Carillon Magazine

Arachnophobia

Brian Webster (Rotherham)

Amongst the myriad and distinctive childhood memories that in quiet moments flood my mind is one of being constantly stalked, not by tigers, lions or other savage beasts but by spiders. I remember as a small child that it seemed to me wherever I went, like 'Miss Muffet,' a giant arthropod was sure to appear. Even now I'm instantly taken back to childhood when I walk down the garden in late autumn and strands of webs float across my face like sticky candyfloss.

We lived in a small terrace house in the industrial East End of Sheffield and insects, particularly spiders, camped nightly in each room waiting to be caught and evicted. It was my father who attended to this problem, without a moment's hesitation, usually carrying out the operation with bare hands. He'd been born in the slums, long demolished, that were the old Park district of Sheffield and having had to fight a nightly battle with cockroaches climbing his bedroom walls he'd long since overcome any fear of insects. I think it was hearing his tales of attempts to clean up his room before he could sleep that, instead of making me more confident in dealing with spiders actually made me even more cautious.

Across the yard we had an outside toilet and although we kept it well whitewashed inevitably the corners soon adopted large spider webs that draped like black curtains. As a small boy I knew of course that behind that curtain, deep inside, lurked my enemy waiting and watching my every move. During the long dark winter nights we had a little paraffin light that not only was supposed to give sufficient heat to stop the water pipes freezing but also yielded a bit of light. Unfortunately this light also acted as a beacon to my enemies inviting them to come in as I did whatever needed doing with as much speed as possible.   One night I was sat there thinking about nothing in particular when I felt a tickle on my bare leg. When I reached to brush away this delicate annoyance I discovered a spider as big as a house was walking across my bare leg. In panic I knocked it clear and it fell to the ground where it lay on its back waving its upturned legs at me as it planned its next assault. Not waiting for it to recover and attack again I pulled up my trousers and dashed back across the yard to the comparative safety of the house.

One day my father decided to turn off the water supply and that involved the opening of a grate in the yard and turning off an ancient stopcock. When he lifted the grate we both saw a thick black web completely covering the stopcock and slightly anxious I sat back a little. Laughing my father said not to worry and plunged his hand through the black net to reach down into the hole to get a firm grip on the valve. Suddenly he flinched slightly and then cursed as a large multi-coloured spider ran up his arm and sank its teeth into his biceps. Shaking the monster off he crushed it under his boot and startedrubbing his arm but even as we watched a lump began to swell up. Whatever kind of spider it was, it carried enough poison in its fangs to infect my father and it was quite a few weeks before the soreness left him. Definitely another warning I think to a young boy that spiders are best avoided and to be regarded with constant suspicion.

Issue 18