Lines in Pleasant Places | Page 8

angler of that ilk fifty years ago, as I can well remember, for all his
cockneyism, worked hard for his sport, and enjoyed a fair amount of it.
When, for example, I used to fish at Rickmansworth in the middle
'sixties, you would see anglers walking away with their rods and creels
from Watford station to various waters four or five miles distant. There
are more railways now, but less available fishing, and the anglers have
multiplied a thousandfold, making a wonderful change of conditions.
There were plenty of little-known, out-of-the-way places where
common fishing could be had for the asking, and excellent bags made
by the competent. Manford and Serton were two young men who, I
suppose, would have been in the category of Cockney Sportsmen,

being workers in City warehouses, members of neither club nor society,
free and independent lovers of all manner of out-of-door pursuits and
country life. They were both devoted to all-round angling, and Manford,
in a modest degree, fancied himself with the gun. These young men are
here introduced to the reader because a passing sketch of one of their
sporting excursions to the country will indicate a type, and show that
they might be cockney, but were also not undeserving the name of
sportsmen.
The young fellows made their plans in the billiard-room of the Bottle's
Head, just out of Eastcheap, chatting leisurely on the cushions while
waiting for a couple of bank mashers to finish their apparently
never-ending game. Thirty or forty years ago young fellows in the City
did not think so much about holidays as they now do. We have reached
a stage of civilisation when it seems absolutely necessary for our bodily
and spiritual welfare, however comfortably we may be situated in life,
to rush away for a change as regularly as the months of August and
September come round. Manford declared that exhausted nature would
hold out no longer unless he could take a holiday. Serton suggested that
he should try and rub along somehow until nearer October, when he
might go down with him to a quiet little place, where he gushingly
assured him there was splendid fishing, where they might live for next
to nothing, meet with nice people, and be in the midst of one of the
most beautiful parts of the country. The one condition was that
probably they would have to rough it a little. All these were genuine
attractions to S., who agreed to go, M. adding, as they rose to secure
the cues, that besides fishing there would be chances with the rabbits.
A spring-cart and a horsey-looking person were awaiting the travellers
outside the small roadside railway station at the end of their journey,
and they were already joyous and alert. They and their belongings were
bundled into the "trap" (how many misfits are covered by the word!)
and driven through a tree-arched lane. M. could extract something even
from the autumnal seediness of the hedgerows, affirming that they were
for all the world like a theatre when the holland coverings are on. S.
exclaimed with surprise as a squirrel ran across the track, telling M.
that this proved how really they were in the country, squirrels being

seldom seen, as weasels are, crossing a road. The driver, who was in
fact the keeper, found his opportunity in the uprising from a field of
two magpies chattering a welcome. "I think you'll have luck,
genl'men," he said. "'Tis allus a good sign to see two mags at once. See
one 'tis bad luck; see two it be fun or good luck; see three 'tis a wedding;
see four and cuss me if it bain't death."
A rustic cottage, approached between solid hedges of yew, was the
bespoken lodging, and M. and S. were quickly out of the cart, and
roaming the garden among fruit trees, autumn flowers, and beehives.
Thence they were summoned to the little front room, the oaken
window-sill bright with fuchsias and geraniums, the walls adorned with
an old eight-day clock, a copper warming-pan and antique trays, while
over the mantel-piece was a small fowling piece, years ago reduced
from flint to percussion. Upon the rafters there were half a side of
bacon, bunches of dried sweet herbs, and the traditional strings of
onions. The pictures consisted of four highly coloured prints of
celebrated race-horses, long ago buried and forgotten. It was in this
cottage that the young men remained, and very comfortable they were,
for the bedrooms were fitted up with the queerest of four-posters, made
in the last century, while the walls were covered with prints from
sundry illustrated papers, and illuminated texts. Serton had sojourned in
this humble dwelling-place before, and expatiated upon its manifold
merits to his friend, who prided himself upon being practical, and