Bill Kennedy

I understood it to be because non-powered boats used the wind to assist in turning - at least it sounds logical.

Thursday 16th June Leaving the Rivers Lazy little sleep-ins that we were. Bill soon had us up and going with a not too subtle cough and rattle of the kettle and cups and after the standard help yourself muesli, fruit and yoghurt breakfast we were off. Today we were to leave the rivers not to return for a year. We realised we’ve had contact this year with the Thames, the Severn, the Wey, two Avons, the Kennet and the Cherwell. They all have different moods and feelings and I delight in them all. We passed through the large manned Bevere and Holt Locks, past pleasant riverside pubs and through some glorious scenery of Shrawley Wood, reminiscent of Cliveden Deep. In no time at all we were at Stourport, a once busy junction between the Severn and the canal system. It still retains an air of prior prosperous elegance and seems to have a revival potential, but to what? It’s a place to watch boats, savour a river breeze and admire Georgian architecture in industry. For us it was a good place to moor off the river, get water and do two loads of washing at the new BW laundry facilities. May they install many more of these. We were organised through the three locks by a volunteer resident boater who helped clear the congestion of seven boats wanting to go down the locks and our boat wanting to come up. Jacqui and Ian did a ramble through the town which Bill and I had explored last year and agreed it’s a nice town in need of a purpose. The imposing Tontine Hotel is still boarded up and we were told by our volunteer that it is to become apartments. It will be interesting to watch developments when we return one day. Dinner was grilled salmon, Jersey potatoes and carrot combo (thought we had asparagus but no). Friday 17thJune Sad Parting Bill stirred me awake this morning with the sad news that Ian’s Mum died last night after a long illness. Decisions and phone calls were to be made. The outcome was that Ian would fly home for the funeral and return in a week as Jacqui and he still have a week in London with friends and a side trip to Munich after that. They will make arrangements when we get to Kidderminster. I didn’t recall the way out of Stourport being so pretty. The foxgloves and honeysuckle were flowering and the green corridors deliciously cool as the three of us sat in the bow in today’s 28degrees C. We moored at Kidderminster at the very convenient canalside Tescos and Jacqui and Ian went off to make travel arrangements. Ian has a flight tomorrow night and they will leave us and go to Jacqui’s Uncle Sam and Aunt Betty’s in Solihull. Jacqui will stay with them for the week until Ian returns. Sam is a man of action and was here in an hour to collect them. We bid them a sad farewell. This was not how it was meant to be but one must bend with the wind when these things happen. And so after a shop for groceries for our last week and some plastic storage boxes to leave gear in at the boatyard, Bill and I set off alone. It seemed so strange to be alone again as we had been in the company of first Graham and Hazel on the K&A and then Jacqui and Ian for the past almost four weeks. We wanted to show them all the places we have loved visiting so much. We had thought of reaching Greensforge today but decided to call it quits just after 4.30 at the very pretty moorings at Kinver where we made up one of a line of seven boats. We explored the village last year and so have had a quiet evening on the bow. Friendly folk John and Hazel next door chatted in the gloaming for about an hour. I had spent part of the day being annoyed at myself for leaving our mooring hook at Kidderminster and the other half scanning the pilings for one someone may have left behind, then finally let it go (as the kids say “Let it go Mum, let it go”). I walked off most of my stresses with a towpath walk for half an hour and was quite in awe of the marathon training runners and speedy cyclists who passed by. The one amusing event of the day was our interaction with the gongoozlers at “The Rock” pub at Wolverley which is slap bang, shake your hand over the fence lock side. When we arrived I couldn’t open the bottom gates because of leakage and had to open the bottom paddles to fully empty the lock before the gates would open. There must have been ten tables of people in the lock side beer garden, all watching my every move. I could feel twenty eyes silently watching my every move and one chap on the towpath was even videoing everything. I thought I have to take the Mickey somehow, so before alighting I did a curtsy then a deep Malvolio flourishing bow upon which they all clapped as I stepped onto the boat. Bill announced to all that I had the easy part of the job, prompting laughter. Saturday 18th June A deliciously exhausting day It was forecast 30degrees C and as we sit here at 6pm at the end of a hot and tiring day it is indeed 30degrees. It has been a 19 lock day through some very pretty countryside - ivy draped red cliffs, sheep dotted hillsides, still cool woods and green corridors. Semstow Brook, a tributary of the Stour has been our companion for a large part of the day. We have been running very low on diesel and had not realised there is no refueling site between Stourport and Compton, a distance of about 22 miles, not so far with a full tank but a long way with a nearly empty one. We had not taken on fuel since Fenny Compton. I had phoned Limekiln Boatyard at Compton earlier in the day to see when they closed (5pm) and, this being Saturday and Sunday being a day off for boatyards, we had to make it today or lose a day waiting for them to open Monday morning. We would just make it if there were no hold ups. Things went smoothly until we reached Botterham staircase. We traversed the first lock smoothly. I was driving and Bill locking. He opened the upper chamber and I drove in, or rather I half drove in then the boat came to an abrupt halt and would go no further. I reversed up, we came free then I had another run at it. Same deal only this time we did not come free on reversing. It felt like something in the floor of the lock that we were grounded on. We pulled backwards on ropes and reversed (using up precious diesel and knowing our chances of reaching Compton before 5pm were declining. We put in a call to BW who promised to send an engineer, then along happened an old walker and his dog who examined the situation and discovered we had a piece of log wedged tight between the left side of the boat and the lock wall. So Bill went up on the roof to speak to the log with our pole. Finally we set ourselves free by my flooding the lock, Bill rocking the boat and the bystander prodding at the log. The call to BW was quickly cancelled and we were on our way with profound thanks to all helpers. We had been held up for about an hour and not one other boat had come along. So now the race was on. Compton or bust. On through Bumble Hole, the three lock staircase at Bratch, (sweet talking the twelve year old lock keeper to let as ascend before the two boats queued to come down and buying a new mooring hook although not a match for our remaining one), through the historic Awbridge Lock, Ebstree Lock and the very pretty and providing a respite from the heat, Dimmingsdale Lock (making a mental note that there a pleasant summer moorings on the lock off side and where a sunbaking teenager asked me if we sailed our boat from Australia. Bill later said “did you say yes and that there weren’t any locks”). At Mops Farm Bridge I let the boatyard know of our progress and again at the Wightwick Mill Lock where they promised to wait for us. We steamed in at 5.25 pm. Then we reversed back to some pleasant and safe moorings (as safe as you can be this close to downtown Wolverhampton). The classic turn-up for the day was that as we moored Bill found a mooring hook left behind by someone, identical to the one I’d left in Kidderminster. And so we sit, happily exhausted, bathed, on the bow where it’s 30degrees C, quaffing a wine and agreeing it’s too hot for the comfort food I started to prepare during the day and that Saltine type crackers with salmon, egg, tomato, lettuce and cold chicken will do just fine for tea. Happiness is ours. Sunday 19th June A Brolly Day at Brewood Our light dinner last night was followed by an urgent need to take to my bed and I think I was asleep five minutes later at about 7.30 I woke briefly around 10.30 to find Bill asleep in the chair and the boat wide open. After putting all that to right, we slept through until 7.30am. Just shows what exercise in a heat wave will do to you. We walked up from our Compton moorings to phone the girls and then were away by 9am, bidding several farewells to our diesel rescuer at Limekiln boats, first as he got water for his boat as we walked to the phone and later at the first lock where he was walking his wee dog. The cruising to Aldersley and then Autherley junctions was smooth, through the stop lock, using the two-ways for the first proper time to tell Bill when the lock was empty and it was time to come around the corner. They have moved the water point to the far end of the boat yard, beyond an exit drain which has a four by four slab of concrete in front of it. Fortunately we saw it and avoided prop damage. I had forgotten how pretty the wooded cutting approach to Brewood is. I was offered the helm and was happy to drive this section, it’s so beautiful. Being an exceptionally fine Sunday, the fishermen were out in force. By the time we reached the woods it was 1pm and the heat over 30 degrees C so we moored there for lunch in the cool and sat on the foredeck. The sun umbrellas were up as we passed the visitor moorings. As we passed John and Lynne’s boat at Brewood there was no sign of anyone though the boat was open. Then I’m sure John must have recognised the sound of the engine as out popped his head from the side hatch with his usual cheery hello and the usual chit-chat about the trip. He then walked a little way along the towpath beside us. We reached Wheaton Aston Lock, the first lock I ever operated alone last year with absolutely zero instruction. It totally demoralised me then. Today was a different matter and I mused at the change after a total of six months of cruising. We found a basic but good mooring with a shade tree and a view of someone’s chicken run and cow yard and sat in the welcome shade for a cool drink , giving thanks for our fold up chairs. Our little barometer had been giving off storm alarms since lunchtime and indeed the clouds began to build up. After dinner preparation the nearby pub beckoned for a drink and we sat out in the beer garden watching someone totally stuff up their mooring in the breeze that had now sprung up. Bill remarked that the chap was probably unaware that the whole of the beer garden was watching him. As we were leaving the rain came down and we made a run for it back to the boat to sit and enjoy the first storm we’ve ever really experienced here. Dinner was home made meat pie and veg. There is TV reception tonight and Bill is watching while I’m in the bedroom with the door closed. I plan to read, a new release humorous ditty called “A Slow Dog to Carcassonne” about a couple who sail their narrowboat (with a pilot and an escort boat) across the English Channel to France. Yes it can be done, and no, we don’t plan to do it. If we ever go (I’d love to) the boat will go on the back of a lorry. Monday 20th June Sunning it to Market Drayton Lousy early morning awakening. Three am and the nose started to run. Intractable sneezing began and didn’t give up, despite frequent snortings of Beconase in excess of the recommended daily dosage. My nostrils are raw and my nose looks like Rudolph’s. Guess the last two hot days have matured blossoms and last night’s storm must have done a good job of micronising the pollen balls and they have all made their way up my nose. At 3 am I thought I may as well get up and read and when Bill woke at 5.30 I took my weary self back to bed and seep until he stirred me with departure noises at 8.45am. Today’s plan was to make the run from Wheaton Aston to Market Drayton with a stop for lunch at Norbury Junction. This is an exceptionally attractive rural section of canal. The landscape varies between farmland where paddocks of Friesian cows stretch on forever and aqueducts over open heath land with stretches of exquisite cool green cuttings interspersed. These cuttings are largely devoid of flowers now except for leggy elderflower bushes and pink Campion reaching for the light but earlier in the year they were the haunt of bluebells and wispy cow parsley. Bracken like ferns and a type of crows nest which were unfurling embryos when we left are now everywhere in profusion with a thick ground cover of ivy. Nettles appear as we emerge from the cool into sunlight. The cuttings have names like Lapley Wood and Chamberlain’s Covert, straight out of an A.A. Milne story. In the heath land, wild roses bloom in full sun and the little purple legume that presses so well but fades is none other than Lucerne according to my Upton-on-Severn best second hand bookshop find. We wandered into a part of Gnosall and purchased sausages for a barbeque from a cheery butcher and took on water at the other end of town. As we came through Norbury junction we couldn’t believe that we had travelled through with such trepidation last year between the boats on either side of the canal. There was oodles of room for two boats to pass but last year we dreaded the approach of another. Even I would be happy to drive it now. There are frequent reminders you are in a rural area, huge sheds, the odd farm house, irrigation sprays, working tractors and at one point the strong smell of fertilizer that would give the Swiss springtime mucking out of the barn a run for its money. You glimpse the odd little village nestled into the fields Even though it is a week day people are out and about enjoying the sunshine and there are delights everywhere. A child singing and clapping and enjoying the echo in the ivy clad Cowley tunnel, ducks and moorhens with tiny late hatchlings, yes, and even topless British men, their wives in shorts and bikini tops or with parasols up on the stern of their boats. Today we have had a perfect day for passing through the narrow wooded cuttings and as if nature was saving the best until last, along came Tyrley Locks. The first three of these are in open country but the last two are in Tyrley cutting. Here tree trunks cascade down red and grey vertical stone cutting walls on which the afternoon light dances. Garlands of ivy drape to the water and the trees touch overhead. Everywhere is the sound of cascading water and it is a joy to be there. Finally we arrived at Market Drayton and moored up by 6.15 in a long line of about twenty boats, all their occupants enjoying the long warm evening on the towpath. Bill is doing a farewell curry and I may sit quietly and do some embroidery while dinner cooks. It has been yet another delicious summer’s day. Tuesday 21st June Bill does a Star Turn The nose and eyes did their thing again and began itching and streaming within minutes of opening my eyes this morning. I gave up on tissues and resorted to paper towels, stuffing one up each nostril rather like the chap in “A Fish Called Wanda” only he put chips up his nose. If I’d had chips and they’d worked, I’d have used those too. Sleep, if you can achieve it, works wonders for hay fever as for some inexplicable reason the whole allergic thing shuts down while you are asleep. It also revives you from what is a very exhausting and frustrating ailment. However Bill made those noises around 9am and reminded me that if I wanted to walk into Market Drayton, we should get going. It was interesting to see how much of the town we remembered and sad to see that the shop of George Orwell, butcher, no longer appeared to be trading though we hoped it was his shop behind the hoarding that was having a smart renovation. Sadly too, “The Craft Box” where I had called last year and whose proprietress seemed to be trying so hard, was also like the Monty Python parrot. The old houses and the ancient Market Place were as ever but the more modern market hall seemed to have only a florist open for business. I did my brief bit of laundry material purchasing from the Iceland, and decided to bite the bullet and buy some oral antihistamines from the chemist. I’d resisted this to date as they make me feel a little peculiar. Down a side street I spotted a Lilliputian hardware and wanted to buy a brush for cleaning the boat and a new dustpan brush. The shop was one of those six foot by twelve foot you-name-it-we’ve-got-it-but-only-I-can-find-it sort of places with six foot produce bedecked ceilings and several little broom cupboard sized alcoves. You half expect Mr Arkwright to pop up from behind the counter in a grey dust coat. When I told him what I wanted he ferreted about in one of these alcoves like a fox terrier after a rat and came up with no less than three types of dustpan with brush including a smart Addis model which I chose. The soft boat cleaning brush I found in his interesting bin of broom heads and brushes. Tomorrow is market day but we must be on our way. The nearest winding hole, according to Pearson’s, was three miles away and Bill didn’t want to waste the time so decided to try a turn at the wharf a short distance from our mooring. Between deciding and doing a boat full of non English speaking Scandinavians had moored opposite thus reducing the available distance by about seven feet. An old work boat called Gerald No 13 was moored at the wharf pontoon getting fuel and Bill pivoted ever so gently on the chap’s bow fender and did the most perfect turn. Later at one of the locks the chap came up and told Bill he was very impressed with the turn. We were chuffed. We threaded our way back through the delightful narrows meeting several boats with cheerful greetings after the pass was achieved like “Heaps of room.” or “It’s always on the narrow bits”. We stopped for lunch at Goldstone Wharf and recalled the nearby “The Wharf Tavern” where we had lunch last year and which Tom Rolt frequented. There, an old chap on a well travelled cruiser came up and had a long chat. And then we were off to our night moorings at Norbury Junction which is sadly no longer a junction but which has good visitor moorings. And here I sit, slightly comatose from the Zyrtec, but it has done the trick and I am no longer streaming from every central cranial orifice. Wednesday 22nd June Finis Last day and it’s hard to believe. We head back to base slowly through all of the beautiful green corridors and open Shroppie farmland, pausing for a pub lunch at “The Hartley Arms” where we had our first pub lunch last year. After the lock at Wheaton Aston I put away my windlass for the last time. Bill gave me the tiller for quite a way to the final stretch of moorings into Brewood. Chris popped her head out of their boat saying “It’s Melleaus back.” and John sitting at lunch under a tree gave us a welcome wave. Bill took the tiller for the final mooring and we brought “Sir Melleaus” in next to “Sir Ironside”, the little 50 foot boat we rented last year. Will came to the boat and we chatted about the trip and talked over the new bathroom that will be in by the time we return next year. Within half an hour Will and I had sorted out the basic layout and now I have to select tiles, sinks and a shower tray. The toilet will be a double flush press button model with a carbon filter to shut out the methane reflux when a pump out is due, the basin will be a corner model with a shallow cupboard beneath the window for toilet paper, cleansers, hand towels etc, there will be a space beneath the basin for towels, and there will be two towel rails behind and to the left of the toilet. I have only now to select the tiles, laminex top and minor fittings. Am not impressed with those in the brochures that Will has so may yet need to do the trip to Wolverhampton tomorrow to look at others. If all can be achieved tomorrow we will take up the kind offer of Jacqui’s Uncle Sam to have us at his home in Solihull until we go to London for the flight home. It has been a wonderful trip. We are so pleased to have met the delightful Hazell and Graham (and Harvey) on the K&A and hope to see them again when we return. The most important part was having Jacqui and Ian with and to be able to show them what we love about this preoccupation. They were superb to have on board and hope they enjoyed the part of the trip they were able to experience. As for the boat, it is not state of the art but has a much loved comfort and spaciousness about it. We have learned from John’s wife Lynne that its name was Michaela when it was built for its owners. She thinks it was the last boat that Will’s dad built before he died. The owner then became disabled and was no longer able to use it but it took them some years of the boat being moored at the bottom of their garden to be able to part with it. That was when Will bought it back from them, refurbished it and thence it was sold to us. Along the canals in the last three months on at least six occasions we have heard nothing but praise for Will Abbey and his standards and ethics. We feel very confidant having the boat managed and looked after by him. We can’t wait to return next year and venture into new territory. Total for Trip Distance (miles) 803 Locks 568 That's all folks - to be continued in 2006

Wednesday 1st June Lazy Day Today’s project was our 300 hour service which was to be done by Oxfordshire Narrowboats at Lower Heyford. We were greeted warmly and told we were expected however they didn’t have the correct oil filter and we had to wait until the afternoon for it to be brought in. As the day has brought non stop rain we had an “indoors” day of reading, craft and cooking. During a couple of very brief pauses in the rain we explored the village and later went searching for flowers for pressing. There are some delightful, beautifully constructed Oxford stone houses down by the canal and several owners considerately had planted flowers outside their boundaries or had their bushes well trained to hang over the fence for me. As a result I have been pressing flowers for the past hour. Finally left and, although it was only four o’clock when we stopped, we saw no point in carrying on in the cold and the wet. We have a long morning tomorrow to reach Banbury in time for shopping and a Laundrette so Bill has us all on notice that the early morning wake up call will be early indeed. Happy hour was spent cozily by our blazing little fire; all the washing is drying by it; there is comfort food for dinner (salmon rice and broccoli) and scrabble tonight. Let’s wait for the predicted sunshine tomorrow. Thursday 2nd June Holiday Delays True to his promise Bill had us up and about early this morning to make the journey from our moorings north of Heyford Common Lock to Banbury. At my favourite lock, Somerton Deep, Jacqui and I posed for photos in the lock while the boys did the hard work and then I had a drive for about four miles. It had been such a long while since I’d driven but it soon came back to me and felt good. I passed through several lift bridges and a bridge hole that was tight because of a boat moored with its stern jutting into it and managed not to hit any of them. At several of the locks there were delays of up to forty minutes with four boats waiting to go up and four to go down. This afforded us lots of chat time with waiting boat owners. The flag and the accent are always a conversation starter; there is always an assumption that we are hirers and there is a perceptible warming of interaction when they know it’s our boat and that we come over for fifteen weeks a year and spend it all on the boat. One chap said to me, after talking to the boys at the lock, “Have you really been out for nine weeks” and when I said “yes” enthusiastically, he said “Cor I’ve only been on it for four days and that’s enough for me”. Being mid term break, the families are out in force. Early teens children walk on the boat rooves and jump off, they run across the lock gate face boards, run across elevating lift bridges and jump and do a variety of other things that make me very concerned for their safety. I think I’d be a real party pooper if I had young ones out with me. On arrival at Banbury we decided to risk it and go on up through Banbury Lock and through the Lift Bridge and chance a mooring. Fortunately there were two available, both under the footbridge (not so desirable because of possible dropped missiles), but we were able to ease back into a space that became vacant and get away from the bridge. Jacqui and I set off in search of the laundrette in Broad Street, with a little help from the lady at the Museum (which doubles as the tourist information centre). On the way we had a cursory look through the markets as it’s market day today in Banbury. We went through the usual ecstatic joy of watching the clothes go around and around but the machines were more efficient than some and the staff friendlier than others I’ve struck. While we were there an Irish woman double parked and rushed in. She had such a deep voice and such a thick brogue that neither Jacqui nor I could understand what she said to the laundrette lady. I don’t think the laundrette lady could understand either but her manner said she was not a lady to mess with. I was a bit worried about even looking at her. She pulled 200lb of completed laundry out of the one big machine in the shop, then barked something at the laundrette lady about there being no dryer available and to put it in when it was free, gave her money and stormed out to her car where two small boys were thumping the hell out of one another. She in turn thumped the hell out of them and took off. Ya meet all sorts. Just as we were leaving the boys appeared at the door, having done the entire grocery shop in 45 minutes, including a visit to a second shop for the bake at home bread rolls and buying strawberries at the markets. We know who’s doing all the shopping from now on. Needless to say there was not one single extra item that was not on the list. It’s a boy thing. Friday 3rd June Market Day A decadent sleep in was had by all and I for one emerged just before eight, having woken at six and then seven. The early waking because the boat seemed to be bumping intermittently against the concrete bank. I peered out to check we still had fenders and all seemed well i.e. we were still parallel with the bank, so I went back to bed. It was only when I got up I learned that the boat in front of us had been set adrift by the local yokels and had been resting obliquely across the canal, bumping into us now and again, that the mystery was explained. The owners were cheesed off enough to pack up and leave the moorings at 6.45am. We had a day plan to visit the library, the Banbury Cross, the Art Space, the Museum and see the old part of town. We got it all done except the Museum which will have to wait for another year. The diversion was the once a month Farmers’ Market and the produce was delightful. We stocked the larder, the boys returning to the boat with the goodies while Jacqui and I did the photo opportunity thing. Then it was back to the boat, buying gorgeous orange roses en route, for our two hour trip to the delightful Cropredy. As we approached the village we passed through the fields where the Battle of Cropredy took place in 1664. Jacqui and Ian worked all three locks by themselves on the way here while I washed. There was a mooring just waiting for us above the lock and Bill edged us in expertly. Sadly the rain began in earnest shortly after our arrival, delaying our visit to “The Red Lion” for a couple of hours. During that time Bill leant out from the bow to ask a chap with an ill wife (who vomited as she passed our boat) if he needed help to moor and a swan that Jacqui had fed earlier snatched the cigarette from Bill’s fingers. We wondered who he was swearing at. We relaxed and showered then we ventured up to the pub. It is a most delightful 15th century thatch roofed pub with low beams, a fireplace with an inglenook and a charming view of the ancient churchyard opposite. This is the pub with straps above the bar for strap hanging when one is unable to assume the upright independently. The boat beckoned for us to return and cook up our great tea of Farmers’ Markets beefsteak pie, mashies, carrots and garden peas, followed by Bramley apple and blackberry pie with custard. It’s seven thirty and if the rain holds off we’ll go for a stroll back up the village to show Jacqui and Ian the charming stone houses. Saturday 4th June Wonderful Cropredy Alas the rain did not hold off and we left our stroll through the village until this morning. When we woke Bill greeted us with the news that he’d been watching a little hedgehog industriously carry leaves along a canalside step to a secret location under a nearby upturned dinghy. We thought we’d missed the event but it carried on relentlessly, providing breakfast entertainment for all. At one stage a swan and a pair of ducks with adult babies moved into the foreground and with a blackbird on the lawn in the background we were watching nature at its best. After breakfast it was time to show Jacqui and Ian the village which is one of the prettiest we’ve seen. Unfortunately, like most places in the UK, the Green Scene Gallery in Cropredy doesn’t open until 10.30am when we were to be long gone. I had hoped to take some of my pressed flower cards to them, made from British flowers With some good team work we zoomed through the eight locks north of Cropredy, fitting in a good walk between them. Passing from Oxfordshire into Warwickshire we traversed the Fenny “tunnel”, a former tunnel that had its roof removed long ago due to rock instability and is now an attractive “narrows”, resplendent at this time of the year with white daisies, cream and pink wild roses, pink Campion and a vast assortment of other beautiful wild flowers. The canal then began its tortuous ascent to the Wormleighton summit; it is of course not an ascent at all but one certainly has that feeling as the canal hugs the contours of the hills and the landscape changes from woodland to open, windswept hill farming country. We stopped for lunch in a sheltered spot between a treed ridge and a bank that we’d noted previously was a good mooring. While we were sitting there we were amazed at the number of boats passing us, mostly in the opposite direction. It wasn’t until we reached the start of the descent locks at Marston Doles that we learned why. There was some sort of rally on in Napton, our destination for the evening. There goes any hope of a mooring, we thought. While Ian created dinner, Jacqui and I locked and she did so well, quickly catching onto the process and anticipating the next move. She also had exposure to some of the characters on the canals. Like the lady who told her husband to stop dallying and get on the boat. “No flies on me”, she said. “No”, he smartly retorted, “but you can see where they’ve been.” The traffic in and out of Napton was so heavy that there were waits at every lock but chats to go with it so we barely noticed it. In fact we did seventeen locks today and couldn’t believe it – it seemed many fewer than that. To our great surprise there was a mooring for us at the end of the line at Napton, albeit a shallow one and we needed our plank to come on board to avoid leaping the gap. Outside our window we looked across at the big farm on the hill at Napton with its menagerie of horses, cows, Shetland ponies, deer, black sheep, chickens and wildlife of wood pigeons and bunnies. Sunday 5th June See one, Do one, Teach one. We said goodbye to Napton on the Hill around eight o’clock and wound around through pretty farming country, soon reaching Napton Junction. Bill made a perfect turn around the right angled junction and we were on the Grand Union Canal at last. Time for some serious locking. Here all the locks are wide and we paired through the first three Calcutt Locks with a tug in the process of restoration and for the next sixteen with a young couple who had just picked up a small hire boat at Braunston at four o’clock yesterday. He as a Welshman from Doncaster and she from Sheffield and they were a pleasant young pair who waved goodbye cheerily when we left them and moored for lunch. They were managing their boat very well for first timers. Jacqui and I shared a joke today when I came up and stood beside her at a lock gate as Bill was bringing the boat in. She said to me “Would you like to go down and start that bottom gate Lynn and I’ll close this for Bill”. I said “ Yes Ma’am” – see one, do one, teach one and we laughed at the fact that she’s taken to locking like a duck to water and is now anticipating the sequence required. I had a couple of good drives today and next thing will be to get Ian on the tiller. We passed two beautifully restored tugs today when I was driving so couldn’t take a picture but fortunately they passed us again after lunch so I was able to get a shot. They were veritable labours of love. Bill set a goal today to get to the bottom of the Hatton Flight and we did it. We have done twenty three locks today and tomorrow it will be twenty one. The only difference is that today’s locks were somewhat spread out but tomorrow’s will be a full morning of one after the other slog. We secured the last mooring in the pound at the foot of the flight and went to the pub for a celebratory drink. Sadly, we arrived at the pub at 6.15 but the kitchen closed at 6pm so it was back to the boat to create dinner from the fridge and larder – Farmer’s Market sausages and mushrooms, onions, eggs and asparagus, followed by strawberries and cream. Not bad eh? Monday 6th June Carry on Locking I didn’t mention I last night but the two replica tugs with all their immaculate paint work and shining brass took the last two moorings opposite the pub last night and looked like they planned to ascend the locks together in the morning. We had made up our minds therefore to be off before them like the little pig to the market before the wolf. While Bill was checking our weed hatch at 7.30 this morning and sawing off a piece of rope with the bread knife, the tugs started their engines. I’ve never seen him put the hatch back together again as fast as he did this morning – enough to venture an enquiry as to whether he’d checked it for leaks. He looked at me disdainfully – of course he had. We pulled away from our moorings five minutes before they did. The first lock was empty and set for us and we thought we had it made. Sadly, of the twenty-one, all but about six were full due to leaking top gates and we earned the promised chocolate chip muffin at the café below the top lock. At Kingswood junction we turned onto the Stratford canal and into another world of ancient and somewhat decrepit locks, narrow split iron bridges, 1810 barrel gabled tiny lock keepers cottages and some of the most delightful scenery so far. This is the remnant of the ancient Forest of Arden. It was the sort of environment that urged you to travel slowly and savour the feel of it all. At Lowsonford, after ten more locks, making a tally of 31 for the day (two short of our record), we pulled in opposite the canalside back garden of the Fleur de Lys hotel and were sad to see that the little old man who’d smiled at us from the doorway of the lock keepers cottage last year, was no longer there and that the cottage was empty. Another generation gone. The Fleur de Lys has to be one of our favourite pubs. Its oldest section is 200 years old, the middle section about a hundred years old and the newest section I think, about fifty years. We had delicious dinners (venison pie, mash, carrots and peas) and pud (sticky toffee with icecream) and then retired with our wine to the oldest section of the pub where there were deep, weathered leather arm chairs and tartan wing chairs by the fire. There we struck up a conversation with an old man of almost eighty and a chap about our age who were in the habit of driving twenty minutes from Solihull to have a drink here. They told us they thought Britain was going to the dogs, thought highly of Australians, New Zealanders and Americans, and didn’t think much of Britain’s immigration policy, without being too specific for fear of giving the impression that they were racially prejudiced. They were interested in our choice of a boating lifestyle, and retirement and the taxation and pension system in Australia. Finally their dinner commitment called and we bade them farewell. Four very exhausted but contented people fell into bed after what has to have been our most strenuous day yet. Tuesday 7th June Visitors We had decided yesterday, after realizing that Solihull was so close that it would be rather nice to ask Jacqui’s Uncle Sam and his wife Betty, who live there, to come to the boat, and perhaps have lunch at a pub somewhere. Wooten Wawen was the chosen place, for its multiple attributes of a pub, a canal shop and a boat yard that could do a pump out for us, the last almost reaching emergency status. We left our mooring around 7.15am, took on water and arrived there around eleven, busily washing and vacuuming en route. On arrival at Wooten Wawen we bought goodies at the canal shop, had a browse around the little shops at the craft centre, with the biggest woodpile I’ve ever seen and arrived back at the boat just as Sam and Betty pulled up. We showed them over the boat, had a chat and a drink and then repaired to the pub for more forced feeding (breaded haddock for me this time). Sam kept us entertained with his thoughts on certain members of the Royal Family (though he is an avid admirer of the Queen), his studies in computer maintenance, the Blair government and assorted topics of general knowledge. He has a delightfully dry sense of humour and Betty is a wonderful foil for him. They have very kindly volunteered to pick us all up from Brewood with our luggage at the end of the trip, have us all for the weekend then deliver us to Birmingham for our train trip to London. We had coffee and cake back at the boat and then it was time to say goodbye (Sam has a computer exam tonight). They were delightful people and it was a pleasure to have met them. We have used the afternoon to wend our way towards Stratford through idyllic countryside. Jacqui was particularly taken by the bunnies on the towpath. We passed many hire boats operating out of Stratford for day trips and short breaks. One obvious owner’s boat we passed had their washing fluttering like ours and the chap said as he passed “I’m glad to see someone else has their smalls out.” We have moored a few miles outside Stratford for the night, in fact at the lock below the one where Bill slipped and fell in last year, breaking ribs and bruising his chin badly. We had planned a barbeque and the weather has been delightful but after two pub meals in 24 hours we’ve all agreed it should be crackers, smoked salmon and cheese for dinner. I’m sure I can live with that. In the morning we’ll mosey on into Stratford. We are hoping for a mooring in the basin when boats tend to pull out around 10am. In the meantime, this is pretty close to heaven with the sheep in the field either side of us. Wednesday 8th June Shakespeare and Sunshine The Skipper had us up bright and early with the announcement that we’d run out of gas. We went out with three cylinders and two are on automatic switch over; the third has to be done manually but did we have a shifting spanner? No. So it was microwaved water for the coffee until we reached Stratford. We were all anxious to get down those last nine locks into the basin, asking a couple of ascending boats the status of availability of moorings. We made sure we collected water on the way into Stratford as once having secured a mooring we didn’t want to leave it. The entrance to the basin is one of those delightful round an unimpressive corner and - “Wow.” moments, rather like the approach to the Poncysyllte aqueduct in northern Wales. All of these moments are made more wonderful if the sun is shining and shining it was. All the British men have their shirts off and the women are in singlet tops. Families are promenading and eating ice creams, strolling around the basin watching the boats. We have almost the same mooring as last year and as I sit here typing I’m looking up at a statue of the Bard. This afternoon we did the obligatory open topped bus tour of the area and hopped off at Mary Arden’s house (Shakespeare’s mother) and Palmer’s Farm (that until four years ago they thought was Mary Arden’s house) and Anne Hathaway’s Cottage (Shakespeare’s bride). The Shakespeare Trust guides at all three places were excellent and tomorrow I want to visit Nash’s House and Hall’s Croft (Shakespeare’s daughter’s husband). Friday is market day in Stratford so there is a lot to look forward to. Tonight we intend to go to dinner at “The Coconut Lagoon” where last year we had a most impressive dinner. They say you should never go back but we’re going to chance it. Thursday 9th June More Bliss The meal was quite enjoyable but somehow didn’t hold the same magic as before. The fact that my nose registered that they must have had a cat that roamed the premises after hours and became an itchy, streaming swollen mess may have had something to do with it. However that didn’t stop me licking the platter clean (I’ve told Bill to measure me for a box when I stop eating). We woke to another brilliant morning of sunshine – short sleeves and shorts stuff – and were anxious to be off adventuring. We strolled along the river road to Hall’s Croft and spent a most enjoyable couple of hours there viewing the house, the garden and the medical memorabilia. It still astounds me that the medical instruments of the eighteen hundreds vary so little from today’s instruments. Ours are just refinements of their designs. It is also sobering to think that the various epidemics of the plague caused the death of one in five of the population. Made a mental note to read Daniel Defoe’s “Journal of the Plague Year” again. Thought also of the parallels with HIV/AIDS in countries where it is most prevalent. Jacqui and Ian went off to explore the Holy Trinity church while Bill and I strolled along the Avon bank. People are out everywhere, even though it is mid week, strolling, enjoying cafes, lunching in parks, walking dogs, watching boats and just sitting in the sunshine. As we strolled I listened to a little boy of about four talking to a swan – “I’m sorry I haven’t got any more bread. It’s all gone but we’re going boating tonight and I’ll bring you some more. OK?” – priceless. As I sit here a young man is juggling on the bank and I can hear the school children on their “discovering Stratford” excursions. Bill has gone off to the library to do the emails even though I had not completed yesterday’s entry. I am happy to just have a lazy afternoon on the boat. Tonight we are thinking of going to see a play at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre but will cement that plan later. Friday 10th June Solid Shakespeare We did go to a black comedy at the Swan Theatre, performed by the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Company. We didn’t know from the billboards and discovered only when we bought a programme that it was written in 1618. The dialogue was 1600’s but the costuming modern day and the performance so superb that we could understand the storyline easily. In such a play at home, one or two of the actors might be outstanding but never the entire cast. However with a company of the calibre of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Company, the entire troupe excelled. So pleased we went and although Bill was making comments before the start like “Tell me when to laugh”, he appeared to enjoy it too. As Friday is market say in Stratford, we decided to delay our departure and take a stroll uptown and look them over. Most stalls were pretty typical of those found at village markets all over the UK but we did manage to get some nice fruit and veggies. Then it was back to the basin, ring the girls en route, and prepare to depart before too many gongoozlers assembled. I told Georgia the story of the hedgehog at Cropredy and she said “They’re like echidnas aren’t they. I’ll have to get onto the internet and read up about them”. To think of seven year olds accessing information like that at a keystroke is amazing. The girls reminded us it’s only two weeks and two sleeps before we’re home. It certainly doesn’t seem that we’ve been here ten weeks. Today has been spent cruising down the Avon. The locks are wide and the mechanisms and lock sides are beautifully maintained. There are two overnight mooring available at every lock and it is a much more welcoming river for boaters than the Thames in that regard. Rather than push on to Evesham we have stopped short at Bidford-on-Avon. We took on water and dashed up the lane to the local Budgeon’s for a quick grocery shop after a very kind elderly lady from Bidford boats told us the supermarket was there. Don’t think we have met a more pleasant lady in all our travels. During our shopping time a mooring became available on the opposite bank (only four spaces are provided) and Bill quickly did a back and fill across to the other bank and we have moored early for the night. Saturday 11th June Avon Cruising From Bidford we made our way down the Avon and I think I must have been brain dead or sheltering from inclement weather last year when we did this stretch as I don’t remember large sections of it. I especially don’t recall the moorings at each of the locks. These were superbly kept, often with picnic tables provided. At Evesham the locks came under the care of the Lower Avon Navigation Trust (LANT) and were not as boater friendly in terms of provision of moorings but were nevertheless well maintained mechanically. We saw LANT fundraising stalls at two locks, one where we were locked through by volunteers so I gave some of the cards to sell that I’d made with pressed British wildflowers. One of these designs is of the roses painted on traditional narrow boats and has turned out well. At Evesham we strolled the river bank where a local fair was being held. It seemed to be a classic car rally cum service club fundraiser cum trash and treasure market and the Lady Mayoress was there with other dignitaries. From one of the trash and treasure stalls we bought Bill a lidded brass ashtray with an anchor on it, to use instead of his usual empty cigarette packet. We also ran into the Kiwi couple we’d moored next to at Stratford. There are four small villages between Evesham and Pershore where we’ve moored for tonight. They bear the fascinating names of Chadbury, Fladbury, Cropthorne and Wyre Piddle. The chap who first made this stretch of the Avon navigable at his own expense in 1639 came from Fladbury. Pershore has a 14th century bridge and an Abbey from the Middle Ages that was restored in 1910. While the weather is fine we are having a barbeque on the banks of the oval at Pershore. Sunday 12th June From the Abbey to Ye Olde Black Bear We thought we’d have some competition from the teenagers at the remaining barbeque table (the other had been incinerated) but we reckon our snoring sent them all home. A group of teenagers with one bottle of beer between six of them were playing a tape of what sounded like “The Life of Brian” (either that or one of them had been emasculated) and we went to bed to the dialogue of “He’s not the Messiah; he’s just a very naughty boy”. If you haven’t seen this movie, go buy it. It’s the funniest movie you’ll ever see and you have to watch it six times to pick up all the things you missed the first time. Leaving Pershore all locks were manned by volunteers and so we had lazy day, paying our way with donations of cash and my pressed flower cards. The day brought us a few brief sprinkles of rain but the sun has persisted for a memorable five days now and we are enjoying every moment. The Avon wound it’s tortuous course keeping Bredon Hill Folly in it’s sight almost all day and passing under beautiful 14th century bridges at Pershore and Eckington. We arrived in Tewkesbury greeted by sail and were delighted to find a mooring close to the lock down onto the River Severn. We strolled uptown and visited the 12th century Abbey that was completed in 1121. Most of the grave markers date from the 1600 and 1700’s and the medieval stained glass is magnificent. The old part of Tewkesbury has some beautifully preserved half timbered houses and almshouses and we finished off our afternoon ramblings with a tipple at the 1308 “Ye Olde Black Bear”, Tewkesbury’s oldest pub. Monday 13th June What is the Lockkeeper’s number? At 8.30am we filled with water and then moved into the lock that links the Avon and Severn to make our descent onto the latter and wend our way to Gloucester. I enjoy the Severn. It’s so much wider than the Avon and has a sense of majesty about it. I love just sitting out in the bow when we travel along it. The huge Lower Lode Lock made an impression on Jacqui and Ian just as it did on us the first time we saw it last year. On the way down a very large paddle steamer passed us and its passengers took pictures of us taking pictures of them. One of the important things to do on approaching Gloucester is to let the lockkeeper know you’re coming so he can set the lock and open the gates for you. This avoids the need to play boating gymnastics by grabbing a chain draped on the wall beside the river and passing your stern and then bow rope around the chains, pulling yourself up to wait for the green light from the lockkeeper. So much easier if he knows you’re coming and has the gates open for you. Now just to make the above process more difficult, on both signs on the river bearing the number to call, the last three digits were erased. Orange telephone directory does not have the number of the lock but can give you the numbers of several businesses in the city that have nothing to do with the Lock. The number listed in the canal guide does not answer and finally Bill left me to steer and came in to ring British Waterways. It turns out the number we had was correct but was not answering because the lockkeeper was outside his little house working the lock but didn’t have his mobile with him. It just made me think you wouldn’t want to be a novice in trouble in a river tide under those circumstances. However all was well and we managed to get through to the lockkeeper who had the lock emptied and open and had his hook on a rope dangling ready to receive our rope when we got there. The entry into Gloucester Docks was as spectacular as ever and there was a mooring waiting for us. After lunch, Jacqui and Ian headed off to explore the city and visit the Cathedral while Bill had a snooze and I sat like a lady of leisure and did my embroidery. It’s so nice just to sit and do nothing once in a while. The sun continues to shine for us though the breeze has come up and the temperature is somewhat cooler. We have lit our little fire in anticipation of a cool evening while across the way a couple sit under their sun parasol on the stern of their boat while other skippers nearby sit out on their sterns, shirtless. Tuesday 14th June Appalacian Step Dancing We made a quick trip to the Gloucester public library to check and send emails. The pool filter at home has died. Merde - another reason to return to work. Thanks to our good neighbour Mick who has been guarding the house with his life, all is under control. A clean out of the spam mail for cheap Viagra and other pornographic ditties. (I really must change my email address when I return). We wandered back through the market buying a great Polish sausage we’ve discovered and a little cheap folding table for the front deck and for putting out on the bank with our folding chairs (rather than an upturned kindling crate) And then we were off. Sadly we didn’t have a spare three days to make the trip to Sharpness which we enjoyed last year in wonderful weather. Bill took us back up the Severn which he described as a “long boring drive” but which I thought was fantastic and enjoyed sitting in the bow with my nose in the wind and a thousand washed items flapping in my face. Lunch was snatched at the floating pontoon at Lower Lode Inn and enhanced by the purchase of hot chips from the pub. At Upper Lode Lock we shared the lock with a cruiser and two rowing shells each of eight students from Cheltenham College and their coaches in dinghies. We have always said you could have canoe races in the Upper Lode Lock and we came close to that today. As we approached our evening destination of Upton-on-Severn, we were passed by a big cruise boat of OAP’s all of whom gave us a cheery wave. After we passed it did a turn in mid stream. I wondered at the time how you would feel if you rounded the corner and were met with a broadsided ship. Sadly, on arrival at Upton-on-Severn at 4.30pm, there were no moorings left but a kind man beckoned us to breast up with his boat. When we thanked him he said he quite liked having a boat breasted up “especially if they’ve got beer” and added “Have you got beer; Do you need beer?” He then told us which of the five pubs in town we should visit for a drink which boasted a friendly “guv’nor”. We heeded his advice and popped into “The White Swan”, a charming mish-mash of low doorways (which took a layer from Bill’s scalp), uneven floors (which Bill tripped over, spilling half his beer – and all of this before he’d even taken a sip), a hundred statuettes of white swans and a phantom resident cat which my eyes and nose registered instantly. We noted various ads around the pub for a jazz festival giving last year’s dates and an ad for The Appalacian Step Dancers which provided the caution that the dancers don’t dance in the rain and that one should phone ahead before setting out. After our drink Bill returned to the boat to make the curry and Jacqui, Ian and I did a wander uptown. We found the bookstore that I discovered last year. The gentleman owner was sitting on the same stool looking out of the same window surrounded by the same person high stack of books for sorting as last year. He said the books were different but that the stack never changed as he was always buying new books. He knew where everything was and we came away pleased with our three purchases – a new (1989) Oxford dictionary for Scrabble adjudication, a tup’ny dreadful novel about a murder at a canal lock, and a Reader’s Digest as new edition of “Wildflowers of Britain”. We could have spent hours there. The curry was fantastic as usual – who would be bothered with greasies at the pub? Wednesday 15th June Visitors from 2004’s Glory Day Wednesday was a day of river travel, city exploration, visitors and of course, Scrabble, which has become our daily mental exercise. We snuck away from our breasted up mooring at Upton-on-Severn, leaving a couple of my cards in a sealed plastic bag on their stern as a thank you for their kind gesture. The plastic bag was necessary as we’d woken to a by now unfamiliar pitter patter on the roof - rain. We’d temporarily forgotten that’s the default weather setting here after seven days of wonderful sunshine. Bill, resplendent in his wet weather gear, did the heroic drive through the rain which was quite heavy at times. The Severn was wild and wonderful as usual, with constant reminders on the banks of its ability to flood. Very few boats were out and about and we arrived at Diglis Lock to an unfriendly red light. We loitered with intent at the entrance, backing and filling and avoiding the weir. After five minutes Bill gave the horn a short blast but still no response. We didn’t quite blame the lockkeeper. Who in his right mind would be out on a day like this? Finally we sidled over to the large lock sign and as a collaborative geriatric visual effort we deciphered the number and phoned him. The accent was broad Welsh and I understood only every third word but he was definitely taking the Mickey. “But it’s raining wet water out there”, he said. “Come on, said I, we’ll give you a fresh raspberry muffin for your morning tea”. The jovial exchange continued as he said he hadn’t heard our horn and that it should be a long blast. I replied that we didn’t want to upset him in case it wasn’t the protocol, upon which he held up a middle finger in an impolite gesture and said “Then you just say swivel, lockkeeper, swivel”. He them told us about his Cavalier King Charles spaniel who is useless as a watch dog and snores louder than his wife. “I thought it war tha wife, I said ta her, but it can’t be, I’m talkin’ ta you”. And so it went on until we cleared the dock, taking on water at the sanitary stop pontoon and holding our breath while we had our morning cuppa and the aforementioned raspberry muffins. A short distance on and we entered gracious Worcester with it’s churches, beautiful bridge and greeting swans. There were moorings a plenty beyond the rail bridge and in no time we were settled in. The forecast had been for rain clearing to sunshine in the afternoon and as if by magic, as we arrived the clouds parted and out came the sun. If there’s one thing we’ve learned here it’s to take advantage of sunshine when we have it so it was off uptown. Bill and I had done all the touristy things in Worcester last year so Bill returned to the boat with our bit of shopping for a well earned relax, J&I went off shopping and exploring and I found a delicious art gallery to browse in. I’d just finished a lovely chat to the friendly lass there with unusual Egyptian painted eyes when the phone rang and it was Graham and Trisha whom we’d travelled down the tidal Thames with last year. They had rung Monday saying they may drive up and see us which we were quite frankly overwhelmed by as they have to come from south of Guildford in Sussex. They said they were an hour away but didn’t arrive for two as they ran into a traffic jam shortly after calling. They had driven for about five hours. We chatted and reminisced about our wonderful tidal Thames highlight of 2004, Their trip down the Bristol Channel, Grahams passion for walking (Land’s End to John O’Groats), their charity work in Uganda, families etc. Graham and Trisha had to leave by 8pm so Jacqui and I roused up some sustenance. No one felt like the proposed trip to an Indian or Chinese restaurant or pub for tea. It was so kind of them to make such a special effort and come all that way to see us while we were here, especially when we learned we’d passed their boat twice on the Wey. The kindness and friendliness we encounter from narrowboat folk never ceases to amaze us.

