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Aston Anglers

  • Thread starter Thread starter Nipper
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Nipper

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The BAA was for many years the largest angling club in the country so there's got to be a few of us here who went maggot dangling as kids. Anyone remember fishing in Salford Park or the canal? Trips to Ward End and Pype Hayes parks were a regular treat but of course, there was never any point in fishing in the 'Terrible Tame'. I used to get my tackle and bait from a shop in the Lichfield Road, just up from the Domestic. I cant remember the name but I always remember the pike skull they had in the front of the window. Anyone know the name of the show?
 
Brookvale

LOL I fished Brookvale as a kid, I didn't get to fish Salford until I was an adult. Had a few nice fish out of there, but more than once the bigger fish I have hooked into at Salford have managed to escape, taking my terminal tackle with them!!! :oops:
 
Fishing Trips

Dennis Bonner, worked at Benton and Stone, 1946-49 and again 1952-54. It sat on Aston Brook Street-through-Bracebridge Street. I have a brillient photo of the chaps from Benton and Stone, outside the factory, preparing for one of their fishing trips..........bus and all (Millers, the headlamp factory can be seen in the background).........stories to go with it......although some not printable! :oops:
Did anyone work there? Or go on the fishing trips? Dennis particularly recalls Harry and Jimmy Underhill, who lived on Parliment Street, and worked in Maintainance at the time.I will get the photo to the site asap.
 
Aston Anlers

My Dad belonged to the Gunmakers Arms angling club on Lichiield road. This was a club that's history went back to the early 30's.
We also obtained all our takle and bait from Bert Pittaway.
They ran coaches from the gun's every Sunday in the season, the weather never stopped us. The organisor was a Mr Mucklow who lived across the road from the pub. The secretary of the gun's club for a gresat number of years was Mr Jim Peatman or was it spelt Peakman.
In the sixties we had some great anglers in the club, Ivor Hall, Geof Hurdley Kenny Yapp Harry Smart to name but a few.
In the later years the sunday excursions were based at BERTS shop, by then :P Bert Junior was running things. I left Aston in 1966 and I am afraid that I lost touch with everyone, until four or five years ago I popped in to the village pub in the next village and who should I meet but Geof Hurdley, and yes Geof is still pulling them out.
Happy days. They do not know what they are missing
Alan Cook
 
Salford resser

Me and me mates went to Salford resser to fish one day, we were amazed to find that most of the water had vanished. It was around the time that Spaghetti was being built so it must have been drained for that. Anyway, we couldn't fish so we went paddling in the mud round the edge's, it came in usefull co's we found loads of Tackle that Angler's must have lost over the year's, reel's & rod rest's etc. I saw a wallet sticking out of the mud so I pulled it out, opened it and found some 303 Bullets inside. We were all so excited by the find that we went straight to Bloomsbury nick to get our reward that we were sure would be a lot co's some Soldier must have lost 'em. We give the Copper on the desk the Wallet, he opened it and placed it gently in a red bucket of sand by the door, asking us where we had got it from. We explained how we come by the Wallet and he gave us our reward, a smack round the ear'ole each, when asked why, he told us it was illegal and dangerous to carry live ammunition in a public place, and as the bullet's must have been there since 1945, they could have gone off in my pocket. We sulked all the way home, Alan Jones asked if we should go back to the Nick in six months to see if anyone had claimed 'em, cos if they hadn't, they were our's. We chased him all the way home to Duddeston. "Happy Days"
 
I understand that my grandfather Charles Samuel Bartlett was a keen fisher man and won prizes, Idon't know when or where unfortunately. He died in 1959 aged 60 no age really at the time he was living at Arkley Road in Hall Green. Sue my grandmother Jane his wife's maiden name was Underhill I wondered if she might be any realtion to your Miss Underhill. I thoroughly enjoyed reading that piece. The family appear to have originated from the Aston area. Grandad may well have gone fishing at Earlswood reservoir it was local to Hall Green, Arkley Road being their final address following the WW2.
 
Or maybe the Jimmy Underhill you mention, I am going to check my family tree to see if there is a Jimmy (James) in it.
 
