The Day the Dam Went Down

I like building dams. I can’t resist. Whenever there is a gush of water I am there blocking it up. On sea-shore and stream I have constructed edifices that are still the stuff of gossip.

When we were eight there was a little gang of us who loved damming up the stream at the side of the allotments near the main road. It was sunk down four feet so that we were totally out of sight in a world of our own. It took a bit of planning and coordination. We’d build it out of mud and see how high we could make it. It never lasted long because the stream was quite fast flowing. It would rapidly spill over the top and the trickle rapidly develop into a rivulet that would melt the mud and, despite all our best efforts, cascade into a great gush and take all before it. The dam would burst and that would be the end of it.

We’d emerge from the stream caked in drying brown slime and happy as larks.

Another thing I greatly like is escalation. I’m not satisfied until I’ve done it to the max.

So when we discovered a huge pile of turfs on the allotment a plan rapidly took shape. We all saw the potential. Slabs of turf were much more durable than mud and much easier to deploy. We had the once in a lifetime opportunity to produce a dam worthy of the Guinness book of world records.

We formed a chain to move the turf down into the stream. We organized the turfs in preparation. We meant business. This was a well-oiled machine of cooperation, experience and skill. We intuitively knew what needed doing.

When the preparations were complete we dammed the stream. It was highly successful. The water started backing up upstream while downstream it receded to a muddy trickle probably causing immense panic in the sticklebacks and other denizens of the stream. Not that we cared. We’d already constructed the best dam ever. The pool building up behind it was higher than we’d ever managed with all our best efforts.

But we weren’t through yet. This enterprise had a lot more legs.

Feverishly we lugged more and more turfs, building up thickness to resist the mounting pressure and height to hold back the flow. The pool was getting bigger and bigger and rising ever higher.

This was the stuff of dreams. We’d never imagined anything as mega as this. The scale was beyond our wildest dreams. Like madmen we transferred the turfs from the diminishing heap to the majestic dam, reinforcing and buttressing. It was now reaching epic proportions. The water was nearly up to the top of the ditch. That was stupendous.

We were still beavering away, piling on turfs, caught up in a frenzy. The dam was holding. There was a huge body of water being held back.

‘HOOY!!’ This big voice boomed out. ‘What do you think you’re up to!’

Startled, we all looked up. Standing on the bank of the stream was a copper peering down at us with darkened face.

We were frozen.

Then, as one, we scrambled up the bank the other side of the stream. We all stopped to have one last look at that masterpiece of a dam and the huge body of water it was holding back. Further down the road we could see a dip in the road where our stream had flooded the entire street and produced such a depth that it was interfering with traffic. That is what had attracted the attention of the copper.

‘Come back here!!’ The copper bellowed.

I was filled with an immense surge of pride. Then we all belted off through the allotments and scarpered before retribution could fall.