The Great Ouse.The Great Ouse ran across North Bucks, like cutting the top off a boiled egg. I know it's full path now, but then it was enough to know it flowed to Olney and on to Bedford, having snaked around Stoke Goldington and past Sherington from Newput. At Newput it met with the smaller river Lovat at Ouse Bank Gardens; you know, where Lulu had a concert in 1965. Shout!
I had heard of the Thames and the Mississippi but to me the Great Ouse was just that, Great. A mighty river indeed! The river rand around Sherington to the south and west and was reached in one of three ways. The most direct route was via Pete Gardener's Farm in Water Lane. But although Pete Gardener was a nice chap it was my cousin Puffer who worked on his farm. Pete Gardener and John Burgess were friends and about the same age. I am sure it would have been OK to walk through his yard but generally I didn’t.
It was as easy to go down the footpath by my brother Eric’s mate’s house, Rex Line (Rex, actually also a cousin, would become an important person in my life when I left school and became an apprentice at Rogers Engineering) The footpath joined the track from the farmyard and went down about three fields to the river.
The second best way was along the main road to Newput. About a mile out of the village the road came to a T-juntion with the A422 Newput to Bedford Road. Perhaps a bit of road mapping would be useful. The A50 rand from Newput to Northampton and on up north. There was a milestone near Newput that said “A50 LONDON 50 MILES”. Just over the Ouse bridge by Ouse Bank Gardens the A422 forked off of the A50, taking a bendy course past the gravel pits to Sherington Bridge. The bridge crossed the Ouse that had looped around the back of the gravel pits.
Sherington Bridge was quite impressive and had Roman origins, or so I was told. It had been re-built a few times and obviously widened and paved for modern two-way traffic. Never the less it was an impressive solid stone affair with two arches and traditional semi circular refuges down both sides. When walking to Newput we would dash from one refuge to another when traffic passed by. There were some old houses at the bridge; one fronted the river. I guess these dated from the 18th century. Next to them was a farm. Opposite the farm one field over were boarding kennels; somewhat of a mystery as to the owners and their origins. But this was an adult rumour and us kids weren’t interested. The A509 now set off west, at the T-junction I spoke of earlier, about 200 yards from the bridge and headed for Sherington, Olney and Wellingborough.
There is a third way. You went down the bottom of Water Lane past the Mr Smith’s Haulage yard and over the field towards the village sewerage plant and the old railway crossing. The former was a good reason not to go that way as it stank and the latter was no more than an abandoned buttress of bricks that Dr Beaching stopped before it really got started. It had been planned as a branch line from Newput to Olney.
The piece of river we boys frequented ranged from the west side of the bridge down to the ‘second island’. We did go further down on other occasions for adventures or exploring. The very furthest was the bridge a Tyringham House. I also remember that the older boys had a chain ferry that we were warned to leave alone, or else.
Fish species to be found in these waters can be seen in the photo’s. Top left is the stickleback; this could be caught with a jam jar or even your hand and was to be found in the gravely shallows. Top right is the Gudgeon that we pronounced GUD-GIN. I learned recently, from Rick Stein, that it’s really French and should be pronounced GOOW-SHON; as in a cut of fish. Centre is Mr Pike the monster of the deep. Bottom and last but by no means least is the Perch. Seen here with his horrible spiky fin stretched out. I used to go fishing because like golf it can be undertaken either alone or with others. I didn’t have flashy fishing tackle. If you looked too much like an angler then the bailiff, or fishing club members, would start demanding to see your rod licence. They left dopey boys with fishing poles alone. The fields sloped gently to the waters edge in a few places and formed banks in others. The gentle slopes were nearest to the bridge and also these were the shallowest places.
