Who, Me?

Short Story

“Come fishing,” boomed the voice of my next-door neighbour

Bob.

“Who, me?” I said. “Fishing?”

My fishing knowledge began and finished at the age of

eight. My experience was confined to the time I, with a small

net attached to a length of bamboo, went hunting for ‘tiddlers’

in one of the many streams in my home country of

Somerset, England. Having been marginally successful in

finding a few ‘whoppers’ and taking them home in an empty

jam-tin I found along the riverbank. My mother, shocked and

horrified, said, ‘’Why bring those things home? You can’t eat

them!”

I suppose she was right after all – at the time it was halfway

through World War II; you had to be practical.

‘’You’re on!” I said getting back to my friend Bob.

“I’ll pick you up, get your pommy hat on, the flaming sun

will give you a headache,” he said.

Margery – that’s the wife – wasn’t keen on the idea.

“You know you can’t swim.”

‘’Bob’s got life-jackets,” I ventured.

“You want your head examined if you ask me,” she said.

Bob returned driving a Nissan Patrol Wagon with a boat

in tow.

“New boat,” I said. “Got it from one of the blokes at the

R.A.A.F. Base. Hop in.”

I stepped into the wagon, popped my Esky behind the front

seat and put my pommy hat on at an angle. It was a white

peeked cap I had used in the local production of the “Pirates

of Penzance”!

“Where are we going?” I said. ‘’Shoal Harbour, near Wollongong.”

It was hot, a typical summer day.

“I think I’ll have a drink.”

 

“Suit yourself,” said Bob. I rummaged about until I got the

lid off my Esky and located a can of orange drink. “Strewth,

I thought you meant a proper drink, but perhaps I’ll have one

after all,” he said, thinking of his driver’s licence.

On we went, passing through the industrial City of Wollongong.

‘’Couple of miles and we’ll be there,” said Bob.

We arrived at the sea of shimmering sand, which abuts the

main road. We were not alone.

Hundreds of cars, each with its own boat and trailer. Some

large and some small, according to how well the owners

fared in the credit rating with the financial institutions.

‘’Give us a hand,” said Bob.

He reversed the boat and trailer into the calm sea. I did

my bit by pushing the nose of the boat. In a few minutes we

went aboard. Bob started the engine – we were off! What a

ride, out to sea at 20 Knots. I’ll stop in a minute”, said Bob. We

were going, miles out to sea. It was breath taking. The sound

of the Mercury outboard, the rocking of the boat, the spray of

the splashing waves striking the boat, we rushed along into

the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.

Bob stopped the engine. He sat in the swivelled chair in

the boat’s cockpit. “Where’s the fishing gear?” I said as Bob

searched through the lockers.

‘’Never mind the fishing gear, get hold of one of these” he

said passing me a can of Swan Lager.

‘’Cheers,” I said as I downed the beer. Fishing, that’s the

kind of fishing I like. He passed me another. I swallowed!

THE END

 

The rights of Geoffrey Nash as the author of this work have been asserted.

Apart from fair use as permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968,

no part of the publication may be reproduced in any form or by any process

without the prior written permission of the author.

Author: Geoffrey Nash

© 2006 Geoffrey Nash

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