An acquaintance of David's passed a few minutes at a recent toy fair by retelling this intriguing tale of an unforgettable incident by a Kent lake: here is 'Mr Plumb's' story......

"My brother and I were, at one time, very keen anglers: we have caught large pike in the moat at Leed's Castle and good roach in the many rippling streams of our home county. But our favourite spot used to be the beautiful tree-girt lake at Bedgebury Pinetum.

Not an easy water to obtain permission to fish, our every opportunity was keenly anticipated for weeks, if not months: a specimen Tench or Bream was always on the cards, while huge, wily carp haunted the dark waters.....

I should tell you, at this juncture, that the lake was created in the 17th Century by the flooding of a valley and the small hamlet that then occupied it.....

One Summer's evening my brother and I settled down for an evening's angling: conditions were near-perfect and our state of 'alert expectation' was high: but only for fish!

After some good sport, things slackened off around midnight, and we slumped back in our chairs and gazed out silently at the lake. All at once everything changed: all the familiar night-sounds vanished from the valley as a blood-red miasma suddenly arose from the inky surface of the lake. Coots, ducks and other water-fowl seemed instantly to disappear, while our noses and throats were assailed by the most foul and - well EVIL - stench it has ever been our misfortune to encounter. And then, far worse, I felt drawn by a powerful and almost unconquerable urge to walk down into the dark water: it took all my resolve not to do so! I began to retch: the sound shattered the 'spell' and I found myself once more in control of my body. What is more, the effluvial stench, the red mist and the painful silence all receded.
At the time I briefly thought all of this had been a product of my imagination, until, forcing myself to turn to my brother, his gaunt expression told me I had not been alone in my experience.
With scarcely a word, we packed our tackle and fled to the car and home!

Some time later, at a meeting of our angling club, we happened to mention that we had occasionally fished the 'Old' lake at Bedgebury. An elder stateman of the group drew deeply on his pipe before exclaiming: