A toast to Absent Friends

Today (Friday the 13th) we should have been fishing the annual Spratts Christmas match, ending with the presentation of the special prizes for which we have been paying in during the season. Traditionally they have included lots of really good stuff - rods, a bicycle (once), tool kits, coffee machines - you name it and we've won it. 

And traditionally I jump in before we all depart, to propose a toast to those who are no longer with us. Here is my contribution this year: I raise a toast to:

Neil Drake. A gentle man who would nevertheless threaten to refuse to weigh us in if we weren't waiting with our net ready when he came round with the scales. He never actually carried out his threat! His fishing improved by leaps and bounds after he joined. Neil organised charity matches and had the full pole repair kit at home, so would often be called upon to repair our pole sections.

Ellis Buddle. A former lorry driver, he suffered from emphysema and would sit all match attached to his oxygen canister. But once we had him settled on his basket, with everything to hand, he was happy as Larry. And he still used to frame. This year is the first we have not been able to fish his memorial match.

Brad Oughton. Brought up in a rough area of Wisbech (I lived nearby), he turned out to be a good 'un. A terrible angler (though he did once frame in a Winter match on Kingsland) he had a heart of gold, and would not leave a match until he saw everyone had started their motor and moved off. His first name - Brad - was not short for Bradley as everyone assumed. It was Bradford (he reckoned that was where he was conceived).

Peter Parlett. Taken from us two-and-a-half years ago at the ridiculously early age of 61. A co-organiser of the Christmas match, he used to spend a lot of time buying the prizes. A regular framer, the one thing he enjoyed as much as angling was going to watch his grandson box. I have a bird bath in my garden, won at the Christmas match, which he carried to my car for me as it was heavy. So I am reminded of Peter every day.

Bryan Lakey. Was troop leader when I joined the Scouts and he lived in my village. The only man to win the National and the Woodbine, he was my best fishing mate and we fished our first Nationals together in 1961. After his regular travelling companion Syd Meads died, and he stopped fishing the biggest matches and Irish festivals, he stayed local, and we always had a £1 bet with each other at Decoy. He was the happiest angler I ever knew - always making us laugh on the bank. Only two anglers were able to attend his Covid-limited funeral earlier this year, and I was proud to be one of those invited.