Possibly Fergie - of course I only knew her as Miss Underhill, she never seemed to have any visitors (besides me) and rarely went out unless it was to do some shopping or to go church
 
.‚.. My dad was a keen angler and on many weekends a day would be reserved to go fishing and I would always be included. I used to look forward to these occasions. He made sure that I had my own rod and creel with tackle and the paraphernalia required for the outings. A big tin of maggots would be acquired from the tackle shop at the junction of Alum Rock road and Washwood Heath on his way home from work on Friday night. Any left over stale bread was ground up in the hand crank grinder for the essential ground bait; you will probably all remember that. You kept it in a cloth bag and soaked it in the water with the drawstring looped around your rod rest when you got to the riverbank. This would then be formed into little moist balls in your hands and thrown into the swim to attract the fish. The sky at both ends of the day, I found, was very important in angling trips. You know the old saying, "red sky at night shepherds..." So that anxious glances were always made through my little back bedroom window to assess the prospects for the day. Unless it was absolutely tipping down we always went anyway. I suspect that like most of you in those days personal transportation was not the norm. So that we could only go to places that were reachable by bus or train. That meant getting out of bed very early and being ready to catch the early tram at the bottom of the street; everything had to be co-ordinated. We would arrive at Martineau Street and walk through the strangely deserted streets with our rods over our shoulders and our creels hanging by the straps looped over the rods, down the hill at the old old Bull Ring to St. Martins. The only life forms in the city would be the occasional fellow angler waiting on a street corner for transportation. A short wait and a Midland Red bus would round the corner and pull up at the stop in front of the church railings and we would get on and deposit our fishing tackle on the luggage rack and presently we would be on our way round the corner, down the hill, past the rag market and on to Stratford On Avon. Things were simpler then.
Regards.
 
My husbands grandfather, Benjamin Harry Butler, was a well known angler.He lived in Cato Street and won the 'Big un' the annual BAA contest in 1934.His 2 sons William and Ben went on to win it also.
 
.‚.. Welly boots. Few people here know this terminology. They are an essential part of a fishing trip. Remember, if you went to a river somewhere, it inevitably required the negotiating of wet fields maybe containing cow poo pads. In North America these boots are known as rubber boots; not much sense of fun. Anyway on our fishing trips, my dad and I always wore our welly boots, If you did not put them on you had to carry them, so that even though they made your feet sweat it was the better of two evils. I used to wear my soccer socks with them and fold the top of the socks down over the top of the knee-high wellie's. Looked quite sharp I always thought. Anyway, on arriving at the Stratford bus terminus my dad and I would catch a Stratford Blue bus which would take us through Shakespeare's old town, turn left at I think the old market square and proceeded towards Wellford past some wonderful countryside. We would get off at the Maypole in Wellford. Then came the hardest part of the outing. We had to walk a good distance along the Barton Road, to reach the stretch of river below the broken lock where dad's company angling club had riparian rights. The final stretch of the road was up Cress Hill, a real slog for a 9 year old in wellie's. Finally we would come to a gate at the top of the hill with a sign on a post pronouncing that this was private fishing, Delta Metal Company. The view of the surrounding countryside was super from here with the big cornfields across the river and the occasional old tree to break the monotony. The first sighting of the venue was always a thrill. A bunk over the gate and we were into the field and on our way down the hill to the river Avon. Negotiating this field was sometimes a challenge if the farmer had his cows in there. They were not so much mean spirited as very playful. If they came too close my dad would.‚.. wave his rods at them and they would scamper off. If I was alone however this tactic did not seem to work. They seemed to realize that I was not as formidable an adversary as my dad and I pretty much always had to make a run for it. Down by the riverbank there were bushes and my dad always looked for mushrooms there and sometimes gleefully found them to take home for breakfast the next day. We would walk on down the river to our favorite holes and set up for a day's sport.
Regards.
 