Monday 16th May Lonely Locks We said goodbye to our Cliveden Deep National Trust moorings beneath the beech forest with regret and made our U-turn to head south to be at Boulter’s lock when it opened at 9am. Our only company was a very large cruiser that followed us in. I noticed that the slim middle aged woman on board was wearing white slacks, a red blazer with an attached cravat and navy espadrilles, very much the fashionable lady’s get up for a day on one’s cruiser and contrasting markedly with my show less mud/ needs no ironing/ no make up with this all-over narrowboat black. At Boulter’s Lock, the lock edges are lined with steps and last year we passed through it on a fine weekend. Then the steps were packed with icecream eating gongoozlers who watched your every move. Today there was not a soul. Not one stray body. Erie. Today the river was deserted, compared with yesterday. We have reached our desired destination north of Weybridge, passing through eight manned locks (as all Thames Locks are). For five of those we were the only boat in the lock, a huge change from yesterday when some boats had to wait for a second intake. Given that the locks are very big and will take six or eight boats, it tells you something of the traffic on the river yesterday. At one of the locks we arrived at lunch time and the lock keeper was on lunch. We worked through by ourselves (they let you press their buttons on the lower Thames but not on the upper Thames where you must wind the wheels to open the paddles). As we exited there was a large cruiser waiting for the lock keeper to come back on duty but they declined our offer to leave the lock open for them – they were enjoying a champagne lunch on the poop deck. We phoned the girls today from Windsor and just missed Dana as she had left Peta’s. To fill in time we found the local Pizza Express and had lunch. They really do make a superb pizza and the view from their shop front of the castle didn’t make a bad conversation starter. Windsor was crowded with tourists of every nationality, all shopping their little hearts out. Having done all that last year we didn’t delay after talking to the girls and were on our way. Today’s journey down the Thames passed largely more humble dwellings and several were for sale. We noticed that many houses are having significant extensions and improvements done in much the same way as was happening in Brisbane when we left. I wondered if it signaled a move of the upwardly mobile young with disposable income into the area. Today was a day to be observing nature and as we passed Home Park I saw a pair of my “Mandarin” ducks. Down towards Chertsey some people had built a little house (with a gabled roof and a treaded ramp) over the water for visiting ducks. Most of the day was overcast and it was unkind enough to rain this afternoon, making Bill’s job much less pleasant. I just put down the cratch cover on the side the rain was coming from, set up my folding chair in the bow, stoked the fire so there was comforting warmth at my back, spread my polar fleece over my knees and settled down with a cup of coffee. The lock keeper at Chertsey walked up and said “You right there? Comfy? Got a nice cup of coffee? – the boss is up the back there with his in the rain.” He was a very friendly chap, (unlike some who can negotiate an entire passage of craft while talking on their mobile phones) and we had a good chat about narrowboats and Australia. He had been out to Adelaide last year and loved Oz. A change from some who don’t even know where it is. Tuesday 17th May What a Wey to go. We were so eager to venture into new territory today that we were at Shepperton Lock at a minute to nine this morning; the keeper saw us coming, opened the gates and we motored on in. On exiting there was some confusion as to which of the three streams in front of us to take, none of them clearly marked, but a last minute sharp turn to the right saw us on the Wey Navigation. A short distance later we entered the pound of Thames Lock and were greeted by a most helpful lock keeper. He flooded the pound as our draught was a little deep, then into the 8’6” lock we went. We had to be roped in and to achieve this, the keeper lowers a stick with a hook on the end of it, you drape the last few feet of your rope over it and he hauls it up, loops it around a bollard and lowers it back down to you - shades of Gloucester Docks. At the top we went to his office and bought our Wey licence (₤24) and he gave us a booklet with all the rules and regulations of the Navigation. The Wey Navigation is managed by the National Trust and is a rigid heritage area as the Wey was made navigable back in 1635. All the lock gates are made from oak as they were originally, the bricks hand made where possible, lime mortar is used and things like steel plates protecting the gates are not to be seen (all very noble but not very practical, says Bill). Consequently there are some special rules. Boats must be roped in fore and aft, It is desirable to stop your boat on its engine (not by inadvertently crashing into things or wrapping a rope around a bollard), you must switch off your engine in the lock (a bit scary if you suddenly need power to stop crashing into a gate due to paddle turbulence), and the solution for the last problem of course, is to half open paddles very slowly to avoid the aforementioned turbulence. The one joy is that you leave lock gates open as you leave - bliss. We read all these instructions after the first lock and thereafter developed a complying system that worked well. The river re-entering via weirs at all the locks makes life interesting. I made a decision at the first lock. These buggers are too tough for me and as for trying to open a difficult paddle perched on a tiny wooden platform over the water - forget it. I declared there and then that Bill should do the locking on this stretch (as well as doing 90% of the driving.). The lock beams are so heavy that they have rope pulls for extra leverage. My sole function of the day was to drop Bill off at landing stages and proceed on into the lock when it was set. This often involved dealing with weir or river current so I had my challenges. We then did the roping in thing, stern first, then through the boat to the bow. If the boat needed pulling across to one side of the lock, Bill on land, did this with our short middle rope passed up to him on an elegant bamboo stick I found floating in a lock and fashioned its end by splitting it to hold the rope. Even Bill admits it’s a good gadget that works. We passed a dredge hard at work. Apparently they do most of their dredging in the spring after the silt had been brought down by winter rains. The area is very pretty, a little like a mix of northern Wales and the K&A canal and has been beautifully preserved by the National Trust. Every now and then, through a thinning of the trees you may see boats in a marina or the flag on a golf course, reminding you that suburbia is not far away. The canal is bridged by numerous footbridges, several bearing dates like 1765 or 1768 and we passed the house where John Donne lived from 1600-1604. We traversed a stop lock called the Walsham Gates, the last turf sided lock on the system and shortly after, passed the hauntingly beautiful remains of Newark Priory. Next came Papercourt Lock with its multilevel weir that produced an interesting side current for me to get across. The wild rhododendrons are beginning to flower and the Campion makes a pretty show on the banks. I am surprised at the ability of bamboo to grow here. The species is about 12’ tall with thin stems but it grows in quite dense stands. People seem to use it as a privacy screen from the canal. I saw a fox in some canalside woods and later we saw two deer. Both were too quick to be photographed but I did manage a shot of some cygnets - the fourth lot we’ve seen this season. At several quiet points in the river the surface was strewn with hundreds of thousands of dead and dying insects with long stingers in their tails and pale green wings (rather like the lawn grub stingers we have at home only without orange wings). We passed (and could have collided with) a couple in a canoe who asked me what side of the canal they should be on (he was Scandinavian and she, S-E Asian). Finally we arrived at Guilford around 6pm and have moored at the National Trust property of Dapdune Wharf. There is a museum here but guess what? – closed Wednesdays. We are content to sit here for the night and push on in the morning. We’ve been told it’s a quiet, safe mooring and we were amused by the evening antics of the Sea Cadets whose centre is next door. Bill says they don’t appear very disciplined (spoken like an old rower). Wednesday 18th May Guilford on the run At a respectable hour this morning we made the short run into Guilford, mooring just before Bridge St. Not the most salubrious of moorings, judging by the dead rat at the doorstep, but I recall Hazel telling us that nowhere in Britain are you more than ten feet from a rat (or some such small distance) so I didn’t hold it against the town. We thought that the nearby railway station was a good spot to obtain a map of the city but this was only secured with some effort and we found a better one later at the information centre. This was an historic trail map so we spent a large part of the day tracing it around the town, visiting first Tunsgate arch (built in 1818 as the portico for the town’s Corn Exchange, and replacing one of its three high street coaching inns called “The Three Tuns”). I bought strawberries, raspberries, new potatoes and carnations from the market sellers there and then we walked up the high street and viewed the Royal Grammar SchooI, built in 1553. I then popped into Guildford House which is now a gallery and had a brief look at some Picasso 1936 animal sketches. The house itself was fascinating with ornate ceilings, oak panelled walls and magnificent carved staircase balustrade but the floors were so uneven I thought I was wearing wobbly boots and every board creaked. I don’t think I could live in an ancient house unless it was sound. In their gift shop I bought Bill a monograph on I.K.Brunel, the famous 19th century engineer and for me, one on Charles Rennie Macintosh, Scottish Art Nouveau artist and architect, whose art work I enjoy. We strolled to the ruins of Guildford castle founded around 1066 and I was amazed to see the change since I was there in 1988. Major “bold and imaginative conservation work” was done in 2003-4 and you can now actually go inside the rebuilt keep. The gated entrance has also been reconstructed. Somehow I think the crumbling ruin had more charm, with flowers growing out of its little niches. As previously, the gardens there were quite spectacular. The Guildhall was closed on Wednesdays but took the obligatory picture of the 1683 clock outside. We entered the magnificent wooden gates of Abbot’s Hospital. It was founded in 1619 by George Abbot, a Guildford cloth worker’s son who rose to become Archbishop of Canterbury. It was built in the style of a quadrangled Oxford college as an almshouse for twelve elderly men and eight women of Guildford and still continues its 400 year-old tradition of providing homes for 26 limited means residents of Guildford for twenty years or more. I’m amazed at how many almshouses we’ve seen across the country that are still fulfilling their original purpose. The museum, housed in relatively small ancient tiled buildings was enjoyable and topical, telling the story of the area since its first settlement BC. I think I’m a museumaholic. We thought we might lunch at “The Angel”, the last survivor of Guildford’s coaching inns, but on entering, it looked a bit too up market for us so we settled for coffee and a very pleasant toasted pannini at Café Nero. After a quick trip to Sainsbury’s Central it was back to the boat and we headed back along the canal. Bill wasn’t happy to waste a whole day waiting to go to the Dapdune Wharf Museum (closed Wednesdays) as he wants to be sure of a mooring in Windsor. He’s concerned that if it’s a fine day a lot of the big cruisers will be out and moorings will be scarce. So we are back as far as Send, north of Guildford and will be back in Windsor by Friday. We are moored in what we hope is a quiet spot though there is a canalside pub nearby. The weather forecast is a joke - it mentions sun, cloud, rain all in the one sentence. Thursday 19th May It’s easier the second time around Well, we certainly got the rain part of the forecast. Light but constant and the day has been spent in a soft drizzle with an occasional trickle down the back of one’s neck and handling sodden ropes all day. Coming back to the Thames was something we were impatient for and both of us agreed we won’t be in a hurry to go back down the Wey Navigation. Perhaps we need to see it in sunshine, with friends to share the load of locking. Bill did it all, down and back, after my vocal complaint at the first lock. We arrived at Thames Lock at 1.05 just as the lock keeper was going to lunch so we sat and enjoyed ours too. Then got our ₤15 refund on our Wey windlass, passed through the lock, took on water, chatted with the lock keeper and then we were out on the Thames again. In no time, along came Shepperton Lock, when it all went wrong. We both missed our throws of our ropes around our bollards. The lock keeper helped me with mine, then I looked around and the keeper was asking Bill for his middle rope to pull us to the side of the lock. When the lock gates opened the other boats moved off and the lock keeper’s assistant began, with Bill, to tow us out of the lock. When I asked Bill what was the matter, he mouthed silently to me that his rope was around the prop. Merde. Bill just gave me that head bowed, hang dog, semi smirk, mischievous but repentant little boy look that said it all. So we tied up and began the process of opening the weed hatch, finding the rope and feeling if it was removable without sawing through it or not. Bill had trouble reaching down far enough so I did the deed. The rope was around the prop and around the shaft and could not be unwound so it was out with the bread knife tied around the wrist (so you don’t drop it in the water), climb down into the engine hole, reach down into the Thames to your arm pits and going by feel (water not clear in lower reaches), saw, saw, saw. After only ten minutes it was done and we were able to get on our way with a somewhat foreshortened stern rope with a funny big knot in the middle of it where we tied the two bits together. Somewhat disconsolately, we have moored above Chertsey Lock, dinner is cooking and we are taking a breather by our cosy fire. Friday 20th May Manky We crossed the river at 9am this morning for our pump out as soon as we saw signs of life at the boatyard across the way. We had intended to do it last night but were just too much in need of comfort to even think about it. We tied up using our middle and bow ropes but he asked for our stern one and we had to confess it was now too short to reach and told the story. He said to Bill “My, I’ve seen some manky old ropes in my time but that about beats all.” He gave us directions to the nearest chandlery for a new rope before the next lock and asked us if we’d been thrown out of our beds last night. As it happened I had woken around 11pm with the boat rocking fairly violently, woke Bill telling him I thought we had a problem (thinking of our rope situation and fearing we’d broken loose). We got up to investigate, no one was about and soon it settled down. It just seemed to have been a big wash but we hadn’t heard a boat. The boatyard chap told us a boat had gone through at speed late last night, creating a big wash (there is an 8mph limit on the Thames – no fear of our exceeding that.) We were so intent on keeping up with the other two vessels ahead of us so we could enter the next lock with them, that as we approached Penton Hook Lock we missed the turn to the chandlery and now have no chance to get our rope until we are above Windsor. We had to hide our strange looking stern rope from the lock keeper or his remarks may have been quite scathing. When we pulled over to the lay-by to deposit our rubbish, Bill changed our middle rope for the stern one and so “Manky” has become our new middle rope until we get to Bray Boatyard. That way we don’t have to let too many people see it. At Bell Weir Lock there was a lady assistant lock keeper on duty. She saw my bamboo rope loader stick and said “Brilliant, brilliant. I wish more people would get one of those”. We get the impression that lock keepers don’t like people to leave their boats but prefer them to stay on board and throw their ropes over bollards. This is fine when you come into a full lock and you are above the lock edge but not so easy when you’re ascending, come into an empty lock and have to throw up and over from down in a pit – haven’t scored a throw under those circumstances yet but my little bamboo loader works every time. The next lock keeper at Romney lock saw it and said to me “I like a woman who’s organised” then said something complimentary to Bill about it. I watched a little old lady in her 70’s get off a cruiser with a rope in her hand and walk up very slippery lock steps that spend half their life under water - a recipe for a fracture if ever I saw one. And so we have arrived back in Windsor. I took to my bed after lunch and finished my current book then we walked up to Windsor this afternoon and did a little grocery shopping but will save most for the riverside Tescos at Reading where you can wheel your trolley to the boat instead of walking a mile with a back pack and bags. My other job for the morning is to find a Laundromat and refill our store of clean sheets and towels. Had planned to clean the boat but we are moored near willows and they throw debris all over the boat constantly. An easy tea of tortellini arrabbiata tonight. Saturday 21st May Preparations We have a delightful mooring at which to mark time waiting for Jacqui and Ian, our friends from home who are to join us for the rest of our cruise. We are tucked in behind a little wild life islet that is draped in willows, maples and oaks. Across the Thames, river meadows are our starboard view and a riverside park our port view. Swans cruise up and down beside the boat, peering in hopefully at the window. People also cruise up and down beside the opposite windows and peer in enviously. Children are especially fond of doing this and will come right over to the galley window, bend over and take a prolonged look in. Their parents are a little more subtle but it is so common place that we have drawn all the curtains. Last night, the curtains were slightly agape and I was sitting at the table doing some craft work when a teenage lad actually knocked on the window as he looked in on his way past. It gave me a significant fright as I wasn’t expecting it and thought it a tad invasive. Today I got my own back. I was sitting this afternoon doing some embroidery and wearing my peculiar looking lenses-on-stalks magnifying glasses. A lady did an inquisitive peer in and when I looked up she did a double take at the sight of my eyes. I don’t think she’d ever seen anything like my glasses before. This morning I bit the bullet and located the nearest laundrette, got a cab there and spent three good hours in the company of a seventy-year old washing Nazi. She abused people because they didn’t come in before 10am and she’d been sitting doing nothing for two hours, me because I didn’t have enough change, another lady for trying to put a 10kg doona in a 12kg max machine (the Nazi won), made people bringing service washes wait without so much as a greeting if she was busy doing something, made DIY customers wait for machines that she wanted to use for service washes, telling them to come back in an hour and there might be a large machine available for them then etc. The Basil Fawlty of the downtown Windsor laundrettes. And all the while she talked to herself, reminding herself of where she was up to in the various service washes she was doing for people. I took my book to read but this was more entertaining. Bill meanwhile, volunteered to do a little extra shopping we needed and washed the accessible half of the boat. Our afternoon has been spent relaxing and planning the rest of the trip from a timing point of view. The boat will be due for a 300 hour service soon and we have to fit that in. Sunday 22nd May Why didn’t they get a taxi? Six thirty and my eyes were wide open like a child on its birthday. Today’s the day. They’re coming. Must get up and get the boat ship shape. Barely out of bed and a phone call – Jacqui saying “The eagle has landed”. Yet to get their luggage and journey from terminal four to terminal two etc and will call later. Significantly later, another call. On a Sunday the only way to Windsor before 10am is to go east to Feltham by bus then a train back west to Windsor. Heathrow I might add is only about ten miles from Windsor but we didn’t like to suggest a taxi. When they finally arrived we got them unpacked and gear stowed away, reminiscences and news over lunch and then we were off, the goal being to get up to Clivedon Deep for a night mooring. Jacqui told us of her Naturalisation ceremony on April 27 where “There were 503 Asians and Africans and me”. Jacqui has lived in Australia since she was fourteen but has remained a Pom until now. We arrived at Cliveden Deep for the night, paid our ₤6 to the man from the National Trust who trolled by in a dinghy, enjoyed our happy hour and all had successful hot showers. Don’t think Jacqui and Ian will be long awake after dinner. I’m surprised they are still on their feet. Monday 23rd May The Thames Experience We all woke with the first birds around 5.30am and decided it was cuppa time. Dressed and thought we’d go for an early morning walk along the river paths of the Cliveden Estate. Walked as far as the path would allow (no admission before 11am) and were fortunate enough to see a deer on the path. We collected kindling for our fire and then set off for the first lock just before 9am. When we arrived the lock keeper was late for work and an incoming boat skipper thought Bill was the lock keeper as he worked the lock for the incoming boat. Flattered as he was he had to confess that he was a skipper too. Two large families of Canada geese were feeding at the lock lawns and we spent much of our waiting time photographing them. Ian is now first mate and I am having a rest from roping in duty in the locks and at moorings. Passed a delightful stretch of the river between Cookham Lock and Marlow where cows grazed in river meadows with beautiful grazing hills as a backdrop. Marlow was as charming as ever though the wind sent us scurrying indoors from time to time. The locals, of course were out in tank tops and short sleeves, much to Jacqui’s amazement. We wanted to explore Hambleden, described in Nicholson’s as one of the most attractive villages in Buckinghamshire, but an absence of moorings in the area made this impossible. We pushed on to Henley-on-Thames and found some great temporary visitor moorings beside the River and Rowing Museum and after lunch spent a good couple of hours at that institute. Jacqui and I especially enjoyed the “Wind in the Willows” exhibit – beautifully done. (the boys declined attendance at that one). In the late afternoon we walked uptown and saw the sights, including the grave of Dusty Springfield in the local churchyard. Had fantasies of a drink at the “Red Lion” (C15), an hotel in the heart of the town with a history going back several hundred years. However when we got there it had a most daunting salubrious appearance and so we repaired to the more comely “Angel” across the road, also C14, but using only their riverside terrace at that hour of the afternoon and serving refreshments in plastic glasses. While we were there an elderly chap we knew to be moored near us came trolling by the hotel terrace in his cruiser, replete with rust coloured blazer and champagne and two flutes on his foredeck. We watched with amusement his failure in “pulling the birds” and when we returned to our boat found him minus blazer washing his boat, having bombed out on the ladies for the evening. Two wines turned this into a most amusing event for us. Jacqui and Ian have assumed dinner duty this evening with a great red curry on the go, interspersed with hot showers all round. The weather was not first rate today though I so much wanted it to be, to show J&I this, my favourite stretch of the river – a touch of the “might rain, could rain, is raining” typical forecast. Tuesday 24th May Leaving it all to Bill and Ian Jacqui woke this morning to find a swan with a baby on its back peering in the window at her in the hope of bread and was quite delighted with the experience. Our moorings at Henley proved most satisfactory but we were off again at 8am, fugitives from the mooring fee man who failed to call during our stay. This meant leaving before the locks were manned in order to get to our night moorings at Whitchurch before nightfall. The day was gloomy, cold and rainy and Bill suggested we girls have an indoor day today. He braved the elements in his wet weather gear (christened Dan pants after the female version called Rosanne pants). Bill and Ian manned Marsh Lock and my sole contribution to the boat today was to bring the boat into the lock and out again with Ian as my rope man. The current and wash from the nearby weir were quite strong and required some compensatory revs from the engine to get the boat into the lock. Bill meanwhile, had the exhausting job of manually opening and closing the entry gates, opening and closing the exit paddles and gates and opening the entry paddles to empty the lock, to leave it as we found it. He returned to the boat looking quite fatigued. The next two locks were manned and most of the countryside we traversed today was very rural with delightful green stretches. We continued to admire the Thames side mansions, one even with a helicopter. We did a major shop at Tescos at Reading and now have enough food to last us the entire five weeks. The sun then made a quick appearance but the grey clouds are rolling in again. Ian has taken to the rope work and I am superfluous to needs until we get onto the canal system. Today Jacqui asked him to hang up his coat out the back and he looked at her somewhat indignantly and said “I’m locking.” So I have to be content to tidy, sweep and wash. Jacqui took to the kitchen this afternoon and made the most delicious baked ham and cheese turnovers with brie and shallots in the pastry which we’ve just consumed for happy hour. We are moored at Pangbourne Meadows, near Pangbourne and after showers we will walk up to the town, where Kenneth Grahame, author of “Wind in the Willows” spent a good deal of his boyhood life. Nearby Hardwick House was believed to have been an inspiration for EH Shepherd’s illustrations of Toad Hall in the book. After dinner we strolled down to the village of Pangbourne for a look about, leaving Bill to relax after his full day’s driving. Beside the meadows mooring, the local canoe club was meeting at the sailing college and we enjoyed watching the kids messing about, including their compulsory roll into the river at the end of the session. The water must have been freezing. No wonder the Brits can swim in our cool seasons when they come to Australia. Pangbourne is a quaint little town with a history obviously dating back many hundreds of years. It has a huge volume of traffic passing through it and the locals have been very enterprising in charging a toll (albeit 20p, recently up from 10p) to cross their quaint hundred year old iron bridge. The toll house still stands with its original toll fees posted outside. There are at least four pubs, some of them quaint and ancient and several large stately late Victorian homes behind high hedges and down mysterious lanes by the river. A very old row of Tudor almshouses opposite the church had such tiny doors that even Jacqui dwarfed them. Pangbourne also boasts an award winning butcher. Too bad there’s no more room in the freezer. Never mind we won’t starve – it’s herbed fettucine with chicken, tomato and chilli sauce for dinner. Wednesday 25th May A Happy Reunion We made and early getaway from Pangbourne Meadows (though the mooring was free.), deciding once again to work the first lock ourselves. When I say ourselves, there’s no way we girls are doing all that huffy puffy stuff when there are two able bodied men about, and Bill, having had his turn yesterday, recruited Ian. Ian was full of initial enthusiasm but soon worked up a sweat, shedding first the beanie then rolling up his sleeves. Ian had a session driving today, graduating from ropes. Jacqui has become the resident baker and pastry cook, turning out delicious raspberry muffins (with fresh local raspberries) for morning tea. This morning’s stretch of river is described in the guide as “pleasant but unremarkable”; we found it delightful but there were no public moorings. Mid morning, as the perfume of the muffins filled the boat, and we were desperate to stop for a cuppa so Bill headed for the moorings of the local sailing club and we enjoyed morning tea in full view of the “no mooring” sign . We were deciding what we’d say if someone came to chat us and making up all sorts of nonsense excuses. Bill, in typical word economy fashion just said “Que?” We are about due to buy diesel and certainly need our daily water intake. We pulled in at the Benson Marina thinking we could get both there along with our new rope. “No, the chap who does diesel is not here” and there was no one to else to serve us. Guess they just lost some money. So we pushed on towards Abingdon. Lunch was an impromptu affair at a pump out platform downstream of Day’s Lock, not the most salubrious of environments but you take a mooring on the river wherever you can get it. We had planned to lunch at Clifton Hamden, a tiny village of thatched roof cottages and the Barley Mow pub, (infinitely more romantic) but, like Hambledon near Henley, alas no moorings. The charming lady lock keeper at Day’s Lock asked us to keep a look out for some friends of hers who were rowing down river in a variety of craft. She warned us that they were coming from the pub and were likely to be spread out across the river. Sure enough, a few miles on we were greeted by punts, Canadian canoes etc, gaily rowing down the river. In this more genteel of river endeavours, the ladies have the work roles well organized and sit on elegant rattan seats holding the tiller ropes while the men folk do all the rowing. We shall have to get the message to narrowboat women who seem to do all the locking while the men just stand and steer. The rest of the afternoon we travelled through restful Thames green corridors until we came to Abingdon. We stopped at the boat hire nestled beside Abingdon’s Medieval bridge (rebuilt in 1927), purchased our diesel, took on water and ordered our new ropes, for collection in the morning after splicing. The chap was pleasant enough but could only do one thing at a time so we were totally ignored for the first ten minutes then it was our turn to make him ignore everyone else who walked in, including the man who ate the icecream he intended to buy while he waited to be served. The ten people trying to phone the boatyard didn’t stand a chance; they were totally ignored. We were then off to find a mooring for the night and from the galley window as we came in to the bank, I saw a familiar name – “Nesta”. It was Graham and Hazel. We came into moor and Ian, who was jumping off the boat with the bow rope gave me a short sharp instruction “Just get out a couple of pins Lynn.” I laughed so much to hear Ian giving knowledgeable instructions after four days on the boat. As we moored in front of Graham and Hazel, they came over and Harvey positively danced up to us (I swear he remembered us), then promptly went on board our boat and ate all the duck bread from a bag in the bow. He hadn’t changed. We greeted H&G and introduced them to J&I then they joined us for nibbles and a drink on the bank and we caught up with their adventures since they left us. On this rare fine evening Bill decided to try his new barbeque so I suggested we do sausages and chutney on a roll. Jacqui just said incredulously “Just a sausage on a roll? - What? – Lynn? I admit salad veggies and some mushrooms and fried onions did materialize, along with the chutney. Bill was not happy with the way the fat from the sausages made the fire flare and burn his offerings but the taste was great. We returned to our boat for coffee where we girls chatted while the men watched the EUFA Cup final (Liverpool vs A.C. Milan in Istanbul) which the UK won. Carl had set the scene for football earlier by texting that Queensland had won the first State of Origin match so there was cause for celebration all round. We rolled into bed around 11pm. Hazel always did say we were a bad influence on one another. Throw in the Donaldsons and you’ve got a party. Thursday 26th May New Gear Bill had promised me a morning to explore Abingdon so while he organised the last two days’ photos into the computer the three of us went off on a reconnoiter of the town which lays claim to being Britain’s oldest city with evidence of settlement for the last 2,600 years. Then we returned to collect Bill and set off to see the town. It has an attractive square and a magnificent restored Town Hall, built by Christopher Kempster, one of Wren’s city masons, in the days when Abingdon was a wealthy wool town. The high open ground floor was the ancient market and the upper floor, a court room, now a museum. The Abbey here was founded in AD675, but thanks to the abolition of the monasteries in 1538 little remains except the gatehouse and the Long Gallery (now used as an Elizabethan style theatre). A folly of cloisters in the garden looks ancient but was built only a hundred years ago. While Jacqui and I visited the museum, Bill and Ian offered to collect our new ropes, martyrs that they are. And then it was off to Oxford. The other boats had already left for their trip to Lechlade. As we neared Oxford we were told by the lock keeper at Iffley that the summer eight Oxford boat races were on and that we should travel down the centre of the river. The races were indeed on and we watched with amusement. It appears that the river is too narrow here for two eights to row side by side so they race a “bump” race where one boat tries to catch another and tip it, becoming the winner of that heat and going on to the next round. Finally we arrived at Osney Lock and returned to the site of our former mooring debacle. The river was as calm as a mill pond, the mooring was seamless and we were convinced that, looking at it today, no one would believe the mess we got into six weeks ago. Bill volunteered to go off to the library to send the next chapter and collect e-mails while J, I and I went off on the tour of the city via the open topped bus. Sadly our bus had only a recording as a city guide so we went around again, this time picking up a most pleasant and knowledgeable young lady as a guide. As a result, we have decided to stay the night and each go and see the bits of Oxford we’ve a hanker to visit. Bill is on cooking duty, having had a snooze in the chair this afternoon. Green curry, Basmati rice, broccoli flowerets and garlic and coriander mini naan is the menu for the evening. Friday 27th May Oxford in a heat wave The four intrepid explorers set off to explore Oxford this morning as soon as the city was stirring into action. First stop the library to collect send and emails. On our way to our first destination, the rhythmic beat of some great African live music met our ears and there in the street was the most terrific group of Zimbabwean performers called Siyaya. We stayed to listen to their music for at least half an hour, bought their tape and came away most reluctantly. Strolled through the covered market looking at the skates wings, seaweed, faggots, black and white puddings, pork pies, a thousand varieties of sausages, rabbits, quails eggs, pheasant and a variety of other unusual and often disgusting things. Then on to The Ashmolean Museum, the museum of art and archaeology. We spent quite a time in the Egyptian department. Saw a pair of forceps from the grave of a Grecian doctor that so closely resembled Adrian’s “Russians” it was uncanny. Another pair were used for treating tonsils and haemorrhoids and Bill commented that he hoped it was not sequentially, or if so, at least in that order. We didn’t spend any time in the art departments or we’d have been there all day. A quick lunch then to the History of Science Museum for a look about then wandered the streets looking at all the beautiful colleges, The Sheldonian Theatre, The Bodleian library, the Examination Halls (beautiful Romanesque floor mosaics in the foyer). I have a fascination with ancient doors and steps so you’ll see many of the former in the photos. We climbed the tower of the Saxon church St Michael at the North Gate which is almost a thousand years old, (having been restored in the seventeenth and twentieth centuries), and looked over the city. The weather has been unseasonably hot and at the moment it is 31.5 degrees C. It’s short sleeves and icecream weather and we are all sitting about in shorts and barefeet. The pub near our moorings has a jazz group playing tonight so we plan to have a light tea then walk down for a spot of entertainment. Good relaxing stuff. Saturday 28th May Wind in the Willows The jazz was pleasant but like four OAP’s we had to leave before the party was over and be in bed by 11pm in order to face Bill’s early rise in the morning. We had made a commitment to “The Trout” pub at Tadpole Bridge, three quarters of the way to Lechlade, to be there for dinner tonight, in spite of the booking man’s caution that it’s a very long way for a narrow boat. I hastened to reassure him we had done it before and would be there on time. Last year, on the same May Day Bank Holiday, when we went out to Lechlade with our Japanese friend Maki, we moored at Tadpole Bridge on the way out but couldn’t get a reservation at the hotel for dinner for love nor money. We were thwarted on the way back also as the restaurant was closed Sunday evening. We were not going to miss out again as the reputation of their food precedes them, hence the booking. We didn’t reckon on the wind which was blowing so strongly at our moorings when we woke that there were waves on the river as the wind, opposing the current, ruffled the surface. I’ve mentioned many times before how much narrowboats hate the wind and as we travelled west we were not surprised to see that most narrowboats and indeed, cruisers, were nestled into the bank to wait out the worst of it. However Bill soldiered on in what have to be the worst windy conditions we’ve encountered so far on our travels. The Thames meanders on a very sinuous path in this section from its source to Oxford and several times we felt as though we were on a hurdy-gurdy as Bill manoeuvered us around all its twists and turns, bracing into the wind. We took our turn of hunkering into a bank when it was time for lunch and Jacqui and Ian prepared a great noodle stir fry. Hot lunch on a day like today, prepared by someone else, was sheer luxury. Finally, around four o’clock we arrived at Tadpole Bridge. There are only two moorings there for narrowboats and sadly they were both taken. I asked one skipper if they were staying the night and when they said they were I asked if they minded if we breasted up. They were happy to agree and, for their interest, we explained the etiquette of this procedure to Jacqui and Ian. We had a good chat to the owner “Jed” about both of our adventures on the tidal Thames. They had come up the Thames from Limehouse Lock (the reverse direction to our journey last year) and he said they had booked their exit for 4.30 in the afternoon, in keeping with the correct tide and came out of the lock onto the river in “a force three gale” and the chop was such that their propeller was coming out of the water. He said he was holding onto the tiller with both hands and said his wife was lying on the floor of the boat. I gave a quiet thanks for our 30 degrees C, sunshiny tidal Thames day, calm river and 7.30am departure before all the water taxis began creating their wash. We filled in a few hours relaxing and showering before going up to “The Trout” for dinner. Ian, Jacqui and I all opted for the grilled sea bass on rosemary mash, a wild mushroom jus and delicious mixed fresh vegetables. Bill had an Angus steak and salad and said it was just perfect. The effects of a bottle of wine made us decide we all needed sweets and delicious they were too. If this journal reaches anyone about to travel out to Lechlade, make sure you treat yourself to a dinner at “The Trout” at Tadpole Bridge. Sunday 29th May Lazy Lechlade Zig zag, zig zag, all the way to Lechlade, Ian standing in the bow as lookout. The last thing you want to meet on a tight corner is another narrowboat. Yesterday a cruiser made Bill a thumb lateral indication that we should be further to the right and Bill made a return two finger up signal that we were far enough to the right. Sometimes I feel he’s not a good ambassador for our country. Jacqui and I did the girly stuff of vacuuming and washing and Ian was on ropes and lookout duty today. This sounds like a boring task but as I stand at the kitchen sink dabbling around in my two ₤1.19p plastic wash bowls and gazing out of the galley window, every few minutes, sometimes seconds, there is a new and interesting sight - swans and their babies, new lambs, cows, flowers, an old farm, a stone church, three twelve year olds in an inflatable playing Tom Sawyer, three men in a boat, a family of mother, father and three children in a Canadian canoe etc. Bill has been fantastic, doing all of this difficult driving in all sorts of weathers. I hope to be able to give him even just a bit of a break on the canals. We arrived at Lechlade around lunch time today and scored a good mooring nudged into the river bank. We were not surprised to see Graham and Hazel and their friends moored several boats ahead and when we saw them later down in the village they told us that the place was so crowded last night they had to breast up. Graham kept us entertained with his stories of coping with yesterday’s wind. They ran aground twice and on one of the occasions, couldn’t get themselves afloat for over an hour. Graham said at the time he was mumbling about “happily selling this bloody thing and trading up to a caravan”. I’m sure that was the corner where we skimmed the bottom but fortunately we had enough speed to take us over the silt bank. At another corner Graham said he met two large cruisers coming the opposite way, was forced wide and then the wind carried his stern into the bank. This afternoon we strolled up to the village which has a main street of 18th and 19th century Cotswold stone houses and hotels. It has become an antique shop Mecca and, this being a bank holiday weekend, all shops were doing a good trade. The river meadows are well used by the locals who stroll and walk their dogs. The boaters sit out on the bank and the walkers stroll by on the meadows and peer in at the boats. We know the strollers are all fantasising about life on a narrowboat. Today is Hazel’s 56th birthday and we wish her a very happy day. Tonight we were watching a movie and heard a splash quite near the boat, then the lurch of someone stepping onto our gunwale. Bill got up to investigate and a chap apologised for the intrusion, explaining that his dog had fallen into the gap between the bank and our boat. Never a dull moment on a narrowboat. Monday 30th May Waiting for sunshine Bill was up at the crack of dawn as usual, as today we are moving back towards the Oxford canal and our northern travels. The day greeted us with cold and showers so it was thermals, beanies and light the fire time. We went up river beyond the Ha’penny Bridge at Lechlade where the river is wide enough and Bill turned the boat around. As we passed Graham and Hazel’s boat we looked for signs of life to be able to say goodbye. The back covers were still on and no sign of Harvey so we’ll have to give them a ring later as this is the last we’ll see of them. They are going north later in the year but towards their family at Leicester. They have been wonderful company and we’ve shared many a laugh. After St John’s Lock we were greeted by a most unusual sight – several people in medieval dress walking the Thames Path. They called out to us asking us the directions to the Thames Path to Radcot Lock. It was hard to explain without seeming rude that we didn’t have a clue. I rushed inside to look up the guide for them but there is no stopping in the current so they will have to work out for themselves that the path changes sides of the river at Bloomer’s Bridge. I hope they’re not still going round in circles in wet knee high meadow flowers at nightfall. The trip back to Tadpole Bridge seemed to happen in no time. Jacqui and I spent the morning doing the usual below stairs maid stuff and then made individual bacon and egg pies with cheese pastry. Jacqui made the pastry and it was wonderful but the filling (by me) needs tweaking. This time at Tadpole there was a mooring for us and it was a pleasant place to have lunch. The Thames wound sharply back and forth all afternoon and on one corner we were going a little too fast and wound up sideswiping a willow tree. Ian who was on lookout duty managed to lift a branch as it passed over his head and saved the barbeque from a watery grave. My planter box and the barbeque were swished from their place on our centre of the roof over to the lip. I was sure they would go on the next turn so snuck along the gunwale to retrieve my flowers and Ian did the same with the barbeque. Ian amused me today. The Thames Environment Agency boat passed us, a sleek little fiberglass and shiny wood veneer number and at the next lock where they were pulled up, Ian said to the officer in a very light chatty tone “That’s a very nice little boat you’ve got there”. I don’t think the chap knew quite what to say. It reminded me of Georgia when she was about four, saying to the check-out chick in the supermarket “That’s a very nice hairclip you’re wearing today”. After our morning as housewives, Jacqui and I treated ourselves to an afternoon of crafting, Jacqui doing her embroidery and I, my pressed flower cards. For our night mooring we have reached The Ferryman pub about two hours away from the Oxford canal where we’ll swing north. There has been a ferry here across the Thames since AD904 and the current one which is run by the pub looks like it needs to be fitted with a bilge pump. I don’t know if I’d trust it to take me across the river. We went for a walk this afternoon a short way along the Thames path, collected some wild flowers for the vase and for pressing and photographed a herd of sheep occupying an old shed as though they lived there. Back at the boat a family of swans made delightful photographic subjects. Tonight four grown ups played Scrabble as if they were children, with childish accusations, giggling hierarchal one-upmanship and fake petulant responses to thwarted moves, nonsense words and much laughter. Our reference was a tiny pocket Collins dictionary I brought over and if the word wasn’t in there, it wasn’t allowed. Jacqui was the undisputed winner with some smart scrabbling. Thanks to our kids, for giving us the game, along with several others, for the boat. Tuesday 31st May Back on the Canals or Is today Tuesday? We woke to a simply beautiful day, the sort of day where you can’t bear to be indoors. As our trusty barometer is predicting rain sometime this afternoon, it’s a time to be in the bow enjoying the sunshine and the sights. In no time at all we were back at Duke’s Cut. Shortly after that we were back on the Oxford canal itself by passing through Duke’s Cut Lock, pausing for a photo opportunity at this, Jacqui and Ian’s first canal lock. We came to a lift bridge, and Ian came with me to see how it worked, watched by an American couple on bicycles who said “Are ya gonna lift this thang; we’re noo here”. I was explaining to Ian how dangerous I thought lift bridges were as there’s no safety catch in the open position. Their maintained elevation relies entirely on the goodwill of the person pulling down on the chain or sitting on the beam, keeping the bridge up. As Bill’s head passed directly under the bridge Ian said mischievously “Now. Lynn – think of the insurance.” Naughty. After our second lock we came upon an unoccupied boat that was adrift. We did the Good Samaritan thing; Bill nudged it over to the bank, we fished for the ropes, which fortunately still had their pins attached and Ian hammered them all in again. Lunch was an impromptu affair that coincided with a nearby Co-Op shop. The boys went up with the list and returned with all available items while Jacqui and I created a little sustenance from the larder and chatted up a nearby boater who has lived on the canals for ten years. He told us that Countrywide Cruisers have a good reputation on the canals, a fact I found very reassuring. Things started to go ever so slightly pear shaped around Three Pigeon’s Lock when the traffic for the lock began to build up. This intensified at Northbrook Lock when there was a five boat wait for the lock. This was complicated by a rental boat foursome who looked like they were aged 75-80, had rented for the first time and despite three days on the canal “had not yet grasped the essentials” as the chap before us stated. I won’t go into the details but suffice it to say that watching them was like watching paint dry. The one good thing was that the chap before us was a supply boat selling diesel, coal, gas and kindling so we scored our long sought after kindling. Finally we arrived at Dashwood Lock, one of our favourite moorings, way out in the countryside, surrounded by fertile fields and paddocks of cows with a beautiful stone bridge, No 209. We moored up, chairs went out on the towpath, and a blissful afternoon was spent by all. The boys are to assemble dinner and round two of the scrabble marathon takes place tonight.

