ALL is revealed. Now we know the full ins-and-outs of Owd Tom's trout fishery trickery. But it took a long time for the awful truth to emerge - and it is not over yet, not by any means.

The opening of Maggots Moneygrubber's new fishery in the old quarry should, quite frankly, have been enough excitement for one weekend. The fact that, come Saturday morning, Owd Tom was given the honour of casting the first line into the new pool did not cause us much surprise.

He had been witnessed giving Maggots secret casting lessons soon after dawn when he thought, wrongly, that his defection to the enemy would not be noticed.

When that first cast produced a fit and full of fight six-pound rainbow trout, it did cause watchers something of a stir.

The stir became something of a sensation when Maggots, formally declaring the place open before a little gathering of councillors, officials and sundry well-heeled fishermen, presented Tom with a bronze plaque and free membership for life.

"Turncoat," muttered several locals, for Tom and Maggots had been at each other's throats since the day Maggots and his wife moved into the Old Vicarage.

"Thirty pieces of silver," muttered Cousin Kate, the postmistress.

So, bit by bit, it was coming out: Owd Tom had been given the run of the fishery, plus the stretch of the River Beggar now owned by Maggots, which ignited the feud in the first place.

But why? Surely not just for casting lessons? Maggots is rich enough to hire himself a professional teacher. Or taken himself off to one of those fly-fishing schools in rundown castles in Wales or Scotland, where crusty old landowners down on their luck teach rich upstarts from the city some of the methods, if not the manners, of country life?

The gossip and the suspicion lingered on over the weekend, with Tom keeping his counsel at his corner of the bar in the Beggars' Arms, despite some withering looks from locals who have fished with Tom since they were nobbut lads.

He was up to summat, of course. We all knew that. But what? Changing your spots is one thing, and some of us could just about understand, hill framing being what it is these days - "business is business and he's got a good deal there," as Mean Mike was heard to comment more than once.

And so he has because a day's fishing at the quarry costs £25 - and you have to pay £1 per pound for every fish you take home. We could see Tom had struck a good bargain but the question on every lip was: what's in it for Maggots?

Come Monday evening, when most of the visitors have gone and we locals can have our pub back, the plot thickened. For some reason, Tom began buying the fellas drinks, not one of his regular pastimes.

Even when we declined, more was plumped on the bar and with Ram's Blood at its present price, it is hard to refuse a free pint standing there under your nose. Then, satisfied that we were all suitably mellowed, Tom dropped his bombshell.

"Ah'll be callin' an extra general meetin' o' the Beggarsdale Fly Fishers, Ferret Fanciers and Ale Suppers Association come next Monday," he announced in his role of president, chairman, treasurer and chief supper of the aforesaid BAFFFFAS. "Thar'll be just one item on t'agenda - t'election of a new member."

There was a stunned silence. It took only seconds to realise who that new member might be. And here was Tom's bag of silver on open display at. Me thinks there is a bumpy ride ahead...

o The Curmudgeon is a satirical clumn based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.