A Noisy Dredger

A Memory of Fishbourne.

I stayed here with my parents in about 1968, when I would have been 10. We were visiting my great-uncle, the pioneering air-to-air aviation photographer Charles Sims, who lived at Wootton, near the then recently closed (and now happily preserved) section of the Ryde to Newport line.

My two main memories are that in those pre-child-friendly pub days the licensing laws made it necessary for me to be escorted round some back way to avoid going through the bar. Obviously, the authorities believed that a child was at high risk of permanent corruption by the Demon Alcohol if they even caught sight of an openly displayed pint of mild! Or, more likely, regulars didn't want their darts interrupted by squealing kids...

But the main excitement was the very strange noise that rose from the water outside - a dreadful groaning and screeching and clattering, akin to a Hammer House of Horrors sound effects department in full swing. In fact, it was my first sight and sound of an elderly bucket dredger in ponderous action, deepening the channel. I was fascinated and perhaps my head was turned ever so slightly as I ended up - among other misdemeanouurs - writing for a magazine called Dredging and Port Construction.

I often wondered what happened to that rusty 'creature of the night' that enlivened my stay at the inn.