Sunday 1st May Rest Day Roy and Denise decided to take the hint from the cloud and rain that they should make an earlier than planned departure for home at Sutton in London and their daughter’s wedding plans. They were kind enough to deposit Hazel and me and our two tons of washing at the Laundromat in Bedminster, a venue not found with great ease thanks to a roadwork’s re-routing and a Police major crime street blockade. What can I tell you about my first ever visit in my fifty eight years to a Laundromat? Except take a book and a couple of wash baskets (unless you’re on a boat and don’t have any) otherwise you will be mesmerised by watching coloured pieces of laundry going round and round and round. We’d planned to get a cab back to the boat and to our joy there was a cab shop two doors from the Laundromat. Unfortunately, just as we were ready to go the cab owner had gone off to buy a bacon butty for lunch and when he returned we had to wait for him to eat it. I have to tell you I don’t think they (Hazel noted he bought two) even hit the sides as he was loading us up within 10 minutes for our ₤6 cab fare back to the boat. Spent the rest of the afternoon in the idle pursuit of reading and vowed to venture forth tomorrow for more academic pursuits (The Industrial Museum). Hazel and Graham have visitors coming so we will be going it alone. Monday 2nd May A Well Timed Trip Duly mobilised by 9am we strolled uptown to St Augustine’s Reach, spotted a phone box and spoke to our three special girls. I then wanted to cross the Reach and look at an Art Space I’d seen on the other side. As we did so Bill noticed a Ferry sandwich board advertising the schedule of tide related trips into the Avon Gorge for the next two months. To our delight there was one scheduled for today at 12.30 (by now it was 11am) but then not another until May 30th. We quickly booked on our mobile and quickened our step back to the boat (about 1.5km), pausing enroute to see what the Museum had to offer if we deferred our visit until tomorrow morning. We packed a hasty lunch in the back pack (as recommended by the booking clerk, who doubled later as our tour guide) and hastened back to the ferry point, a ten minute walk from the boat. And then we were off and into the big lock, dropped and released out into the gorge which was carved by glaciers in the ice age. The tide was a seven metre neap tide and not the usual 13.5m flood tide (when we got the impression they don’t allow boats out). We passed by derelict wooden wharves where once Victorian paddle steamers had moored bringing clients to the springs and the remains of the railway on a similar mission. Above us soared Brunel’s spectacular suspension bridge, built in 1864 for horse drawn carriages and pedestrians and still sound today and carrying two million cars and trucks per year. Geologists would have had an interesting time looking at the huge rock plates edging the gorge but we were entertained by the abseilers on the cliff faces. We saw from a different angle the cliff top 18th century mansions, The Downs that we had seen two days ago and cliff top kite flying. There are ancient forests lining sections of the gorge and these contain two species of trees unique to the gorge. We passed by the Powder House where ships carrying gunpowder had to leave their powder before proceeding into the Harbour. One could draw comparisons with travel security today. A little inlet once serviced the quarantine hospital on the bank above it and we saw the ancient steps up which the diseased and infirm were carried to the hospital from the ships proceeding on to the Harbour. The high water mark reminded us that this river, like all we’ve seen, has an aspect to beware of and we made a mental note never to be tempted to travel a river in flood. Finally we reached the little village of Portishead with its coloured dinghies stacked on end, like those in Cornwall fishing villages. It was time to turn around rather than proceed to Avonmouth where some of Bristol’s former sea-faring trade is now conducted, to make it back to the lock in time for the last locking of the day. This was achieved with two minutes to spare however we had to wait 15 minutes for a yacht under engine power to return. They actually closed the lock gates on him but relented, re-opened and let him in. Whether this was because he had children on board or because of his excuse of an overheating engine we’re not sure. One thing I did note; if that had happened in Australia, as the boat pulled into the lock there would have been clapping, cheering, whistles etc with reciprocal bowing. Must be a cultural thing. In order for the big boats with us in the lock to exit they had to open the very large vehicular swing bridge. Amazing to see from ground level such a massive structure slide open with such apparent ease. As we cruised up the harbour past our little narrow boat I was distressed to see our washing, which we’d concealed from land traffic with the cratch cover, fluttering in the breeze, including my “smalls” (or not so smalls as the case may be), for all the water traffic to see . I may never hang my washing in the bow again. The joy of the day was marred by arriving back to the boat to hear a variety of alarms sounding. We ascertained that these were coming from the fridge and freezer and, after calls to our boatyard, who fortunately were on duty despite the Bank Holiday, we had lights and water pump but nothing else electrical. One time to be glad of a foot pump toilet. We are unable to start the engine to recharge but have the name of a chap to call in the morning. For the moment we are marooned in Bristol Harbour. Tuesday 3rd May Travelling Late No change to our battery status on waking and thereafter began the tedious business of getting someone to call to the boat to investigate our problem. The nearby Anglo Welch Boatyard mentioned in out Pearson’s Guide no longer exists and the man recommended by the Marina to the east of us was not answering his phone today. We rang William at our base and ask him to join in the search. Bill found an ad for the Underfall Boatyard to the west of us, got William to call them and it was established that there was a man called John Perks there who would be able to help. By now it was 11am. Bill walked down to see him to explain the problem and the dear man abandoned what he was doing, walked back with Bill, bringing a sack of tools, established that there was indeed a real problem and that we weren’t total idiots, then returned to bring his van and more tools. He found that our ignition battery was faulty, though only a year old. The domestic bank was also not holding charge. We had run the engine as required while stationary, except for yesterday when we went to the gorge, and should have done so before going but there wasn’t time. Still, this shouldn’t have produced a total shutdown. He established that the two alternator belts were a little loose and tightened those and all the connections of the domestic batteries. He was then able to jump start us from the domestic bank and we heard the delightful sound of our engine once more. So off went John and Bill in the van to Bristol Batteries, formally tested the battery, establishing that it had two faulty cells and bought us a new battery for ₤44 instead of the approximate ₤100 one from a chandlery. Once this was fitted all systems functioned, a far better outcome than the alternative of buying jumper leads and jump starting from the domestic bank all the way back to Bath and then going in search of a new battery. All of this took three hours (@ only ₤25/hr) plus the battery. Our thanks to John Perks for getting us on our way again. Finally, with minutes before our four day licence expired, we exited the floating harbour, sadly without ever getting to the Industrial Museum except for our cursory look through the ground floor. Hopefully there’ll be another opportunity to see more of the city though we did make good use of the time available. We journeyed back up the Avon with Graham and Hazel who will accompany us back as far as Aldermaston. The weather which had been a little on the foul side earlier, held for our pleasant trip back. We took on water at Hanham Lock, a protracted business as we were totally out, and G&H quite low. Moorings were full the other side of the lock so we pushed on in the gloaming, enjoying the evening mood of the river. I drove for a while and contented myself the rest of the time, watching the Canada geese settled into their protected nooks in the high bank of Keynsham Hams (site of the Monmouth Rebellion in 1685) like sentinels watching us pass, and the odd kingfisher’s flash of blue in the overhanging willows. When we passed the Cadbury factory the wonderful perfume of chocolate filled the air and we knew we were close to our night moorings above Keynsham Lock, where we’d lunched five days ago. Pulling in around 7pm, there was no thought of cooking dinner so we all repaired to the convivial “The Lock Keeper” for a drink and dinner. Wednesday 4th May Back to Bath Spent a peaceful night at our moorings below the pub and set off around 9.30 to retrace our steps back to Bath through overcast skies and odd sprinklings of rain. Like a good boat woman I swept out, washed my floors, cleaned the bathroom, made the bed, made an apple and rhubarb crumble from some sticks of rhubarb Graham and Hazel gave us this morning, did the washing and cleaned out the fire, all the while keeping and eye out for locks and working them and surveying the countryside. I mention all this for those of you who think narrowboating would be boring. Before we knew it we were back at the foot of the locks at Bath and paused for lunch from 1-2. Incredulously it took us three hours to climb six locks (including the 19 footer), take on water, procure a pump out and moor for the evening. The distance travelled you could walk ten times or so in that interval but on the canals you don’t evaluate achievement by distance travelled, but by what you see and who you meet. We were surprised tonight by the mid week shortage of moorings. Either Bath is a popular destination or the season is starting in earnest. We reflected tonight that we don’t even know what’s going on in the world and in the vernacular of a North Queenslander, Bill said “It’s good, eh?” In these three months our world is our kids, whom we text, email and phone frequently, people we meet, our immediate environment, our adventures and of course, our ability to convey all of this to our friends. Graham and Hazel have been great company. Last night at the pub, prompted by a couple of wines, I christened Graham, “Greased Lightning”, which he has jovially taken on board, so when he delays or dithers, I can say, “Come on Greased Lightning” and he laughs and complies. We will be sorry to part company with them. Our goal tomorrow is Bradford-on-Avon. Our trip back along the Kennet and Avon won’t be terribly exciting to relate as we are retracing our steps and this journal will tend to be reflective, so I apologise in advance. We’re not really keen to have any more hair raising adventures though I plan to do some more driving so you never know your luck. Thursday 5th May Apologies to Bradford-on-Avon We had a different perspective on the countryside today, not only because we were travelling in the opposite direction but because the sun was shining. Jobs done, I sat up in the bow in the sun like a lazy cat and listened to the hum of the engine and the lap-lap of the water under the bow, passing through cool green corridors, gliding over aqueducts (the Avon bubbling fifty or sixty feet below us), and just observing nature. The only interruption was to open a swing bridge. At another, which was opened for us, we paused to buy more coal and kindling. Bill held the boat while I went in search of the owner of the yard. After finding no-one I ventured up to a caravan in the yard and asked a chap there how I’d go about my desired purchase. “What’s the time?” he asked, “Oh, ten thirty”, I replied, looking at my watch, “Too early”, he said. “Try about twelve”, “Thanks, I’ll be on my way then” How can anyone run a business starting at twelve noon? How can the British pound be so strong? We arrived in Bradford-on-Avon around noon, having left Graham and Hazel in Bath while we went ahead as advance party to secure good moorings. This time we have settled in below the lock and not above, as previously. We should never have believed the local Stationmaster or train ticket seller or whoever he was who told us on our initial visit here that there was “nothing much” beyond the train station. The whole village is beyond the train station, for heaven’s sake and a delightful village it is too - full of history and beauty, all wonderfully conserved. This afternoon, while Bill had a snooze, Hazel and I ventured into the village to the Museum, on the upper floor of the library Bill and I had visited earlier in the day. I might mention here that at that earlier visit we found the Thursday morning market in the throes of packing up but managed to procure some nice cheeses and other nibbles. Someone needs to write a book telling boaters when Market Day is at all the villages we pass through. As the day often hasn’t changed for hundreds of years, it wouldn’t need updating very often. The museum was a small local effort and its main claim to fame was the installation of an entire pharmacy from the town, including its floorboards, shop fittings, giant apothecary’s jars, ancient National cash register with the pop up value cards (the “ker-ching” variety) and a plethora of other pharmaceutical paraphernalia of about eighty years ago. Their eccentric unmarried lady pharmacist had refused to throw out any of this as it had belonged to her father before her so when she retired at about eighty in 1986, the town secured it and stored it until their new library was built and then re-housed it, lock, stock and barrel on the upper floor. A wonderful curiosity shop. Hazel and I continued our exploration, pausing to admire the 13th century Town Bridge and hoping to see the Saxon chapel in the church. It was locked unfortunately but I delighted in looking at its ancient doors studded closely with hand hewn nails. Passed another church hall with a circa 1500 heritage notice, and the Mill Abbey, a charming gated riverside residential conversion of an 1800’s five storey mill, and later a row of 1700 almshouses, still in service today. I asked an old volunteer gentleman at the Museum how old a group of little houses called “The Three Gables” across the road would be. “Orr, it’s hard to say, they all vary so mooch ‘roun ‘ere. I’d say “roun sixteen oondred”. Just like that. Enough to make you genuflect. Spotted a hairdresser and inspired by Hazel’s earlier success in obtaining a haircut, wandered into the salon of a young Luke David or some other such name where a young man was lounging on the sofa. In my minds eye he was wearing black leather pants, or maybe not, but you get the picture. As he didn’t budge after surveying my best boatwoman’s outfit of unpressed mud smudged pants and RM’s, unwashed jumper and unpainted face, I actually had to ask him if he was waiting for a customer or the owner. He confessed to the latter, admitted that his junior apprentice (who turned out to be a charming wee dumpling) could do a cut for me but hastened to add in a ‘bet you can’t afford it tone’ that it would be ₤25. (An audible sucking in of air through teeth by Hazel at this point - hers had cost ₤16). At 4.30 I wasn’t in a position to argue so agreed, remembering that ₤25 was the cost in Stratford last year, and Mr “I trained in Knightsbridge” gave up his position on the sofa for us. He was, to say the least, somewhat up himself. We finished our town ramble by poking our nose into every little shop that wasn’t closed or closing and I bought a little Maxwell & Williams four compartmented dish for nibbles (Graham wants one - or two). Just missed a great deli and a toy shop but now we now know there’s a whole charming village out there beyond the railway station. All it needs is a canalside supermarket and you could spend a few days here. Rounded off the evening in the company of Graham and Hazel with the Market nibbles, one of Bill’s great red curries and the last of the rhubarb crumble, along with a wine or three. Friday 6th May Locking Preliminaries We’ll have to get this morning water thing sorted earlier. If we leave our moorings at 9am, by the time two boats take on water it’s a 10am get away. That’s what happened today but the time waiting for the water fill was spent constructively as Graham came on board and drilled me two small holes so I could extend my bathroom Aussie flag curtain across the entire window and it no longer sags but “flies” taught and proudly. At that time Hazel nipped into the village to indulge Graham’s wish for one of the nibbles dishes I’d got yesterday - “Or there’ll be no peace”. I knew he was taken with it. Today was spent in open country, traversing eight locks and six swing bridges, nothing compared with tomorrow’s task of the flight of the 29 locks at Devizes. We had only one difficulty with a lock when something under the water in one corner would not allow us to pull H&G’s boat to the lock wall and fit in the second boat. Bill became wedged trying to get in and finally backed out and we took the boats through one at a time. There was a hire boat waiting to come down and the chap came forward to help lock us through. Unfortunately he opened one paddle quickly and fully while Graham was still on his roof trying to tie his boat in. I stupidly and absent mindedly, my back to the boat and not seeing the situation, followed suit and had just started to open my paddle when Graham yelled out “Hey”. When I looked around the boat was really dancing about in the turbulence and Graham was dancing (involuntarily) about on the roof, his face a ruddy mixture of terror and rage, shouting “Impatient booggers”. It was quite a dangerous situation as he could have fallen into the lock from the roof and then been crushed by 20 tons of moving boat. Hazel was shouting to him to forget the rope and finally I yelled at him to sit down before he fell down. I think poor Graham was really rattled by the experience and when I tried to explain to the lad that what we’d done was foolish he said they never roped their boat in but let it dance about ride the current. I think many hirers are unaware of the potential dangers of this recreation. Graham entered the next lock which I’d opened and I urged him to tie in the boat and take a rest on land while Hazel brought Bill through and I set the next lock. I returned to find him sitting in the sun, quieter and a shade or two paler than previously. “Bloody ‘ell”, he said, “It’s hour and ‘arf since dinner and we’ve only done three locks.” He was very forgiving. However, at the next lock, nature sent us a diversion in the form of a mother duck who mistakenly led her ten one or two day old babies into the lock ahead of the boats. We then had to open our paddles very slowly or the poor things would have been swamped. Coming into our night moorings tonight, near the “Three Magpies” pub that we took Sarah and Marcus to, we saw the very first Canada Goose baby, just a singleton, but cutely yellow and fluffy. Soon we’ll see the first cygnets. The flowers are becoming spectacular. I saw a whole bank of forget-me-nots in a brilliant blue and the May is beginning to flower. The cow parsley is now waist height and lines the towpath like white froth. Saturday 7th May Ruffling feathers in the wind Challenge day. Arose at the now early time of 7.30, determined to have the boat shipshape and all chores done as there’d be no time spent in the cabin today. Bill and I walked the boat forward to the water point and took on our water. We really only need to take it on every three days but I like to have plenty to wash clothes with and shower. Bill says I’m obsessional about it but indulges me then delights in telling me it only took five minutes to top up. At the approach to Foxhanger Wharf an old chap in his little narrowboat was cruising gaily down his left hand side (our right) of the canal straight for us. Bill very cautiously waited for him to move over but he didn’t so Bill took evasive action, pulled left and we passed without event. As we did so the old man called out “You pass on the right”. Bill gave him an earful. We must give up this recreation before we get to that stage. I put windlass to the first lock at ten past nine but it was half an hour before both boats were in and we were through it as the locks were set against us. At this rate it would take us fifteen hours to get to the top. I decided to go ahead and start emptying the next lock then double back to work the current one. This seemed to speed us up and we were soon in the last Foxhanger Lock from where you gaze across a broad pound up the hill at the flight of 16 Caen Hill Locks – a daunting sight for a locking person. Now by this time, although the sun was shining, a nasty wind had intensified and was sweeping from our left across the face of Caen Hill. We girls had decided we’d steer and the boys could do some of the hard work, locking. There were three fishermen with all their expensive paraphernalia on the wide sweep of the pound to our right as we sat in the lock, ready to make a dash across the pound as soon as Bill opened the lock. I put a plan to Hazel that I’d make a dash for it and get roped in and that she should stay in the current lock until that was done. I casually remarked that if I went slowly I’d be blown right and collect the three fishermen and their expensive gear. “Can’t you just hear three graphite/carbon tungsten/titanium rods going crunch”. We laughed at the thought. All went according to plan except that Hazel slowed as she was about to enter the lock and the wind got her, skewed her at an angle between the lock entrance and the pound edge and pinned her there. Graham came to her rescue but couldn’t get the boat away from the wall. Bill came to help after Hazel suggested he have a go. All the while the fishermen to the rear of the boat looked amusedly at the goings on and made no attempt to help or withdraw their rods, resting on alarmed cradles, from the water. If they had moved Bill could reverse up and have a better run at the lock mouth. He tried three times to manoeuvre back in the short space and still the fishermen did nothing. Finally he just reversed. Alarms went off. Fishermen leapt to their feet, winding their lines in furiously and shouting with Graham among them, jumping up and down shouting “It’s the fookin’ wind, mate.” From my not so secluded position in the open lock where the wind was even trying to get Melleaus and I was hanging on with much effort to a rope around the ladder, I managed to pull the camera out of its nest in my jumper and take one snap of this melee of fishermen and Graham amongst them like a defiant little fox terrier. How we laughed later. The wind was such a nuisance that the single boat following us, for whom Hazel had been setting the locks, pulled over to take a break when they saw what had happened to us. It was then that I persuaded the group to put into action a strategy that I’d thought of on the way down these locks but which fell on deaf ears then. That was to butty up the boats, and proceed with one boat driving, giving extra weight against the wind. The boys agreed but it didn’t work at first as both were trying to steer. Circuitously, I asked Hazel if she thought Graham would mind allowing Bill to drive their boat (as it was in the lee of the wind) and to use one engine only. He agreed and the plan worked a treat. Not only that, it freed up another locks person so now we had two to open and close and one to set the next lock. We made good progress after that and Graham took the Mickey by christening me “The Brigadier”. It was really good of him to agree as a skipper doesn’t give up his helm to another too easily. Bill took the responsibility very seriously and brought the two boats up through all remaining 22 locks most expertly (Graham had a try at the last lock and decided it wasn’t for him.) Half way up the flight we met two boats coming down. I forewarned one of their lockers that we were buttied up because of the wind. They seemed unconcerned until the lock opened and they were confronted by such a wide expanse of boat to have to get around in the wind. The woman started to complain loudly. I just suggested they think of us as a wide beam (which we’d had to get around on the way down), but Hazel, in her lovely quiet way just said pitifully “They’ve lost their power, you see”, gesturing towards our boat. What a Porky. I had to walk away at this stage or my open mouth would have been a dead set give away. The woman relayed the information to her skipper, (Bill didn’t hear her) who then said to Bill “Oh you’ve lost your power have you?” “No” said Bill innocently, “We’ve just tied up because of the wind”. More cause for riotous laughter later. Bill just forged our boats straight into the waiting lock, leaving them to extricate both of theirs from the bank where they’d been blown. Bet we upset their record for getting down the Caen Hill flight. As if by magic, when we emerged from the last lock, there were the last two moorings for us in the visitor moorings stretch, waiting for us. An easy mooring for both boats, a lovely hot shower then off to “The Artichoke” for tea. No cooking after a day like today. Sunday 8th May The Rest of the Virtuous Now we’re really resting on our laurels and have given ourselves a day off. Sleep wasn’t so good for me. I woke at two am and lay awake ‘til four, aware of the sweep of the CCTV light from the brewery across the canal. One downside of our boat - no back room to escape to and read for a while. Even the act of getting up wakes your bedmate because across one half of the foot end of the bed is the wardrobe. So it’s throw the spare pillows at the foot of the bed onto the floor (either at the end where you’re going to alight so they’ll throw you off balance when you do, or over into the aisle where you’ll trip over them), sit up, shuffle your bum bit by bit towards the end of the bed, veering to the left as you approach the wardrobe end of the bed. At this stage you have to elevate yourself onto all fours, belly up and raise yourself up over your partner’s feet while extending a tentative leg around the wardrobe onto the floor below. This is the point at which I usually fall in a heap onto Bill’s feet and he wakes with a gruff mutter along the lines off “Whassa matta”. Talk about Hobson’s Leap. Why must women always have the wall side of a bunk bed? Besides, that wall is hellishingly cold when it’s 6-10 degrees C outside. You compensate by stuffing the doona down between the mattress and the wall which serves the dual purpose of stopping your partner pinching the covers. I swear the first night I persuade Bill to try the wall side of the bed he’ll need to get up in the night and I’ll be the one saying “Whasup” Enough domesticity. No housework today. Strolled uptown with G&H around 10am, wheeling our OAP trolley to bring back more of the evil liquids. Couldn’t carry any of that when Hazel and I scampered uptown late yesterday for groceries. Graham and I poked our noses into a bric-a-brac market and shop but it was full of “old tat” as the local expression goes. We’ve asked G&H over for Sunday roast tonight - NZ lamb, Spanish carrots and Broccoli and potatoes from Israel. Hazel is bringing Spanish strawberries for pud. Think only the ice-cream will be British - but then maybe not. Monday 9thMay Lunch on the Go Water was the first priority of the day, G&H’s need greater than ours but we breasted up at the water point and each took the opportunity while the boats were filling to give them a wash down (with a bucket). The canal between Devizes and Wootton Rivers is not terribly well maintained, nor are many of the boats at its rural permanent moorings. We have passed through two swing bridges and only one lock so it’s been easy going for the crew. Not so for the helmsmen who had to endure cold, rain and even hail today, along with just a little sunshine. The scenery is that of chalky country swathed in big expanses of grasses and rape. I spent most of the day inside today, which is quite unusual. After chores I thought I’d indulge myself a play with my pressed flowers and created a couple of cards. Then grew restless and made a lasagne for tonight and had a little steer while Bill ate the lunch I took him. As we passed through one of the swing bridges which I had opened, Graham was sitting cross-legged on his roof polishing his silver “mushrooms” (ventilation hole caps) and Hazel was steering. She said gaily as they sailed past “How do like my little gnome on my roof. You too, can have one”. Guess you just had to be there. We had the choice this afternoon of pulling up at 3.30 pm at Wooton Rivers where there are good moorings or going on for another 3-4 hours to Crofton. The sun was shining by this time and it was tempting to go on, but the helmsmen had had a long day so we decided on the early stop. Had barely moved the washing into the sun and put out a folding chair on the towpath when in rolled the clouds with a good drop of rain. And now the sun is shining again. Such crazy weather here. The overnight forecast is for 2 degrees C so we have used the last four sticks of kindling and a handful of fire starters (ker-boom) to kick off our coal fire tonight. It’s about a week since we’ve needed to light one and it provides a delicious coziness that I’ve missed. Just the atmosphere for a good lasagne. Tuesday 10th May Having a Go We were hoping to make Hungerford today but have fallen short of our goal by about three hours, stopping outside a tiny hamlet called Froxfield. At the third lock of the day the mechanisms were so stiff I decided it was one for the boys and Hazel followed suite so we girls had a good afternoon steering, but more importantly, pulling up at landing stages (tricky when there’s only room for one boat), entering locks, and, at times dealing with the will of the wind. It gives one a greater sense of worth to do something requiring judgment than just muscle power, though I enjoy the exercise component of locking. We stopped for lunch at Crofton, directly opposite a field of brightest yellow rape and let me tell you it takes a lot to beat sunshine on a yellow field for a lunchtime view. The cold snap has continued though the weather has been mostly fine today. Inside the cabin in the early morning it’s about 8 degrees C and probably about 4 or 5 outside. A nice time to be able to switch on our diesel central heating. The thermals are out again, with our rain jackets to keep out the wind when it’s about. At one of the locks yesterday we saw a British Waterways employee in waders enter the water to retrieve a bollard imbedded in concrete that someone had thrown in the canal beside the landing stage. As he lowered himself into the water it went over the top of the waders. There are some jobs you’d rather just not do. We have been most impressed with the number of work teams out doing work on locks and their surrounds this season. Saw only two BW employees and one other team of contractors actually working the whole of our 2004 cruise. This years effort to date augers well for the canals. G&H invited us for dinner tonight. Yummy meatballs in a Provencale sauce with new potatoes, broccoli and baby beans. It’s amazing how well we eat. Caravans and camping were never like this. Wednesday 11th May Harvey I was wrong in my estimate of the outside temperature last night. Hazel informed me this morning that it had been minus 5 degrees. There was certainly a frost on the ground when we woke and there was no hesitation in switching on our diesel heater. I’ve had three layers on all day and so has Bill. Harvey was the centre of attention today. At the second lock we were descending and Harvey hopped off the boat as it drove into the lock as he likes to explore the lock edge, roll in the odd duck droppings and mark out some territory. The only problem was that he hopped off on the off side, that is, the only way back to the towpath and pick up by the boat is across the lock gate. He couldn’t bring himself to walk across this and began to whimper. Hazel and I tried to coax him over but the more frightened he became the more he splayed his feet which came closer to the edge of the plank and increased his sense of insecurity and distress. We couldn’t force him and he actually threw his collar when we tried. We tried the tough love and walked away and he really got himself in a state. Bill who was halfway to the next lock saw all this and backed the boat all the way up (not an easy task at the best of times) to collect Harvey. When they got down to the next lock where Graham was waiting, wondering what had happened to us all, Harvey leapt off our boat and ran to Graham excitedly to tell him all about his traumatic adventure. Thereafter whenever the boats were in the lock, Harvey was back on board with Graham even before being called. He wasn’t going through that again. It’s been a delight having Harvey about. He provides a lot of amusement and it’s always great to have a dog to pat and save lamb bones and chicken offcuts for. Not that he needs looking after in the food department. I’ve mentioned his ability to dive onto boats to check out rubbish bags and a few days ago Hazel said he helped himself to a fisherman’s bacon sarnie. The fisherman was most understanding and gave him a pat and told him he was a good boy. Talk about being able to win hearts. He won’t drink tap water but instead likes to drink canal water and adopts an unusual sloping stance to reach over the edge. He’s good with the wildlife and doesn’t chase the ducks or bark at them. He just can’t understand why they won’t play with him. The country we’ve been through today has been delightfully quite rural apart from the ever present railroad (we are back in the commuter belt now) and the weather has held well. There is a forecast for minus two tonight so the heater will be on again. It chews the diesel a bit and the coal fire is more economical but we are out of kindling and even a handful of fire starters won’t get the coal going from scratch. Our night moorings are at the little town of Kintbury which is very pretty but only the Park and Ride car park behind the bushes on our left separates us from the rail line. The ducks are most sociable. Tonight when I was preparing tea I was aware of movement outside the galley window and looked up to see a duck peering in. When I moved to the dinette she brought her mate to see the human and they both played peek-a-boo for quite a long while. One particular duck spent a good hour on the top of G&H’s boat, with Harvey oblivious to its presence. Tomorrow it’s off to Newberry before lunch and the travelling should be soothing to the eye. Thursday 12th May Locks will be Locks I think I brought down a curse upon us when I talked yesterday about the railway. Guess what time British Rail sends the line tester along this stretch of the track. Yes, you guessed it – 2am. Grind, squeak, bang - grind, squeak, bang. I’m sure everyone at the moorings woke. G&H certainly did. Guess also who couldn’t get back to sleep until 4am? Right again. I compensated then by sleeping in until 8.30 however it just doesn’t have that same wake up rearing to go feeling. We have travelled for only half a day today but through some very pretty areas. We set off around 9.30 and pulled in four miles down the track at Newbury at 1.30. Now four miles, seven locks and a swing bridge should not take four hours but at least three of the locks had non-functioning or malfunctioning paddles and at times it was a little like watching paint dry, as Graham said. At Higgs lock there were four boats waiting to come up and three waiting to go down, all due to a broken mechanism that meant the lock took ages to empty. The people waiting had called BW at 11am. As the last boat through Bill and I finally cleared the lock at 12.45, having waited for 45 minutes and sent G&H on through with a single boat so at least one of us got decent moorings in Newbury. As it happened there was a place at the tail end for us and we have since moved forward to a better spot, off the corner. This afternoon on the towpath Bill was chatting to a chap who asked him if we were held up at the lock. Apparently when he arrived there, the BW crew was working on the mechanism and told him they’d be about twenty minutes. They then broke a drill and the fellow was held up for an hour so we were lucky to have passed through when we did. We visited Griffin’s Pork Butchery shop, established in 1756, on the town bridge over the merged canal and River Kennet and famous for its sausages and pies. So it’s pork sausages and veggies tonight and steak and ale pie tomorrow night. At the markets I also replenished our supplies of nibbles – Greek olives, cornichons, marinated artichoke hearts, sun-dried tomatoes and pepperdews. I may never be thin. When we moved forward we moored behind a boat that had been ahead of us at the hold up lock. The chap came up and greeted us and within a couple of sentences said “I don’t suppose you play cribbage do you?” Apparently he’s aching for a game and can’t find anyone who plays. It did cross my mind that he’s probably County Cribbage Champion. Tonight we will stay in Newbury as we want diesel, coal and kindling in the morning and there’s a pleasant little boat services business on the eastern outskirts where we’d like to get these. Newbury, so Nicholson’s guide says, developed in the middle ages as a cloth town of considerable wealth. We are moored near the historic West Mills area where some beautiful 18th century terrace houses have been preserved. However the area before then was a significant Saxon settlement and is the site of battles between the Royalists and Parliamentarians in 1643 and 1644 so its history is long and profound. I should have visited the local museum this afternoon but perhaps it will have to wait for another year. Friday 13th May Waves on the K&A The weather forecast last night was for increasing winds and a continuing cold snap. They were not kidding. The wind is exhausting because you are struggling against it all the while. It blows lock gates open (often repeatedly), makes getting in to landing stages difficult and makes mooring a challenge. People you’ve never met before come up to give a hand. Today it blew Harvey’s water dish from the top of G&H’s boat – “It soonk like a stone”, said Graham. There have even been little waves on the canal. We have noticed there are very few craft travelling - Hazel says they have more sense. The wind and cold did not effect one young couple canoodling at a swing bridge. We alighted at the landing stage, Bill opened the swing bridge at their feet, G&H sailed through, I brought our boat through (which involved a certain amount of full throttle against the wind), Bill closed the bridge and locked it at their feet and boarded our boat again – and the young couple were none the wiser. They didn’t even come up for air. Another interaction with the young took place this afternoon at an automated swing bridge that I’d gone ahead to open. Two teenage girls were sitting beside the well of the bridge telling bravado foul mouthed stories to one another. When they saw that I was going to open the bridge they asked me if they could ride on it as it opened. I expressed my concern for various parts of their anatomy that may be squashed but they counter appealed by promising to stand in the middle. I gave no decision then they chatted to me about boating holidays. As the bridge began to move I told them now was their chance so they quickly hopped on and dutifully stood in the middle while it spun around. They closed the gate for me when asked and waved goodbye, wishing me a happy holiday. Once again, you seem always to get the best from these kids by getting in first with a cheerful adult to adult interaction. We are heading for Aldermaston tonight where we will part company with Graham, Hazel and Harvey. They are pulling in for some pre-arranged repairs to their bow thrusters. Bill and I have enjoyed their company enormously, especially their delightful senses of humour. Their hospitality has been wonderful and we’ve spent several superb evenings with them on their exquisite boat and at the odd canalside pub. We will miss them very much but hope to make contact again next year. The Butt Inn was the venue for our farewell dinner with Graham and Hazel after we had moored, somewhat illegally, in the pool below Aldermaston Lock. This pool is designated for the provision of services and has a four hour limit but as we came in at 6pm we didn’t think there’d be anyone coming in after us and stayed the night. Bill starred at mooring time by backing in both boats, a skill he’d wanted to perfect this trip. Graham also had a successful day yesterday and had a perfect run down the “race” at Woolhampton, a spot where you leave a lock, the canal curves, the river swings in with its significant current then the merged stream curves again and goes through a swing bridge, which your crew have to open before you leave the lock, and then you have to pull up in the current, using a stern line to collect your crew. Apparently it’s quite hairy when there’s been rain and the Reading Marine boatyard lads had Graham somewhat terrified with their stories of racing down in old hire boats when the river’s in flood. Saturday 14th May The big yellow remote thingy We bid Graham, Hazel and Harvey fond farewell around 9.30 and about an hour down stream came to an abrupt halt along with four other boats, the owner of one of which informed us that the swing bridge was broken. He was directing the traffic from his folding chair as the red lights telling the cars to stop were the only part of the whole operation that were working. They’d telephoned BW who’d been out, looked at it and then decided it was a job for the bridge engineers. We put in a pin, moored up and settled in for the long wait, Bill with a book and me with my pressed flowers. Finally, after an hour, the cavalry arrived, opened their big green shed, took out a large yellow remote control, pointed it at the swing bridge and made it all work. It was immediately “gentlemen, start your engines”, and we were off, like eager children. Later I asked the skipper of one of the boats ahead of us, what the matter had been, and he said with a shrug and a smile, “I don’t know. He just pointed his big yellow remote thingy at it and pressed a button and it opened.” The locks and swing bridges kept us busy all day, coming at regular intervals and providing us with a moment of anxiety. At one lock they had large posts on each side at the front of the lock chamber. We were descending and I had just begun to open the bottom paddle when I heard Bill shout “Put it down, put it down.” I turned around and there was Melleaus lying at a most peculiar angle to the upright, the right side of the bow hooked up on one of the big posts. “Merde.” thought I, “shades of the Thames last year”, and visions of boat on side, contents broken and in disarray, with cranes required to right the boat etc came flooding into my head. I dropped the paddle as fast as I could and raced back to open the top paddle to flood the lock chamber again. Unfortunately, only one of the top paddles was working, on the other, the entire mechanism was missing, so we couldn’t flood the chamber quickly. Bill solved the problem by getting our boarding plank from the roof and using it to spring the boat’s nose off the post. It dropped back in the water with a satisfying little splash. Whew. The only other difficulty was the ever present wind. This made coming in through a single gate a challenge and from a couple of the gates that now have mitred steel borders on the footbridges across their face, we scored two nasty paintwork scratches on the bow. Made a mental note to buy some cut and polish cream before we return. I’m pleased to leave all the driving to Bill whenever that wind is around. We traversed the somewhat daunting Fobney Lock with much less trepidation than on the way up. It’s the one with the weir that floods in from the side as you exit the lock, just as you need to pull up at the landing platform to collect your crew. It would be easy to get into a sticky mess at that one. The chains and rings under the bridge should be a dead set giveaway. Finally we reached the outskirts of Reading. Late on a Saturday afternoon, it was seen in its recreational light rather than its commercial one and because we were retracing our steps the weirs were a little less daunting and downtown Reading a little less seedy. We operated Blake’s Lock, a Thames style lock with big wheels on the gates that is the last of the locks on the Kennet and Avon. It was too late to purchase our Thames licence but will do this at the first Thames lock we come to in the morning. And then we rounded the corner and were back on the wonderful Thames where you can see the bottom at four feet and there’s a breeze across the water. And there, even though it was six o’clock, was a mooring waiting for us outside Tescos. We have showered, shopped and dined and are delighted to have made it to the Thames despite the swing bridge delay, which was all made good in an instant by a large yellow remote thingy. Sunday 15th May A Truly Blissful Day It was supposed to rain but we woke to magnificent sunshine and it hasn’t abated all day. To have this and 24 degrees C max and be on the Thames is almost too much to ask for. We made our turn south this morning around 8.30 am after trying unsuccessfully to ring the girls, and passed the Kennet and Thames marina, Graham and Hazel’s winter base. Then it was full steam ahead down the Thames. By 9 am everyone was out in force, enjoying the river and its meadows, as only they can. People of all ages row and sail, walk for miles on the Thames Path with their dogs and picnic like they may never see another fine day. In keeping with this they start shedding their clothes, so much so that Bill and I felt geriatric and anaemic in our winter woolies. However when you’re travelling at eight km/h (it is faster going downstream) into a cooling breeze it becomes a cool wind and it wasn’t until we stopped this afternoon and sat in the sun that we, too, shed some layers. I saw my first cygnets of the season and a handsome family of Canada Geese. There is another pretty duck I’ve christened a Mandarin Duck. I don’t know its name but that came to me out of the recesses of my brain We bought a 31 day Thames licence (₤108) at the first lock so have plenty of time to enjoy it all, before we go down the Wey Navigation and afterwards. We passed through eight Thames Locks today and was it busy. All the big cruisers were out in force, strutting their stuff, the ladies, many of them new expensive second wives, complete with shorts, pearls and poodles. But there were craft of all sizes and captains of all ages, families just out there having fun and riverside pubs full to the brim with Sunday revellers. We have travelled the section of the Thames I like best, through Henley-on-Thames and Marlow. We had lunch in good company at Marlow, squeezed in between two big cruisers, and opposite a park full of picnicking families. We looked a bit like The Clampetts with our bag of coal on the roof, washing fluttering and boater’s clothes. However we were there enjoying the glorious day with the rest of them. Tonight we are nestled into the left bank for the night at Cliveden Deep , a beautiful stretch of the river below Marlow , with a river plain on one bank and a steep forested slope on the other. You can moor here overnight for ₤6, payable to the National Trust – with pleasure. We turned around to be on the forested side and when we moored we put our folding chairs out on the bank and soaked up the last of the sun. Ducks came to visit and I spent some time gazing up into the canopy, watching two little squirrels eating new shoots until I felt drowsy. I don’t think I can remember a more enjoyable day on this river. May there be many more.

