once since. Brothers in arms once upon a time, now I’d probably not even recognise them in the street.

 

Upon moving back to the area as an adult, I started frequenting the park again with my dogs and there was much sport to be had. I never did see any rabbits over there, but there were squirrels, rats, foxes and badgers, not that we touched those of course. I used to leave the house in the small hours and take the little pack over there for a rake about before work and the place was mostly deserted. You’d see one or two cars in the car park, and they were usually people conducting illicit relationships I guess, whether that meant they were having affairs or they were hiding the nature of their desires from a less forgiving society, I couldn’t say. They never bothered me and I never bothered them. I was more interested in the foxes and rodents that I’d occasionally find in my Clulite beam so I’d trudge off across the myriad football pitches to where the set-aside was and begin my walk in earnest. Only once did I ever come across anyone else that I suspected that was doing something similar. I was walking up a steep hill that was actually part of the dreaded school cross country course, and when I flicked the beam on, there were two brindle lurchers where there should have only been one. The tail wagging alerted me to a lack of animosity and as I got closer to the dogs, another beam lit me up briefly before it was extinguished in a hurry. I stayed my ground as a voice called “Monty!” but Monty’s desire to stay with my bitch overcame his training, so we had ourselves a stalemate. The lamp holder gave up calling in the end and after checking with his lamp that we were still in situe, he made his way over.

 

“Hello mate, having a look about are you?” I asked

“No, just walking the dog.”

“How’s he bred?” I enquired

“Errr….Staffy cross whippet”

 

And with that he was on his way and I never did see him again. That’s not to say he stopped going over there of course; he maybe simply chose not to advertise it. Something a few people could learn from.

 

The night brought some people to the park, but most of the likely candidates kept away as it was also home to a small mental hospital. Actually, I don’t think it was a mental hospital but more of a home for handicapped folks, but certainly in popular opinion it housed the criminally insane who were intent on cutting your throat and doing despicable things to you, in which particular order I couldn’t say. I kept away from there except for one particular night when my lurcher went missing as a youngster. Now when I was in my early teens there was a story about a bloke called the Mad Monk who was said to prowl the streets, to what end I don’t know, but we were terrified of bumping into him. My mate swore he once saw him when he was out pinching milk and bottles of orange juice from doorsteps, but we always took the piss out of him for being scared and therefore naturally, a homosexual. You couldn’t be too careful though and I certainly took no chances and armed myself with a pair of nunchaku that I’d made from a broomstick and a chain from an outside toilet, when I went about my paper round each morning. Suffice it to say, my crude homemade martial arts weapon never got used in anger, thankfully, and the Mad Monk was long forgotten over time. I have to say though, standing all alone before that haunted mental hospital (it had be haunted, right?) in the pitch black, waiting for a bloody puppy to come back, with the owls hooting and foxes screaming, I did start to shit myself ever so slightly. Then I saw someone…..

I legged it.

 

What was probably a drunk or philanderer on their way home, looked to me like a seven foot tall, blood-thirsty ghoul stalking the hospital grounds for a fresh kill. I can’t have gone far before I realised I didn’t have my dog with me, but I wasn’t going back there. I flicked my lamp on and made as much noise as possible in the hope that evil only exists in dark, quiet places. I shouted for that dog until I was hoarse and all the while my nipper was still going nineteen to the dozen. Thankfully she came back and we didn’t hang around to see if old mate was still in the vicinity. My kingdom for a pair of nunchaku!

 

I once met an old mate of mine over there one morning, the one who broke the Goldfinch’s egg all those years before. We’d been pretty close once upon a time although his interest in anything remotely to do with fieldsports ended when he broke that egg. The sun was just thinking about peeping over the horizon and I was trudging along the edge of the lake (close to where I’d once found an entire grass snake skin and also a beautiful Reed Warbler’s nest), and I was just thinking of my traditional Sunday morning bacon sandwich, when I saw Darren just sitting there staring out across the lake. I went over to make sure that he was okay, as I assumed that he’d been on the drink or been chucked out, or both. After enquiring about his health, it transpired that he was absolutely fine and he’d come to the park in order to be in beautiful surroundings when his “come down” kicked in. He’d been out clubbing in the town and had taken various pharmaceuticals which were apparently very much wearing off. He had other drugs on his person to combat this, some of which he offered to me, but I declined, preferring to indulge in one of his Camel Lights. I sat with him for as long as it takes to leisurely smoke two fags, and then I left him to his sunrise and his attempt to straighten his head. I wonder if he looked back on those days when we were kids with the same reverence as I did. We’d shared a lot for many years, but like the lads on the roundabout on the last day of school, we go our separate ways and we cope with life in our own fashion. Maybe the drugs were his way of momentarily returning to the innocence and carefree days of his youth. Every cripple has his way of walking, but that ain’t for me.

 

I was recently asked to participate in a book by a good friend of mine, and one of the questions I was asked was surrounding any particularly memorable occasions that spring to mind in regards to my hunting exploits. Well, to be honest, I was very lucky in so much that my dogs used to continually amaze me when out hunting, whether that be retrieving geese off lakes, finding, catching and killing foxes when they had no right to do so or pulling off spectacular catches when walking the hedges. Little Nell was the best dog I have ever had but that doesn’t mean that I am not striving for something better. I have a dog on my yard now that does me proud and suits me down to the ground. He’s perhaps not as versatile as Nell was, but I am not chasing all and sundry these days so he’s very much a dog for a specific task, which I might add, he does alright at. Hopefully I’ll be reminiscing about him in my old age, whilst all the time keeping an eye on the charge sat at my feet.

 

So I’ll end this article where I began. Nostalgia. I’ve got some great memories of some great times, people and places, but it’s not enough to live in the past. We’re creating memories every day and I’ve no doubt that I’ll look back on the times I am experiencing now with the same, if not more, appreciation as those times when I was a kid. I do realise the irony of trading on past glories when writing articles for the magazine, whilst simultaneously trying to emphasize the need to avoid resting on your laurels, but I hope none of us live solely in the past and that we don’t trade on past exploits alone, particularly when there are people out there creating memories, reputations and in some cases, legends, right this very minute.

[asanley 1,009]

I enjoyed that , a really nice piece , nostalgia is definatly not what it used to be , lol

[gamerooster 1,179]

Cracking read that, just out of curiosity, where did you publish most of your writing?

[Tam O'Void 297]

Can't give a Like ,so I'll have to answer..Good read ..I live in the now ,but my Heart & EARS live in the Past to some Extent..Cant love ROCKABILY ,Hillbilly music and Not !

Every where in the U.K. must have these "OASIS" and always with a Resident "LOONEY BIN ".as Kids the Siren went off !!and it was a MAD Axes man on the loose...in reality ,a RECOVERING Alcoholic....

Remember one time the bigger Kids took a fence down and allowed a herd of cow to come into the Primary school.to Patt !! away..

I still return nigh on weekly to one of these Spots...with my kids ..Just to "BOAST" of my Exploits there !!Trees are harder to climb now..and the River Abit COLDER..show them dens That a 100 foxes were Bolted from ..I wish !

Oh ! do I miss the Dens ,dug down into the ground then built up with Cellar doors,always on hand for such tasks,and Bonny night ..in the end they bricked the cellars up !Plushly laid out with some pishy old carpet ..for the Young maidens of the scheme to lay themself down on ...Romance Eh !

Wonder what happened to BIG LIZZIE...probably married and living in Subarbia !!!with shiny Kids..!

[Born Hunter 17,837]

Why can't we 'like' mods posts? That was a cracking read, you've got a bit of a talent for writing.

 

This cracked me up, it's practically scientific fact when you're a teenager;

"but we always took the piss out of him for being scared and therefore naturally, a homosexual."

[scothunter 12,609]

Outstanding read stabs.

[torchey 1,328]

Really enjoyed reading that although it left me with a bit of a [ f**k it them days have gone feeling]

[scothunter 12,609]

Me too torchey lol never thought about by gone days so much in Ages lol

[Simoman 110]

Excellent stuff as always, stabs has a knack of painting a very vivid picture in your head, one of the best fieldsport writers today imo............

[NEWKID 27,734]

Really enjoyed that thanks Stabs

 

That brought loads of good memories back

[WILF 48,264]

Much too clever for your own good my friend......enjoyed that pal

[borderboy 80]

Fantastic read... I've been out of the loop 'field sports' wise, with one thing and another, however today something gave me that little itch... And I too started to reminisce on days spent in the field... But also thinking of the future and how I want to stay involved, which I haven't felt like for a very long time...

 

Thanks for sharing...

[Waz 4,276]

Good read, just wondering if youv'e kept copies of all the bits and bobs youve written, one I read a few years ago was a corker.

[Doohan 46]

Really great read thank you for sharing

[Stabs 3]

Thanks for the kind words everyone

 

Waz....tried to pm you but you musr be full up mate