The shock of the cold water was painful and I knew that the odds appeared to be stacked against me. I couldn't swim for one thing. I felt my feet touch the bottom of the pond and I stood up, or rather, I attempted to stand up because I was prevented from standing erect by the ice. Then it dawned on me, if I attempted to stand up forcibly I might be able to break through the ice and thankfully the ice gave way and I found myself gulping in the air and wondering how I was going to get out of the water. Luck was on my side - I was close to one side of the pond near to the fencing that marked the boundaries with the railway embankment and I managed to act as an ice breaker to rech the fencing and pull myself clear after attempting to pull myself onto the surface of the ice failed.
I was covered in mud and decaying vegetation as I waddled home to a good hiding after trying to tell my grandmother that my unkempt appearance was caused by someone throwing a bucket of dirty water over me.
I didn't learn from the experience. The following summer I nearly drowned at Broken Scar Dam on the river Tees when I went over it without boat, kayak, wet suit or life jacket having still not mastered the art of swimming and found myself doing barrel rolls under water for what appeared to be an eternity before being spat out downstream coughing and spluttering and counting my remaining lives.