Thanks Viking. See Part 2 for the K&A. Now to cricket. I see you have fallen into the old trap, being lulled into a false sense of security before the Aussies pounce in the fourth test. Seriously though England has done extremely well and I, for one, would not be disappointed if they regain the Ashes.

Saturday 16th April Smooth cruising on the Thames Last night we had a visit from the chap whose boat we’d banged into, asking us if we saw who had hit his boat and marked his new black paint on the bow. I ‘fessed up immediately and told him what a terrible time we’d had of the mooring and he then began consoling me. “Never mind lovie, these things happen”. Bill later went over with a couple of bottles of wine. He had quite a chat to Bill and told him he might “get pissed on the wine and get out me paints”. We guessed he was an artist of sorts and that he was not referring to the paint for the boat at that time of night. We parted with the fellow thinking we were “lovely”. Needless to say, though, we both had a restless night’s sleep, me waking at 11pm to the sound of some revelers in the nearby street and Bill waking at 3 am when I heard him stoking the fire and making a cup of tea. We’d both been reliving our fouled mooring and conducting mental post mortems. We decided to let it be part of yesterday. Our departure was made just after the locks opened, but not before the hotel boats arrived and moored not one, but two boats, breasted up, in a spot with only feet to spare, all with consummate ease and without the aid of bow thrusters. Oxford was as glorious as ever from the river. All the rowers were out in their frail little shells, wearing Spartan vestments (while we still had three layers) and skimming along the surface like so many dragonflies. We passed the amazing Nuneham House with its Capability Brown gardens where Victoria and Albert honeymooned in 1841. We lunched beside the river meadow at Abingdon, a mere boat’s length from the site we stopped last year. After Culham Lock a cruiser approached us from the opposite direction and appeared to be heading straight for us. The reason was obvious as it passed. It was being driven by a seven year old, a phenomenon common on the river but which I’d forgotten from last year. We traversed eight manned Thames locks today with no hold-ups and all has gone smoothly. Our mooring tonight, in front of Wallingford bridge, in the current (albeit a half speed current as the river is wider here), was text book perfect. Confidence is restored (almost). No one showed up to collect the exorbitant ₤8 mooring fee. Sunday 17th April Sunday Sunshine After the ritual 4.30am waking and cuppa, I snuggled back into bed and switched on the heater for a read. A few minutes later I succumbed to the next wave of tiredness that swept over me and woke at 7.30am feeling very refreshed. The sun was shining brightly and it promised to be a glorious day. We were away by 8am with breakfast on the foredeck as we cruised down the Thames. (Life’s tough.) The rowers were again out in force, fortunately most with coaching boats or a forward facing cox. The single sculls were the problem as they would often spread four across the river for a training race and not hear us coming. Bill managed to avoid them all very well. I was amused by their singlet tops given that we were freezing in the wind, despite three layers. The kid’s canoe club that we photographed last year was also out again The locals were embracing their sunshine and promenading on the river meadows, walking dogs, fishing, jogging and cycling. There were many walkers on the Thames path. All along the river, boat houses were thrown open with sounds of hammering and sawing from within, the first stirrings of preparation for summer. Swans were everywhere and would swim out in grand flotillas to meet us, last years babies still sporting their juvenile brown feathers. We marveled at the 16th century Tudor Mapledurham House and church near Mapledurham Lock and admired once again the gracious Thames-side houses with their elegant summer houses and boat houses. And finally we were at Reading and stopped at the extremely convenient canal-side Tesco. We did a big shop and can survive for a fortnight now. And then it was on to the Kennet and Avon canal. What a culture shock. The concrete closed in on us, the trees disappeared and the graffiti appeared. But there were swans, including two black ones. We passed through the famed Oracle shopping complex - and passed through is the operative word. “No mooring, No mooring” was the constant message. Pass by and let us stare at you but don’t stop and use these facilities. Unlike Birmingham and Gas Street Basin, the Oracle Centre does not serve boaters at all. Even the wide locks have landing stages for only one boat and on one stretch there is a traffic light system with an up to 12 twelve minute delay, so narrow is the canal at this stretch. It was like winding through an open drain. It probably could have been widened at the time of the development but obviously more money is to be made from canalside dining than canal users. We paired up with a local narrow boat to come up this first part of the K&A and just as well, as their local knowledge helped us a great deal. They warned us of the River Kennet blending with the canal causing distressing side washes and which locks have been vandalised and don’t work well. They even recommended tonight’s “good mooring” - a hundred yards from a railway line, beside a cycle path and a weir, and just for your health, under some huge power lines. But there’s a swan nesting on the banks of the river to our left, cows in the field to our right and a curry on the stove. All’s right with the world. Monday 17th April Retraction on the K&A As I lay there very early this morning listening to the raindrops on the roof, I thought, “I’m not getting out of bed to that. I’ll just lie doggo here and doze some more”. And lo and behold, it was 8.30am, the sun was shining and we set about pushing on from our less than salubrious mooring. Then we began to see how pretty this canal is. The scenery is like an illustration from “Wind in the Willows” and it didn’t surprise me to learn that the territory we’ve traversed has been that of Kenneth Grahame and E.H. Shepard. All the locks on this system were derilect and non functional at the end of WWII and have all been restored, but of course that was a long time ago and they are sorely in need of further repair work. We passed through Garston Lock, one of the few remaining turf-sided locks in the country and thought we may be trapped in there forever such was the state of its lock mechanisms. There were originally twenty such turf chambered locks in the area, all dating from 1715 and 1724. Garston was enlarged in 1760 to accept bigger boats but was last restored in 1968. The engineering feats of the 1700’s never cease to amaze. Reminders of the war are ever present with cement pill boxes strategically placed at the canalside and by many locks, The River Kennet has kept us company all the way, occasionally widening into quite pretty “broads” or “wides” as they are called. Several of these are man made, the result of bargaining between the landowners and canal companies for letting the canals traverse their land. We have had wide and varied experience with swing and lift bridges today. They are very frequently positioned where farmers may want stock to travel from one paddock to another or where a road passes through a village that has sprung up on the canal in days gone by. They don’t seem to have any standard form of construction so each one is an adventure to figure out. Some require a British Waterways key to operate, others not. Some lift, some swing sideways, some are electrically operated and others by grunt power. Some have automatic traffic stopping gates and others you have to close and open yourself. It gives one an enormous sense of power to press a button and stop cars. Because the boats are slow sometimes twenty cars will have queued up by the time we are through and the road system is restored. No one has abused me yet but the look on their faces is enough. We have travelled in tandem today with a couple called Mary and Len as the locks are wide and it makes the work easier with two people locking. This is their first trip out in a 64ft ex-hire boat they bought late last year. We have both stopped for the night near a pretty little village called Woolhampton (two pubs and a post office). They are two boats up from us. An old chap travelling alone just tucked his boat in behind ours and had a chat to Bill, saying, “I should know that flag from somewhere”. He must not watch the Olympics or sports TV. It’s 6pm and the sun is still shining but we have prepared for the evening chill by setting our little fire ready to put a match to it when the sun goes down. It’s trout for tea. Tuesday 18th April A Lazy Kennet Day. Those raindrops were there again this morning. Time to pull up the covers, snooze and dream of sunshine. If you’re really clever, as we were, it works. So we were off just before 9am, to be trailed at the first swing bridge by a couple about our age in a handsome boat. They travelled with us to Newbury, our destination for the day. It is so helpful having someone to share the wide locks with you and the day is not so exhausting. Stewart is a retired engineer and his wife Ann, a retired physio who has made a second career in the production of Braille maps (including a BA & a PhD). She also makes textured greeting cards for the visually impaired and this found us some common ground. Newbury is a delight. It oozes civic pride. It loves its river and all of its little tributaries and backwaters, and most of all, the canal, which travels proudly right through the centre of town. It is clean and tidy and people all seem to work. There are great shops and waterside restaurants. It is steeped in canal history, the bridge over the canal in the centre of town dating from 1770 (a significant date for Australia). The town was an important cloth making centre in the 15th century and the church of St Nicholas across from our mooring was built in the 16th. Wednesday 20th April Doing Hard Yards I really don’t know why our sleeping pattern hasn’t sorted itself out yet. We seem to wake at 3am, have a cuppa, chat or read, go back to bed around 5am and have the devil’s own job of waking before 7.30. It’s becoming very tedious. We had quite a lonely day on the canals today, passing only one boat going in the opposite direction, three if you count a tour boat leaving as we arrived at our destination and another about to enter our final lock. The tour boat was most interesting. We saw it coming towards us out of a lock but on the wrong side of the canal and wondered what they were up to. Then we saw the tow line and a lovely big shire horse emerged from behind a hedge. It was full of elderly folk and they seemed to be having a whale of a time. The boat had a traditional wooden tiller complete with fancy plaited ropes. The locks were hard yakka today as we were on our own and there are so many extra time consuming steps to make the same progress when you are alone. The locks are old (they were restored after WWII but they’re well overdue for a revamp). The paddle mechanisms are stiff to wind and the beams very high off the ground and difficult to cross over. One was even without rails to hang on to. Bill took a turn at locking when I wearied and I took the tiller. I was only yelled at once for coming in to a landing stage too quickly so I yelled back. You can do that out in the countryside. I had a lovely time playing captain while Bill slaved away but he bore the brunt of a big tease when I told him that, between locks I expected him to keep the fire going, wash the clothes, wash up, wash floors, vacuum, clean the bathroom, fill the coal bucket and prepare lunch. First Mate William gave me that “you’ve got to be kidding” look and so Muggins still had to do it all before we moored for the day. In exchange for my dual roster of helmsman and scullery maid, I took time off when we arrived at Hungerford to go off for a ramble up town by myself. Bill was all set to come and I mentioned the words “antique shops”, he blanched visibly and offered to stay behind and prepare dinner. The offer was accepted and I had the best time. The town is a veritable treasure trove of antique shops, with an extensive antique market rather like Clayfield (Brisbane) Antique Market used to be. I found a creative toy shop (present for Georgia), a kitchen shop (small vegetable mandolin and measuring spoons for boat), a home wares shop (small square platter for nibbles), a fishmonger (smoked salmon for lunch and a filleted plaice for dinner tomorrow), a deli (free range eggs) and a craft shop (small beads to complete my current project). In all, a very successful hour and a half. Thought I’d better not tease Bill about not washing the boat while I was away. He made a great dinner and we have pleasant moorings in this little town of Hungerford. Thursday 21st April Company on the Climb Early this morning Bill went off on his own personal “reckie” of Hungerford, in search of milk and Library, and returned with a wry smirk on his face and said, “Guess what?” “Library’s closed on Thursdays?” “No, Mondays and Thursdays.” As one leaves Hungerford there is at first a lock and then, by a disarmingly attractive church is a swing bridge. “I’ll get this bridge open”, thought I, and then get a few well framed pictures of the church. So confident was I in my manner that Bill directed the boat at the bridge as if to glide through as I opened it in one beautifully orchestrated movement. Alas, it was not to be. The bridge wouldn’t move but Bill confidently kept coming. I strained with all my might, expecting the development of a prolapse at any moment. And still he kept coming, as if he thought it would magically swing open at any moment like all the others had done. “Back up, back up” I yelled, “I can’t do it.” Now fortunately I had not uttered any of the profanities that had been flying around in my head as a quiet voice behind me said “I’ll give you a hand if you like”. It was the property owner out walking his dog. And help he did indeed and then followed us for good measure to the next lock, which, just for the entertainment of boats with minimal crew, has a swing bridge over the chamber of the lock, if you please. This combination means you have a strong chance of knocking your head off or bowling yourself into the lock chamber if you do things in the wrong order. When the landowner told me that this bridge was stiffer than the last I decided it was time to appoint myself to captaincy, leaving Bill and the laird to do my usual work. I did it perfectly. Several adventurous locks on we were blessed when a boat waited for us to join them to share the lock. This delightful couple proved to be Hazel and Graham Aylott. They have a brand new custom built boat, a 62 footer that is a gem, called Nesta, complete with bow thrusters. It is on its first big outing and black Labrador “Harvey” is along for the ride. We have travelled all day with them, Hazel and I doing most of the locks until my knees objected loudly and Bill gave me a hand. Hazel doesn’t like to drive into locks so she prefers to crew. Graham has a mischievous sense of humour and a broad West-Country accent. Hazel is a straight forward but liberal lady with a sharp mind, cheerful demeanor and values similar to ours. They are our age and have a girl and a boy and four grandchildren, two of whom are aged seven so we have had many a good comparative discussion and laugh along the way. We lunched late at Great Bedwyn and then pushed on for the 450ft climb up the nine Crofton Locks to the summit, reaching the mouth of the Bruce tunnel. Here moorings were marked on the map but no such good moorings were to be found. We could only get our nose into the bank and even then we needed a plank to board. At 6pm, our resolution never again to moor in such a place went out of the window. Both boats were secured and Hazel and Graham came to our boat for a drink, bikkies and cheese etc. Several hours and two bottles of wine later we turned in for the night, dismissing the train line virtually over our boats (the train crosses the canal above the tunnel). I heard several trains during the night but somehow it seemed all a part of the canal, its history and its long association with the railroads. Friday 22nd April Only true friends help you with a pump out We had arranged last night that 9am was departure time and I surfaced at 8.45. Our primitive moorings in the deep cutting at the tunnel mouth had, in fact, been very sheltered. We discovered this morning that a chap we had passed last evening who had stayed in open country for the night had put in a bitterly cold time and had woken to a thick frost on his boat roof and on the towpath. We set out in brilliant sunshine and it has persisted for most of the day. The descent into the Vale of Pewsey has been via four deep eight foot locks with challenging paddle mechanisms. At Pewsey Wharf we stopped for water and explored the intricacies of the British Waterways DIY pump out systems. At Pewsey Wharf this process is made easy for you by placing the machine in an obtuse angle of the wharf at the approach to a bridge. This means that the hose will reach your parallel moored boat only if it is less than 30ft long. So you must use your boat to form the long side of this obtuse angled triangle in order for the hose to reach. This, if you can imagine it, places the midship pump out port 10’ away from the bank. To reach it you must inch yourself along the gunwale from the stern, hanging on with one hand and clutching this great python of a pumpout hose which has had its nozzle down the throat of other people’s toilets, so the clutch is somewhat delicate. Then your land based crew member must feed your prepaid card to the machine and press a variety of buttons while you bend down to gunwale level and open the nozzle on the hose at the given signal of readiness. Task completed you must then juggle the pump out hose with the rinse out hose, delivered to you by another elf who has inched out over the water along the gunwale, wash out the tank and then repeat the suction process. All of this must take only 12 minutes precisely during which time you are lucky not to have fallen in the canal several times. Bill almost did today and I think if he had, the toilet tank could have stayed full to overflowing forever and any future toilet matters would have to be conducted by yours truly. Suffice it to say, without Hazel and Graham for moral and practical support, today’s efforts would not have gone so smoothly. We are quite excited today as one of our twin god-daughters, Sarah and her boyfriend Marcus (Kiwis) are coming from London to spend the weekend with us. They will train it to Bradford-on-Avon then transport themselves back to Devizes which is our destination for the evening. Now this was not done deliberately but tomorrow we descend 237feet down a flight of 29 locks (I think we convinced them). The Devizes flight was selected as one of the “Seven Wonders of the Waterways” by one of the founding fathers of the canal restoration movement. We jokingly said to Hazel and Graham, “Be nice to us. We have crew”. It is estimated that 5-6 hours is a good performance to negotiate the flight. With four people locking we should be able to get a good system going. Sarah assured me they are both fit so we’ll see what they think of narrowboating after tomorrow. Sarah and Marcus arrived at the boat around midnight after a very slightly anxious call from Sarah on her cell phone to say that the cabbie didn’t know where he was going so after some emergency directions for the cabbie to return them to the centre of Devizes Bill walked up the towpath to meet them. Saturday 23rd April Hard Yards in the Rain We spent our first night sleeping on the guest bed (the dinette conversion) so Sarah and Marcus could have the bedroom. The bed is not too bad and we have the luxury of getting up early if we wish and messing around making cups of tea and breakfasting. The day was miserable and the rain was light but almost constant. Not the worst day to do a flight of twenty-nine locks (it could have been blowing a gale or snowing) but bad enough, and not a good day to introduce the young to our favourite pastime. But cope they did and quite famously after instruction at only one lock and they worked hard for their supper. Our one adventure on the flight was crossing over our two boats going down with a wide beamed barge coming up but Bill and Graham managed it well. When we reached the bottom and looked back up at the apparently never ending row of locks it was hard to believe that we’d traversed so many. We did the whole thing in 51/4 hours, quite a reasonable first performance and then travelled to Sells Green and our night mooring. We had six very tired people by the end of the day and decided to adjourn to the local for happy hour. The pub was an attractive little establishment called “The Three Magpies” and when we arrived the “joint was really jumpin” as the saying goes. Instantly we decided to stay for dinner. We were squeezed in at the last table in the house and had to wait for it and drink our drinks standing by the bar. It was the sort of country pub where dogs are allowed in the dining room (but not in the bar, interestingly enough) and the food did not disappoint. I had my long awaited grilled sea bass and salad while the rest had an assortment of pies (beef and Stilton, chicken and ham etc). Everyone thoroughly enjoyed their meals. On our way home we noticed a phone box near the pub and phoned New Zealand where it was 8.15am on 24/04 to wish Michael (Sarah’s father who shares a birthday with Bill) happy birthday. Sunday 24th April Bill’s Birthday We were blessed with a day of sunshine and easy travel on Bill’s birthday. He received cards from Sarah and Marcus, from Hazel and Graham and from me and is on promise of a new set of ropes for the boat when we get to a decent chandlery (the bow and stern ropes are tatty). Before departing our mooring Bill and I walked back up to the phone booth and called our girls. We missed Peta and Georgia who were up at Perigian Beach with friends for the long weekend but spoke to David instead. Caught Dana who was about to ring us and Peta rang later so Bill got to speak to both his girls on his birthday. Only seven locks today and I did just one. I did, however redeem myself by preparing lunch for the six of us. Hazel has volunteered to do all the locking if I prepare lunch every day. We had pasta and salad and a variety of delicious nibbles which Sarah had brought from London. Coming into Bradford-on-Avon which we had pushed ourselves to reach by 4.30 for Sarah and Marcus’ train, we fell in behind a wide beamed barge that, at one point, just stopped while the owner had a five minute chat to a mate on a bicycle on the towpath and made arrangements to meet him later that evening at the pub. During this time his barge broadsided across the entire canal and we could not pass and drifted to the very shallow right bank and ran aground. Bill was not impressed but managed to reverse us out of trouble. Both of our boats then had to follow this chap at a snail’s pace into the town for the next hour. However we managed to score the last two available good moorings. On arrival, Harvey, the black Labrador, was off the boat in a shot and onto the back of a couple of boats and into the rubbish bags on their bows. A moment later we couldn’t find him. Later there was a call from “The Barge Inn” across the canal to say he was there. He had crossed the canal via the lock then over another little bridge and was at the pub. We walked Sarah and Marcus to the railway station from where they will travel west to Bath then get a fast train back to London. This plan was applauded by a charming old train spotter who was sitting at the station and to whom we had a nice chat. This town of Bradford-on-Avon is lovely, full of beautiful yellow stone Georgian and earlier buildings. Can’t wait to explore in the morning. Monday 25th April 2005 (ANZAC Day) Anticlimax at Bradford-on-Avon Was up and organized shortly after Hazel’s call to go off exploring. The plan was that we girls would go to the tourist information centre and find out what there was to see in this hamlet and find out about supermarkets, launderettes etc while Bill went in search of the library to send our e-mails. Bill had more success than we did. Hazel and I went to the railway station which doubled as the information centre, only to be told there were no supermarkets in Bradford-on-Avon and the only thing to see was the Tithe Barn and the surrounding craft shops. So we superficially disguised our disappointment and headed off to the Tithe Barn, a magnificent structure well worth seeing and resembling a grand buttressed church rather than a barn. It dates from the 14th century and the workmanship is awe inspiring. It was surrounded by lesser buildings which were advertised as “galleries” but full of cheap (or not so cheap)”tat” from developing countries. One small gallery that advertised itself as carrying craft from local artisans was unfortunately closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. We made an executive decision to leave and push on towards Bath, both getting water at the water point en route. Unfortunately the pressure was poor and by the time we waited for the preceding boat to get water and then the two of us, it was an hour and a half before we finally left town just after midday. As we travelled I looked up at the fields on either side of the canal and could imagine the medieval serfs toiling and taking their grain and produce contributions to the Tithe Barn. The route to Bath was exceptionally pretty with passage across the Avoncliff and Dundas Aqueducts and we moored between the two for lunch. These two aqueducts are best seen from the valley below to appreciate the architecture but there wasn’t time to make the excursion down for this. We passed constantly through green corridors, the trees unfurling their leaves more than those further north and wild garlic by the towpath and in glades by the canal. I saw the first of the Campion in flower and this prompted me to get out my English wild-flower book. There were several narrow, weeded sections on this part of the canal with numerous long term moorings. All of these boats seemed to belong to the “alternate lifestyle” people and were what I call “Miracles of Makeshift”. They are without fail, old boats that look like they’ve travelled nowhere for many a year. Their paintwork is derelict or in progress, they are covered in toto or in part by tarpaulins; one even had an entire upper deck cabin constructed of plastic sheeting and pine slats. They carry forest sawn timber for fuel rather than purchased coal. There is evidence that water is bottled and that they don’t have functioning water tanks (I daren’t think of the toilet facilities). Crystals, Celtic emblems and other artwork hangs in their windows, and there is an abundance of rust and moss. And yet there is often evidence of children and, whether it’s the contents of the hand rolled cigarettes or not, they all seem happy and laid back. We cruised through Bathampton on the outskirts of Bath and are moored tonight, after happy hour on Graham and Hazel’s boat, on the high ground above the city, 18th century Georgian mansions to our left and the entire city below us. Bill was a little quiet today. I think he was thinking of ANZAC Day and probably missing seeing his mates with whom he had served in 9 Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment in South Vietnam. Tuesday 26th April Bath in the rain Wouldn’t you know it? The first decent city we’d come to in a while to explore and it was hosing down rain. Moving slowly down the way the Georgian mansions began to rise to either side of us and we passed under two exquisite iron lacework bridges dated 1800 and under the elegant “Cleveland House” which spans the canal. We needed first to get fuel where the refueling point is under a 200 year old stone bridge, complete with small stalactites. We purchased yet another bag of coal (our fourth) as we still appreciate the warmth of our little stove and the ability it gives us to get all our washing dry in a day. The boatyard chap who served us put us off going to much further. “Going down to the river are you?” “Yes we are” “I wouldn’t” “Oh?” “They’ve predicted gale force winds up the Bristol Channel and a warning for the river of water level rises. But ask the lock keeper”. We moored above the four locks that take you down into Bath and Bill went in search of the lock keeper without success. An executive decision was made to stay put until we were more certain of conditions. Our companions agreed and so, our initial enthusiasm in check, at the first break in the rain we all set out on foot down the hill in our waterproof jackets to see what Bath had to offer. Hazel had hoped to go to the Pump Room at the Roman Baths but alas it has been turned into a restaurant where the elegant come to “do lunch” or sip champagne. I don’t think they’d have let we scruffy looking lot in anyway. Graham and she have put The Roman Baths on their list for tomorrow and I have put Bath Abbey. Bill and I saw the Baths in 2001 in great detail so instead we plan a bus tour of the city. We girls persuaded the boys to retire to the nearest pub for a pint while we went through the Jane Austen Museum for an hour. Quite interesting and I came away with two of her books I haven’t yet read for that quiet afternoon rainy day read on the bed that we plan to do one day. In our wanderings we came across a magnificent cheese shop and both purchased goodies for tea. Beautiful French Camembert, Montgomery Cheddar, lovely olives, parsnip chips etc. At the Markets Deli I found a lean smoked Polish sausage and a Spanish chorizo to complete the feast. Even bought some pesto at an Oil and Vinegar Shop having a “Taste Australia” promotion. We had a spare key cut so Bill and I can do our own tourist thing if we wish and visited the Orange shop to enquire about the cost of rigging up our phone and computer to be able to send and receive emails from the boat. Could try to make this happen tomorrow but have not upgraded our virus protection before coming over so think it would be dangerous and have decided to leave it until next year. And so we wandered back to the boat with our little culinary treasures, stoked the fire, opened a wine and sat down with our companions to a pleasant high tea of delicious morsels. Wednesday 27th April Self Indulgence We arrived downtown at the departure site for the tour buses only to find two companies vying for business in a somewhat heated fashion. It reminded me of tow truck companies at home. Suffice to say the price fell from ₤6.50 each to two for ₤5 and we may reuse the tickets any time today and tomorrow. So off we went for a fairly average tour de cite but still felt it was worthwhile. On return we visited Bath Abbey, the walls of which are 60% glass (patterned, plain and stained) and which has a delicate elaborately decorated Cistercian appearance to it. We also visited an independent display in the vaults of the evolution of Christianity in the area. For anyone visiting Bath Abbey there is an interesting faux pas in one of the memorial plaques on the wall. It refers to Governor Phillip as the “Governor of Australia”. Spot the error? – he was Governor of New South Wales. Then, in pouring rain, it was a quick visit to the Guildhall to see its ₤1million chandeliers. Lunch beckoned and so we repaired to the local Pizza Express for a nostalgic repeat of our favourite flavours (a la Birmingham and Windsor last year).And thence to the Waitrose supermarket (our favourite) for fresh fruit and veggies (no real fruit shops here). This was where Bill and I parted company. He slogged back up the hill to the boat with the groceries and I went in search of the Museum of Costume. Thursday 28th April Time to push on Having seen all the features of Bath that we wished, it was time to make our move towards Bristol. First stop for both boats, the water point ahead of us with what seemed like the slowest tap in Christendom, the process taking almost an hour for us - we realised we hadn’t taken on any for three days. We then made our descent down through the six locks into Bath and onto the river Avon. One of the locks was a blending of two locks (8/9) and was the deepest at 19ft that we’d yet encountered. The river was lined by old four and five storey warehouses that all now contain offices and beside one was a modern sympathetic interpretation. I was quite impressed with the architect’s work. We moored, lunched and then, as intended, went to do a shop at the canalside Sainsburys. Sadly they had no facility to get parcels back to the boats as trolley access to the towpath is blocked or stairs only so it was a quick call to the menfolk to come to our rescue with our trolley. Bill had gone back earlier trolleying the heavy liquid refreshments. And then we were off, Bristol bound, bypassing the extremely poor moorings offered at Weston Lock where it was a case of dodge the shopping trolleys in the water and fight your way through the blackberry bushes on the bank Once through the lock we had to readjust to river pontoon pickups of the lockers. The locks on rivers are placed on manmade side arms and the main stream of the river passes over a weir. Leaving Bath behind it was, by this time, 6pm and we were despairing of finding a mooring which are at a premium on this river. Tucked in the lea of a lovely stone bridge was the coach light lit modern Boathouse pub, with a basic mooring enough, at a pinch for our two boats. Often hotels will allow overnight moorings free if the boaters patronise the hotel but this chap wanted a ₤20 mooring fee as well. We suggested to him that ₤20 for both boats was a fair thing, not each, and then proceeded to have our own happy hour on board Graham and Hazel’s boat, followed by a delicious meal that Hazel cooked, followed by Spanish strawberries and icecream. Had the mooring been free we would have had dinner at the hotel, in fact we suggested this to the chap but he insisted that we had to pay to moor – their loss. Friday 29th April A Perfect Day. We woke to brilliant sunshine (of the Brisbane winter variety) and a bright blue sky. The sort of morning that makes you want to get up and get going. Dressed, breakfasted, took some photos of the night mooring, fed the ducks and a swan and then we were off down the Avon of the south-west. Stately homes, the Halls of yesteryear, looked down on us from the tall right bank and the railway shadowed us high on the left. Fields of brilliant yellow rape greeted us around every turn and early pink Campion made a riverside showing every now and again. I sat up in the bow, like a dog with its nose in the wind, taking in this wonderful river scenery, but reminded by the tall mooring poles and the odd flotsam five foot up in the trees and fences that the river has another mood to be respected. The locks on the river were infrequent, wide and charming, each with its own noisy weir. Graham and Hazel were in need of diesel, having refrained from getting it in the rain the night we did in Bath. At Kelston Lock their search took them dangerously close to the weir before they saw it and provided an interesting arm waving interlude. I think Saltford Lock is among the prettiest areas I’ve seen in England. It is set against a background of rolling green hill farms and at the lock side is a charming pub called the Jolly Sailor which, according to the guide books, does a roaring trade in the summer. Below the lock the weir spills over into a broad stretch of river on the banks of which stand the old annealing ovens of the Kelston Brass Mills, one totally overgrown by ivy. Three further locks (including lunch at excellent pontooned moorings at Keynsham Lock) and the industrial outskirts of Bristol made their presence felt. The seagulls, which we began hearing about two days before Bath, were present in force, along with the odd cormorant. At Netham Lock we purchased our licence for four days in Bristol Harbour (₤52.50 for us and ₤57 for the 62’ Nesta). And then it was off down the “feeder canal”, notable only because we were abused in very colourful language (directed at me in the bow) by a young lad who claimed we made him lose his fish. Bill who, didn’t hear the content of the abuse over the engine noise merely nodded and asked as he passed “How ya goin’ mate”, like any good Aussie would, to which the reply was “Wot?” Bill repeated his greeting and the lad, quite taken aback said “Aw, Oright”. We think the answer with the lads is to get in first and greet them like an old friend - very disarming. A sharp right at the end of the canal and we were entering Bristol Harbour which is termed “The Floating Harbour”, the river having been rerouted around it’s original course, leaving a calm broad expanse of water in which ships could be loaded and unloaded with ease. Trade ceased here in 1970. Reminders like “SS Great Britain” and the four massive gantries at the Industrial Museum signal what a busy port it must have been in its heyday. It is a large commercial city, rather than a maritime one today, very vibrant, with a lot of young people. Their scene is the nightclubs, bars and back packers lodges around St Augustine’s Reach, an extension of the harbour into the city centre. To get there we had to pass under the Prince Street swing bridge which most inland waterways craft will just fit under but not without removing the chimney and garden from the roof. This was done by yours truly after a quick scamper along the gunwale as we approached the bridge. Got it all down just in time. We moored at the entrance to St Augustine’s Reach at first but could see noise would be a problem this bank holiday weekend. In their search for diesel, Graham and Hazel found better, quieter moorings and we joined them here, further seaward, courtesy of mobile phones. Happy hour was spent by the side of the boat, watching two hot air balloons drift above us and numerous small sailing craft jibing and tacking across the harbour. A hard day to top. Saturday 30th April And Another. Rolled out of our bed around 8.30 and did a spit and polish of the boat before our visitors, Denise and Roy arrived. Also put considerable effort into tracking down a public laundrette, those at the nearby marina and caravan park being reserved for members only. We were sitting awaiting their call to say they were close when Roy and Denise suddenly appeared at the boat just before lunch, positively laden with all manner of delicious goodies for lunch and larder. It was great to see them again and reminisce about our day out on “Sir Ironside” last year when they met us in Little Venice. We caught up on all the news over a very pleasant and healthy lunch and marveled at the fabulous day we’d been given to see Bristol. It was agreed that we should start with a tour of the city on the open topped bus and as we left the mooring and strolled towards town, lo and behold, one was keenly spotted by Denise. We couldn’t believe our luck that it was pulling up at a scheduled stop and quickly paid and scrambled up to the top level. We were taken on a fabulous tour with a very knowledgeable senior guide and saw Bristol, the 18th century hilltop suburb of Clifton and “The Downs”. The latter is a public recreational area that was donated to the people of Bristol and they were certainly being used on the day, with a soccer final taking place. Elegant terrace houses lined the streets and this was apparently where the wealthy retreated to escape the less seemly aspects of the city and the smell of the hot mud springs below. We saw the amazing Clifton Suspension bridge over the Avon gorge, designed by Isombard Kingdom Brunel when he was only 22 but not completed until after his death. From the Downs we could see all the five miles to Avonmouth and the Bristol Channel. Next it was further downhill into the nineteenth century Georgian terraces and the fabulous heritage buildings of the colleges and University, a truly elegant part of the city. The presence of two universities accounts for the large number of young people we’d observed earlier. We saw the twentieth century contribution to the city (much less spectacular), the shopping precincts, the ornate and extensive heritage railway station, St. Augustine’s Reach (the harbour extension into the city centre), the quayside merchant houses and the remnants of the city walls. The Romans settled here in 900+AD so it is certainly a city with a great history. With what was left of the day we visited the “SS Great Britain”, the first UK steel hulled, steam ocean liner and if you thought cabins were small on cruise ships you need to see this one. It is currently under restoration after having been retrieved from rusting for 130 years in an obscure bay in The Falklands and towed back here by a group of enthusiasts. Nearby was replica of Cabot’s “The Matthew” in which he left Bristol and sailed to discover Newfoundland. This one had no cabins except for those of the Captain and First Mate and the crew just slept wherever they could on deck. We returned to the boat for salmon and veggies and all fell into bed exhausted after a magical day to sleep the sleep of the just.

