Fishing and  wishing by DENNIS STAFF I AWOKE EARLY that Sunday morning in the summer of 1943, a glorious sunshiny day, with the birds singing and the distant sound of a cock crowing to the world at large. This was the Sunday I was to get to use the fishing rod that Mr Grummitt had made for me out of an old bamboo cane he had tucked away in the rafters of his shed. I had waited patiently in anticipation all week for this moment because I felt somehow that it was going to be a very special day. I was just ten years old, an evacuee from Hull sent to Bourne to escape the terrible bombing of the docks and billeted with Ernest and Lillian Grummitt at their home at No 42 Burghley Street. The previous Sunday, I had accompanied Mr Grummitt and his 18-year-old son Maurice, home on leave from the Royal Navy, to a place somewhere around Bourne, the details of which elude me but I know that it had a long straight stretch of water and I recall that the river bank was cool and grassy and provided a great place from where to view the action. Watching the red and white floats on their lines and observing when they had a bite was an exhilarating experience for a young lad, a newcomer to the piscatorial art. Prior to this, my only experience at fishing had been with a small net trying to catch tiddlers along the edges of a pond, or newts in a ditch. But this was the real thing and as Maurice landed the first fish of the day, I hurried over to watch him take it off the hook. Later, as we sat eating our lunch, a boiled egg sandwich and an apple that Mrs Grummitt had packed for each of us, I expressed my desire to try my hand at catching one for myself. Mr Grummitt showed me how to set the line and cast it out, and then there was the long wait for a bite. Every time the float trembled or bobbed my heart beat faster until finally, it disappeared in a flash and I struck and caught my first fish. I shouted with joy and I am sure that my delight was heard all over Bourne that day, although the fish I hooked would not have won any trophy, but it was mine, and I had caught it, and I was very proud of it. We took it home to Mrs Grummitt where it was prepared and cooked and eaten for tea, a welcome addition to our meal in that time of wartime rationing.  At the tea table, the exploits of the day were related over and over by me for the benefit of Mrs Grummitt. Her husband promised to dig up the materials for me to have my own homemade fishing rod so that I could go and practice over at the Wellhead until I could save up enough money to buy a real one. Immediately upon returning from Sunday School the following week, and having had lunch, I changed clothes, picked up my rod, a bright and shiny jam jar with a carrying handle made of string and a small can of worms which I had dug up from the garden, I said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Grummitt and their dog Floss, and headed for St Peter's Pool. As I turned the corner to go down to West Street, with my rod over my shoulder, I got a lot of joshing and salty comments from the Buckley boys who were neighbours. They and their friends were hanging around the fence of the tennis club [then in Burghley Street], hoping no doubt to retrieve a misdirected ball, or two.  Alec Stubley, a local boy and not an evacuee like myself, offered to accompany me and show me some good fishing spots on the Wellhead. We crossed over West Street then down St Peter's Lane and eventually ended up on the footpath and stopped on the little stone bridge where the water flows out of the pool and the footpath crosses over it. I never did get to find the other good fishing spots that day as Alec had promised, since the water under the bridge was literally teeming with fish, hundreds of minnows, sticklebacks and others. Alec soon tired of watching and left for other more interesting places. Just a short distance away, I noticed a couple who were obviously in love, and were having a picnic of sorts, interspersed with the frequent kisses of young lovers. I noticed that the young man wore the uniform of the Parachute Regiment. This was just prior to Arnhem and many of them were billeted in and around Bourne at the time. I recognised his companion as the young lady who served behind the counter of a sweets shop in Abbey Road, just opposite Church Walk. As the afternoon dragged on, and my jar was getting full, the couple started making moves to leave and came in the direction of the bridge. We talked and the girl offered me some of their left-over lemonade. The soldier said that he was from Lancashire and she then showed me her brand new engagement ring that he had given her that afternoon. They were going to be married when he got back from the war. She then said something that I had forgotten until now: "This well is the oldest and biggest in the whole of England and might have some ancient magical influence of some kind and so I am going to make a wish."  With that, she dug in her purse and came up with a sixpence and explained that the coin had to be a silver one for the wish to come true. Her fiancée also dipped into his pocket for a sixpence and as they held hands, with the coins between their lips, they closed their eyes and wished. Time seemed to stand still for a while as they stood there wishing, then they opened their eyes and flung their coins way out into St Peter's Pool as the girl said: "Let it be!" Her eyes were filled with tears and my senses told me that I knew what she had wished for. The young soldier kissed her and put his arm around her shoulder as he wiped away her tears telling her that her wish would surely come true and they would be happily married one day and be together forever. As they left, the soldier pressed a coin into my hand and said that I should make a wish too. They strolled away in the direction of the church, their arms around each other and the sound of their laughter floating back. I examined the coin the soldier had given me. It was a silver joey, a threepenny bit, and a godsend to a small boy because it could buy untold luxuries, a bar of chocolate, an ice cream, a bottle of pop - all of these visions floated before my eyes. If I were to make a wish like the soldier suggested, then surely that would be literally throwing money away which was not really a good idea in those austere wartime days. I packed up and prepared to go home for tea and felt for that threepenny joey in my pocket again and thought hard about all that had taken place that afternoon. What if the pool did have magical powers and wishes could make dreams come true? I would never again be in such a financial position to afford any kind of a wish. I took the silver joey and pressed it to my lips just like the courting couple had done. Then I closed my eyes and started on what became a long list of wishes. After all, I would like to get as much for my money as possible.  I seem to recall that I wished for a long life for my mum and dad and for him to come safely home from the fighting, that no more of my family would die in the bombings in Hull, that we the British would defeat the Germans and win the war and that I would have a good life and get to be a sailor like Maurice Grummitt, who was my hero. My list went on and on. I wanted to play for England at football, rugby or cricket, sail the seas and see the seven wonders of the world, score the winning goal in the last minute of the Cup Final at Wembley, hit a six to win a test match and, of course, to have tea with the King and Queen and maybe even marry one of the princesses, to become the world's greatest scientist - after all, Maurice had just given me his old chemistry set and microscope as a parting gift when he returned to his ship from leave because he felt he had outgrown it. All things were possible when it came to wishing, I thought, and if I was going to spend a silver threepenny bit that afternoon, then I sure wanted my money's worth. I opened my eyes expecting to see that darkness had maybe descended because I had taken so long with my wish list and then, very reluctantly, I threw the coin as far as I could into St Peter's Pool, repeating the words of the young lady when she had done to same: "Let it be!" All of this took place some sixty years ago and I look back and wonder just how much has come true, or have I been short-changed by the magical powers of St Peter's Pool? My mother is still with us at the age of 96, my brothers and my sister are all alive and well and I did sail the seas and see the world during an exciting naval career. Not so bad for a few threepenny wishes and I have four children and ten grandchildren into the bargain. No, I never made Buckingham Palace but I have attended receptions in Canada for Queen Elizabeth, Prince Phillip and Prince Charles and had the honour of addressing them. And I never did get to marry a real princess but the partner I have is a Queen in her own right, so that is really one better. Since those halcyon days of my childhood in Bourne, it has been a truly exciting, wonderful and happy life, and so I can say with some degree of certainty, that Bourne does have a wishing well for those who want to believe. I do hope also that the young couple had their wish come true and that they are still enjoying their happily ever after days together. If they are still alive and recall the incident, or they may have related the event to their children, I would love to hear about it. NOTE: Dennis Alan Staff died at Cumberland, Ottawa, Canada, on 25th February 2015, aged 82. See also An Evacuee from Hull