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.‚.. The fishing creel is an important piece of equipment for a days fishing if you consider all of the functions it has to perform. I'm sure that opinions vary on the attributes required so that for the un-initiated I will give what I can remember as the important ones. It had to be light; a woven wicker one was the norm back then. It had to be stable and comfortable to sit on; that's what you would be doing most of the time on the riverbank. To this end a foam cushion fixed to the top was a definite help. The top had wicker hinges and opened towards the back. There was a hand hole in the top so that the whole thing could be lifted by one hand when the lid was fastened down with its retaining dowel. On the back of the creel was attached a sturdy carrying strap that you could put over your shoulder or your fishing rods and carry the whole assemblage on your shoulder. The shapes varied a bit but in those days had narrowed down to a rectangular box with a stubby leg at each corner. I remember, when my dad was looking for a new one, that the size varied a bit. I remember him saying that firstly you have to get your flask of tea in, and your little container of milk. Then your lunch has to be allowed for and a soft drink, you can get thirsty on a hot day. Everything else has to be fitted around that. Maggot tin, ground bait, tin of worms, box of floats, box containing hooks, lead shots, pliers and sundries. Your fishing reel has to fit in and rags to wipe your hands on. You don.¢.€.™t want to eat your lunch without wiping your hands after messing with maggots. Also, should you be fortunate enough to have a fish give itself up, you will want to wipe the slime off your hands after you put the misguided creature in your keep net for safe storage. Keep nets were long tubular fish mesh nets with an opening at one end. The shape was maintained.‚.. by a series of rings at intervals along the length and the whole thing folded down flat and was held in that position by a loop that was attached to the outside of the creel in our case for carrying purposes. The net was dangled into the water and held at the top on your rod rest or a separate pole. This is where your catch, if any, resided till the end of the day when they were released. Except for the landing net that's about it really. The landing net was a smaller net on the end of a pole and was used for landing the whoppers. As I remember ours never got wet and was mostly used in vain attempts to release ones line from an overhead tree. But you never knew. It's been a while but I think that is the most of it. We did not have the large golf size umbrellas in those days we took plastic macs in our creels in case of rain. It.¢.€.™s funny but I don.¢.€.™t remember the rainy days. We must have had them but I only remember the good ones. There was the odd day when the fish were determined to commit suicide but for the most part we did not catch much but it did not matter. It was a day out in the country, the fresh air, the birds, the river, the ride on the Midland Red which allowed you time to get an ice-cream in Henly in Arden on the way home. It was the whole thing really. It was also the odd apple that accidentally got dislodged by your fishing rods from apple trees that overhung the riverside path on the way back up Cress Hill at the end of the day.
Regards.
 
My father Leonard Gibson won a wall clock in a fishing contest when he was, I believe, in his teens or early twenties which would have been around 1919-1929. He would have been living in Bartons Bank or Tower Road at the time.

I've wondered if there are any records of such events still to be had.

I did write to a prominent Birmingham angling equipment shop to see if they could point me in the right direction but never got a reply.

The clock's still ticking away merrily on my wall here beside me. Eric.
 
:'( Sorry Eric, there were hundreds of 'work's type' fishing clubs running in the area at that time. Unless it was a national match like the 'BAA big un' there will not be any records kept.  However, if there was an exact date on the plaque of the Winners Clock, you could have looked up the results pages in the Newspaper for that year in the Birmingham library (6th floor).  Good luck with your search.  Tight lines.  Eric Hill HLHS.
 
Hi. Alberta,
A distinguished family of angler's indeed. To win that event once is a lifetimes achievement. Three times in a family..well thats fantastic. The last time I heard anything about the BAA anual was in the early seventies. At that time large amounts of money used to change hands in betting with the bookies.
Regards.
 
Fishing seems as popular as ever in Britain, Rupert. I like parks with lakes and I have seen loads of people sitting under (golf umbrellas) with all the necessary kit and you still see some real creels around when I visit them in Britain, no matter what the weather. Much better clothing these days. I enjoyed reading about what you would take fishing. My father didn't fish but loads of men in my area did and many father's have passed the love of the sport on to their sons and daughters as well. My father has very happy memories of fishing with his Scots father on the banks of the Fraser River as a lad.