Thanks David. Lynn is the author and I just do the editing. I will get more posted in the next couple of days.

Bottle is right - you should moor with bow upstream where possible. However it was not possible where we were. We were going downstream with nowhere to wind. The simple answer in that situationis to always tie up stern first. The sad part is I knew that but simply took my eye of the ball with near disastrous results. I vowed never to let it happen again - I hope not famous last words. Cheers Bill

Wednesday 30 March I don’t believe it. We woke to the realisation that today is the day. We’re really going. All went according to plan and we stood before the Royal Brunei (RB) desk waiting to be called forward when the attendant came from behind her counter to greet us, by our names, no less. The thought goes through my mind, my, this business class is impressive. I may never be able to fly cattle class again. “I’m terribly sorry”, she said, “I don’t know how to tell you this but they changed the plane yesterday and business class passengers have been moved forward to first class” (I can live with that, thinks I). “All of those seats are now taken as everyone came early and we’ve had to put you in the old business class” Heart sink. “You’ll have the same meals and service as the others but you won’t have leather seats”. “The seats are comfortable but not the same”. Not the same. Nothing like it sweetheart. Mine wouldn’t even recline thanks to someone’s suitcase wedged behind it. (Dear Bill swapped later). And so there we sat for the next six hours to Brunei, legs dangling down, receiving the meals that the first fifteen passengers didn’t want, and watching those lucky buggers up front lying horizontally and dozing their heads off. All we could do was console ourselves it could only get better and immerse ourselves in a movie. At Brunei we galloped to the RB desk for seat reallocation and were awarded the last two seats in business class. It seems our destiny to be “down da back ‘o da bus”. The meal story was the same. “Sorry madam, salmon’s off, there’s only chicken or chicken”. But pleasant chicken it was. After two hours of airport boredom at Brunei, we boarded our 767 to Dubai and joy, oh joy, there were the most luxurious, all singing, all dancing sky beds. They would have kept a 10 year old amused for hours. As I’d been awake since 4am that morning, I decided now would be a good time to sleep and after dinner gulped down the treasured Stilnox to sleep before the next three hourly force feeding. It was so nice to lie almost horizontally and sleep for a few hours. Another movie - RB were having a Johnny Depp fest (but who’s complaining). Our only bit of excitement was the loss of Bill’s earphones behind his seat when he reclined and our unfortunate attempt to retrieve them after dinner while balancing his dinner tray on the tray table. The end result was a headset that didn’t work, a distorted tray table, an armrest buried inextricably in the depths of the chair’s mechanisms, with Bill lying prone during all of this and unable to bring his chair upright. This brought on an uncontrollable fit of the giggles in me as I juggled his dinner tray. This was obviously not the first time this had happened as the attendant had a secret manual button hidden in the armrest with which to restore normal configuration and calm. The landing in Dubai brought back memories of last year’s unscheduled landing there after our BA plane lost five tons of aviation fuel and had to shut down an engine. This time it was a quick deplane, walk two miles, well almost, to a security screening point and then down some escalators and walk back two miles on the lower level to wind up directly below where you’d started from, wait half an hour in a boarding lounge then back onto the plane. The one amusement was overhearing a phrase in an unintelligible conversation between two Arab men “fook, ten dollars”. It seems the word is universal. Then to the last leg of our 26 hour journey, Dubai to Heathrow. More attempts to sleep, more Johnny Depp and more leftover meals. Heathrow at last. We looked forward to getting our bags off early for the first time ever but one of our bags had lost its priority tag and finally emerged half an hour later after all the other business class passengers were long gone. So much for our first experience of business class flying and our treasured “bargain” fares. Then it was a mile walk to the bus station, ₤52 fares to Wolverhampton, a good run up the M25 with two larrikin bus drivers, a hasty BLT at the nearby railway station cafe and then into a cab (Bill’s first ride in a London style cab) to Brewood and the boatyard. It felt like coming home. Friday 1st April Wolverhampton in a new light We have a day to wait for the return of Sir Melleaus from a hire stint, and then to have its clean and service before we can set out. We’ve decided to catch the local “green bus” from Brewood to Wolverhampton to start the provisioning of the boat. It must be pension day as the bus soon fills with little grey haired old ladies going off to market with their fold up shopping trolleys. At the risk of looking like a little grey haired old lady, one of those shopping trolleys seems like a good idea for carting heavy wine bottles back to the boat. Putting them in the back pack gives Bill a hard time if the shops are a distance from the boat. We left the bus at the Wolverhampton Art Gallery (promising myself for the second time that I’ll get back there one day) and hopped on a free city circle bus that took us around to the market (indoor and outdoor) area of the town. I just adore markets - it must be the peasant in me. We found a good shopping trolley after obtaining some market research from an old lady passing by pushing one identical to the one we wanted to buy. “Best thing my dear ‘usband ever bought me, love”. Good enough, we bought it - a flash red tartan model. Across the way in the covered markets was an Asian Grocery from which we purchased our Hoi-sin, soy, oyster and chilli sauces along with minced garlic and ginger, Basmati rice and some Jamaican spice mix that will perfume the galley beautifully. We notice with amusement that they stock the green curry paste that we’ve carted all the way from Australia but not the Mussaman or red curry paste of the same brand. Outside was the slipper man and we both bought slippers for evenings on the boat. I found a delicate little etched sherry glass for a pound in an op shop from which to drink my evening dose of “nanny’s special yellow Scottish medicine”. We decided to hold off buying meat and veggies until we see if Will is able to reinstate the freezer on the boat but do some surveying of the various stalls - black pudding and pork scratchings are new fare. From the china seller we bought four white noodle bowels for stir fries and curries. Then, like bussing veterans it was back on the bus to Brewood, quite pleased with our provisioning excursion. There, it’s more reading and waiting. The boat will return in the morning and all we can do is wait patiently. A meal at the pub offered a diversion but we needn’t have bothered as it was all pretty ordinary food but the atmosphere was enjoyable. Saturday 2nd April Sir Melleaus returns Dutifully at 9am our boat returned, along with several others, but as impatient as we were we knew we couldn’t board until 3pm, after the clean and service. To fill in time I accepted an invitation to go to Cannock with John’s wife Lynne and her friend Chris who wanted to grocery shop there. What a good idea that was. I managed to buy a wok, two navy folding camping chairs, my basins for washing and most of the remaining grocery items to fill the larder, including some inexpensive Spanish, French and Australian wines for the cellar. Lynne’s little car “bottomed out” going over a speed bump for the first time in its life. The afternoon was brightened by a return call from Jane (of Jane and Brian 2004 canal trip fame) in reply to my left message. They think they’ll be able to visit us by car in the next weeks before they themselves set off northward to visit their daughter in Leeds. We look forward to it. At last came the invitation to occupy our boat. Nina had it looking immaculate with fresh flowers (daffodils) and after taking some photos we stowed all our goodies away in a flurry of activity. After finalizing paperwork with Will, and being taken over the boat’s features by John, the team joined us to “christen”, the boat, bringing with them two bottles of chilled Piper Heidsieck champagne. Seven of us fitted comfortably (in narrowboat terms) in the lounge and, after much gaiety, they left around 10pm. Sunday 3rd April We’re off. Like children on Christmas morning we were awake at 4.30am (Bill says we should be grateful it’s an hour later than yesterday) and ready to start but our heater had kept making its “on” noise all night despite being turned off and we wanted to check this out with John before leaving. The problem was soon solved once we spoke with him but, being Sunday, that wasn’t until 9am so departure time was delayed to around 9.30. We left Brewood to the peal of church bells, under the familiar bridges and through corridors that will be a delicious green of newly unfurled leaves by the time we return but at the moment look open with the trees all still in bud. Being a month earlier there are no bird babies either but lots of nesting waterfowl. Squirrels were playing on the slopes of the cuttings. Bill is pleased with the boat and finds it more responsive than “Sir Ironside”, last year’s boat. I have only one complaint. Sir M is a trad with room at the stern for only the helmsman and so there is no room for me. I can stand in front of Bill but it’s a tight squeeze or stand to his right out on the gunwale. I’m happy to do this but Bill fears I’ll be knocked off the boat as we go through narrow bridge holes. I can only reassure him by pointing out all the other women who stand in that position on trad boats. It’s awful not to be up there on the stern sharing all the sights. I tried sitting up alone at the bow and even messing about in the cabin but feel very “left out” doing this. I’ve persuaded Bill to let me give the gunwale a try tomorrow. Today we had our first experience with a bandit. We were going through some narrows through the industrial section of a little town called Coven. I was at the bow and all of a sudden a foot long stick landed near me in the water. I looked up and couldn’t see anything and then two stones hit the cratch cover above my head and I heard someone call out. I looked up and there, high on the embankment was a youth in a navy hooded sweat top throwing missiles at the boat. I yelled “Do you mind.” and then realized this was foolish as he could have followed us and kept up the barrage of projectiles. Fortunately he didn’t and we proceeded on our way, warning a boat waiting to enter the narrows as we exited. We have moored an hour early at 3.30 near Gailey Round House, a circular former lock keeper’s cottage, now a “craft” shop. Thought it would be cold tonight as it has been during the day but the wind has dropped and it is a very pleasant evening. Time for “Nanny’s special yellow medicine”. Monday 4th April Retracing old steps We pulled out of the Gailey mooring at 8.10am (after having both woken at 4.30 - we are still resetting our clocks). I had my reintroduction to locks with twelve today’s tally. Yesterday there were no locks except for the stop lock at Autherley Junction. I also had my first drive of the boat, driving out of locks and picking Bill up, passing other boats and going through bridge holes. I have yet to drive it into a lock. Perhaps tomorrow, though the wind is predicted to be up and narrowboats hate the wind. Under those circumstances, best leave it to the Cap’n. To our great joy the sun shone today. We saw our first nesting swans and the first of the Canada geese. They will arrive in their thousands to breed in the next month and we’ll get used to their honking. I haven’t enthused yet about the flowers but the daffodils are magnificent and I am so glad that we we’re early enough to see them. The other thing that delights me is the grape hyacinths which are everywhere in their purple profusion. Passed a Daphne bush today on an excursion into the town of Penkridge and the perfume was fantastic. The magnolias are all bursting into spectacular bloom. The whole country is awakening to spring. We have travelled a route today that we travelled last year but in the reverse direction and it’s interesting how little of it we recall. It has been a day of bridges, pretty stone ones as well as functional brick ones and, with the sunshine, they have been reflected in the water of the canal in a quintessential English countryside cameo. We plan to travel NNE towards Great Haywood, where we’ll swing SE and come down through Tamworth and Coventry to Braunston. This afternoon the weather cooled and the wind came up. We moored at Tixall wide for the night, a small lake like expansion of the canal with a rich history. We looked across the water at the Elizabethan gatehouse that once belonged to a hall that stood on the nearby hill. Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned at the hall in 1586 but it is long since demolished. It was cold and windy with rainy squalls. Our little Australian Geographic shop barometer showed the sunshine was over for the moment but surprisingly, as a finale of the day, the weather cleared and there was a very peaceful sunset. Our little stove gives good warmth to augment the diesel central heating which doesn’t filter through to the “lounge” enough for our liking. And there, in our easy chairs, with the help of a glass of passable Californian white imbibed with our assemblage of chicken tagliatelle with chilli and tomato sauce, we fell asleep. Tuesday 5th April New Territory Another unfortunate 4.30am waking. Perhaps it’s the alcohol. One of these fortnights I must try having none and see if it improves the sleep. However I can become quite used to a little lie in and a read. The boat has this delicious facility of having the central heating switch on the side of the bed and you have only to reach down and switch it on when you wake to a cold morning. We left Tixall wide at our customary 8am and headed to Hayward Junction, turning SE into territory we’ve never travelled before. At the junction we were to turn right but the water point we wanted was to the left. So Bill thought he’d do a clever reverse into the left arm. I didn’t realise what he was trying to do and was making all sorts of useless suggestions. Fortunately he took no notice of me and ultimately completed the task. I nipped over the road to the canal shop to buy some kindling for our stove and succumbed to some other goodies including some yummy ginger nut biscuits. When I returned another boat have breasted up with us and so we waited while they took on water, bought diesel by the can and the boat’s woman had her turn to go to the canal shop. Half an hour later we were still there but it gave us the chance to have a chat to a Scottish family who moor their boat nearby and were out with their son and his wife and their three children. The grandfather was interesting. He said his wife won’t go on the Thames as she doesn’t like the “big water”. Even though it was cold they were delighted to be here as it had been snowing of late in Scotland. Early in our travels today we passed a heritage Fellows and Morton boat driven by steam and as it passed its chugging was strangely and delightfully musical. Also passed a boat towing a full sized butty which was the owner’s equivalent of a shed. We passed by Shugborough Hall, home of Lord Lichfield, the grounds of which we visited last year. Where the canal traverses his land there is a beautiful iron bridge called the Essex Bridge. The river Trent ran beside us for most of the day and there were very few locks. The area was decidedly rural and quite pretty. We went through a forest with dense rhododendrons as undercover. It will be a picture in a couple of months. We did a brief shop for meat and veggies at Rugeley and then went through the town of Armitage, famous for toilet plumbing and passed factories with acres of stacks of toilets and basins etc, all packed in plastic bundles. Passed Hawkesyard Priory, built by the Dominican order to whom Josiah Spode left his house in 1893 and is now a nursing home and a spa. Traversed the Armitage “tunnel”, a narrows cut through the rock face. This evening we have secured a pleasant mooring above Fradley Junction and been down to the pub for a drink. In the morning we’ll pass through two locks and, at the junction, turn down the Coventry arm, continuing our south eastern journey. Bill made a great chicken curry which we’ve just enjoyed and our little stove warms us for a rainy, cold and windy night. After a similar morning it is predicted the sun will shine, about which we are delighted. Wednesday 6th April Battling the elements and haulin’ coal The weather man did not lie. We woke to quite foul weather and delayed our departure until 9.15 because of it and because we wanted to purchase a sack of coal briquettes at the junction. A very pleasant lady following us helped me through the first lock and I then returned the favour at the next. We both thought we were slightly crazy to be out in the cold, wind and rain. Bill moored at the junction and went off in search of coal while I waited with the boat and a moment later saw him staggering back to the boat with a 25kg sack of coal on his shoulder just like a true boatman. However I think a boatman of old might not have been uttering the same expletives. We cruised through some very attractive and prosperous farming country today with very large farmhouses that would be the equivalent of the great halls of the canal era. There was one berry farm with shade frames, uncovered at the moment that must have extended over many acres. The canal followed the contour of the valley above the river Tame for most of today and we caught glimpses of it quite frequently, a couple of times from an aqueduct as we crossed over it or its tributaries. The sun delighted us by coming out at mid morning, right on cue. We reached the delightful village of Hopwas around lunch time and lo and behold there was a superb mooring right outside a pub from the 19th century called the Tame Otter. Time for a pub lunch. And a most pleasant lunch it was too. I had the lemon sole and Bill had an open chicken pie. I am amazed the Brits don’t have a greater obesity problem than Australians do as my sole was not large but came with six potatoes. I promise I only ate three of them. Needless to say dinner will be light tonight. There have only been four locks today. Bill did one of them and I brought the boat into the lock and to my surprise and delight, made a clean entry. Bill was most complimentary. Tonight we have moored outside the village of Alvercote. Our mooring is sheltered, for which we are grateful, as the weather report predicts more cold and windy weather with temperatures of 4-5degrees C. Thursday 7th April Wild and wintery It was cold when we woke at 5.30 am and I thought a good lie in and a read was called for. I would have finished the book but Bill made boat readiness noises and I felt obliged to prise myself from under the covers. I can’t do this until the bedroom is all cozy and warm then it’s on with the thermals, and in the case of today, into my “Rosanne” wet weather trousers. These are so named after the episode in the series where Dan could hear Rosanne coming before he first saw and met her because of the noise her thighs made rubbing together. Swish, swish, swish. The early part of today was a pleasant pastoral doddle through almost iridescent green fields, stopping at the little village of Polesworth to visit their library and send our emails. However there was initially no D drive when they logged us in but then the very helpful young librarian phoned her supervisor, logged in differently and “hey presto”. Polesworth has been a coal mining village since the 1700’s, with a later brickworks and pottery. There are several quite lovely half timber framed cottages there in the narrow little high street. We began this morning cruising into such blinding sunlight that Bill called out for his sunnies. Then it pelted with rain, was windy and cold and now the sun is shining. All of these changes can happy in a matter of minutes. Bill has finally allowed me to ride “shotgun” on the gunwale and I do enjoy being up there with him. It also means I can have a steer now and again and get my days practice in. We had eleven locks today at Atherstone, breaking the group with lunch after the first six. When we stopped this morning for water we met a couple who pulled in for water and to empty their cassette toilet at the Elsan point. This just happened to be directly opposite the stern of our boat where Bill was standing and, as the chap was engaged in conversation with Bill as he was doing this, Bill had to witness the entire exercise. Now Bill is not the best when it comes to being up close and personal with bodily functions and the look on his face, the flared nostrils and the terse little mouth made me stifle a smirk. Fortunately our “pump out “is not nearly so distasteful. We moored out in the countryside by the towpath north of the town of Nuneaton. We stay away from moorings in towns wherever possible. Tomorrow we should leave the Coventry Canal and venture onto the North Oxford Canal and thence wend our way to Oxford over the next week. Once again our little fire is keeping us cozy after a lovely hot shower and it’s Scottish salmon, Jersey Royal potatoes, Spanish asparagus and carrots for tea (in our ‘jamas). Bliss. Friday 8th April Fire and Snow Slept in until 5.30 so things are getting better. Bill, who was already up, informed me it was cold and blustery and that I should stay indoors today and keep the fire going. However after all my chores of washing up breakfast, hand washing, vacuuming, wiping over the galley and bathroom floors, doing the shower, basin and toilet, topping up the fire, (1hour, tops) and finishing my novel (last chapter) I donned my Rosanne pants and five layers of warmies and went up on the stern. I’m so glad I did. I had a little drive and then as we neared Hawkesbury Junction, north of Coventry, it became very cold and I noticed little white petals blowing onto the boat. I looked about for the tree they had come from but all I saw was a ploughed field. Then as I watched them melt on Bill’s jacket, I realised it was snow. At the junction we took on water then moored for lunch, I ventured to the local shop for supplies and then we were off, passing through this historic little junction, also known as Sutton’s Stop. Bill did a perfect turn into the acute angled arm where the Coventry canal meets the Oxford, under the 1837 iron bridge. And would you believe it I didn’t have the camera on me. I would have may a perfect shot. However it’s captured in my mind. Another little flurry of snow came down as we left to begin our journey down the Oxford canal. The beginning of the North Oxford canal travels through some very pretty rural countryside and after passing through a tiny hamlet called Ansty we travelled over the Brinklow embankment where the canal and the railway run side by side. I drove until my fingers froze, despite my fancy Gortex gloves. At one point the canal was bordered on both sides by high slopes on which clumps of daffodils were growing. Bill is not feeling too cheerful at the moment. When I went to the shop at Hawkesbury Junction he moved the boat forward from the water point to a visitor mooring by himself and while tying the front ropes (usually my job), he slipped and fell against the boat and I fear has done an injury to some ribs and his hand. We arrived for our night mooring at Stretton Stop and just after we tied up (after some initial problems with a rock ledge stopping us getting close to the bank), the snow came flurrying down, all around the daffodils on the bank beside us. I tried to catch some snow on my jacket and got Bill to take a picture but I doubt if it will turn out. The flakes are only 2-3mm and melt virtually on contact. The crazy thing is, half an hour later, the sun was shining. Our little coal fire which has been burning all day has our cabin as warm as toast. And when we thought all the excitement was over, as we were cooking our Massaman curry for tea, another dark cloud came across, bringing with it the best snow flurries yet, with flakes as big as a centimeter. Some poor folk next door to us were trying to moor in the midst of it all. And now, once again, the sun is shining. What strange weather. Saturday 9th April Ice on the Gunwale Our faithful barometer said seven degrees inside the cabin when Bill got up. After he stoked the fire it came up to eleven but we knew when we prepared to leave at 8am and the ice went crack under my boot on the gunwale where a little water had pooled that it had reached freezing outside during the night. However the sun was shining and the day was not as chilly as yesterday. Nevertheless we have been in three layers and a windcheater, beanies and gloves all day and our little fire has not been allowed to go out. Today is an easy day with a lazy idle through pretty farming country. We made a brief stop for supplies at Newbold on the outskirts of Rugby after I did my first tunnel (only 250yards long) of the trip. There have been only three locks, the first paired locks we’ve seen this trip. This indicated that this picturesque little area of Hillmorton was once a very busy centre. We stopped at the top for lunch. The canals are quite busy at the moment as it’s school holidays and there are lots of kids out on boats with the grandparents. We are dawdling behind two such very slow boats at the moment. We are unable to pass them as there are frequent bridges spanning the canal and the canal narrows as you go under them, hence the name bridge holes (or bridge ‘oles). One is likely to come across one of these as you attempt to pass or the canal is likely to make a sudden turn so you don’t pass and you become content to just go slowly. It teaches you patience. Bill’s hand is making it hard for him to do ropes, impossible to do locks and my putting on his shoes and socks this morning and buttoning up his shirt warranted a bit of a tease. However I don’t think he’s broken anything and I believe it’s just badly bruised. The ribs are not much of a bother now. We are making for Braunston this afternoon for our night mooring and expect to be there in a couple of hours. It would probably take ten minutes by car but we love the pace and being able to see the countryside. Today we saw remnants beside the canal of medieval “ridge and furrow” farming. In those days the ridges delineated a peasant farmer’s area of arable land but between the 15th and17th centuries these lands were given over to pasture and the peasants driven off. In this stretch there are also remnants of the old meanderings of the original canal before it was straightened in sections in the nineteenth century and these are often marked by beautiful old Horseley iron bridges. STOP PRESS LYNN TAKES A LOOK The afternoon was very cold but without the joy of the snow. I rode up with Bill for a lot of the time but needed to go below every now and again to warm myself by the stove. Finally we reached Braunston, our night mooring, at about 4.30. I was hoping for a smooth and convenient mooring and to make it to the chandlery by 5pm for more coal as we don’t expect them to be open tomorrow (Sunday). The wind was blowing quite strongly and the canal at the site where there was a mooring space was sloping, just like last night. This makes it impossible to get the boat closer than about three feet from the bank and to reach the bank you have to leap from the boat. Now this body does not run and does not squat and now, I think, does not leap too damn well either. Bill, with his injured hand and ribs, was having problems holding the boat in the wind by the middle rope so I suggested he take my bow rope too, wrap them around his hips and I’d quickly get the pins and hammer them in and get us roped up. Got the front one done and leapt off the boat to go and tie the stern rope, slipped on the front of the boat as I leapt and in I went. All I could think of was the camera around my neck. Needless to say it no longer worked and so it was hung above the stove with twenty other garments, its battery and flash card removed in the hope that it will dry it out quickly and may work again. The place smells like a wet chook yard with all the wet wool about. Only my beanie was spared and thank heaven, my mouth. I am now showered and my fingers are prune like from all the washing. My lovely RM’s (boots) may never be the same again. I have had one Scotch and am certain to have another. I informed Bill we were having cheese and biscuits, chips, chocolate and alcohol for dinner so he has now taken charge and is cooking tea. The interesting thing is he says his hand is much better. This is just as well as we must take it in turns to do these things so we can look after each other. Sunday 10th April Cornish pasties in the sunshine The washing is dry, the camera is still non-functional (despite my operating on it with the hair dryer) and we decided to impose a Sabbath on ourselves and take a rest day. We have used our plank today to board and leave the boat. No more leaping for the moment. We have also vowed never again to moor when the bank is sloping. By way of forgiving the village of Braunston for my inglorious baptism we took a stroll up into the village, via the marina, about a mile return trip, Bill grunting with his ribs every step and me moaning with my knee with each step. What a couple of old crocks. In the village we found a shop for provisions and a butcher shop open on Sunday mornings, so we were able to buy some delicious Cornish pasties for lunch. Judging by the grease marks on the baking tray and the shortness of the pastry, there must be at least 50gm of fat in each one. But what great comfort food. The sun shone brilliantly as we ate these for lunch on the foredeck. Who would have believed it had snowed two days ago. At the butcher’s we also scored some pork and leek sausages recommended by one of the shop’s customers and will have those with Nigella Lawson’s squashed roast potatoes (with rosemary, garlic, sea salt flakes and olive oil), beans (from Egypt, no less) and carrots (unbranded but from nowhere in the UK, I’m sure). We have travelled only a few miles today, from Braunston to Napton. Like getting back on the bicycle after a fall, I made myself drive. Bill is such a patient teacher. He lets me get myself out of scrapes (like two boats approaching a bridge hole at once) and doesn’t grab the tiller and take over. I am certainly much more confident than last year. We have arrived at Napton early (3pm) and secured a better mooring than last year and have been down to the canal shop. They have kindling and coal but we didn’t feel inclined to lug it back to the boat. We will get water in the morning (outside the shop) and maybe get it then. There are nine locks to be done first thing in the morning. They will be my job as Bill’s hand won’t let him lock yet. I spent part of the evening operating on the camera with the hair dryer but only seemed to have cooked the contents of the view finder. We enjoyed the planned dinner along with a wine which resulted in the two of us falling asleep in our comfy chairs by the fire. A fitting end to a comparative rest day. Monday 11th April Twists and turns. Today’s plan was to get kindling, coal and water and to treat ourselves to dinner at the “Red Lion” at the historically significant village of Cropredy. We achieved only the water and even then in two sessions. It began badly with my waking suddenly at 2am and immediately and ruminantly bemoaning the loss of my dear little camera. To have gone to the bathroom would have woken Bill so I lay there full of bladder. I don’t know whether it was my tossing or turning or not but Bill woke an hour and a bit later and, because of his ribs, moaned and groaned with every breath, cough and movement. That was the end of sleep for both of us. We got up, made cuppas and administered Panadol and a hot water bottle to the invalid, who later fell asleep stretched across two easy chairs by the fire . Miraculously the camera opened and I took a picture of him but we’ll have a look at the quality in a moment. I managed a couple more hours sleep and we arrived at the water point at 8.45. No sooner had we put the hose in the tank than an early starting boat came out of the lower lock and with nine locks ahead of us we were anxious to take advantage of “set” locks. So too was another boat with two couples on board which had come to the dual water point shortly after we did so we decided to scrap the idea of coal kindling and water and get moving. Just as well as they were beasts of locks and to have to empty and then fill would have been a chore. The other boat had three people to do what one of us has to do so we didn’t feel too guilty. Half way up I had to hand over to Bill when I couldn’t get one of the winches to even move. We reached the top by lunch time but delayed it until after taking on water at the top lock. Thereafter we meandered through eleven miles of glorious grazing land, the fields full of newly born lambs and their mothers. Most of the lambs were twins. We thought we’d spotted one set of triplets but then heard his mum bleating to him to “get back here this instant” from a hundred yards away. The farms are enormous and look extremely prosperous. The canal follows the contours of the landscape without locks for this entire distance so there were many twists and turns and hairpin bends (good experience for me). I drove for about half the distance and brought it in to our mooring for the night at Fenny Compton. Cropredy will have to wait. Tuesday 12th April Our first visitors. Lovely news last night. Jane rang to say that she and Brian would come by car to meet us tomorrow. We arranged to meet at Cropredy at midday and have lunch at the “Red Lion”. This was the pub we had a drink at last year where they have straps above the bar (as in strap hangers on buses and trams). I was up early, getting my “house” in order, vacuuming and washing floors and polishing windows. Bill even indulged me the picking of some branches of “blackthorn” (looks like a flowering cherry - very Japanese) for my floral decoration. Must have the boat looking spiffy for our first visitors. As we approached Cropredy, we temporarily solved our stove’s fuel problem as a lockside dweller had bags of oak logs for sale. His wife was also selling potted plants. I resisted the temptation to begin a rooftop herb garden and instead, opted for a pretty pot of yellow primroses. So now I am a proper boat woman with flowers growing on my boat. At the last lock before our day’s destination we waited for a boat to come up and I went forward to help with the locks. The driver of the boat ultimately exited the lock and on seeing our Aussie flag said to Bill “What coontray do ya coom from?” Bloody Hell. For those of you new to our journal, we met Jane and Brian last year on the Grand Union when Jane was incapacitated with a back problem and couldn’t wind locks and, as we passed, Brian popped his head up out of their little boat and asked if they could share the locks with us. Over three days of travelling in tandem we enjoyed their interesting company and, as Jane is an accomplished craftswoman, we had lots to talk about. Brian and Bill talked boats. They arrived today at Cropredy well before they expected to and before we did. To fill in time they explored the village and Jane found a gallery (useful later in the day as she took me back there). They arrived laden with all sorts of goodies - homemade marmalade jam, redcurrant jelly, apricot chutney and mint jelly (just the thing for that spring lamb I’ve been fantasising about). Jane had made a cherry cake and brought me a posy of flowers to press and a most useful and attractive embroidered glasses case to hang around my neck. No excuse now for losing my specs. We put in a lovely day chatting and had lunch at the “Red Lion” as planned. They were impressed by the features of the boat, especially its roominess. Jane and I had a walk around the village which is charming as most houses are very old, often with thatched rooves and made of that lovely yellow Oxford stone. Any “new builds” are in a brick imitation of this stone so the colour tonings of the whole village are preserved - all quite charming. Cropredy was the site of a civil war battle in 1644 and apparently there are some memorabilia of this on display in the church. Will try to see them next time we come through. Have spent a lazy evening after Brian and Jane left, Bill reading, me doing some embroidery, an oak log burning in the fireplace, a glass of wine to hand. It is light now until 8pm. Today has been a beautiful, fine, warm, relaxed day. We are feeling no pain (apart from a few cracked ribs and a gammy knee). Wednesday 13th April Ride a Cock Horse or a Narrowboat Banbury has to be the best place for boaters to shop. The mooring is right outside a major shopping centre and I mean up the ramp and through the front door. There’s a Sommerfield, a plethora of variety shops and even the local museum, all in the immediate environs of the canal. I spent hours in the museum last time we were here as we had a two day stop then. This time we arrived from Cropredy, mid morning and have done a major shop, including getting the little fold up, suitcase like barbeque that boaters seem to find successful. We are optimistic of some balmy evenings on the bank. We are testing or little freezer and have stored away a meat and a fish parcel to see how it behaves. The tests with water worked well. We replenished the wine cupboard with three quid wine from California, Australia and France (on special 2 for ₤6). Sounds like poison but it’s really quite drinkable and our livers are still functioning. The sun has shone beautifully today and the only shower was considerate enough to come while we were in the library sending our emails. On the way back to the boat we discovered a little greengrocer that I’d bought produce from last year. I christened him “Ronnie Barker” (from “Open All Hours”). Lo and behold he was still there in his little grey dust coat selling the same little twin packs of cos lettuce and his farm fresh eggs. And he still called me “Darlin” - I bet he says that to all the girls. His shop is in a little street called “Butchers Lane” in the old part of Banbury with its cobbled streets, half timber houses and stable yards. I keep imagining how it must have been in previous centuries. We will stay here tonight and have a longer haul to Lower Heyford tomorrow for fuel and a pump out. Then the next stop is Oxford. We’ll pass right through as we intend to stop on the way back. Once on the Thames, all locks are manned until we turn off at Reading onto the Kennett and Avon Canal. The most wonderful news of the day is that the camera has responded to my ministrations with the hairdryer and seems to be working. Sure it sounds a little gritty as it opens and the pictures often need lightening with the Adobe programme but there are no amoebae or flagellates swimming across the screen. Thursday 14th April A little sunshine, a little rain and a soupcon of hail We escaped Banbury at 8am just before a hotel boat after a brief chat with one of their crew of two who are Australian lads. The morning was grey as we set out across the Oxfordshire countryside. The frequent swing bridges precluded my riding on the gunwale as I always stand on the right and this the acute angle of the swing of most bridges. So I was relegated to the bow. The fields are a most amazing green, some are newly planted with crops and the brilliant yellow of the rapeseed coming into flower brings new colour to the tapestry of the countryside. Spring lambs are everywhere and we met again, like old friends, a gaggle of geese at a farm we passed. They were in the same place in the same paddock as last year. We shared the locking today as my knee was unhappy until I downed a Celebrex and consoled it with a hot water bottle. It has improved markedly this afternoon. When we stopped for lunch the temperature became a little cool and down came a shower. The raindrops seemed a little loud and when we went to the bow we could see the little spots of ice bouncing off the metal of the boat. After lunch we traversed my favourite lock, Somerton Deep, which is one of the deepest narrow locks on the system. It has a positive gingerbread house of a lock cottage and is set against a backdrop of glorious Oxfordshire pastures. Last year I had a snap taken with me in the lock, driving, so we repeated the tradition today. At Lower Heyford we had our pump out done, filled up with diesel and bought two bags of coal and two of kindling. I also succumbed to a window box painted with traditional canal roses and full of pansies and I transplanted my primroses into it as well. I have also stowed my coal like a good boat woman (bagged the large bag into smaller bags that will fit in the fuel locker). Bill refers to me as ”a bit of a grub” when I have coal dust all over me. I look like a chimney sweep. The moorings are poor at Lower Heyford so we have journeyed out into the countryside for the night. On arrival the sun was shining so we christened the outdoor chairs and had “happy hour” on the bank. At sunset the hotel boats caught up with us and moored immediately in front of us, breasted up. As they slid past us the lad we hadn’t spoken to this morning sighted our flags and called out to his mate “Aussies.” As they were mooring I went to the bow to take a snap and he called out “Bloody cold, eh?” Amusingly, the Aussie lad took our picture. They are from Perth. Bill told me he read in a canal magazine that it’s a bit of a dog’s life, crewing one of these hotel boats. We’ll definitely be away well before them in the morning, like the little pig beating the wolf to market. There was a splendid sunset tonight casting a warm glow across the adjacent fields - all quite magical. Friday 15th April An eventful day or, shit happens The day began peacefully enough with a 7.30am chat, lock side with the lad from the hotel boat. He has only been on the boat for a week and although he loves being out in the countryside is thinking of giving up after a month as his accommodation is poor (he’s sleeping in a two foot bunk) and he is working from 7.30am to 10.30pm - all for ₤160/week (6½ days). We sauntered through a grey misty cold morning with the river Cherwell bubbling along beside us for most of the way. There was a splendid forested area with two nice designated mooring areas, ideal for summer but much too cold in the winter. It was such a dark secretive place it reminded me of gypsies in the wood from old girlhood story books. At Three Pigeons Lock, a new house that we saw last year in the early stages of construction is now occupied and looks charming. It is a modern interpretation of a 50+ year old house beside it and although it has no central chimneys, they have put a sod covering on the roof of the cooking area of the house. Very much a snow country image. At the lock a border collie cross came out to play with me, bringing his piece of chewed wood and dropping it repeatedly at my feet for me to throw. I became his new best friend. Then an old country gentleman in tweed cap and Wellington boots came out of a laneway gate with three Springer spaniels to heel. The youngest one was so excited at the prospect of going for a walk he leapt sure-footedly up on the parapet of the stone bridge over the canal and ran along it. As we left the lock a lady in full riding gear came out of the same gate. We were certainly in the English countryside. This morning was a time for revisiting swing bridges. The first was the one last year that I was full steaming towards while Bill was on the toilet and I had to do an emergency stop when I realised it was the first we’d struck that was not raised. The second was the big swing bridge in Thrupp that I was sure I’d drop on Bill’s head as he went under it as I could only keep it raised using my entire body weight thrown across it. Somehow it seemed easier this time. Must be the muesli. I sighted the boat the name of which I thought quaint last year – “Thrupp’ny Peace”. A lock further on and we were recognised as coming from Brewood by a lady from the village of Coven near Brewood. She recognised the livery before she read the sign on the boat. Their boat is called “Piggiwig”, and a cute little boat it is too. We knew we were nearing Oxford when the graffiti was being used to make a political statement and had been changed from last year. The other sign was that the canalside allotments grew more vegetables, possibly reflecting environmental conscience. This year we elected to bypass the canal trip into Oxford and went down Duke’s cut (formerly owned by the Duke of Marlborough) and straight onto the Thames, taking on water and quaffing soup and croutons as we did so. And then we were on the Thames. Magic. - water meadows , cows grazing, pollarded willows with the last of the daffodils beneath them, large brown geese (not seen until here), and in the distance Oxford, city of spires. I could count seven at least as I gazed ahead, enjoying the tranquility of the experience from the bow. Even the boat sounded happier to have deep green water beneath her. On the bank, rows of cruisers replaced the familiar line of narrowboats. We quickly reached Godstow lock with the haunting ruins of Godstow Abbey. While tied up, waiting for the lock-keeper to prepare the lock, we chatted to a couple from Perth who seemed interested in the boat. They watched us traverse the lock like the experts we thought we were. They say pride comes before a fall. We were about to fall. More quickly than we could have believed our desired mooring just short of Osney Lock came into view. I stood up and peered around at Bill at the stern. We could see that there was an available mooring, right where we wanted to be. We gave each other the thumbs up sign. Little did we know disaster (almost) was about to strike. Like a good boatwoman I leapt off with my bow rope and tethered it to the bollard. Under normal canal conditions, Bill would then bring the stern around, jump off and tie his stern rope. But neither of us accounted for the speed of the current which was faster than we’d encountered on our two previous moorings here. It swung the stern of the boat across the channel (which is about 50ft wide at his point and edged with concrete). Bill shouted for me to release the bow rope, thinking he’d swing the nose out and go further down the channel to moor, but the current was too fast and all that did was allow us to slam us into the boat in front. Suddenly our 58ft lovely boat was wedged broadside across this narrow fast flowing section of the Thames and we could not free it. Two passing ladies with a toddler and a babe in a pram tried to help until they pleaded that the baby needed feeding. Then came two men who ran thither and fetched a winch. I always admire men who, in the centre of a city like Oxford, have a winch in the boot of their car. All to no avail. The current was stronger than all of us. I inched along the gunwale to Bill who was, of course on the other side of the river and with him pulling as hard as he could on the stern rope and me with the boat in full throttle reverse and pushing the boat away from the bank, we started to free the stern. That was, until Bill slipped and fell, saving himself from falling in by a quick roll landward. In that second of dismay in his eyes I read “Oh my God, not again. I’m sure to drown this time. I wonder if Lynn will have the initiative to cut the engine before the prop gets me.” etc. Finally we inched the stern back enough to make another run at the mooring and by throwing ropes to the two guys on land (hoping to hell the ropes didn’t wind up in the prop), we managed to moor just where we’d wanted to be half an hour or so earlier. After the two lads had declined a beer and left us Bill was hunched over the hatch. Oh dear, thought I, “Are you alright, what’s the matter, do you have chest pain?” “No”, said Bill quietly, “I’ve just never seen such a cock up in all my life.” What can I say?

