Sky's tale reminds me of another time in my past and sadly, it's less beautiful and serene as Night Star's video.
Just outside of the town I live in and next to a road that takes you northwards to where Bonnie Gordi awaits, there
was a pond hidden by tall hawthorn bushes and where only those in-the-know knew of its location.
Of course, boys who rarely went home in the daylight hours often learn of the secrets of adults and with time -that
stuff every kid believes they have in abundance, such covert information can swiftly become common currency in
their ignored world.
This pond had one difference to the other rivers and flooded quarries that also tolerated tossed-away bread-bags
and snagged hooks, it held an occupier that -once I learned of his existence, swam from the murky shadows of its
lair and often visited my dreams.
The pond was named 'The Cop Pond' and from the older boys who sometimes handed down to the ranks of a gang,
the remains of their white-hot-tipped cigarettes, we were told it was due to a group of Policemen who owned
the body of water.
True or not, this knowledge was from a higher standing than oneself and who could also beat you senseless in front
of your peers. Ergo, it was taken as fact.
There was another piece of alleged classified intelligence that was imparted from the Elders who had girlfriends
and knew about something called 'fucking'. Listening with bated-breath and scraped knees, we became aware of
a monster, a leviathan of the pond that was so dastardly, boys of a certain age were guaranteed to be on its menu.
They named the Devil of the deep, it was called 'Caesar'.
The back-stories of how such a beast came to be trapped in such a small filthy pool were many. A crazed angler
had caught the young Pike -because that was the nearest fish it could be compared to, and fed it raw meat until a
time he delivered it as revenge for an unknown crime, unto the dark waters of the Cop Pond.
No doubt, the transfer was performed under moonlight.
The Police themselves were also blamed. A scheme had been hatched to breed a 'super-Pike', A fish so malevolent,
that regular fishermen would avoid the pond and leave the best catches for the group of constabulary who supposedly
owned the property.
Any straying youngster who ventured too close to the pond were seen as a mere collateral benefit... would-be adult
thieves taken out before their prime.
Caesar was big, nine-feet in length and impossible to land. The odd angler we did see sitting amongst old truck tyres
and rusted oil-drums would relate accounts of failure to haul such a brute even to the surface. One or two had said they'd
witnessed it's vast shadow passing through the shallows near the edge and added that it wasn't too-long after, they would
pack away their equipment and leave.
Such was the power of Caesar.
But time swims in larger waters and so the land was eventually purchased by a commercial haulage company. The pond
was filled-in and the nightmare-tales of my youth faded. Females have their own type of fishing and just like the few roach
and perch that avoided Caesar's wake, we -older now, swam to their alluring hooks.
It would be a full twenty years until I overheard a conversation between two men in a local Public House regarding the fate
of that small pond and its abhorrent tenant. A talk over a beer that made me smile and order another brew.
Caesar was alive.
Under the cloud of tobacco smoke, the one wearing a flat-cap said he knew it to be true because he was there as the
trucks tumbled their aggregate into the Cop Pond and caused it's circumference to reduce. He saw the huge gouts of
tossed water and the awful thrashing as the pond became smaller and Caesar came to realise it was trapped.
Stubbing out his cigarette, the stranger stated that he was witness to an event where several uniformed men arrived with
a net and a reversing Police van. Daring to save the monstrous resident of their equity, these men waded into the remains
of the pond and apprehended the frantically splashing carnivorous fish.
The fight took almost an hour -he said. Injuries were numerous, but gumption overrode dread, he added. Eventually, with
both sides exhausted, the team of unidentified Officers carried Caesar towards the vehicle and within minutes, the area
was quiet and what was left of the pond went silent.
"But where did they take him?" -his fellow imbiber asked with wide-eyes and in my heart I awarded the man with first-prize
for acumen. Where indeed?
Of course, this yarn cannot end without a mystery and so with a second cigarette set ablaze, the gent-in-the-know leaned
closer to his friend. Like a mirror, I -too bent towards the answer.
"Some say he went to a laboratory for experiments, some say he resides in the stone quarry just north of us here and some
say he was released into the municipal pond in the local park" he whispered like a modern-day Guido Fawkes accepting the
incendiary lucifers of plot.
His companion's eyes became tea-saucers as the realisation crept upon him, Caesar could be -even as they drank and
spoke, deliberating on the frolicking child ignoring it's mother's caution and licking it's heinous lips with anticipation.
Like a wolf among the flock of sheep, the deadly predator was out there awaiting an unsuspecting meal and nobody knew.
Nobody but us, eh?
