The Big Trout

This little fishing poem is by the Rev W F Marshall, the "Bard of Tyrone". It is about two little boys going fishing to catch a big trout, and the choices and dilemmas they face when trying to get it. Enjoy.

THE BIG TROUT

I had a comrade
Barelegged Joe,
And we went fishing
Long, long ago.
He came trotting
A yard after me,
For I was a big chap
And Barelegs wee.

Soon as ever I got
Out on the street
I heard him behind me
Quick-running feet;
Barelegs coming
Biting at a bun,
Flying down the Strand Brae
Hop, skip and run.

Then, with the greenheart
Swinging in his hand,
He followed me in trespass
On three men’s land,
Till streams low and hasty
Rose bank-full
And deepened into silence
In Soshy’s Pool.

Down in the turnhole
Lived a big trout,
Sometimes we saw him
Walloping about.
Oh! He was a monster,
More than a pound,
But crafty, crafty,
We soon found.

An Olive and a Claret
And a nice March Brown
And then two Daddies,
We floated down,
A minnow and a maggot,
And after that
A big white fly
And a wee black gnat.

Then we got fine gut
And an old fly hook,
And, prone on the bank,
With hands that shook,
We cocked big worms
Before his nose
And the grub that you get
Where a dockin’ grows.

But he scorned them all
Artfully he
Just made a fool of us,
Joe and me;
Till the tempter came
And we sank very low,
And an evil deed
I wrought with Joe.

Darkly we debated
Our foul plot,
The horsehair line
And the running knot.
“It’s very, very wrong,”
I whispered low,
“There’s nobody about,”
Said barelegged Joe.

We pulled a cow’s tail,
Soon we had a snare
Fastened to the greenheart,
But long cowhair
Dipt in the water
Is soft like wool,
It lay against the rod-top
And wouldn’t open full.

Joe from his pocket
Produced a fiddle –string,
Said I “Man dear Joe,
That’s the very thing!”
Then for the lassoing,
Age-long it seemed,
“Pull, ye, boy, ye, pull now!”
Wee Joe screamed.

Up to the heavens
An old cap sped,
Barelegged Joe
Was standing on his head.
Criminals- no matter,
Let that pass,
Had’nr we a pounder
Kicking on the grass?

The greenheart now
Is a light split-cane,
Far bigger trout
On the grass have lain,
And Joe’s man-big
And has men to rule,
But he minds about the trout
In Soshy’s Pool

God bless rivers
Rattling in the sun,
God bless fishermen
Every one.
And God be with the good days
Long, long ago,
When I went fishing,
With Barelegged Joe.