Yeah - particularly when they don't make it.

Don't forget you will need a water conservation key to operate 4 or 5 locks around Kidderminster. We came back on the Staffs and Worcs a couple of weeks ago (after a 12 week cruise) and luckily had one on board. Hope you enjoy the trip Bill

Postscript During our trip we often fantasised about owning our own boat and spending part of each year cruising the canals and rivers. We envied those who were able to moor at the bottom of their garden and set off on a whim or those who lived permanently on their boat. We had designed and named our boat long before we left the UK. Upon returning home we both continued to dream and think “if only”. We both found it difficult to settle back into work and longed to be back on the canals. After a short time the dreams began to take solid form and the thinking became “why not”. We sent an e-mail to William Abbey at Countrywide Cruisers to make some enquiries about buying a boat and seek his assistance with the search. William, as always, was most helpful and encouraging. We began to search the various Boat Brokers’ websites and identified a few boats that seemed to be just what we were looking for. With great excitement we sent the details to William who promptly responded with comments such as “crap fit-out”, “overpriced” and “very cheap shells/sailaway boat which the owner (office bound during the day, master carpenter at night) felt he could nail the rest of the interior together”. We were not deterred and found more boats to which, for the most part, William responded similarly. There were however two that all concerned thought had possibilities and the excitement rose. Then Will put a proposition to us— 1) he could build a boat for us or as he put it “having built one boat for you it would be lovely to do another new boat for you” (you will recall we mentioned earlier that Sir Ironside was brand new and we were the first hirers); or 2) we could buy one of his existing fleet, Sir Melleaus. We rejected the first idea – it would take too long. The second proposition however was just what we had been looking for. Sir Melleaus was built by William’s father in 1992 and had been re-acquired by Countrywide Cruisers in 2003 and a major refit undertaken. We had inspected Sir Melleaus in July and both thought it to be ideal for cruising, in fact we had thoughts that next time we hired from Countrywide Cruisers we would request it. Well commencing on 2 April 2005 we will take it out, not as hirers, but as owners. We plan to cruise to Bath and Bristol so, if any of you see Sir Melleaus, please give us a shout and we will try not to bore you with more tales of our travels.

Chapter 13 – Week 12, Staffordshire and Worcestshire/Shropshire Union Canal Saturday July 17 Adventuring by Bus Bill had promised me it was only a mile to walk up along the canal to Swindon, the nearest canalside hamlet from which to catch the bus into Wolverhampton - he lied. It was more like two miles but finally we arrived and poured over the posted route charts and timetables, discovering we’d just missed the half hourly service. Finally the 260 rumbled along and we negotiated our fares with our Sikh driver, whose command of English was better than my Sikh, but still not too flash. I couldn’t persuade Bill to make a day out of it and go back and see the Glass Museum we’d missed out on yesterday, however he was happy for me to do so. So at Wolverhampton Railway Station we decided to do “the ticket thing”, as it is now called, together and I’d then go on to the Museum at Kingswinford, near Stourbridge and we’d each find our way back to the boat. I think he quietly doubted my ability to do this - the old “why men can’t find things and women can’t read maps” thing. However I reassured him he could get a new one if I didn’t turn up. At the station we collected our tickets from the Ticketmaster Machine then played “join another queue” game and after queuing twice and telling our story both times the lass said “There’s no need to upgrade now, you can do that on the train for ₤10 each”. “But it’s school holidays and we’d rather be assured of a ticket, besides we’ve walked miles and made a special bus trip because we were told we’d have to do this.” “There won’t be a problem.” Perhaps she didn’t hear me. When I asked her to recheck the 10.14am and to verify it was cancelled, lo and behold, it wasn’t. “Good”, said I, feeling optimistic for the first time “I’d like to exchange these two coach tickets on the 8.19 that we’ve just picked up from your machine outside for two first class tickets on the 10.14.” “I’m sorry, we can’t refund those here because you bought them over the phone from an agent.” (gob smacked) “I beg your pardon” (or did I say “What.”). At this stage her supervisor at the next desk sidled over and played with her computer at length and produced, as if by magic, just what we wanted. He then turned to her and said “Are you right now?”….” Yeah she said, except that I need a fag.” So we now have two tickets each, stapled together, a coach for 8.19 and a first for 10.14 (how confusing is that) and on reading the paper today I find out that BA baggage handlers are to stage a school holiday strike next week. For the rest of the day things looked up. Bill and I boarded the 260 and he got off at Swindon, looking a little as if he may never see me again, and on I went towards Stourbridge. I managed to get off at the right stop, find the signage to the Museum, pop into a jeweller for a new watch battery (and a new face as it was scratched and cracked), all done while I had lunch with several other ladies at a nice little wine bar nearby that the jeweller recommended. Then off to the Glass Museum, with a little antique shop en route. I wandered around the exhibits in a leisurely fashion and saw a wonderful period film of the local glass works. I stayed until closing time then caught my bus back. I walked back along the towpath at a leisurely pace, watching the county cricket match as I dawdled by, munching on my Magnum. As I arrived back Bill said he’d thought of walking towards Swindon to meet me then thought of the two miles and thought…..Naah......Bastard. Sunday July 18 Digging in at Greensforge Yes we’re still here, as part of a grand plan to dawdle home to Brewood. This is not because we love dawdling but because we have time aplenty on our hands. Weeks ago, as we passed the Wey junction and thought that there may not be enough time to go down to Guildford, we really should have gone. It’s been the only part of the trip we’d have changed. As it is, we’ve done more miles than planned. The journey out to Lechlade with Maki was an impromptu addition to the plans we made in Australia, as was the trip from Gloucester down to Sharpness, and the week in London. So in all we’re very pleased with what we’ve fitted in. We now have five days until the boat is due back at the wharf and it’s a journey we could do in a day - hence the dawdle. Having found this very pleasant mooring at Greensforge we thought we’d stretch our friendship with British Waterways and stay a little over the 48 hours allowed. The times vary, according to the area and it’s pretty much based on an honour system, though if you ask, they usually let you extend your stay. Outside shopping centres, its two hours; in most popular places its 48 hours; and in other sites, 5-7 days, with the maximum we’ve seen of 14 days and that was in Little Venice in London. So today was a “home day”. Bill spent the morning, from a quite early rise at 4.30am, on the computer cataloging some of my three thousand photos. Then he retired to the bed for a read and a nap to make up for the early start to his day. I spent the morning changing bed linen, washing and tidying and sorting some of our luggage into priority piles in case we can store one suitcase at Gatwick and just take one to Jersey. Faint hope, but one can only ask. I’m surprised I’ve been able to keep up with the washing by hand washing daily. We thought we’d be searching for Laundromats along the way but haven’t used a one. Having our big sack of clean towels and linen has been wonderful and provided you just wash one big item, like jeans a day with the “smalls”, there’s been room on my umbrella clothes line, my bungee cord stretched across the hatch opening (only when we’re moored) and in the shower recess to hang everything. However they’re all going in the Maytag on return. I wonder how those narrowboat women managed in a home 7 foot by 9 foot. In that was a double bed, a side bed, cupboards, a stove and the kitchen and a few kids. I spent my “free” afternoon messing about with my flowers. I’d brought my microwave flower press and some cards and forceps from home and have been collecting and pressing flowers along the way. I had a very pleasant afternoon just sitting and creating. So this dawdle back to base has its blessings - time to play and time to read. In the morning we’ll head up the canal a few miles to the village of Wombourne and will go and explore the village. Bill says we’ll look for a library but it will say “Closed Monday” for sure. Monday July 19 Biding Time at Bratch We finally pulled up stakes at Greensforge and meandered up the line through a few locks to the pretty mooring at the foot of Bratch Locks. Bratch is a flight of three locks, very close to one another with a pound between them not wider than a boat so that boats can’t pass. As a result, once a boat begins an ascent or descent, no other boat can enter the locks. In addition, there is a set order for working the locks, all nicely signposted but just to check it’s all done according to plan, there is a lock keeper on duty to keep an eye on things. This means that the locks have a set opening and closing time when he comes on duty (8am to 7pm). The pool at the foot of Bratch locks widens significantly and the left approach is used for lock entry. On the right, next to a little picnic park, are moorings for three boats. They close the park to the road at 7.30pm so one is not troubled by the local youth. At the moment we are the only boat here and have the picnic area all to ourselves, should we feel a need to use it. Many boats carry small barbeques which run on the same fuel as their stoves (fireplaces) so they could have an alfresco meal in a setting like this. We decided on arrival to walk into the village of Wombourne for a few supplies. The lock keeper told us it was ten minutes up the road but we are sure, in hindsight that he meant ten minutes by fast car. We walked miles. The journey wasn’t helped by my sense of direction factoring in an extra mile or two. We finally reached the village and after doing our shopping were so tempted to get the local cab back to the boat. But we pushed on and finally arrived back, weary and footsore, three hours after we set out. It would be just our luck to run out of food when there’s no canalside pub and the village is miles away. My compensation was to be able to take to my bed and finish another book while Bill cooked tea. Tuesday July 20 A Beautiful Day We were the first boat up the Bratch flight at about 9am. The locks were well maintained but slow to fill and it took about 25 minutes to reach the top and exit. We travelled first along a green corridor and then the countryside opened up to farmland. We reached the very old Awbridge Lock (I feel an irrepressible urge to put an apostrophe in front of the A). Signs of its age are the horse tunnel, the divided split bridge, the boarding notch in the wall beside the lower gate, the wear in the stones beside the lock from countless feet, the grooves carved in the metal from straining ropes between horse and boat. You could feel the history. Beside the lock, in a paddock was a small herd of Palomino horses, including foals - very cute. More green corridors and two locks, then on through farmland to Wightwick Lock where we have moored for 24 hours within sight of Wightwick Mill Lock, its nearby partner. The latter is believed to have been the first narrow lock constructed by the famous James Brindley (although it was reconstructed in 1986). Were it Thursday or Saturday we could visit nearby Wightwick Manor, an 1887 late Victorian Manor, managed by the National Trust for the last fifty years and described in the guide as “lovely”. The sun has shone brightly all day, so much so that I seized the opportunity to wash our jumpers, believing that if we waited until our return for dry cleaning, people may move discreetly away from us in public places and adjacent plane passengers may ask to be moved. I lay them flat on towels on the boat’s roof and it worked well. I said to Bill, “I’m not sure that’s good for them, you shouldn’t dry woolens in full sun” to which he shrugged and said, “You call that sun.” Nevertheless the sunshine does something for the mood and it has been delicious just to laze about - and finish yet another book. We even broke out the shorts and short sleeved tops and have been paddling about barefoot. The local women have been in singlet tops and shorts and the men bare-chested, in shorts, raving about the weather. Considering that officially Britain has had it’s wettest July ever this is not surprising, though we seem to have dodged most of the rain and have just had to contend with overcast days with intermittent sun and a bit of “Camelot” (night) rain. Today’s amusement was a Trust boat of volunteers and carers taking a group of very old ladies, who looked in their eighties, some in wheelchairs, for an outing on the canal. The name on the side of the boat was “The Wildside Activity Centre”. This evening we’re planning a walk into nearby Compton a drink at the pub and a dinner out. I may even put on some make-up and comb my hair. Wednesday July 21 Snailing to Brewood We did indeed go to a nice pub for a drink last night and then across the road to the Cantonese restaurant for a very pleasant dinner, with perhaps the best Singapore noodles I’ve ever had. We walked the mile back along the towpath to the boat in a light sprinkle of rain and a cooling temperature. The morning was overcast (big lie in ‘til 8.30am) and remained that way for most of the day with occasional burst of sunlight. Today we were to pass through the last three locks of our entire journey. At the first lock we were told by a woman that an hotel boat was coming and that it was travelling very slowly, having delayed them by taking an hour and a half to climb Bratch flight, which normally takes 25 minutes. We’d planned to stop at the second lock at Compton where we’d walked to for dinner last night, to do some posting of parcels but we decided there and then not to stop at Compton but to go on to Brewood and do our posting there. We skirted outlying suburbs of Wolverhampton where I chose to ignore the shopping trolley in the canal and the graffiti. We then passed the entrance to “The 21”, the 21 locks ascending to Wolverhampton, and were pleased not to be going in that direction again. A little further and we’d reached Autherley Junction, with its “Stop Lock” which has only six inches of fall so I didn’t have to do any heavy winding. We paused for photo opportunities at this last lock and shouted ourselves a celebratory ice-cream at the boatyard shop. I bought myself a tiny silver windlass as a souvenir and a laminated map of the canal system. It was with mixed feelings that I stowed my windlass in the bow locker for the last time. We got water at Autherley Junction and chatted to a lady from a small boat waiting to do the same. As we left, we were privy to this amusing conversation, brought on by their having to walk their boat back as their hose wasn’t long enough. Husband: “Untie the rope, woman”…Wife: “I am, I am”….Husband: “I mean today”……Wife: “Oh, shut it.” I said to Bill, if we ever go canal boating again we are having those nice little walkie talkies that hang around your neck and save shouting from one end of the boat to the other, over the sound of the engine. Pausing for lunch in the middle of a field we then savoured the journey into Brewood by travelling quite slowly. Bill suggested I steer the boat into Brewood which I enjoyed doing, and didn’t scrape one bridge hole, however my mooring technique wasn’t quite text book. Once all the roping up was attended to we shared a quiet moment of happy review and a big hug. We had done it. We have traversed 581 locks in 752 miles with only some of those on the rivers being manned. Thursday July 22 The Carnival is Over And now reality bites. We moored last night in the blissfully peaceful green corridor between the two bridges at Brewood. Always a popular spot, we secured one of the last few moorings around three o’clock. And still the boats kept coming. It seems everyone wanted to moor in Brewood. Around 7pm, shortly after we’d finished our home cooked chicken curry and I sat reading in my ‘jamas, there was cheery “Hello” at the door and it was Will, the owner, surprised to see us back a day early and asking how it had all gone. We hastily reassured him it had met all our expectations - and then some. This morning we began to consider the logistics of our trip to Jersey and imminent journey home. A trip to the post office took care of a couple of craft books which will follow us by surface mail and we posted the CD of their trip down the Thames to the couple who’d accompanied us. We’re sure they’ll love it, especially the shot of them approaching Tower Bridge. We picked up a few nibbles and drinks for our farewell to the boatyard staff tonight. The weekend is turn around time so they’ll be busy over the next two days. We lunched at the pub as we have run down the larder and I found my first piece of crumbed fish on the whole of the twelve week trip and thoroughly enjoyed it. Bill has verified that we can store our large suitcases at Gatwick and therefore just take the cheap hold-all we bought at the markets in Tewkesbury and our trusty back-pack to Jersey. Joy to the traveller to travel light. He’s also checked our train service is still running and tomorrow will book the cab to take us from Brewood to Wolverhampton, from whence the train will take us to Gatwick and then we fly to Jersey where we’ve booked a car. We gave the boat a loving soapy scrub and wash down and she sparkled. We weren’t asked to but I wanted to hand it back in as close to the same condition as we received it - with the exception of the chunks, scrapes and divots. We have developed a significant fondness for this little craft over the past twelve weeks and it has performed magnificently. Tonight Will and his sister Jane, John and Trevor and Maree came to have a drink with us and see the “short highlights” photographic version of our trip, some 300 of the 3000 photos I’ve taken. They are such nice people and a joy to deal with and we’ve had a very pleasant evening. Initially we sat on the lawn by the canal and Bill rigged up the computer on a chair on the back but a shower of rain caused us to retire inside and continue there. There was much laughter as those of the “Takin’ a Look” club exchanged stories. Maree wouldn’t divulge how many times she’d been in but there was a lot of laughter in the guessing. Jane had to leave early as she needed to pack for her holiday in Greece but the others stayed on ‘til about 8.30. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to say “I’m going to Greece for a week next week” and know it wouldn’t entail spending a valuable part of your life on an aeroplane. Friday July 23 Sunshine on Brewood We have been granted a final sunshiny day. Woke to the same morning mist as the morning we set out and knew it signaled a fine day. We messed about sorting and packing and washing a last few things in view of the sunshine and light breeze. Had another pleasant pub lunch, trying yet another of the village pubs - it has at least four. Dinner will be a light concoction from the remains of the larder. And so we sit, here on the boat which is ours until the morning, having a restful afternoon. Bill’s on the foredeck, reading in the sun and I’ll soon make a beeline for the bed to do the same. But first I had saved a small dissertation on the kinds of boats and their names from our travels in the past twelve weeks. Because we’ve travelled on rivers we’ve seen some very big boats. Tall sailing ships and tankers named after far flung parts of the earth, in Gloucester Docks; broad beamed barges and tugs named for their strength and endurance, on the rivers and wide canals; and elegant expensive cruisers and their aspiring diminutive versions, all named Lady something or other, on the Thames. But best of all we’ve loved the narrow boats and their Dutch cousins, the narrow beamed barges. The narrow boats range from luxury 70ft craft with two bathrooms and three bedrooms that will only just fit in a lock to tiny tug like craft in which the kitchen table becomes the bed and the Porta-loo sits in the shower. Their combinations and permutations of size, form and fit-out are endless and we’ve had a lot of fun designing an imaginary boat for ourselves. Some boats are residential, others well used family holiday craft, both owned and hired. Most are lovingly tended and decorated, usually in the traditional manner and sometimes as an expression of personal taste, and some are sad reflections of unachievable aspirations. Like houses, they say a lot about their owners. But it’s their names that have intrigued us. We could understand the naming of a craft after one’s favourite lady, admired hero, beloved pet, remembered place, enchanting wild animal, delicate flower……but “Maggot” or “Toe Rag”….I ask you. Some bear as a name, an amalgam of their two owner’s names and still others, Greek and Roman names of unknown significance to us. But so many names reflect the purpose of the boat and the emotion of the lifestyle: “Slow Motion”, “What The Heck”, “Carpe Diem”, “Domicilium”, “Panacea, “Almost”, “Salad Days”, “Canalgesic”(I liked that one), “Utopia”, “Beezneez”(and “Muttz Nutz”- I kid you not) “Tempus Fugit”, “Faraway”, “No Fixed Abode”(liked that one too), “Per Ardua”(for the more serious), “Meander”, “Narrow Escape”(x5) and “Ship Happens”(brought a smile). As I close this boating journal, on this absolutely idyllic afternoon, I just want to commend narrow boating so strongly to you all, to tell you how much we’ve enjoyed it and to thank you all for letting us share it with you. We have had the most fabulous time and made some wonderful memories. Progress This week Distance (miles) 25 Locks 17 Total Distance (miles)762 Locks 581 “There is nothing, absolutely nothing, half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats” – Ratty, Wind in the Willows. A final plug. If this story has inspired you to hire a narrowboat we thoroughly recommend that you contact Countrywide Cruisers at Brewood (www.counrywide-cruisers.com). William and the CWC staff are the most friendly and helpful people you are likely to meet in England.