In this part of Canada, salmon fishing is very popular and although you don't see the signs as much at petrol stations as you used to...a menu listing worms and dew worms....gives many a non-fishing passenger a bit of a shiver. The old petrol stations had fridges with these creatures in all ready packed for a fishing trip that you could purchase on the way out.

Do you remember if you went to a dance at a club or social rooms you would often find a show case with a prizewinning fish inside it and a brass nameplate with all the necessary info about the fish and the Derby it was caught in? Haven't seen any for years.
 
Yes Rupert quite an achievement.
The Butler families love of angling appears to have 'infected' all the family including in laws.
My husband and his brothers were all keen anglers.

My husbands sister sadly lost her husband 2 years ago.

They were fishing the River Stour in Christchurch and after the frustration of losing a large fish my brother in law suffered a heart attack and died on the bank.As his obituary says,Died doing what he loved.
He was a well known angler born in Birmingham , going to Christchurch in later life.
He held the record in his area for the biggest fish of every species except Barbel which always eluded him.

For photos of his catches,which the tackle shop put online as a tribute, go to www.davistackle.co.uk/PeterSpears
 
Well there are a couple of things that I have forgotten to mention, the first is of great importance to small boys or girls who go fishing. In the days when I used to go with my dad boys wore short pants and that ment there was a gap between the bottom of your trousers and the top of your wellies. If you have not thought of the problem with this feature by now I will just bring to your attention the hazzards of the stinging nettle patch. These patches lie in wait for the unwary and must be very carefully navigated. To be caught out can seriously impair the enjoyment of your day and the following week with the uncomfortable itching that ensues, made worse by the scratching that it is impossible not to do. There were two patches at our venue, one just before the fence that marked the boundry of the afore mentioned cow field and one at the far end of the next field. These places are to be treated with great respect. Stay on the path. Don't let any of these innocent looking pieces of vegetation touch you. If you can make it past these obstacles in both directions you have it made. The other thing is the float. In those days there were several patent devices around but we used the tried and trusted pocupine quill. This consisted of a real quill with a tight cellulite ring at the top and a small wire loop lashed and shellacked to the bottom. This item was attached to your line by removing the cellulite ring and running your fishing line through it and the loop at the bottom. When you ran the cellulite ring down over the top of the quill again it would thus trap the line between the float and the ring and the float woud be held onto the line at the top and bottom. To move it up or down you would simply slacken off the ring by moving it up the quill taper so that you could vary the distance from the float to your hook. In those days hooks came in various sizes...18. 16. 14. 12. but they had one thing in common they came lashed to a piece of nylon with a loop on one end. This piece of nylon would be of lower breaking strain than your fishing line. After you had set up your rods and alligned the runners on each section you would attach your fishing reel with the line on it and run your line up through the runner rings making sure that your line did not go around your pole. As previously mentioned the float would be attached to your line and and a loop would be made at the end. To this loop your hook would be attached by putting the hook through it and then through it's own loop and the whole thing would be drawn tight. You would attach lead shots to your line by pinching enough of them on to nicely cock your float in the water. Set the height of your float affix a couple of maggots to your hook and you are ready. If the fish were biting the time would soon go by and before I knew it my dad would appear on the bank above me telling me not to forget my lunch and I would stop fishing and we would eat our lunch together. The sandwiches that my dad made on the mornings of our fishing trips were ..well..simply marvelous. Elegant in their simplicity and they just hit the spot on the river bank. He would fry up two pork chops, cut four thick slices of bread, place the pork chops on two of the slices, a sloshing of HP and put the remaining slices on top and you had lunch for two. That and some pickled onions carried in a jar all washed down with a mug of warm tea...heaven I tell you. We would reminisce about the time that my dad was fishing and there were piglets in the field where he was. They had been coming down to the rivers edge and leaning out to eat the water lilly leaves. He had a bite and stood up to reach for his rod depositing his sandwich on his creel whilst he handled the fish. During this time a piglet had crept down, grabbed his sandwich and run off up the hill. We shared one sandwich that day. The river would run by, the occasional moorhen would go cackling across the water and the wood pigeons would coo in the orchard behind us.
Regards.
 
