The Walkern Weir

Last year, as part of a two month trip from New Zealand, in mid September, my wife and I made a pilgrimage to Walkern, the place of my paternal ancestors. During the war I was taken by my mother and grandfather to Clay End, near Walkern where we stayed for a few days to avoid the bombing in London. I don't remember but I was told by my mother that I fell into a weir and had to be rescued by my grandfather. We stayed the night at the White Lion hotel and asked where there was a weir. After a bit of thinking a local pointed us to one hidden in bushes near the church. A sort of path disappeared into the bushes and leaving my wife looking at the church, a grabbed a camera and pushed through the bushes to find a path. About 50 yards in I saw the water. I can't understand why, but I drew back in fear of an old concrete weir in front of me. Now I am not afraid of water, I've spent my life splashing joyously about in it, but that weir! It was all I could do to take its photo. Strange! How far back does the subconscious go?