Chapter 12 – Week 11, River Severn/Staffordshire and Worcestshire Canal Saturday July 10 Wandering to Worcester After a somewhat broken night’s sleep caused by the return of a Party Boat to the wharf nearby at midnight and the subsequent sounds of drunkenness and mayhem and an inability to get off again before 2am (the church bell tolled the hour) my waking was late. Bill, who’d slept the early part of the night was up and doing from 4am, then back to bed and up again at 7. All in all, a restless sort of night that made us a bit half hearted about doing much in the day. We pushed off for the two hour trip to Worcester around 9am, saying goodbye to the groom next door and wishing him well. He was very laid back about the whole thing and told us his top priority was to get over having had too much beer last night but to be organized enough to fit in lunch at the pub down river, with a pint or two, before the service. The trip on the upper Severn to Worcester is very pretty, with black faced sheep grazing up to the river’s edge on their river meadow farms, alternating with heavily wooded tracts on upland banks. The wind wasn’t quite so biting - only two layers of wool and a wind jacket today - no thermals. The local lasses, of course, were in singlet tops. The fishermen were out in force - competition day we think - as they were regularly spaced out on their little platforms along the banks. Not a very sociable lot, either - no responses to my waves and now expert, “Orright”. We saw a mink on our travels here today. Bill spotted him swimming across the river in front of us and cut the motor back. Once he reached the left bank he nipped along level with us for a little way until he reached his home. During his little scurries between patches of cover I did manage to get a picture of him, cursing the shutter delay of digital cameras all the while and later erasing the six frames where I missed him. We traversed the Diglis lock without a hitch, both managing to get hold of our down wires and took on water immediately outside it, giving thanks for our beautiful flushing toilet as we sat down wind of the porta-potty wash out facility, euphemistically called a sanitary station, by BW. A few hedges to hide the small number of remaining factories on the river approach to Worcester with a few flowers and a bit of a mow of the verges of the basins and locks would make the water entry to Worcester rather grandiose. The Cathedral with its tower and other church spires, some nice Georgian buildings with sweeping lawns and a handsome stone bridge, to say nothing of a hundred white swans on a handsome river all do their bit to impress. Passing the charter barges and their beautifully flower bedecked moorings, we spotted ours beyond them down river, near the racecourse, in a pretty section overhung with willows, and moored successfully. All the way up the river were reminders that this is a river that floods - a flimsy landing stage crushed by a large log still resting upon it, tree branches stuck high in the alcoves of the town bridge, ten or twelve feet above the water line, mooring rings on riverside steps and twelve foot mooring poles. After a pleasant lunch of left overs on board, we set out to explore. We stopped on the Riverside Walk on the bank above the moorings to ask directions of a very weather beaten, partially edentulous litter officer who turned out to be a very well spoken and obviously well educated, knowledgeable man, with whom we had a good chat. It made me wonder about his life and the changes that must have taken place in it - Bill thinks I’m crazy when I start wondering about things like that. The first stop was the Guildhall which was built from 1721-1727, replacing an earlier timber framed structure. Finding ourselves near the Cathedral about 2pm, we thought that we could fill in an hour or so looking over it. It is built in the same style as Gloucester Cathedral but is a lot more commercial about its presentation. There is the element of a museum in sections with helpful presentations about the archaeological aspects of the structure and translations and explanations near various tombs and memorials. I think if you’re going to chose one cathedral to see in this area, Gloucester is the one, especially if you use one of their very knowledgeable volunteer guides. From the Tourist Information Centre next to the Guildhall, we explored possibilities for tomorrow and have in mind The Commandery, two sets of Almshouses and the Royal Worcester Porcelain Factory. Sunday July 11 The Walking Weary of Worcester Lovely Sunday morning lie in with the pitter patter of raindrops on the roof early but woke to fair skies. During breakfast we saw the first black swan ever in our 11 weeks on these waterways. The chap immediately in front is in Rotary and they are having their second Annual Dragon Boat Race on the river today. They hire the boats (each complete with dragon decoration, oars, coxswain seat and festive drum, life jackets, pennants etc). Corporations “buy” a boat for the day and crew it; and each crew member gets sponsorship from friends and rellies for his or her effort. All the money goes to the Rotary charity. His narrowboat had been volunteered as the start line boat. The neighbour two down popped by for a chat. He’s renting a boat to see how he likes it before investing in a three year old ex-hire boat, as his brother in law has done. Wanted to know what we thought of narrow boating. Has he got an hour? He told us Harrison Ford was out in a narrow boat somewhere near. If that’s the case I hope he manages to go unrecognised so he can have a nice time. Sunday is truly a day of rest for the good folk of Worcester. Nothing opens until 11am, some at 1.30pm and most, not at all. We made a start with Berkeley’s Alms Houses, built in 1703 and still being lived in today so not open to the public. We then went through the historic area of town where some absolutely glorious stone and brick buildings, several hundred years old, have been converted to nightclubs, of all things, complete with tawdry signage. We then looked at the very beautiful Laslett’s Almshouses, and all I can say is that the poor who lived there must have been very privileged. Again, these are being lived in, and are not open to the public. Two beautifully preserved streets of half timbered houses, New Street and Friar Street, were a joy to wander down. We thought Upton-on-Severn had the best totally preserved street but this tops it. Next, (and not just to bore Bill rigid), we visited the Royal Worcester Factory. Being Sunday, the tours of the factory were not running (no matter, we’ve done the Royal Doulton tour previously) but the Museum and the outlet shops were open. I had a quick browse through the latter with Bill and then he declined to join me at the Museum, which was really the best part of the lot. Then it was off to a little pub nearby for lunch and then we were on the doorstep of The Commandery when it opened at 1.30pm. The building dates from 1200 when it was established as the monastic hospital of St Wulstan, offering aid to the infirm, the poor and travellers to the city. The hospitals affairs were wound up with the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII in1539. It then became a family home (1695-1764), a complex for small businesses (1764-1864), a school for the blind (1864-1887), a printing works (1888-1905) and then a home and print works (1905-1973). Finally it was sold to Worcester City Council, was extensively renovated and established as a museum, telling mostly of Worcester’s role in the English Civil War (1642-51). To complete the day we called in at Greyfriars, a splendid half timbered wealthy merchant’s house built in 1480. It was saved from demolition in 1943 and is now in the care of the National Trust. The rooms are of most generous proportions and by deed of the donors, an eccentric recycler of all things ancient and his sister, it has been left as it was when they lived there. We returned to the boat in time to see the last of the Dragon Boat Festival. The river bank had a most festive air with people out enjoying themselves and picnicking. Monday July 12 Thwarted by Machines, New and Old It was push off time to travel the last of the River Severn and join the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal, known affectionately in canal circles as the Staffs and Worcs (wuss). On the river we passed along a very pretty part of the river up to Bevere Lock and waited for our green light. But it stayed solid red (we knew by now that flashing red means he’s seen us and is getting the lock ready, so no more harassing lock keepers). Then we noticed the men working on the lock verge on the right hand gate mechanisms and thought “Uh Oh.” Next the lock keeper appeared and told us there were some serious problems with the lock and there would be a delay of one and a half to two hours. Lucky we’d time up our sleeve and it just happened to be lunch time and the washing still needed to be done. All of that rounded out the time nicely and we were able to enter the lock though through one gate only. Once through Holt Lock, we travelled through the very pretty Shrawley Wood. There is a tiny stream called Dick Brook that joins the Severn about here and we were interested to read that in the seventeenth century, this little stream was made navigable to serve a forge deep in the woods. Several lock chambers were carved out of the sandstone and barges brought pig iron up to the doors of the forge. It was apparently easier to bring the iron to the wood than the wood to the iron. And then it was on to the Lincomb Lock, the very last manned lock we’ll traverse on our twelve week trip. There are only 40 odd locks to go and we’ve done five of those coming up the double staircase plus one, coming into our mooring in Stourport-on-Severn. We had a boat load of Norwegians (by their flag) follow us into the lower staircase because they couldn’t read the signage saying this is a no-no here as there’s no room in the upper pound for boats to pass. With a boat coming down out of the upper lock the pound got a little crowded. We had to ask them not to follow us in until we’d emerged from the top of the upper pair. I hope they understood why. A nice chap at the top lock helped us exit and told us to go beyond the basin through the York Street Lock to quieter moorings in the canal. So here we are. We’ve been for a walk up the high street and had our happy hour. Tuesday July 13 Stourport Above the TV is a plastic box belonging to the boat that was presented full of cleaning materials. Once these were stowed, the box became a receptacle for all of the brochures, books and booklets that we have acquired on our travels. We decided today it was time to tackle the task of culling and jettisoning and posting. This was duly done, with only one minor set-back. When it was all nicely taped up, we discovered the photo CD that we’d burned for the couple we travelled down the Thames with, was inside. Merde. Re-do. We wandered down to the Post Office with our 10.5kg box in Bill’s knapsack, only to find out it would cost half the price if we’d broken it up into 2kg parcels. With a ₤80 saving at stake this task was achieved at the parcel counter of the Post Office, then larder stocking and back to the boat. Wednesday July 14 Wednesday at Wolverley We headed out of Stourport to just beyond Kidderminster, only a few miles as the crow flies and only four locks, as we wanted to visit the station and see if we could book our train to Gatwick yet and to stock up on liquid refreshments as the Tescos in Kidderminster is canalside with moorings and you can wheel the trolley to your door. Not that we were going to be drinking a trolley full but we carefully calculated our next eight days consumption with a bit extra to have a drink with Will and Jane and the boys when we returned. As we left Stourport, the outskirts came quickly, considering its once busy role in the industry of the area. We saw remains of this everywhere. A canal arm going to nowhere (once a canal/railway interchange for goods), Pratt’s Wharf and its quaint bridge (the site of a former lock), canalside bridges in the middle of fields, their bricked up openings once leading to factories (now dismantled). We travelled through a wooded section where it was evident that sizeable branches of pollarded willows had been brought down by wind last winter and had obstructed the canal, but had since been removed by BW staff or their contractors. At the pretty Caldwall Lock, four contractors, two men and two women, presumably their partners, were working to clean up the lock and its surrounds, clipping ivy, mowing the verges, sanding the gate beams for painting and painting the over-bridge railings. One of the lock beams was missing its outer end and the chap explained that the local lads had tried to set fire to it recently. Like most boaters we just wanted to be in Kidderminster for as little time as possible. We remembered at Sharpness Linda saying “Promise me you won’t moor in Kidderminster”. We walked up the hill to the railway station and saw all the CCTV’s in the central city underpass had been ripped from their mountings, which reinforced the feeling. As it was, we needn’t have trudged all the way up the hill as the train journey we want is not yet open for bookings. The central part of the town is very old and tired and many of its buildings date from the early 1800’s and appear to have had very little maintenance. It is, of course, famous for carpet making and we passed two factories that continue production to the present day. New canalside apartments on the outskirts of town look more promising as a place to live, if you absolutely have to live there. The town appears to be a shopping Mecca. Bordering the canal and the river Stour which runs beside it, were clustered five separate supermarkets that we could see. The Tescos is open 24 hours and is bigger than the Hypermarket at home. Outside it, at the moorings, two employees were grappling for shopping trolleys in the canal. They retrieved two while we watched, found another and had yet to try for the one we ran over as we approached the mooring. Crunch, grate, grind. They said they usually retrieved about 15 trolleys per week. We had been the only boat at the mooring when we pulled up but there were six there when we returned. Two of us headed out together and at the first lock there were two boats waiting to come down so the alternating took some time. Kidderminster Lock nestles at the foot of the Cathedral in a very picturesque setting if you look north. If you look south you see a modern motorway running over the top of the two centuries old canal and almost burying the lock. The cathedral predates the canal by two centuries. Such a juxtaposition. We stopped for a late lunch at 2pm, having cleared the town and reached the charming Wolverley Court Lock, sitting in the middle of daisy strewn fields which were once the site of a sand extraction industry. From one of the wildflowers, blossoming in profusion by the canal, wafted a delicate honey perfume on a soft breeze. The sun was shining - bliss. We have moored early just outside Wolverley and will go for a stroll to the village later. We’ve decided to have our evening drink on the verandah of the quaint pub that overlooks the lock ahead of us. Just after we pulled up, a boat went by, wife at the bow ready to get out and open the lock, husband steering. From the husband to me, as they pass “’How’s your ‘holiday” (I had seen them at a previous lock and spoken briefly to the woman). “Fine thanks” says I. “You should have your American flag out tha back” says he. “We’re not Americans, we’re Australians” I hastened to reassure him. “A thousand pardons” he replied. “Accepted” called I cheerfully after him. Then he shouted at his wife at the front of the boat “You told me they were Americans; they’re not, they’re Australians” and she yelled back at him “Well she had a twang and I wasn’t sure what it was”. And off they tootled to the lock. There they spoke to Bill who’d been checking to see if the moorings were nicer on the other side of the lock. “Sorry”, said the chap to Bill, “my wife told me you were Americans”. “No, mate”, said Bill, “they’re the ones with the funny accents”. Thursday July 15 Beauty and the Beast Today’s plan was to travel up the Staffs and Worcs to the junction with the old canal arm up to Stourbridge (now a dead end) and then have a wander up that arm where I wanted to see the Red House Glass Cone, a glass factory open to the public. Glass and crystal is what Stourbridge is famous for and it is the home of Stuart crystal. At 7.30am we left Wolverley moorings which overnight had become a boater’s sanctuary. Last night we had heard the pleasant sound of steel on steel at dusk as pins were hammered in and people pulled up for the night. We passed through the lock and almost immediately were in some of the prettiest country we’ve seen. The canal was cut through red sandstone, which was resplendent with foxgloves and ferns, and garlands of ivy trailing down to the water. At Debdale lock there was an interesting, substantial cave in the red cliff face that is believed to have been carved out by navvies working on the canal and used as a shelter. At some sites the canal cutting was very narrow and deep, insufficient for boats to pass, known in the language of “the cut” as “rockins”. They are always very pretty and intimate. We passed very few boats, perhaps because we were out so early but those we did pass always seemed to be moored, as if their owners had just come out here in the countryside to sit in the sun and relax. We passed by an old factory, which appeared to be sitting out alone in the middle of a field, its Victorian sunburst windows and bricked up canal entrance reminding us of its prosperity at the height of the canal age. From the noise, there was still some sort of business operating from it. Its neighbouring factories were long since demolished. Passing through delightful woodlands with gnarled old oaks bordering the canal, we came upon Whittington lock, picture postcard pretty. Three houses with beautifully manicured lawns and gardens border the canal. I could easily live here (even though I spotted a salt box that reminded me its not always summer in England). We reached historic Kinver and took a stroll down the high street and back, looking at its seventeenth century half timbered houses and Victorian villas. We could have visited their ancient sandstone cave houses but declined the mile walk up a large hill after enquiring directions from the local postie. I was a little concerned that this delay in Kinver may have meant we’d miss out on a mooring when we reached Stourbridge, which you’ll see is a joke in itself when you reach the end of this report. Outside Kinver, we reached Dunsley tunnel, short as tunnels go, but complicated by the fact that there was another boat approaching from the opposite direction. As we were closest, the other skipper waved us on. Bet he regretted that as his wife ran them aground moving over for us and he couldn’t get off his boat to push off as, at that point, there were shoulder high nettles. I made an “Ouch” face at Bill who did the blinkers sign back at me, meaning, like Manuel “I know nothing”. At Wordsley Junction, two kids were fishing. As I took a photo of the turnoff sign above the head of one of them he said “You taking a picture of me?”, “No”, I replied, “of the sign above your head”. His question and my answer both had to be repeated before he understood my “Strine”. “That’s alright”, he said, “I thought you were taking a picture of me because I’m beautiful”. “No” I replied, “I was hoping to take a picture of the big fish you’d catch”. “I caught one already, not like him” (his mate), “he’s caught nothing”. “Are they edible”, I asked. “Edible, you mean eatable, nah” he replied. “Oh well” I said to Bill, “At least he’s not throwing shopping trolleys in the canal”. More on this subject later. As we approached Stourbridge, despite reassurances from Pearsons that “You could do worse than spend a night in Stourbridge”, a sense of foreboding came over both of us. Old rusting factories, new noisy factories, bricked up old canal entrees gaping blankly, razor wire, debris in the canal, smashed windows, graffiti - signs of mankind. Why did we come here? This is not what we imagined. Finally we reached the end of the line the wharf at Stourbridge. Hoping to get an overdue pump out here we heard sound of keys jangling and saw a chap locking up the wharf - at 3.15pm. Wait, wait. No, sorry, have to go and pick the kids up from school, can’t do it. But we’re desperate. OK I’ll ring my mate and see if he’ll come down. Yes he will. Ten minutes - good. Mate arrives, pump out achieved, offers moorings for the night (first impulse is to get the hell out of here). Calm down. Listen to his reassurances that you are safer here, locked up in their yard, than back at the junction, where he tells us the kids go to fish and when nothing is biting they trash your boat and set it adrift. I take back the kind remarks about the fishing kids. We decided to bite the bullet and stay here. So, here we sit, in downtown old industrial Stourbridge, behind a spiked picket fence, both quietly doubling our alcohol consumption. We may both be incapable of cooking dinner shortly and may have to use our BW key to escape to buy Chinese takeaway for tea. Friday July 16 Glass Country I woke, thinking to myself, if we have to be holed up in this God forsaken place, let’s take a look at what made it come into being - glass and crystal. I had picked up a brochure in our travels for The Red House Glass Cone, a massive brick cone, one of four out of forty remaining in Britain, used to house a furnace for glass making. The cone in Stourbridge has been converted to a tourist centre and museum. I talked Bill into a visit and we set of on the long hike there (just missed the bus at the stop up the road - not another for 20 minutes), leaving the boat in its safe razor wired moorings. The cone is a massive brick structure that looks like a big bottle. A furnace in its basement (coal loaded in from the canal, not the one we’re on, running beside it). This fire heated ten clay crucibles full of molten glass on the floor above and around these crucibles were arranged work stations called “chairs”, each staffed by 4-5 men who created the glass work in a wonderful co-operative team effort. Today the furnace is gas fired, the glass workers are artists in residence or rent studios on the premises, the superstructure is an AV guided museum and gallery, and of course there is the ubiquitous shop. We enjoyed the visit but I couldn’t talk Bill into a visit to the glass museum further on up the road. On the way back to the boat, however, I did my best to cajole Bill into every glass factory shop we passed (as you do, girls). We had to laugh as I, with Bill numbly in tow, went to the front of one establishment called The Glassworks, only to discover it was a pub. Once back at the boat we both decided we couldn’t handle another night in the depressing basin at Stourbridge and high-tailed it out of there to moorings at Greensforge which had been described in our guide as “delightful”. So here we are, below the lock, emerging from a shady cutting, a stand of tall silver birches to our left, a small holding to our right and the ever present pub up beside the lock. We thought we’d have another go at booking our Virgin Train tickets to Gatwick, having been told on three separate occasions at Worcester, Gloucester and Kidderminster, that that service wasn’t yet open for reservations. I talked first at length to a voice recognition machine - that was fun. It had not been programmed with Strine and kept saying “I don’t understand you, please repeat”. It was all I could do not to say desperately “Please, please let me talk to a person”, but then I realised how crazy that would sound, pleading with a machine. Finally I was put through to the newest recruit at the Vertex Agency in Dingwall, wherever that is, a lass called Fiona. The conversation went something like this: Fiona: “That service is not available.” Me: “What do you mean, not available?” Fiona: “It’s booked out.” Me: “How can it be, it wasn’t open for reservations two days ago.” Fiona: “Well it’s either booked out or it’s not running.” Me: “Which of those two is it.” Fiona: “Just a minute I’ll find out”... “It’s not available.” Me: (thinks - Oh shit - here we go round in circles) “When is the service before the 10.14.” Fiona: “8.19, but you’ll have to change at Watford.” Me: “OK, I’d like to book two first class tickets on the 8.19am service from Wolverhampton.” Fiona: “I’m sorry you can’t book first class tickets over the phone.” Me: “I beg your pardon?” Fiona: “You can only book a coach (economy) ticket and then you have to go to the station you’re leaving from and collect the tickets and upgrade there.” Me: (thinks - I don’t believe this) “But we’re on a narrow boat, miles from Wolverhampton.” Fiona: “Well that’s what you have to do.” Me: “I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous.” Fiona: “Well that’s what you have to do.” By this stage, with my free left hand I had made a small effigy of Richard Branson into which I was sticking long pins. Me (honey sweet voice): “Thank you very much.” Guess what we’re doing tomorrow? Yup, going to Wolverhampton. Progress This week Distance (miles) 29.5 Locks 29 Total Distance (miles) 737 Locks 564 The journey continues………

Chapter 11 – Week 10, R Severn Saturday July 3 Dr Foster went to Gloucester in a shower of rain… We set off optimistically through the Avon Lock as soon as we were able. This turned out to be around 9am as the lock is manned by volunteers from the LANT (Lower Avon Navigational Trust) and that is when they come on duty. The lock spans the narrow isthmus of land where the Avon and Severn run close by one another so once you are through the lock you are on the Severn, and an impressive river it is. You are given an idea of the sort of traffic it can carry when you enter its first lock, the Upper Lode Lock which is enormous. We pulled up at its mammoth entry gates where a red light was flashing. Bill set me down on a shaky wooden platform to scale up to the station of the lock keeper and find out the procedure. The keeper seemed a little peeved that I had done so, explaining that the red light meant he did not yet have the lock set for us and that it would turn green when he was ready and that there was no need to come to his office. I should have gathered that the shaky platform was a deterrent. He mellowed when I explained we were foreigners and didn’t know the system. He explained to me that he couldn’t let us through because we had a hire boat and because “There’s a tide today”. Now the significance of this statement eluded me until later. Being on a tidal river I’d have thought there was a tide every day - twice a day, in fact. He explained that to continue on the Severn now we’d have to sign an insurance waiver, and only the boat owner could do that, and no, a phone call from the owner would not suffice. “Oh dear”, said I, “it would have been nice if the chap at the Avon Lock had told us this”, the answer to which was “That’s a different river”. “Do tell”, thought I - or as the kids would say “No shit, Sherlock” (they learned that after they left home). He explained that we couldn’t proceed until 12midday and when I explained we couldn’t moor where we were and couldn’t loiter about on the river for three hours, he came up with a compromise to get us out of his hair. He said he’d let us through if we promised to stop at the first pub half a mile down river and wait until midday. I returned to the boat via the scrambling down the bank route and gave Bill the good news. With no other option, we entered the lock. The entry gates belied the size of the lock. As mentioned, it was the biggest lock we’d ever been in. You could conduct canoe races in it. I had some trouble attaching our bow rope as I couldn’t get close enough to the vertical wire system (as in Limehouse Lock on the Thames). This impressed Bill no end and when he’d attached his rope but not secured it to the boat and then tried to swing the bow around so I could grab mine, which in turn pulled his rope almost out of his hands, all the while giving him nightmares about ropes around props. As it was, the fill turbulence took the bow to the wall and I was able to attach my rope then. The keeper then lowered us a bucket on a rope containing instructions about entering Gloucester Lock. All was then explained about the tide. Apparently, when the tide at Sharpness, at the mouth of the Severn, is greater than 7.6metres, then the effects of the tide reach upstream to the Upper Lode Lock, hence his statement “There’s a tide today”. So here we are at the pub, filling in time until midday, writing this, reading and having an early lunch. Something tells me today will definitely be a day for dinner out, when we finally reach Gloucester. On the dot of midday, we set out from the aforementioned pub (to which we didn’t repair as we wanted to keep out wits about us for the trip to Gloucester). The rain in the rhyme came across in periodic fairly heavy bursts, just to add to Bill’s comfort at the tiller. We had been told that the approach to the Gloucester lock is hairy. As you approach it there is a long brick wall and from it dangle chains in a scalloping fashion. As the current sweeps you past these you have to bring your boat to the wall (and stay there), grasp the chain and tie your boat to it, slipping into neutral as you do so (but not before or you’d lose your steering power). It is important that the stern rope is done first as, if you fixed the bow first, the current would sweep the stern around and then the current would tip you over and bury you under the debris it is carrying downstream (I have pictures of substantial portions of trees floating by us, on this big tide today). We knew that somewhere on our journey downstream, that there was a sign with the number of the Gloucester Lock Keeper and an instruction to phone them from this point. Now I just happened to be taking a photo of a charming pub and promising we’d stop there on our way back, when we realised that the sign was there. Fortunately I had pen and paper in my pocket at the ready and copied it down while Bill called it out. Then I called to let them know we were five miles out. “Tha’s fine”, said the voice, “you’ll be abou’ three qaartas of un hour, but ye’ll huv ta look ou’ fa robbie’s”. Just as I was about to say, “Robbie, who’s Robbie”, the voice said “ya, thar’s logs ‘n robbie(sh) cumin’ down wi’ tha tide. Jus take it slow like”. “Thank you”, said I, muffling a chuckle “we will”. (I am sure the accent was Scottish so you’ll have to read this in your best Scots voice to enjoy it). I asked Bill how he’d like me to report his entry into Gloucester Lock, which happened after we’d been clinging anxiously to the chains for twenty minutes. He replied “There was nothing the matter with my entry into the lock. It’s what I did after that that was the problem.” He took us in very nicely on the left, but not quite close enough to the lock wall and then the incoming current swept us away from it. This meant that I couldn’t get my bow rope into the hook on a rope that the lock keeper was dangling down the twenty foot side of the lock wall, like a big fishing line So Bill then had to bring the bow closer which he finally did and my rope trick was achieved. Then, while I held the bow fast, he had to bring the stern in. Unfortunately he was so overwhelmed by the whole thing, (including the twenty or so gongoozlers looking down at us), that he did the reverse of what you should do. I might add that in the whole journey he’s never done this before but I have at least three times. Bill said he just looked up at the lock keeper beseechingly who then called down the correct instruction and all went well. The lock was so deep that it took twenty minutes to fill. Finally we emerged into the basin, took the first mooring we saw, moored up and made a cuppa. I asked Bill if he was exhausted and he said, with a grin, “Only in the head.” We have been for a stroll around the docks and town. Tried to visit the splendid cathedral but there was an ordination service about to start so it was closed to the public. Perhaps tomorrow. There is an excellent Waterways Museum which we’ll see in the morning and heaven on a stick, a four story warehouse of antiques. Bill will go and see the military museum while I do the antique thing (we know our limitations). We have treated ourselves to a pleasant Indian meal tonight and are tucked up tight for the night in our cosy wee boat. Sunday July 4 Museums and History I finally dragged my lazy bones out of bed at 9.30am - my best effort yet. I had woken earlier, attended to the necessaries, returned to bed with a cuppa from William, read my book for a bit then thought I’d just have a little snuggle in for a while - and the rest was history. Vaguely I heard gulls wheeling and screeching, boat motors, church bells and lock bells but chose to sink back into my slumberous stupor. The National Waterways Museum was the first stop for today and we were there shortly after it opened at 10am. As we neared the end of the third floor we realised it was 1pm. The displays were excellent and they tied together well, the relationship between sea-based shipping coming up the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal into the Gloucester Docks, with the canal based distribution of goods throughout the country. It even featured the canals part in the construction of the railways, which in turn, led to the destruction of the canal transport system. We saw film footage that we’d never seen before on the renewed interest in the canals as a leisure venue in the 50’s after their nationalisation in 1948. Then it was back to the boat for lunch after which we decided to do our own thing. I went off to the four storey antique warehouse (where I found very few things to tempt me) and Bill went off to the Museum of the Gloucestershire Regiments. He says he enjoyed it very much, especially a chat with the chap on the desk who was an ex-member of the regiment and very interested in Bill’s experiences in Vietnam. In typical fashion I returned to the boat immediately after closing time at the antique warehouse, clutching only a small perfume bottle as a memento of my visit. Monday July 5 Cathedrals and Canals As we had promised ourselves, this morning we went in search of the library as it’s been three weeks since we’ve been able to find a library that’s open, that has internet access, computers with USB ports and ones that will let us use our reader. On the latter point we don’t even mention it now as some of the librarians are so paranoid about viruses they wont let you use a removable hard drive even if their hardware and software will support it. We can tell whether the machines have USB ports as they are standard Government issue and all look the same so once we are granted access, we just plug in. Anyhow, today we had success in Gloucester. Those tasks done, we wandered off down the “via sacre” to Gloucester Cathedral. This is a truly amazing and very beautiful yellow stone building which is used fully by the community to this day. They have volunteer guides present every day and we struck a grand dame in her late 70’s who was so switched on and knew all her dates - she was a delight. There are three major chapels and at least eight smaller ones, including three, one story up. The vaulted ceilings were splendid and the organ reputedly one of the finest in Europe. The Lavatorium, the monks’ communal washing area, was still totally intact with its stone trough and carved recess for their towels and clothes - outdoors in the Cloisters - nippy in winter. The Norman lead font, c1140, which was given to the Cathedral in 1940, is in use to this day for baptisms. The gloriously decorated tower was built from 1450 to 1457. Once again, I thought, “If these flagstones could only talk.” There were other museums and galleries in and around Gloucester that we could have spent days viewing but we felt a need for some wind in the hair and set off this afternoon for Saul Junction, on our way to Sharpness. Last weekend, Saul Junction hosted a “Folk on the Canals” Festival and by all accounts it was a major happening. Apparently a narrow boat caught fire. We saw its burnt out hulk at the local boat builders. They were still packing up from the Festival and moorings were still not what you’d call plentiful (we had to moor half a mile from the junction). On our way to Saul we went through four manned swing bridges which had to be rotated parallel with the canal before we could be signaled through. The R Severn and the Gloucester and Sharpness Canal are the only places where we’ve seen traffic lights on the water. They are common on this canal and there are several more tomorrow. This afternoon, we took a stroll down the disused arm of the Stroudwater Canal (which predates this canal by almost fifty years) to a little village called Wheatenhurst and looked at the local manor house and nearby church, the tower of which had 1844 on it but the central part of the church, made of rough hewn stone, is obviously much older. In the morning when we move on, there is another little hamlet I want to walk to, called Frampton-on-Severn, which the guide book says is drop dead gorgeous. With no locks for exercise it’s good to stretch our legs. Tuesday July 6 Sunshine at Sharpness We woke to a wonderful summer’s day with not a cloud in the sky and a promise of temperatures befitting the time of year. We passed through Saul Junction, having moored short of it the night before and at the third swing bridge which marked access to Frampton-on-Severn, we moored to go and have a look at the village, which was written up in the canal guide as a spot of country heaven. We came upon the village with its central green with cricket pitch and club, and surrounding manor house, thatched cottage, ivy covered pub and general store with post office annexe out the back. Once in the store I asked directions to the nearest cash point. “We’ve got one”, the lady said proudly. “Oh good”, thought I…“ but it don’t work”, she said, and went on…“but just so long as you can tell Agnes your PIN number, she can probably get you some money. It won’t cost nothing to ask”. “Thank you, said I, but we’ll probably leave it until Sharpness” (Sharpness didn’t even have one, let alone one that didn’t work). As we passed along the Gloucester and Sharpness canal, which I might add, is a splendidly wide and deep body of water that deceives you into thinking it’s a river, the Severn meandered lazily along through its valley to our right, with picturesque, part farmed and part wooded uplands beyond - a true sense of wide open spaces that we’ve felt more here than anywhere else on our travels. Along the canal, we travelled for some considerable distance behind a large barge belonging to The Willow Trust which was taking a group of disabled children and their carers on an outing. The kids were up in the wheel house having a whale of a time steering the boat (with the captain near at hand). Bill just fell in quietly behind them and we watched as they waltzed from one side of the canal to the other. About two miles down the track the captain realised we were there and pulled over so we could pass. All in the name of good fun. The sunshine was, by this time, causing the British men to go bare chested and put up the beach umbrellas and the women to don their bikinis and take to the li-los. We, I might add, had only just shed our jumpers, but later in the day, gave the shorts their first airing since the Thames. On this canal there are quite a number of manned swing bridges and, at a hamlet called Purton, there are two in quick succession on a right angled corner. At the approach to the first the view of the keeper’s station, and presumably his view of the entire canal, is obscured by two young trees so it was quite some time while we sat midstream in neutral before our presence was recognised. During this time we drifted towards the bridge and then had to reverse and having limited steerage in reverse and no bow thrusters, we were carried to the left bank, quite the wrong side to be on to pass other craft, let alone on a corner. There was little we could do to correct the situation at this stage so we sat tight while two cruisers came towards us and passed us, then we went through. Now hire boats are apparently a rarity on this canal because the access is through tidal waters and there are insurance issues, and either our performance or presence respectively upset or impressed the old keeper that he came out and took our picture. I was tempted to take a picture of him taking a picture of us but I restrained myself. We arrived at Sharpness, not knowing what to expect. The feeling was a little like that at Ellesmere Port. Ghosts of a magnificent, very busy, commercially vibrant shipping industry were everywhere. Silos, grand locks (several in disuse), empty warehouses, silent cranes, rusting hulls abound. There is a small community here, a fertilizer bagging company, boat builders, a scrap metal company and a boating fraternity. We went for a two hour ramble around it all and got the feel of how it used to be. The grandness of the river persists and somehow compensates for the slow degradation of the man made imprint. There are two magnificent stone pylons either side of the canal on the approach to Sharpness. They are the remnants of a splendid railway bridge across the Severn which was demolished one night in the 1960’s when two oil freighters mistook the river for the lock and tried to proceed upstream. The remains of nine of the pylons can be seen at low tide and allow you to imagine how impressive the bridge would have been. To our surprise and delight, the very pleasant couple, Linda and Keith, we’d met during our “detention” at the pub mooring, waiting for the tide two days ago, were here, so we strolled up to say hello. They were a wealth of information about the area and at happy hour we shared a drink with them. After dinner, they came to our boat and we chatted until after 11pm about boats and boating, sharing lots of laughs, especially about taking a ducking or “taking a look”. Wednesday July 7 Thermals, Gales and Delays We woke, pretending to ignore the weather forecast. Yes it was overcast and the windows were cold to the touch and yes, the grass was bending at 30degrees to the vertical outside those windows. But hey, the sun had shone yesterday and we’d been in short sleeves hiking around clutching bottles of mineral water, hadn’t we? Surely it was just a temporary setback. Wrong. So on with the thermals, heavy jumpers and wind jackets (the locals condescended to a light “cardi”). With no sunshine to enjoy we decided to try to make it back to Frampton-on-Severn for their Farmers’ Market, on from 9-12am on Wednesdays. We needn’t have rushed. Admittedly we arrived in the last half hour but the market needs an injection of some good PR work and more stall holders. The setting is delightful, in the old half timbered barn of the manor house, off the village green, but the presentation is sadly lacking. I think I’d be a regular Audrey Forbes-Hamilton if I lived in a village like that It being lunch time and considering our disappointment, we thought we’d repair to the pub for some of their famed sausages, on a nice baguette, we fantasise by way of compensation, you understand. The front door was strangely closed for an establishment that advertised an 11am opening so we found a side door (many of the pubs here have two entrances - the side one in case the wind is blowing) and were just about to enter when two men carrying a large door came out and the first said, “Not open today”. That was it. No explanation. No apology. No “kiss me foot”. Nothing. And on market day to boot. So we returned to the boat with our meager purchases, which fortunately included a pack of smoked salmon and some trout pate, popped a couple of those finish-off-the-cooking-yourself baguettes in the oven, pulled out the salad goodies and created our own feast. The weather by now was showing signs of going down hill. The clouds were rolling in and the wind was increasing. By one- thirty, as we went through Sandford swing bridge, the lady keeper told us they were having problems with the wind at the Saul Junction bridge (getting the bridge closed again), to which we’d come next. She warned us there may be delays. She did not warn us (nor could she have known) that these delays would last three hours. So there we sat, trying to read, eating out of boredom, jumping up every time we heard a noise, to see if anything was happening (helped by too many cups of coffee). Finally I heard a faint winding noise and they were doing a final opening for the day, even though the wind was as bad as it had been all day. We rather think the poor lady didn’t have enough muscle around before then to help her get the bridge closed again. Then we and two other boats were off at almost full throttle to keep steering power. The wind was so powerful it threatened to blow our caps off so we switched to beanies. The rain held off until 6pm when we arrived at Sellars Bridge where there were moorings and a pub. It was still two hours to Gloucester and the bridges stop operating at 7pm. When the keeper shouted to us from the bridge that there wasn’t much in the way of moorings left in Gloucester, we decided to call it a day. As we tried to drop the boat back into a space in front of a big cruiser, the wind took our bow and threatened to spin us across the canal so Bill completed the circle and came in again. With the help of the cruiser folk who kindly took our ropes and moored us in, we are now firmly attached to the bank by three sturdy ropes attached to rings. We indulged in a drink at the pub then back to the boat for an hour with the heater on, a curry and hot baths. If we weren’t so tired we’d have lit the fire too. Thursday July 8 Escaping the G&S Canal The rain drops on the window in the morning weren’t a good sign. The Bureau had promised more of the same as yesterday’s weather for today so if the pattern was recognisable, it would be overcast in the morning, the wind would get up in the afternoon and when it dropped at night, the rain would come. This led to a plan. Let’s be at the fourth bridge when it opens at 9am (the three before we could boat under). Making better time than we expected we arrived too early and had to wait twenty minutes or so before it opened and we were way too early again when we reached the big Llanthony drawbridge at the entrance to Gloucester basin. Content to moor outside, we busied ourselves getting water and disposing of rubbish and cleaning the odd bit of seagullsh off the boat and then began the long hike to the railway station. The end of our boating adventure has been sneaking into our thoughts and we reluctantly realised we must do something about booking our train from Wolverhampton to Gatwick for our three days on Jersey, the finale of our trip. That task done (or sort of done as reservations for that day are not yet open), it was restock the larder on the way back to the boat. Walking down the high street in the cold about midday, a rather wonderful aroma reached our nostrils and we realised it was coming from the Homemade Cornish Pastie Shop - instant lunch on arrival back at the boat. Just then the drawbridge began to open but we decided not to rush and we’d catch the next opening in 45 minutes - big mistake in hindsight, except that we got to chat at length to some nice people who were also in the three hour hold-up due to the wind at Saul Junction yesterday. They spend five months a year on their boat and the chap said when it’s near time to go, he gets all edgy and eager and impatient. When we did finally go through the drawbridge into the basin, we didn’t moor as we thought it wouldn’t be long before entry into the lock but the lock keeper was waiting for and bringing in boats that were hanging on the chains in the river as we had done, so we had to spend 45 minutes waiting in the basin with nowhere to moor. Bill managed this idling beautifully considering that the wind wanted us to be somewhere else. Finally it was our turn and we were the only boat waiting. The keeper apologized for the delay “but what you can do” as a Lebanese friend of ours would say. And then it was away up the Severn. Bill did all the early tortuous part of the river and then we reached “lower parting” where the first mates used to take over from the expert captains on the big vessels coming up the river, and the river becomes wide and relatively straight. This is called “the long reach”. Seeing this nice big wide stretch of water, I volunteered to do a bit of driving. Despite the cold and the biting wind it was a very pleasant experience and I continued up past Haw Bridge, driving for about an hour. During that time I persuaded Bill to set a fire in the stove and I’m sitting beside it now, with a nice wine, having reached our moorings for the evening at Lower Lode. This is the place we had to wait for the tide to be right on the way down and where we first met Linda and Keith. Some other folk have just joined us on the floating pontoon, and we’ve moved up to the very end and a second boat has moved back so the third can fit in. Predictably, the rain has begun. Friday July 9 Up to Upton-on-Severn Is that sunshine I see? But on further inspection, the wind is still with us, and was especially felt as we drove into it. We have reached the last two weeks of our trip and have time on our hands to dawdle back to Brewood. As a result, our goal for today was just to reach Upton-on-Severn, a couple of hours away. This part of the upper Severn is very pretty. We passed very few boats on the trip up and found a lovely mooring just waiting for us at the floating pontoon. To put joy in my heart, it was market day and all the little stalls had their stripy covers fluttering on the river bank above us. The market was a true Farmer’s Market and there was a wine maker, baker, pie maker, sausage maker, butcher and fruit and veggie growers among others. So we are replete with wonderful fresh raspberries, which we’ve been feasting on of late (delicious), a chunky meat pie for tea, with home grown veggies and egg custard tart for pud. We had a lovely stroll through the village - up one side of the high street and down the other. Many of the houses are very old (16th and 17th century) lovely old rickety half timbered structures with diminutive doors and low beamed ceilings, and later ones with their Dickensian bow-fronted windows, right on the footpath, and quaint little alleys between the buildings to courtyards at the back. The village is probably the most preserved in total of all we’ve seen, and quite delightful. There was not a supermarket in sight and all produce was sold from these tiny little ancient two room shops. Pubs abounded (we saw six) along with tea rooms and in all, the sense of community was very strong. We have decided to stay the night here. This allowed us to have a wonderful afternoon read and a nap. This evening the weather has remained fine and some lovely young people have pulled up beside us and asked to breast up. They are getting married tomorrow. They are having the service at nearby Painswick in the Cotswolds and the reception at one of the nearby castles. They have all their mobile phones buzzing with last minute arrangements and have repaired to the pub to consolidate these. We’ve promised not to wake them too early when we slip away in the morning. Progress This week Distance (miles) 86 Locks 7 Total Distance (miles) 707.5 Locks 535 The journey continues………