Hi everyone,
Jennyann, Not at a dance but there is a little restaurant on the St lawrence River that has an enormous pike on the wall. Next time I am down that way I will try to get a picture.
I have one more chapter to write. But I am worried that I am boring everyone to death. With apologys to Nipper who probably did not intend this topic to be used like this.
Regards,
 
  The afternoon would pass by, whilst the river meandered relentlessly to the sea. It seemed that even the wood pigeons knew that we would be leaving soon and  showed their regret by being silent. My dad, who would always pack up his own tackle first, would have appeared on the bank above me and quietly sat down on his creel to watch the proceedings. Then the words "We have to be going Den. One more cast". He would have allowed for the fact that the one would be stretched  into a few more. He had a schedule to keep. If we left in time we would be able to catch the Stratford Blue bus at the top of Cress hill. If we missed it we would have the long walk to the Maypole in Welford. Not a welcome prospect at the end of the day, especially with a tired boy in wellie's in tow. Dad would help me to put everything away and we would pull my keep net  out of the water and look with awe at the fish inside. He would admire the species that I had caught. "Nice Roach, best Dace I have seen today, look at the mouth on that Chub". The keep-net would be gently inverted and the fish would do a bunk in a hurry. All of the maggots would be thrown in also any worms. We always figured the fish deserved a feast, but realistically, the maggots would all have transformed into chrysalis by next weekend. We would climb over the gate in the fence separating the orchard from the next field and retrace our steps of the morning along the path on the river bank On the return trip dad would be more careful to point out the stinging nettles. He would have realized that being tired I would not be as wary. We would look at the fishing hole at the broken lock where sometimes we would fish if the river was right. Then the hard slog up the steep hill where often in those days I needed a bit of help. The cows would be in for milking at that time, they all seemed to be gone anyway. If all had gone well we would have a short wait for the bus. We would know if we had missed it we would have heard it go by and instantly realized the walk we were in for. It did not happen more than a couple of times but there were some compensations when this happened. After our slog down the road to Welford  dad would have time for a pint at the Maypole pub and, you will have guessed it, a Vimto for me. The highlight of the return trip was the icecream stop at Henly in Arden on the Midland Red. In reality however it did not happen for me much. By the time we were there I would be leaning up against my father fast asleep. The fresh country air will do that for you. He would let me sleep until the bus made the turn and stopped at the terminus in front of  St Martin's. We would seem strangely out of place in the evening crowd with our rods and fishing creels as we walked  up the Bullring hill and through the passage way to Martineau Street to catch the tram. When we arrived home mom would warm our suppers up in the old gas stove and we would eat them relating the happenings of the day. The words bed time never sounded better. In the morning when I awoke my dad would be at the Delta Metal Company driving his extrusion press.
Regards.
 
 
Thanks for that Rupert. Those halcyon days are worth reading about. I can imagine that
tired feeling that only young children have when they have spent a day like this. It's very special.

That trophy fish down the banks of the St. Lawrence River sounds amazing. Around here in the Fraser River, which is just down the road from my house, there are lots of fishermen around when the salmon are coming back up river from the sea.
The incredibly large sturgeon fish are in this river but they are protected. The main attraction for river fishing is salmon.
 
:angel: Fantastic Rupert, my own family never went fishing except for my future Brother - in -l aw. He would have fished allround Brum and the outlying areas over the years, however because of ill health he is no longer able to do so any more. My best friend's dad Charlie Batcheltor fished in competitions for years though and I went a few times to Evesham with them, I think he was a member of a fishing club from where he worked in Washwood Heath (The Car manufacturing place, can't remember the name of the place. Would it have been BSA?). He won heaps of trophies though over the years.

Chris :angel:
 
Thanks for all of your comments and forbearance guys. I tried to paint a picture with words. Maybe I was not too far off the mark.
Regards.
 
I think the Metro was the in Washwood Heath the Wolseley was at Addeley Park
So its very likely Fisher's
 
The Wolseley was in Drews Lane, off Washwood Heath Road, Metro Cammell was Leigh Road, Washwood Heath and Morris Commerical were in Adderley Road, if that helps.
 
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