A trout from Canterbury by Izaac Walton

A gallant trout

Izaak Walton wrote a charming little book on Angling, ranging through many topics, including the trout in all its varieties. We often see them in Canterbury, indeed I was once presented with an excellent trout, caught by one of my pupils, whose mother would not let it into the house, but he did not want to waste it. It was not as big as a salmon, but plenty of ‘rare meat’ for two. That fish had an empty belly, in November, but was caught on a grain of sweetcorn.

There is also in Kent, near to Canterbury, a Trout (called there a Fordig Trout) a Trout (that bears the name of the Town [Fordwich] where ’tis usually caught) that is accounted rare meat, many of them near the bigness of a Salmon, but known by their different colour, and in their best season cut very white; and none have been known to be caught with an Angle, unless it were one that was caught by honest Sir George Hastings, an excellent Angler (and now with God) and he has told me, he thought that Trout bit not for hunger, but wantonness; and ’tis the rather to be believed, because both he then, and many others before him have been curious to search into their bellies what the food was by which they lived; and have found out nothing by which they might satisfy their curiosity.

Izaak Walton, The Complete Angler, 1653.

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Willow for shelter in summer.

These lines are part of a song in the Compleat Angler of Izaac Walton, written by John Chalkhill, his relative by marriage. Chalkhill was a friend of the poet Edmund Spenser.

Snow on the ground in the photograph, but one day in Spring I chose this piece for a Summer’s day, trusting that there might be ‘excessive heat’ coming the reader’s way. I was editing it soon after cutting down osiers; the previous year’s growth of coppiced willow, as seen above. Often they are grown within a slow-moving river. Then again, I find myself walking under willows almost every day beside the River Stour. I often had occasion to shelter under willows during my time as a very incompleat angler in Ireland. I did catch a very respectable pike once and good eating it was too!

Wintry willows beside the River Tame

If the sun's excessive heat 
Make our bodies swelter, 
To an osier hedge we get 
For a friendly shelter! 
Where in a dike, 
Perch or pike, 
Roach or dace, 
We do chase, 
Bleak or gudgeon, 
 Without grudging, 
We are still contented. 
Or we sometimes pass an hour 
Under a green willow, 
That defends us from a shower,  
Making earth our pillow 
Where we may 
Think and pray, 
Before death 
Stops our breath: 
Other joys  
Are but toys,                      
And to be lamented.