Caesar is alive.
I'll never wear a life-jacket again.
Just outside of the town I live in and next to a road that takes you northwards to where Bonnie Gordi awaits, there
was a pond hidden by tall hawthorn bushes and where only those in-the-know knew of its location.
Of course, boys who rarely went home in the daylight hours often learn of the secrets of adults and with time -that
stuff every kid believes they have in abundance, such covert information can swiftly become common currency in
their ignored world.
This pond had one difference to the other rivers and flooded quarries that also tolerated tossed-away bread-bags
and snagged hooks, it held an occupier that -once I learned of his existence, swam from the murky shadows of its
lair and often visited my dreams.
The pond was named 'The Cop Pond' and from the older boys who sometimes handed down to the ranks of a gang,
the remains of their white-hot-tipped cigarettes, we were told it was due to a group of Policemen who owned
the body of water.
True or not, this knowledge was from a higher standing than oneself and who could also beat you senseless in front
of your peers. Ergo, it was taken as fact.
There was another piece of alleged classified intelligence that was imparted from the Elders who had girlfriends
and knew about something called 'fucking'. Listening with bated-breath and scraped knees, we became aware of
a monster, a leviathan of the pond that was so dastardly, boys of a certain age were guaranteed to be on its menu.
They named the Devil of the deep, it was called 'Caesar'.
The back-stories of how such a beast came to be trapped in such a small filthy pool were many. A crazed angler
had caught the young Pike -because that was the nearest fish it could be compared to, and fed it raw meat until a
time he delivered it as revenge for an unknown crime, unto the dark waters of the Cop Pond.
No doubt, the transfer was performed under moonlight.
The Police themselves were also blamed. A scheme had been hatched to breed a 'super-Pike', A fish so malevolent,
that regular fishermen would avoid the pond and leave the best catches for the group of constabulary who supposedly
owned the property.
Any straying youngster who ventured too close to the pond were seen as a mere collateral benefit... would-be adult
thieves taken out before their prime.
Caesar was big, nine-feet in length and impossible to land. The odd angler we did see sitting amongst old truck tyres
and rusted oil-drums would relate accounts of failure to haul such a brute even to the surface. One or two had said they'd
witnessed it's vast shadow passing through the shallows near the edge and added that it wasn't too-long after, they would
pack away their equipment and leave.
Such was the power of Caesar.
But time swims in larger waters and so the land was eventually purchased by a commercial haulage company. The pond
was filled-in and the nightmare-tales of my youth faded. Females have their own type of fishing and just like the few roach
and perch that avoided Caesar's wake, we -older now, swam to their alluring hooks.
It would be a full twenty years until I overheard a conversation between two men in a local Public House regarding the fate
of that small pond and its abhorrent tenant. A talk over a beer that made me smile and order another brew.
Caesar was alive.
Under the cloud of tobacco smoke, the one wearing a flat-cap said he knew it to be true because he was there as the
trucks tumbled their aggregate into the Cop Pond and caused it's circumference to reduce. He saw the huge gouts of
tossed water and the awful thrashing as the pond became smaller and Caesar came to realise it was trapped.
Stubbing out his cigarette, the stranger stated that he was witness to an event where several uniformed men arrived with
a net and a reversing Police van. Daring to save the monstrous resident of their equity, these men waded into the remains
of the pond and apprehended the frantically splashing carnivorous fish.
The fight took almost an hour -he said. Injuries were numerous, but gumption overrode dread, he added. Eventually, with
both sides exhausted, the team of unidentified Officers carried Caesar towards the vehicle and within minutes, the area
was quiet and what was left of the pond went silent.
"But where did they take him?" -his fellow imbiber asked with wide-eyes and in my heart I awarded the man with first-prize
for acumen. Where indeed?
Of course, this yarn cannot end without a mystery and so with a second cigarette set ablaze, the gent-in-the-know leaned
closer to his friend. Like a mirror, I -too bent towards the answer.
"Some say he went to a laboratory for experiments, some say he resides in the stone quarry just north of us here and some
say he was released into the municipal pond in the local park" he whispered like a modern-day Guido Fawkes accepting the
incendiary lucifers of plot.
His companion's eyes became tea-saucers as the realisation crept upon him, Caesar could be -even as they drank and
spoke, deliberating on the frolicking child ignoring it's mother's caution and licking it's heinous lips with anticipation.
Like a wolf among the flock of sheep, the deadly predator was out there awaiting an unsuspecting meal and nobody knew.
Nobody but us, eh?
Caesar is alive.
I'll never wear a life-jacket again.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.