By Peter Tyldesley
ARRIVING IN PARADISE
In 1963 my loving mother decided to move the family from Goodwood (pronounced Gooroet) to False Bay. She was of the opinion (quite rightly so) that Klasie, the boy next door, who was five or six years older than me, was teaching me things I was too young to understand, and should not know anything about anyway.
We moved into the top storey of a large house in Cromer Road. For a fanatical budding young naturalist it was paradise : the vlei, the mountains and the beach.
My job was to collect earthworms, and I was very good at it. So good in fact that I got a clip around the earhole, when I walked into the house with my hand over my schoolblazer pocket to prevent the earthworms from crawling out and falling onto the floor. Parents were allowed to give you a clip in those days.
We cast our lines into the water, and almost immediately the juvenile steenbras started biting. I cant remember how many we caught, but it was plenty – all between twenty and thirty centimeters in length. They were all released, but I was hooked for life. After a good supper and a good few glasses of white muscadel (remember that?) the family went off and I was sent to bath and to bed. That night I dreamed of mighty battles with giant white steenbras, and how I would proudly lay them down on my mother’s spotless kitchen floor. My dreams stopped just short of another clip around the earhole for messing on the floor.
Some weeks later, after a heavy morning shower, the street gutters were alive with earthworms. After school I walked home from False Bay station, and once again picked up a few handfuls of earthworms. But this time I only filled my pocket halfway. I knew dad didn’t like it when I filled the pocket to the top. Racing upstairs, I spread my schoolclothes all over the room before pulling on my shorts and T-shirt. Then I hurried to the closet where the smaller fishing rods were kept. Locked! Dad didn’t want me to go fishing on my own.
In despair I started hunting around the house for a makeshift fishing line. I found a hook in my room, but there was no line. After searching every room I eventually found myself in my mom’s sewing room, where I discovered several spools of strong, colourful crochet cotton. That would have to do.
Down at the vlei, at what would become my favourite fishing spot, I tied the lengths of crochet cotton together, until I had a line of about 20 meters in length. I found a small stone for a sinker, tied on the hook, baited it and threw in. The steenbras started biting immediately, but the hook was just too big to catch them. When I was down to my last two earthworms I made a mental note to fill both pockets next time – only halfway. I put the last worm on the hook and almost immediately got a really decent bite. After a real struggle, I managed to land a steenbras of approximately thirty five centimeters. This was a keeper!
Time to go home.
Then I found out that crochet cotton doesnt behave like fishing line when it is wet. It has magical qualities. It can contort and twist into a million knots while just lying there in the grass. It was getting late and I knew if dad came home before I got home I was in big trouble. REALLY big trouble. The crochet cotton had now transformed itself into a net. If I had only known it would do this in the first place, I need not have worried about the potential risks of collecting the earthworms. I could simply have used it as a fishing net. Try as I may, I couldn’t untangle it, and eventually I simply scrunched it up into a ball and pushed it into my pocket. I grabbed at the steenbras, and promptly got spiked by the very long, sharp dorsal spines. I didn’t curse – you weren’t allowed to in those days!
As I turned the corner into Cromer road I knew I was in trouble. Dad’s big black Buick was parked outside. I ran up the stairs leading to the kitchen, opened the door, and found my parents in the kitchen. As calmly as I could, I put the steenbras down on the kitchen floor, and stood back admiring my prize. Bang, bang! “How many times must I tell you…..”. “Get that fish off my floor!”
I grabbed the steenbras and rushed outside onto the landing, standing there awkwardly and not knowing what to do. Finally, my father called me back inside and told me to put the fish in the sink.
I really should have let that dream play out to the end.
