Dangerous Times in School Holidays - By Don H. Williams (FN 61-64):

“Winters were quite severe during my early teens. Just five miles from St Bees, quite close to where we lived in the village of Beckermet, we often spent time sliding across the ice of a frozen tarn. It was just a short distance to the tarn along a farm track. Rummaging in an old tin trunk stored in our garage I found some very old ‘clip on and screw tight’ ice skates. My grandmother had told me about a time when the River Tees had frozen with such thick ice that grandfather skated on the river four miles from Yarm to Stockton. I thought that these old skates must have been used by him. They clamped and screwed onto my school CCF boots without a problem. Skating on the tarn became a whole new experience, dodging around sledges, metal trays and an assortment of other inventive sliding gear. The best times I recall were when I was skating during the early evening when the sun was setting and everyone else had gone home.

The ice was very thick but whilst the temperature had been rising the ice was slowly rotting. It wavered beneath me as I skated but not to worry, I reminded myself, it was thick enough. I stopped in the middle of the tarn thinking it was time to pack up. I heard no sound of ice cracking but quite suddenly an almost circular block of ice gave way beneath me. Instantaneously I was in the freezing water. On my way down instinctively I must have outstretched my arms. I was at least momentarily suspended with arms, head and shoulders out of the water. Thoughts flashed through my mind as to what might happen next. I dearly wished that there was someone else around. Without any help my only option was to gingerly raise myself by spreading and dispersing my weight across the ice. Thankfully, I inched myself up and away from that broken ice hole. Was I pleased to reach safely the side of the tarn? I was shaking not just with cold but with the fear of what could have been. Needless to say, on arriving back, the warmth of being home was intensely wonderful.

I did enjoy our time living in Beckermet village. Initially the family moved into a large flat, part of a huge Victorian house ‘Yourity’, owned by Colonel Jim Booth, who had retired from managing the local iron ore mine. During my first school holiday at ‘Yourity’, the Colonel gave me his vintage German Diana .177 air rifle. With its large buttstock and lengthy barrel, this old ’Betsy’ snapped open with a hugely strong spring. It was not long before I was a crack shot. From shooting the heads off matchsticks I progressed to taking pot shots at starlings and spuggies. One of these unfortunates tumbled down a chimney into the hearth whilst the colonel’s alarmed maid was cleaning the fire grate. With my preparatory school friend, David Hird, also from Beckermet, as well as air rifles we also knew shotguns. Harecroft Hall’s headmaster, William Dunlop, used to allow some pupils the use of his shotguns to cull the school’s beech wood rook population. Having spotted a pheasant on the lawn, with Dunlop’s permission, I remember Redway and Hird shooting it from a dormitory window. Annie, the school cook, later prepared the bird for both Hugh and David to eat at dinner. After Common Entrance examinations both Hugh Redway and I went on to St Bees while David went to Eshton Hall School. However, during school holidays David and I still ‘knocked about’. Shooting was definitely ‘in our blood’. For some reason we had decided it was time to do some ‘rough’ shooting. We planned that David would use his father’s .410 shotgun whilst I would lay my hands on a double hammer 12 bore. Complete with Eley Kynock cartridges and other ammunition this gun was kept on my father’s wardrobe along with a .303 Royal Enfield rifle, once belonging to my late grandfather. Neither had been used for years. Moving carefully through the house I smuggled out the shotgun in two separate pieces with a pocket full of dusty cartridges. Once fully armed we were both ready to tramp the fields for whatever game we could bag. Gun licenses or knowledge about gun proofing was not considered. I had noticed a slight dent in the barrelling of the old shotgun but this didn’t seem significant! From one field into the next we stealthily walked with only the odd startled snipe snaking up into the sky before us. Shot after shot we took but without gain. Happily, the greatest luck I had was when I discovered the old shotgun had not been proofed for yonks. So it was that on this ‘rough shoot’ day my first shot could have blasted off in the gun to be my last!

School holidays were also a splendid time for us to go salmon fishing on the River Ehen. This particular sunny day we walked almost to the estuary. Together we both carried spinning rods. David remembers when he put his rod tip over the river’s edge, wiggled the blue and silver minnow in the water, and suddenly a ten pound salmon took the bait. With a relatively lightweight line, landing this size of fish seemed a big problem. David recalls that I quickly offered a solution. It seemed so simple when I climbed into the river, put my hands around its tale and landed it. Without further ado David had the salmon in his fishing bag, slung over his shoulder and on his way home. Even though it was getting late and I was on my own, I was determined to take a salmon back home myself. I didn’t have to wait too long. It nearly caught me, that is, by surprise. This fish was some fighter. It had me almost over the bank and in the water twice as I played it along the river. At last, shaking and with more than just a sigh of relief, I reached a point down river where I managed to beach this exhausted seven pound salmon. Equally exhausted I also realised how lucky I was that my fate was not to end that day alone in the river… No more tales!”

 

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