Jonty didn't have to look out of his bedroom widow this particular morning to see what the weather was like; he could hear it. It was blowing a howling wind which seemed to make the wall next to his bed cold and kept going with such ferocity that you cou1dn't imagine where it could all be coming from. Nevertheless he sat up in bed and peeked through his curtains. No matter how much he looked the trees rocked and the leaves which were ripped off scudded horizontally to their destinations. And nothing changed.
It was 'polling day', so not only Jonty was off school but also his dad had managed to make his excuses and wasn't working. Jonty's dad always could think of something to do and more often than not it would have some stated potential.
In the Kitchen, Jonty's dad was burrowing away with his bum sticking out of a cupboard under the sink. Periodically a hand would emerge with twine. sellotape. bits of rag and assorted pins and polythene. When he emerged he excitedly said 'Kiting'!
Jonty's dad had such enthusiasm he could breath life into any wet weekend. and suitably inspired they both set about attaching the materials to some bamboo canes from the garden shed. When they had finished it looked impressive. It was bigger than Jonty and a splendid apple green livery. common to most LNER engines and Wilkinson‘s garden bin liners.
Wrapped according to the weather, armed with one of Jonty's mum's lunchpacks and leaving a scattering of cuttings and clippings all over the carpet for Jonty's little sister to play with, they shuffled out with the kite to walk The Roost (which was the hill about three-quarters of a mile from Jonty's house. Nobody knew why it was called The Roost, no birds overtly roosted there, but anyway, that was it’s name).
As with most of his Dad's creations, initial success was not forthcoming. On the first attempts to fly it the Kite would rise, then suddenly turn and dive into the ground, plonk on the nose.
Jonty's dad decided to put some weight on the tail, so, rummaging around he searched for suitable objects to attach. Stones were tied to the tail but would slip out. Twigs were not heavy enough and branches were too awkward anyway; after all, it was a very big kite.
Potential salvation resided in their lunch pack. Some of Jonty's Mum's doughnuts were discovered and it was three of these which proved most effective as ballast. Jonty held the twine, twenty feet up the hill his dad held the kite in position, at the end of its tail the three doughnuts, two as large as any coveted by the Wichita Falls Police Department and one smaller, dangled.
“Go!” shouted his dad, and as Jonty ran down the hill, the twine tightened. Unlike any of the previous times there was no slackening accompanying a nose dive. No. the kite went up to a steady angle and as Jonty began to unwind, it seemed to get steadier, safer and more stable. After ten minutes the kite had been established about seventy feet up in the strong but steady wind, and the windswept pair took turns to hold it. It was the admiration of many dog-walkers and I can tell that there were those, young and old, who looked at the human sized green kite flying in the breeze at the top of the Roosts and rushed to their own kitchen cupboards.
For most children that would have been that, the end, etc. etc., but not for Jonty.
It was not long before they saw a forlorn figure tramping up the hill towards them. It was Jonty's cousin who had just moved up from the South of England. He was carrying a too large box and what might have been a cue, but he was heading in the wrong direction for the snooker club. And he was looking glum.
“Oive been fishing all day and I can't even get a nibble it's so windy” He complained dejectedly. “My dad's just bought me this new rod and reel as well”
It must have been bad, because Jonty's cousin was absolutely dedicated to his hobby, and normally would happily sit all day by the water, nibble or not. All was not lost however. It was a blessing in disguise for Jonty's dad that his nephew had spotted them from the lake in the hollow at the bottom of The Roost where he had been bivouacked for the morning. You see, Jonty's dad was getting a tiny bit frustrated by the lack of twine attached to the kite - now it had been played out it just wasn't long enough.
Inspirationally, Jonty's dad asked his nephew if they might attach the kite to the fishing line. He agreed to what seemed a terrific idea.
Jonty's cousin assembled the rod and line, while, carefully, Jonty's dad tied the line to the twine. Jonty being the youngest watched but once the modifications were completed was given the privilege of holding the rig for the launch.
Though thin and almost invisible, Maxima fishing line is expensive, long and strong, and it took quite a while to play the kite out; but what a distance! Three hundred and seventy feet away, and the fishing line disappeared in a taut line towards it. This was kiting as it should be and all three were very proud of their Joint creation until they decided to swap over.
“Uh Sh**” moaned Jonty's cousin. His hands reached desperately as his Daiwa Amorphous Whisker (That's a fishing rod to you and me) slipped his grasp and dragged away from him through the wispy grass, ripped along by two square metres of kite.
Jonty’s dad charged after it, with Jonty and his cousin vying for second place in the slipstream. Down the hill like a herd of Ibex they galloped. while the kite, line, rod and reel tantalisingly flew and bounced away from them.
Luckily, in the lee of the hill the kite began to lose height, and after a chase the Quorn hunt would have been proud of the rod snagged a large bush to be thankfully grabbed by Jonty's dad. In a moment the two boys joined him and helped retrieve the errant tackle.
The kite, by this time, had disappeared, having come to earth in the relative calm of the hollow at the bottom of The Roost, and so while his dad and cousin untangled the line from the undergrowth, Jonty reeled it in.
As luck would have it, the line led directly to the lake from which Jonty's cousin had first spotted the kite and, typically, the Kite had landed in the pond itself.
Jonty tugged and pulled and wound, while his father kept a reassuring but restraining hand on the shoulder of their palpitating relation.
Bedraggled with weeds the kite was eventually retrieved, but the tail seemed to be stuck, or at least was offering an unusual, dynamic resistance.. They tugged, a splash, a pull.
“Oi Don't believe it” Jonty's cousin gibbered “We've got a fish!”
It splashed as they all realised that the doughnuts which they had attached to the tail must have proven all too tempting and unusual bait for the normally wily inhabitants of the pond.
Quick as a flash Jonty's cousin had assembled his landing net With the expert guidance of his companions, steadily and patiently, out Jonty dragged the fish as his cousin gathered it excitedly. It was quite a big silver fish, like one you see on a slab of ice in the supermarket. Jonty’s cousin identified it as a roach, a bigger one than average.
A fisherman nearby, who had been getting a little annoyed at the noise and commotion gave quite a start when he saw the fish they had caught.
“Well done” he said to Jonty “I think we should weigh it” and he went to fetch his spring balance.
“Do you realise” he said as he surveyed the gasping fish suspended in the hammock of his spring balance. “I don't think I’ve ever seen a bigger fish of this type'”
“'What does it weigh?” asked Jonty's cousin, his mouth strangely mimicking the actions of the fish.
“About four pounds two” the fisherman replied; “ Can I take a photo?”
Of course Jonathan was extremely pleased. but had to put the fish back. and with his wet kite and almost equally bedraggled companions set ef home.
When, bathed and changed, Jonty sat round the dinner table with the takeaway his dad had brought he reflected the fish from his local fish and chip shop were much more to his liking, and got stuck in.
(Two weeks later the picture the fisherman had taken appeared in 'The Angling Times', and the pond at the bottom of the roost was never as quiet again. even on the windiest days).