Down stream from the bridge (left to right as you stand with the village behind you) there were two islands. The first island was about 150 yards long by 10 yards across and it tapered to a point at each end. This side of the island nearest the bridge was accessible by paddling across the shallows. It was covered in vegetation and shrubs and a few willow trees. Sometime the cows would cross and nibble the grass. The far side of the island was deep and narrow and the main current flowed here. The far bank of the river (the Newput bank), opposite the other side of the island, was fished by the Newput Angling Club and us boys kept away. You couldn’t swim there; there were reeds along the bottom and the current was too swift. Half way down the island the river veered right a little and the bank on both sides rose up. Here was a kind of special place. There were trees here that gave some shade on both sides and the river widened and then closed to form a type of pool. There was a large Pike that lived in the shaded water beneath the willow that hung over the river from the island side. The right to fish here depended on peer group pressure. There was only room for two and only one could cast under the tree without fear of tangling the lines. Every time I fished here I caught Perch after Perch and never that Pike. I hated Perches; their spines always got me and they stung. I never got the hang of holding them so the fin was folded.
With hindsight it was a good thing I never caught the Pike… it would probably have bitten my hand off.
On summer days this pool was a jumping-in place. At thirteen I could just about stand on the bottom. If you wanted to get out you went up stream towards the shallows and just walked out of the water. This part was a bit like Sherington’s beach in the summer. Families would come down with a picnic and watch the little ones paddle while the soaked up the sun. The cows kept their distance but sometimes there would be calves gazing and they would be more of a nuisance. Either way the biggest setback were the deposits left by cows fed on very rich summer grass! And thistles.
Moving down stream from the pool the river became a little deeper and faster flowing as the banks steepened. Despite the reeds on both sides the bigger boys would swim down the next 25 yards to where the island finished and the two flows met. Here the river was about 30 foot across but soon tapered to about 20 foot. At the meeting place the bank on our side was about a foot high and the water was about 7 foot deep. The older boys built a springboard to dive off. I would have been around thirteen before I ever dove in. But having plucked up the courage I couldn’t be kept off. When you dived out there was a submerged ledge jutting out from the end of the island and you could stand on this before setting off back upstream to the pool and the shallows, or back to the diving board. It was also the starting point for the older boys to swim down stream the 100 yards to the next island. This swim was dangerous and the bigger boys would never let us try it. In the main we didn’t go against this advice. The stretch usually had a very strong current and very reedy bottom. If you did go for it you had to go all the way. The current was too strong to turn back and the reeds were too tall and thick to give you access to the shear sided high bank. There were many reasons given for not tackling this swim; the story of a massive Pike that had bitten quite a few older lads; attach from the swans; discarded fishing tackle to get en-snarled in; cramps from the cold of the water.
I never did this swim. Not because I was scared but because when my summer started a dead sheep was found in the reeds, to the right of the diving board, and it stank to high heaven. The river was deemed foul that season. It was thought that the sheep had been put there, just to keep us away, by anglers from the Newput bank.
Anyway that covers the bathing activities and takes us downstream to the second island.
The second island was not a true island because on our bank there was a muddy part that bridged the short span. Even if there had been a trickle of water the span could easily be leapt over. This island was not as long as the first island but was twice as wide and dense with small trees. The perimeter was all Willows. Because all the water went past the far side the current was fast and the river about 7 foot deep. The willows had roots into the water and were as close as we would ever get to mangrove swamps. It was possible to stand on a root and have water under your feet.
We made camps on the island and I even set up a tent and stayed overnight once. Not on my own. We would light fires eat our sandwiches which had been packed for us by our mums. Have a drink of orange and a packet of Smith’s crisps. No flavours then… just a little blue wax paper pocket of salt that was twisted to form a seal. If we were there with bigger boys the woodbines would come out.
This was a great place for hide and seek, or variants of that game. The most spectacular would also involve bigger boys. This would be more hunter and hunted. The bigger boys would have an air rifle and boy you were very careful to hide yourself well. No one got shot on the island… but I remember we were playing down the village one day and the bigger boys, including my brother, were playing with the air rifle and Eric got shot in the stomach by accident.
‘Oy ‘yre Eric’s bin shot’ ‘He’s gon ome’
By the time I got home the fuss was all over. The pellet, from a very weak .177, had lodged in his skin around the belly button area. More scared than injured he licked his wound. That put paid to the air gun for sometime and I should think every boy in Sherington was told that it ‘cud a’bin is eye und blinded’im’.
