17th June Petersfield

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Filed under: Detecting Diary, Training Days — Norfolk Wolf

“Yep, the sheep are grazing the grass low and the farmer has given his permission, there’s also a barn for you to hold the talks.”

So, there was me thinking of getting in a bit of fishing as the season started on the 16th and now it would be put on hold for another week. Oh well, those barbel, chub and roach will have to wait a bit longer before we become acquainted.

The weather forecast was looking gloomy and I had the added responsibility of this guy who wanted to fly over from Ireland to attend, so was giving him daily updates on whether it was likely to thrash it down or just rain for the whole time. Still coming from Ireland I just assumed that he should be used to it anyway.

It worked out to about 180 miles to get down there from Norfolk, so in four to four and a half hours I should be there. Yeah right, there’s another pig flying in at one o’clock out of the sun! I left at 1.15pm and arrived at 7.35pm, every thing was fine until I hit that magic roundabout they call the M25.Talk about wacky races. One minute yer doing 80 to 90 miles an hour with these bloody great lorries they call juggerynuts driven by foreign lookin’ geezers squeezin’ right up yer backside. Next thing yer know, everyone is slammin’ on his anchors; yer just glad that that big bugger behind yer pulled up in time. Driving along this stretch of road was like learning the steps to some old dance, slow, slow , quick, quick, slow. Be all right if everyone kept in step. Trouble was, some of the buggers had either got two left feet or were trying to do their own version of the thunder an’ lightnin’ Polka! Bloody madness! Yer take yer life in yer hands when yer venture on that there bit o’ tarmac boy; it’s the Devil’s own playground if yer ask me. Mind you, Hindhead on the A3 weren’t a lot better, I think it closes on a Friday afternoon, I sat looking at the same view for nearly an hour; which ain’t a lot o’ fun when you’ve been dying to go to the loo for the past couple of hours. Yer tries yer hardest to think o’ somethin’ else, but yer can’t, can yer? I drove the rest of the way to Petersfield squeezin’ my legs tighter and tighter. I thought the expression “all piss and vinegar” meant something completely different. Yer larn summat new every day don’tcha?

Always the same greeting from me these days when I arrive after a long drive, “how are you, where’s yer karzi, I’m bustin’?” I haven’t made up my mind whether it’s because I’m getting old, or the roads are more frightening these days. (You hold yer noise Stuart, or you’ll be lucky to even reach my age).

Phil made me feel welcome, and after a much needed cup of tea and a bite to eat, he showed me a bit of his countryside and informed me of the local history. Well, I got to say this, it certainly has some nice views. If he showed me one, he must have showed me a hundred; with the exclamation, “look at the view, you can see why the Romans wanted to build here”. Bloody hell, this gaff must have been over-run with the buggers! Didn’t those Eyeties have any scenery back home?

Saturday was spent doing more looking at different sites(and views) and Phil treated me to another of his accomplishments. Bird impressions! Who can remember Percy Edwards the great bird impressionist? Well, Phil must have been on one of his apprentiship courses. One minute we’re driving along and without warning it sounded just like we’d got a blackbird in the cab with us. Don’t matter what the bird, he would whistle it; falcons, thrushes, you name it and there it was, in the cab with us You can just picture it can’t you? There was Phil whistlin’ away an’ me moving over in case he decided to go the whole hog and crap on my shoulder or somethin’. I said that I would treat him to a meal that night as a small repayment for his hospitality. I was beginning to wonder if he would order something simple like steak or fish, or would it be a plate of trill with a side dish of cuttle-fish bone and for afters a little mirror, a bell an’ some sandpaper to round it off. Well yer never know do yer?

As it turned out, we did a bit of detecting that evening and didn’t get off the field ’till 9.45pm; so it was too late to eat out anyway.

Well, the weather was holding up well Sunday morning, and the people started to arrive. Irishman Ray was one of the first, what a really great guy he turned out to be. With his soft Irish brogue and quiet demeanor, I never would have guessed when he told me what he did for a living. I still find it hard to believe that someone would go to all that time and expense just to hear me talk about detecting. Stevie B put in an appearance as did my mate Stuart, the DVD cameraman; so I had to be on the ball. As it turned out, I was yacking away for two and a half hours; with Phil bringing me most welcome cups of tea to wet my whistle. I’ve got to say I felt a little disappointed with how it went. Normally after about half an hour or so people begin to thaw out and it’s more matey, matey; but for some reason I couldn’t get that rapport going. After a short break for something to eat, we were out in the sheep-field and it all changed. Perhaps they weren’t as outgoing as the people up north and felt more comfortable with a one-on- one situation.

Talking of the sheep-field, those woolly buggers must have been on a g-plan diet all week; the grass in places was knee-high! Even under these conditions, everyone managed to find some stuff, including Martin who found a hoard of Victorian copper coinage. Well done mate! Funnily enough Martin was the only one I missed seeing on the one-to-one basis, is that supposed to signify anything?

Finally Phil mate, thanks a million, without you this talk would never have taken place. (the bag of trill is in the post).

So what happens next? Well, big Dave has bought himself a boat and wants to learn how to float it.(It’s only a question of recognising yer oars from yer anchors, boy) That’s one thing I’m really up for, nice bit of lazy fishing then watching them trying to get it back up the steep shingle beach. Well I’m a guest in’t I?

I’ve been doing a bit of detecting in the forest back home with my mate Bob and it looks like we might have hit on a Celtic and Roman area. This should keep me going until the crops come off the fields.

Stuart is chomping at the bit to get started on the double DVD of my book.

I’ve just acquired at great expense (for me), a new bicycle: it’s called a Dawes, dead posh it is. I’ve taken to calling her Diana, (Diana Dawes, get it?) and even for an old geezer like me, I must say she gives a brilliant ride.

I’ve still got people asking when and where the next talks will be held. Buggered if know. The crops and grass pastures are too high now, get them harvested and we’ll see if there is still a call for a few more talks. Trouble is I have to rely on the local detectorist for that area who is friendly enough with the farmer to allow me to do it.

To all the people that have arranged this for me this year. I can’t thank you enough, as I’ve said many times, without your help the talks would have been just that; “just talk”.

Thanks also need to go to all those people that turned up to hear my wafflin’. You all shook my hand at the end of the day and said what a great time you had and that you all went away having learnt something. That my friends made this “old codger” very contented in learning that I’ve managed to put something back into the hobby that has given me so much pleasure. I sincerely hope that our detecting paths cross again in the future. John


Some of the boys at Petersfield