avail of it since they were not possessed of the requisite funds. Neither were their friends, neighbours or relations so that they had nowhere to turn except to their long-suffering in-laws who would be seen as the ultimate natural redress in such contingencies except, of course, by the in-laws themselves. The in-laws, alas for the convicted poachers, insisted that they had already pledged and paid far in excess of what might be reasonably expected of them. Ned and his accomplices served the full term.
The two friends moved away from the corner. They found themselves heading towards the cliffs which afforded a commanding view of the widest and deepest pool along the entire river. They stood with hands in pockets, their experienced eyes searching the still surface for tell-tale signs.
Minutes passed, then a quarter-hour but still they stood their ground. Then it happened! A gleaming salmon, unmistakably fresh, powered itself out of the poolâs centre and disappeared, almost instantly, with a mighty splash which shattered the surface of the deep pool, dispensing wavelets and ripples to both banks.
The friends withdrew their hands from their pockets and exchanged knowing glances. Words would have been superfluous and since seasoned poachers are men of few words to begin with, they hastened back to their favourite corner without the exchange of as much as a solitary syllable on the way.
âI have the makings of a cage in my back shed. âTis there, ready and waiting for a man of genius like yourself!â
Ned Muddle was flattered. He was not a well-loved person in the community. He was nasty to his wife and children. He was mean and he was dishonest so that words of praise rarely came his way.
In addition to being shifty, cowardly and unreliable, he had not been inside the door of the parish church, or any other church for fifteen years, since his wedding in fact, a sacrament in which he reluctantly participated and in which he might not have collaborated at all had it not been for the insistence of his in-laws-to-be who simply intimated that they would blow his brains out with a double-barrelled gun if he did not present himself at the church at the appointed time.
Despite entreaties from the parish priest and numerous curates as well as visiting missioners and pious lay people Ned Muddle steadfastly refused to conform. His neighbours would cheerfully forgive him all his other transgressions but they balked at the irreligious.
âIâll do it,â Ned announced more to himself than to his friend whose name happened to be Fred. In less than two hours they assembled the cage. Fred stood back to survey the handiwork in which he had played no more than a token part.
ââTis a work of art,â he announced, âthe village of Ballybradawn can be proud of you. Sure thereâs no self-respecting salmon would ignore it.â
Ned Muddle permitted himself a rare smile. Cage-making was his true metier. Even his arch-enemies the waterkeepers would concede without begrudgery that he was the best. Fred lifted the cage and bore it indoors to the bedroom which he shared with his wife. There he lovingly laid it on the large double bed which dominated the room. All that was now required was to wait until nightfall before setting out for the river where they would obstruct its flow and the passage of its denizens by constructing a low stone-built rampart from one bank to the other, leaving a gap in the middle where a strong but narrow current would attract the upgoing salmon. In this gap they would place the illegal cage which was designed to admit foolhardy fish but not to allow them egress. Large flat stones would be laid along its bottom to add weight to the structure. Otherwise, because of its lightweight composition, it would shift easily with the force of the concentrated flow.
Ned was a taciturn fellow of few words at the best of times unless, of course, he was berating his wife and family. His
The two friends moved away from the corner. They found themselves heading towards the cliffs which afforded a commanding view of the widest and deepest pool along the entire river. They stood with hands in pockets, their experienced eyes searching the still surface for tell-tale signs.
Minutes passed, then a quarter-hour but still they stood their ground. Then it happened! A gleaming salmon, unmistakably fresh, powered itself out of the poolâs centre and disappeared, almost instantly, with a mighty splash which shattered the surface of the deep pool, dispensing wavelets and ripples to both banks.
The friends withdrew their hands from their pockets and exchanged knowing glances. Words would have been superfluous and since seasoned poachers are men of few words to begin with, they hastened back to their favourite corner without the exchange of as much as a solitary syllable on the way.
âI have the makings of a cage in my back shed. âTis there, ready and waiting for a man of genius like yourself!â
Ned Muddle was flattered. He was not a well-loved person in the community. He was nasty to his wife and children. He was mean and he was dishonest so that words of praise rarely came his way.
In addition to being shifty, cowardly and unreliable, he had not been inside the door of the parish church, or any other church for fifteen years, since his wedding in fact, a sacrament in which he reluctantly participated and in which he might not have collaborated at all had it not been for the insistence of his in-laws-to-be who simply intimated that they would blow his brains out with a double-barrelled gun if he did not present himself at the church at the appointed time.
Despite entreaties from the parish priest and numerous curates as well as visiting missioners and pious lay people Ned Muddle steadfastly refused to conform. His neighbours would cheerfully forgive him all his other transgressions but they balked at the irreligious.
âIâll do it,â Ned announced more to himself than to his friend whose name happened to be Fred. In less than two hours they assembled the cage. Fred stood back to survey the handiwork in which he had played no more than a token part.
ââTis a work of art,â he announced, âthe village of Ballybradawn can be proud of you. Sure thereâs no self-respecting salmon would ignore it.â
Ned Muddle permitted himself a rare smile. Cage-making was his true metier. Even his arch-enemies the waterkeepers would concede without begrudgery that he was the best. Fred lifted the cage and bore it indoors to the bedroom which he shared with his wife. There he lovingly laid it on the large double bed which dominated the room. All that was now required was to wait until nightfall before setting out for the river where they would obstruct its flow and the passage of its denizens by constructing a low stone-built rampart from one bank to the other, leaving a gap in the middle where a strong but narrow current would attract the upgoing salmon. In this gap they would place the illegal cage which was designed to admit foolhardy fish but not to allow them egress. Large flat stones would be laid along its bottom to add weight to the structure. Otherwise, because of its lightweight composition, it would shift easily with the force of the concentrated flow.
Ned was a taciturn fellow of few words at the best of times unless, of course, he was berating his wife and family. His
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