"Brotherly Love"
by
Graham Elliott
Wham! I should have seen it coming, a right cross that exploded between the eyes and split a blood vessel in my nose. Gloves off, and a handkerchief quickly wrapped around it stopped the blood flow. Contest over.
There was a no-smacking policy in the young Elliott household; arguments between siblings were settled with a boxing match and first blood. As the youngest, I got punched the most!
My elder brother Stephen went to Grammar school and was the brainy one. Goody two shoes. (I only had these as hand me downs!)
Meanwhile I tested the resolve of the police and the social services.
It didn’t get any better, whilst he went to University for an Honours degree, I was advised to leave School at 15. How I hated the clever favourite.
Graham
middle front, Stephen left and cousins Terry and Martin rear
One of the happiest days for me was when the “well behaved one” got caught in his first major attempt at being a criminal. The Gangster pinched a valve from a bike tyre and got found out. What tremendous joy whoever “grassed” on him got! Allegedly.
Meanwhile, the black sheep spent a short time in Devon at Buckfast remand home. Already keen on fishing, I borrowed some tackle from the local shop not realising it was not open at 11.35pm.
Over the growing up years our parents efforts at reconciliation were not that successful and the fact that we lived miles apart did not help. At my suggestion, during a stressful period for him he did try fishing a few times on his local carp lake, but the thrill petered out fairly quickly.
A few years ago he wanted to try his hand at fluff flinging, Well you can only say “keep the back-cast arm up” so many times following the fly being dragged across the water and through trees before it develops into a confrontational exercise!
He left at lunchtime, back to Bedford, swearing he would never visit me again. We did not speak for a year.
The call came two weeks into the fishing season. Knowing that I had a very successful past couple of years, he wanted me to help him catch his first barbel.
I tried to tell him I was too busy, too many customers and not enough time. He was persistent, and so it came that he arrived one night straight from work to sleep on the sofa and have a day after Barbel.
That night before he went to sleep we chatted about our parents and families, I mean really talked about the ups and downs of life for the first time in over 50 years.
The Kennet can be busy this time of year so it was at 5.30am that we left home for the 30-minute run to the river. Good weather and a clear sky meant it might be difficult but within 30 minutes a personal best chub of 5lb+ was on the bank and Big Bruv was smiling.
Another hour passed, sitting together in a relaxed manner gave us the opportunity to talk about the future and our aspirations for the kids. I could see and sense him getting excited as our discussions were interrupted now and again by the prod of the quiver tip as fish started to investigate the scent trail.
For the 4th time I told him not to strike and to wait until the rod tip pulled right around before lifting the rod.
It happened, one second we talked the next he was standing up with the rod bent double and the fish lunging towards the far bank. “The power!” He exclaimed between expletive deleted shouts, “Unbelievable” Sweat broke out on his brow in the now sweltering heat as he played the fish, I missed it with the net first time, on purpose, and he swore some more. Finally it was netted and rested, whilst he trembled and gibbered, a Virgin no more. The fish weighed 7.14, a good start.
The rest of the day was spent chatting, interrupted by a few big chub. I had never realised how much his work with Cancer Research has been lauded by the scientific establishment, indeed he has recently won a prestigious Daily Telegraph Award.
To say he enjoyed his first day after barbel was an understatement, the only time I could take him again, I explained was a half day the following week. He booked the time of work there and then!