As you will discover in the last chapter we have bought our own boat and plan to cruise 12 to 15 weeks each year so we may catch up sometime in the future,

kawaton I am honoured to be the recipient of your cherry and so pleased you are enjoying the diary of our travels. There are another 3 chapters to go which I will post before we leave on our next 12 week cruise beginning on 02/04. We are using a different airline this time, one that has a scheduled stop in Dubai, so hopefully there will be no dramas on the trip. We are getting very excited at the prospect of our 2005 cruise. Cheers

Chapter 10 – Week 9, StratfordCanal/Cotswolds/River Avon Saturday June 26 Patience with the Ancient After Lowsonford and our self indulgent interlude at the Fleur-de-Lys last night, we woke to an overcast day with forebodings of rain, and headed out on our way to Stratford on Avon. The guide book said this would be some of the prettiest English countryside we’d see, and so it was, with farmlands and their big houses, the last vestiges of the Forest of Arden and Yarningale Common. The locks and their barrel roofed cottages were built around 1805 and this area was the first to be made navigable when the waterways took on their new recreational purpose after the war. We travelled over three aqueducts, the largest of which, Edstone Aqueduct, spanned a river, a road and two railway lines. Rather like Poncysyllte in Wales though not as grand. The smallest aqueduct was hidden in the wood in Yarningale Common, over a stream and by a charming lock cottage and farm - such a delightful surprise to come upon it. There were ancient tiny bridges over farm access roads, just wide enough for a car over and a boat under. Many of the bridges were of the quaint iron type, split in the middle like a drawbridge so the rope to the horse could pass through without having to undo its harness. Others were of brick and stone and so narrow there were only inches either side of the boat. Where a bridge spanned the canal as we left a lock, it was often so low that Bill had to duck to avoid hitting his head. The locks themselves were a proportionate miniaturization of their big more modern brothers on the Grand Union, but much older and frailer, and much patched and repaired. These were the equivalent of the frail elderly in the human world. Their paddle mechanisms rattled, their chambers leaked, they filled slowly and you had to make allowances for them - wait patiently for them to empty, leave paddles up during filling that you would normally close to compensate for the leaks, try not to bump into their edges and move their old lumbering gates slowly and only when they were ready. I loved it all and chose to walk the few miles (thinking also of last night’s venison pie) and do the seven locks. At Wooten Wawen we went to look at an old mill that had been converted to a craft centre and its stables into studios and individual shops. It was all beautifully presented but nothing I fancied would fit in the suitcase. From the farm shop we did buy a quiche which, when popped in the oven, served nicely for lunch. And then, in the afternoon, the rains came down. We pushed on despite it but when we reached Wilmcote and we knew that ahead of us lay the seventeen locks into Stratford-on-Avon, we decided to call a halt and bed down early for the night. We got out of our wet clothes, showered, knocked up a red chicken curry with rice and naan bread, lit the fire and relaxed and watched a wonderful documentary about the Great Fire of London. Sunday June 27 Bill and the Drink The morning started well enough. A leisurely push off at 8am from Wilmcote and through the first and second locks, Lynn on locks, Bill on tiller. At the third lock, because the second had been a bit of a stinker, Bill drove the boat into the lock and then hopped off to open one of the front paddles to help me and then he was going to jump back on the boat before it began to lower in the lock. Meanwhile I was at the back of the boat closing the back gate and was about to go forward to open the left hand paddle. The next thing I heard was Bill shouting “Help, Lynn....” The bugger was in the drink—again, for heaven’s sake. There he was, in the lock, which fortunately was still full as no paddles were open, clinging to the side wall and not able to pull himself up out of the water. I tried to pull him out and between the two of us with me on my backside on the lock verge and Bill making several heaving motions up over the lip of the lock he managed to get enough of his body out of the water to bring the rest out. The right hand lock edge had been replaced in recent times with concrete, which for some unknown reason, was beveled downwards on its inner third. Bill was wearing casual slip-ons and was walking along the lock edge to keep his shoes dry, when his foot turned on the bevel and in he went, sustaining a very nasty smack under the left side of his jaw in the process. His chin is twice its normal size, all swollen and shiny and abraided. It looks like I’ve given him a decent right upper cut. His right rib margin is aching somewhat and I suspect this may worsen in the next few days as ribs do. We got ourselves out of the lock and I took us into the next one while Bill showered and put on new clothes. He was under strict orders to stay on the boat as he looked a little staggery. However further down the line he was able to do the last four locks as we came into Stratford-on-Avon, marred only by my running the boat aground in the pound as I moved over to pass an upcoming boat. I managed to get myself off with guidance shouted from Bill on shore, a little leverage with the long pole and a good lock full of water from above. We moored just outside the basin then went to explore. In the basin at least half a dozen moorings remained, it being just before lunch time and we made a snap decision to move the boat and put ourselves in the centre of the action, for better or worse. The “worse” is noise factor but you can get that wherever you are, but as we were near the beer garden of a pub at the initial site we didn’t think it could get any worse. Bill did a wonderful, very precise approach to and entry of the boat into the mooring. We have our very own (ours and any one who wants to moor next to us) pontoon in the basin. There were many hundreds of people out enjoying the sunshine, with a brass band and some street theatre and a craft market. I zoomed through my mountain of washing (easy when there’s a craft market in the offing) and then we had a very pleasant afternoon wandering about. We paid a visit to the tourist information centre to get our licence for the river so we can go on to Tewkesbury and Gloucester, where there is the National Waterways Museum. I am still pressing for my two days in the Cotswolds. On our travels we have been, or will be, so close - Lechlade in the south, Oxford in the east, Stratford-on-Avon in the north and Gloucester in the west. Bill wants to wait until Gloucester but I’m concerned it will be put on the low priority list if we do that. I‘ll go to the tourist information centre in the morning and suss it out. It will mean hiring a car and moving the boat to longer term moorings but it’s something I really want to do. We have restocked our larder though we are keeping the provisions low as we enter our last four weeks. We have just eaten a fairly disgusting supermarket pizza (our first) for tea and have declared it will be our last. The obligatory afternoon shower has been and gone and now the evening is fine. Or at least I thought so. Now it’s raining again - no the sun is out. That’s British weather for you. Monday June 28 Shakespeare Country A beautifully peaceful evening in Bancroft Basin, known locally simply as the basin. Woke briefly at 6.30am then had a delicious snooze in until 8am, something I never do at home - I’m putting it on my “must do” list in retirement (along with an afternoon read and an evening walk). Greeted by blue skies and sunshine. We then did a review of things we needed and wanted to do. To see something of Stratford on Avon, including a theatre tour (the closest I’ll get Bill to a Shakespearean play), haircuts for the both of us, investigate Cotswolds tour, library for emails, Post Office for boxes for posting things home, a new gas gun etc. Bombed out on the theatre tour (sorry, none today, very busy with rehearsals). We are both sporting new No 2 haircuts. Bill says we can spare two days to do some of the Cotswolds so we a have a car booked for the morning at 9am and have a booklet (obtained with difficulty from a Basil Fawlty type lady at the Tourist Info place across the road) and two guide books bought from the local interest sections in local bookstores when Mrs. Basil didn’t come across with anything very useful. Bill says we’d need a week to see the place in the sort of detail I like to do it in so we have compromised by planning to do a smaller area in good detail. We had success at the post office and with the gas gun and also bought Bill a new pair of shoes to replace the ones that went in the drink. Bill tracked down the lock keeper and, without any protest from the chap, obtained permission to leave the boat where it is until Thursday. To satisfy the sightseeing urge in the time available, we then decided to do a Stratford Tour. Had a good look over Anne Hathaway’s Cottage and then Mary Arden’s House (W.S.’s mother) as well as a drive around the streets of town. Would liked to have see Halls Croft but ran out of time. Splurged on a wonderful Indian meal tonight, we both think, probably the best we’ve had. Then home to pack our nonexistent bags for our trip. I’m taking a Sainsbury’s plasticized canvas shopping bag and Bill the bag the new shoes came in today. Bet that’ll really impress the owners of the B&B. Tuesday June 29 Out in the Cotswolds with the OAP’s Today we became land lubbers, packing our needs for our two day trip into the Cotswolds into a variety of strange receptacles and walking to the station with them to collect our car, a little silver 1.6L Ford Focus, that we only discovered was manual after we’d done all the paper work and fastened our seatbelts. We are so used to automatic cars it never occurred to either of us to ask. However Bill said he’d cope so off we went, wending our way around the one-way circuit of Stratford and out of the city. Our introduction to the Cotswolds was Chipping Camden (“chipping” means market) and I for one, was bowled over. These villages are all made of beautiful local yellow stone and date from the 16th century onwards. Chipping Camden’s stone Market Hall in the main street dates from 1627 and when you look at the cobbles in its floor and think about the people who have walked on them it’s goose bump stuff. In the early 20th century when the profits from wool declined, there arose here an Arts and Craft movement and its legacy persists today. We visited the studio of a silversmith and the shops of a stainless steel artist and a glass artist. I knew we were in farming country when Bill emerged from the public loo chortling about a sign in there that said “Please don’t wash muddy boots in the urinal or hand basin”. We travelled through Broad Camden, Blockley and Bourton-on-the-Hill arriving in Moreton-in-Marsh at lunchtime. It was Market Day, and the place was teeming with old age persons, or OAP’s as they are called here. They were there by the coach load, and I’m talking about twenty coaches. We strolled through the market after having the obligatory lunch at the pub as we’d cornered a park in their parking lot. The church in the main street has a bell that rang as an evening curfew signal without missing a day, from 1633 to 1860. Curfew means cover the fires, I discovered. Then on to the piece de resistance - Lower Slaughter. Absolutely amazing. I think it’s the prettiest little town I’ve ever seen. The manor house which dates from 1670, has been made into the most spectacular hotel (heaven knows what its tariff would have been but I’d loved to have stayed there.). A mill stream runs through the village and there is a restored mill at the end of the town. Lower Slaughter has not allowed any new construction (repairs only) since 1904 and so is magnificently preserved. Upper Slaughter, a mile up the hill has similar buildings but does not seem to have the careful cohesion that Lower Slaughter does. I’d heard good things about Bourton-on-the-Water, a very pretty village with the River Windrush running through the centre and I’m sure it would have been wonderful-minus about three thousand people. We visited the miniature Cotswold village, constructed in 1937, which was remarkable but showing a need for a little maintenance. Then tried to venture into the attractive village centre but finally succumbed to the pressure of the crowd and retreated to the car. At nearby Naunton we visited the largest dovecote in the UK, dating from 1600. This is essentially an attractive stone shed with an entrée in the roof for the birds and inside, some 1176 niches (rather like in the wall at a crematorium), in which the birds nest, protected from predators, (except man, who supplemented his diet with their meat and eggs). Pushed on to Cheltenham for the night where Bill found a nice hotel with a restaurant where we had a pleasant meal. Tomorrow we explore the area south-east of here. Wednesday June 30 The Charm of the Cotswolds Before leaving Cheltenham, we journeyed across town to see the Pittville Pump Room, a wonderful Regency colonnaded stone and copper domed building from 170 years ago when the local wealthy, including Royalty, came to “take the waters”. Then it was on to the Roman Villa near Chedworth, travelling through the little villages of Dowdeswell and Withington, all in the same yellow stone, with buildings dating back to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The roads were very narrow (one car only) with occasional pull-offs for passing. At one stage we were going up a hill and met a local red bus coming down. We had to back down to a farm gate at the bottom to allow the bus through. In the valley we were travelling along there was a tributary of the river Coln and, like a lot of the Cotswolds, was devoted to sheep rearing. The number of sheep they graze to an acre is astounding. And still the grass grows faster than the sheep can eat it. The sheep here have splendid fleece and allegedly are the descendants of crosses of the hardy local sheep with those brought by the Romans. Interestingly, they are not docked and don’t seem to have the problems ours would in the same state. Just as we drove into the car park of the Roman Villa a deer darted across the road in front of us and into the woods. We spent and interesting hour exploring all the excavations. The mosaics were fantastic as were the bathhouse remains (though not as splendid as those in Bath). Groups of school children were especially well catered for with interesting interactive talks by National Trust volunteers, dressing up and role play. From there we roamed the country lanes across to Bibury, which sported a seventeenth century Mill (converted to a mill museum), a trout farm and an eighteenth century hotel, so we were treated to history, nature and sustenance. At the trout farm we fed the fish and it was an angler’s dream (you could actually pay to fish if you wished and they would cook your catch at their restaurant). The water fairly boiled with fish. Thus inspired, we went across the road to the hotel and the fish fed us as trout almondine. At Filkins, a little further to the east (more country lanes), we found the one remaining working woolen mill in the Cotswolds. They made the most beautiful things and I could have done a serious amount of damage to the Visa card without much provocation. (Bill’s note: read as “did a bit of damage”). They had a doona cover made with soft cream colour on one side and a cream and grey hounds tooth on the other and it was cashmere (such decadence) - I resisted. Over lunch we’d discussed returning to the boat tonight rather than staying at a B&B as we had to have the car back by 9am anyway. By phone we arranged to do this after hours and so could wander slowly back to Stratford. We wandered back through, Burford, Chipping Norton and had afternoon tea at Shipston-on-Stour. As we reached Stratford we filled the car, stopped at the basin to deliver our gear to the boat and then while I unpacked, Bill returned the car and walked back. We’ve run the motor for a while to heat water for our showers and in the morning we’ll go through the basin lock and onto the Avon. We estimate it will take us two days to get to Gloucester. We’re told that getting in there can be a bit of sport with the speed of the current. Hope all goes well as Bill’s chin is now a nice shade of purple and we don’t need any more injuries – at least people know not to mess with me. Thursday July 1 Floating down the Avon The term “floating” is deliberate as we are now on the R. Avon and travelling with the current, so at times, especially when I am at the bow, and can’t hear the engine, it seems like we are floating down the river. The Avon is certainly more rural than the Thames, a bit less “tamed”, and I must say I enjoyed it. Bill had to slow for a hundred fishermen but they all seemed to appreciate it. There were fishing platforms constructed on the banks about every fifty yards - it would be an interesting journey on the weekend. We traversed twelve locks and hardly noticed. We picked up with a family on a hire boat at the second lock and travelled down with them through all but the last lock. They were Kiwis - grandparents and son and wife and three boys, from about twelve down to five. The women never appeared above decks but the son and the boys, who live in England and only see the grandparents every three years, were having a good time, doing “the boy thing” with Grandpa. At one of the locks there were three boats queued to come in after us, two of them manned by young men who looked like students and the third boat by a couple our age. As all three of their boats fitted in the lock and there were six lads (all clutching stubbies) to work the locks, the couple had had nothing to do and said they would be sorry to see the boys leave them at Stratford. The boys even helped us with our entry and egress. We similarly, had to lose our NZ family after the second last lock to go and get fuel in the marina. The last lock of the day, into Evesham, is manned and you can moor by the lock for what amounts to a donation. We have chosen to do this, beside a little wood. The guide book tells us there are moorings in town but ten to one if we go there, there would not be one available. Although we have only done sixteen miles today and twelve locks, and not gone as far as we would have liked, it is 4.30pm and time for “happy hour”. We know to go on at this time is not clever. We’ve walked up to the local small supermarket and bought some essentials and will stay here for the night by the lock and the weir. The weir is interesting as there are hundreds of Canada geese perched along its spillway, feeding on some sort of weed growing there. Friday July 2 White water on the Avon We left our little mooring by the wood below the lock keepers cottage in Evesham and discovered, around the bend, very elegant public park side moorings in the centre of town. Isn’t that always the way. However they had one deterrent and that was a busy noisy road running parallel with the river so perhaps we did well with our protected little mooring. We travelled through some very pretty country and through two (among six for the day) locks with the unlikely names of Chadbury and Fladbury. Nearly every little town today has had a river side mill which has now been converted for residential use. We have passed by several big manor houses and the some of the bridges have been 14th (at Pershore) and 16th century (at Eckington). It’s an incredible feeling to pass under them and think about the history they have seen. The Cavaliers tried to demolish the one at Pershore as they escaped from the Battle of Worcester in 1651. We passed by two hand drawn ferries and saw one of them, just after a lock we were turning into, being used by a man who was hauling himself across the river. Everywhere today, we have been reminded that we are travelling through a flood plain. There are old reminders like the 1881 flood banks at Fladbury (ineffective a number of times, resulting in a flooding of the village) and new reminders like six foot mooring posts with sliding rings at the base, mobile homes on five foot Besser block stumps and markers on the wall at every lock of the April 1998 flood when the river breeched its banks after only 24 hours of torrential rain. The weather today has been a little unkind to us in sending a pesky wind that, at its peak, created white caps on the Avon. We saw very little traffic as a result but many moored boats, cruisers and narrow boats alike - they obviously don’t have a date with Gloucester tomorrow. We have passed many fisherman and even more numerous fishing platforms belonging to the fishing clubs of the area. We saw one chap landing a fish, about the size of a WA pilchard, and we’re sure he was trying his hardest to keep it under water until we had passed. To our amusement today, we passed a little hamlet with the unlikely name of Wyre Piddle. Seemed somehow to bear an association with the aftermath of a prostate operation, especially as the little stream nearby was called Piddle Brook and an island in the river, Tiddle Widdle Island. Finally we have reached Tewkesbury which sadly lacks salubrious moorings, so we are tied up beneath a concrete wharf by an ancient mill within sight of the lock we’ll traverse in the morning. Pearson’s guide says “Tewkesbury’s waterfront is as close to heaven as you are likely to get this side of the pearly gates” ill said “Well, we must have missed it” and I said “He’s dreaming”. We will go for a walk after tea and see what we’ve missed. The downside of being on a river, as opposed to a canal, is that you just can’t pull up anywhere that it’s deep enough as there is the current to consider and the banks are often very shallow. In the flood prone towns, the moorings are all against concrete walls so the view from the kitchen sink is never glamorous. We had hoped to reach Gloucester today but 26 miles in a day is good going. Bill obviously has some cracked ribs from his fall in the lock five days ago. I have done some driving today to give him a break but his body language says this is worse for his health than his driving. Progress This week Distance (miles) 51.5 Locks 42 Total Distance (miles) 621.5 Locks 528 The journey continues……..

Chapter 9 – Week 8, Grand Union/Stratford Canal Saturday June 19 Markets and Farewells Awoke to a bright morning at our Berkhamsted mooring and at 8am strolled to the Saturday market, joined by Brian and Jane as we passed their boat. On Jane’s advice, we headed straight for the WI stall. I can only think of “Calendar Girls” whenever I hear of anything connected with the Women’s’ Institute and I can tell you it made me look at the ladies manning the stall in a whole new light. In typical fashion I came away with enough forbidden goodies to feed an army. Next the fruit and vegetable stall, some larkspurs from the flower man for pressing and then a brief stop at the Waitrose with Jane while Bill and Brian returned to the boats and put the kettle on. We made a late getaway because of the market and would be travelling with Jane and Brian only as far as Marsworth where they would be branching off down the Aylesbury Arm, reported in Nicholson’s guide as “isolated and remote - one of the most peaceful stretches of canal in the country” We continued our climb up the Chilterns through deliciously rural upland country, in parts reminiscent of the enveloping green corridors of Northern Wales and in other parts, rolling, sparsely wooded green hills of grazing country. The sky was full of the most amazing fluffy cumulus clouds, paradoxically, not a sign of a fine day here, but Brian tells me, of unstable weather. We reached the summit at Cowroast Lock, with its old toll office. It is the site of permanent moorings for many beautiful boats and we can understand why people choose to make this their base. The air is clean and refreshing to breathe. There was then about three miles or so of cruising through this delightful area before our descent began and the locks came thick and fast. However I seemed not to notice as the scenery, especially as we came upon the Tringford Reservoir was picture postcard perfect. The verges of this large body of water have been landscaped and are an immensely popular recreational destination. We stopped here for lunch which we shared with Brian and Jane as shortly we must part company. We really have been delighted to have them as journeymen and have had some good laughs. Jane and I have been very similar in our observation of nature. She could tell as I take pictures of the same sorts of things that she does and as she very kindly allowed me to read some of her travel journals, filled with her quite exquisite drawings. The unstable weather that Brian had predicted then rolled in with cold, wind and spits of rain so we retired to our boat for pudding and coffee and further chatting. Finally it was time to push on. We said our goodbyes at the next lock, with photos for the journal and very pleasant memories. Bill and I pushed on through seven more locks and a manual swivel bridge. At this last structure, the second only that we’d encountered, and the first manual one, Bill decided to have a wee in the bushes while I managed the boat. Oh how tempted I was to toot the horn. We travelled towards a rain cell that fortunately decided to skirt around us at the last minute and we have moored just short of a water point which we’ll attend to first up, before heading off for the day. We saw the chalk lion of Whipsnade quite clearly in the distance as we moored. We have gone through 22 locks in distance of only eleven miles but have had one of our most enjoyable days to date. Sunday June 20 Moseying Along We woke after a very good sleep – it must have been all those locks. Then Bill started making boat noises and told me I could have breakfast at the water point just before the first lock so I knew it was time to get up and get going. At the second lock I peeped over the hedge at what was once the smallest chapel in Buckinghamshire which has now been converted to a private residence. It still has its bell tower and they have added a conservatory with sympathetic gothic framing - all quite exquisite. We continued our descent from the Chilterns through some remote and very old areas in canal terms. One of the lock cottages had 1831 above its lintel and I tried to relate that to what was happening in Australia at that time. We passed by Cheddington where the great train robbery took place and crossed from Buckinghamshire into Bedfordshire. As we passed through Leighton Buzzard we stopped at a canalside Tescos for provisions - so convenient. This afternoon we have travelled through Fenny Stratford and on into Milton Keynes. The latter is a modern (since 1970’s) amalgamation of a number of very old villages, interspersed with well designed modern cluster housing to form a significant city. One of the canal guides is a tad scathing about the blend but I was quite impressed with the way this had been done. There are huge tracts of beautiful parkland, picnic grounds and gardens linking the villages, which are like suburbs and the canal wanders through all this, not encroached on in the least by the housing, in fact, as Bill commented, it’s as if the canal has been screened from the town. I walked by the boat for an hour this afternoon and enjoyed it immensely. Rain came to annoy us this afternoon and hastened my “4.30 syndrome. We moored for the night by one of the old villages, Great Linford, towards the centre of Milton Keynes. Apparently it has some lovely yellow stone buildings in its medieval town centre and we will go for a walk in the morning to have a look. Monday June 21 Rural Peace and War Something chose to wake me around 3.30am and I guess that set the tone for the rest of the day. It was overcast and nippy and today was the day I’d volunteered to do some of the driving – just my luck. At just after 6am we did our promised reconnoiter of the very old village of Great Linford, in particular, a cluster of splendid yellow stone buildings in a dedicated green belt. There was a Manor House from the early 1800’s and its splendid big barn, a matching pair of Georgian houses facing the manor house, St Andrew’s Church, the oldest part of which dated from the thirteenth century and a school house from the seventeenth century with three alms houses on either side of it. Most of it appears to be used now as artists’ studios and a gallery. The fact that the land around it has been retained adds so much to its charm. We still managed to get away by 7.30am, something Bill wanted to do as we have six hours of travel today to Stoke Bruerne and we wanted to be in time to see the canal museum there. We passed through some delightfully rural areas, with cattle at the canalside and charming, yellow stone cottaged villages like Cosgrove, with its exquisite bridge. Locks were surprisingly few and far between so I spent some time in the kitchen creating lunch which was to be a hot fish/rice mornay with fresh asparagus spears and oven crusty bread. Just before lunch as we began to climb the seven locks into Stoke Bruerne the rain came. Now English rain is supposed to be gentle but this stuff was cold (I swear I felt a sting of an ice particle hitting my hand), hard (driven by a quite unpleasant wind that made gates lock swing open and the boat hard to handle) and very, very wet. The rain brought with it an urge in Bill to keep going to our destination (“I’m wet anyway”) and in me a wish to stop until it was over and when I couldn’t, an early onset of my “4.30 syndrome”. I scraped all of my lock entries and in one holding pound, where I was pulled up close to the lock entry, waiting for Bill to set it and hanging onto the boat by the normally adequate middle rope, when Bill opened the bottom gate paddles, the rush of water was so strong it caught the bow of the boat and pulled it away from me. The wind did the rest; I just couldn’t hold it and got myself some rope burns for trying. I yelled several times to Bill up at the lock and finally he heard me and came running. By this time the boat was about ten feet from shore with me still desperately hanging onto the rope and even he had difficulty reining it in. At the next pound I tied up and went inside to find the saucepan of asparagus spears and their water on the kitchen floor and the baguette lying on the floor in the water. The contents of the dressing table were in one of the underwear drawers that had slid open. And still he insisted on going on. I had regained my sanity by the time we’d cleared the last two locks (at which I impressed him by leaving a paddle open so the lock was taking ages to fill and then trying to open a lock gate by pushing from the wrong side.) and decided it was a day for lunch at the pub. But let me tell you, God must be a woman ‘cause guess whose side of the bed the skylight leaked on. The rest of the day was dedicated to a visit to the canal museum here at Stoke Bruerne and then a walk around the town followed by a sleep for me for a few hours. Happy hour was spent on the foredeck (the sun was now shining), watching the rabbits playing in the adjoining field. For dinner we popped the fish dish in the oven (it had been saved from a fate with the floor as it was in the fridge), gave the asparagus an extra wash and micro waved it, and cut the wet bit off the baguette and popped it in the oven. Tasted great - all pain was gone. Tuesday June 22 Not getting to Braunston Bill has named today’s chapter as it was his ambition today to complete the huge circle in green on our map by making it to Braunston. He had us up and away by 7.30am and into the Blisworth Tunnel which is 3060 yards long and took about half an hour to traverse. It is the longest navigable tunnel on the canal system, was opened in 1805 and functioned until the late 1970’s when it was closed for extensive renovation before reopening in 1984. You could recognize the new sections which were in the midsection and quite extensive. I took some interesting photos with the flash of several leaks spouting reddish water that presumably contains some iron compounds. The Pearson’s guide tells me that the area was one riddled with ironstone quarries which serviced a furnace on the Northampton Arm so this doesn’t surprise me. There were three ventilator shafts from the top of the hill to the tunnel but try as I might I couldn’t time a picture looking up any of these as we went by - only managed an eye full of water. This tunnel has no towpath and so the horses pulling the boats could not enter. The boats were “legged through” by men who lay on their backs on planks spread laterally from the bow of the boat and they literally walked the boat through the tunnel. The “leggers hut” still remains at the south portal of the tunnel. These registered “leggers” who wore brass armbands proclaiming their role, were ultimately replaced by a steam tug service which continued until 1936 when all boats were motorised. We continued ahead to Gayton Junction, skirting Northampton and then travelling through some delightfully rural areas with farms and tiny villages with names like Bugbrooke, Nether Heyford and Weedon Bec adjacent to the canal. Interestingly, for quite a distance of today’s travel, Watling Street (the old Roman Road), the canal (from 1800), the railway (from the late 1800’s) and the M1, all run in parallel within sight of one another. It would seem the Romans knew something of topography. One of the marinas we passed was the site of an old Roman village. Around 11.15am we went in search of a craft shop marked on the Pearson’s map and an hour later hadn’t been able to locate it and the locals knew nothing about it. I thought I owed Bill lunch at the pub so we sat in the gardens of “The Narrowboat Inn” and ate a sandwich and had a drink. Knowing then that there were seven locks ahead of us to Norton Junction and another seven if we wanted to get to Braunston we thought we’d better get going. At the approach to the bottom lock of the seven Buckby locks we were signaled by a chap in a very nice looking boat named “Antidote” who asked if he might travel up with us. After we readily agreed he came up to me at the lock and told me he was by himself and hadn’t been well after eating a dodgy pizza and couldn’t work the locks. The Buckby locks are wide locks with huge beams that one has to use every ounce of energy to move by using one’s entire body weight against the gate beam to start it moving. They are beasts, to say the least and we now had to open four gates instead of two on every lock. At the second one I just couldn’t move the gate as the wind had hold of it so Bill climbed up the ladder from the lock chamber and did the rest of the locks. By the last one, Bill accidentally left a paddle open so the lock didn’t fill properly and he said with a smirk and a not so subtle reference to my yesterday, “it’s because I’m tired”. At the last lock the chap was five minutes from home and thanked us with a wave. We were more than happy to have helped him. (You can see the story of Antidote at www.theantidote.info/) And so we didn’t get to Braunston and just managed to get the last mooring at Norton Junction, adjacent to a drain, next to a canal dredge and beside a road works yard, but we were too tired to care. Wednesday June 23 2004 A day for thermals and locks Britain has decided to show us her worst weather after nearly eight weeks. England has had half the normal month’s rain in the last 24 hours and wind has been gusting at up to 50mph. The temperature had dropped to about 12 degrees maximum so it has been a day for the thermals and a beanie. Makes managing a narrowboat on a pound quite interesting - you tend to be blown around like a matchstick. We set out from Norton Junction at 7.30am and traversed Braunston tunnel, some 2042 yards in length. The soot staining the walls from the old towing tugs is still visible and the old brickwork fascinating - if those walls could only talk. Once again we saw ferrous and calcium compound deposits running down the tunnel wall in patches where water has seeped or has flowed from pipes channeled out through the tunnel wall. I managed this time to take a picture up the centre of one of the ventilation shafts. Then the locks came thick and fast with the six Braunston locks which I managed quite well, even though the locks of the Grand Union have a reputation for being very difficult. After the locks, during the journey to Braunston, I managed to concoct a lamb and pasta dish which, with a salad and a bake-it-in-the-oven baguette has served us well for lunch. In this weather there was a need for comfort food. We have travelled this section without a detailed map as none of our guide books cover this section so the Braunston junction with its two pretty iron bridges came up sooner than we expected and, thanks to miniscule sign posts, we almost missed the turn. With a bit of clever backing and filling from Bill, we were on our way again. This afternoon, amid squalls and gales, we pushed on down another three and then a set of four locks. A boat went down the first three with us and then decided they’d had enough of the weather and found a mooring while the weather was so horrid. We thought then that at least one of the pair following us would be a substitute, but no, they’d had enough too, and pulled over, so we went on alone. Later in the afternoon when at least the rain eased, we passed a little more boat traffic. It seemed that many of the people who’d gone to ground were emerging for a last run of the day. Finally, about 5pm, we too had had enough and are currently moored at the foot of a lock, in the midst of nowhere, for the night. Thankfully the lunch leftovers were enough for a warm tea which we ate with a wine and our cosy little fire going. The TV tells us we can expect some more of the same weather tomorrow. Late tomorrow morning we are meeting Will Abbey for the service of the boat as it has done its three hundred hours of travel. We have only a short way to go to the meeting place so tomorrow will be largely a rest day. Thursday June 24 Spit and Polish We made our earliest start yet at 6.30am because, without a map we were not quite sure how far away our rendezvous at Bridge 34 is and we have to do a bit of boat washing and tidying. The early start was fortunate as there were the three Radford locks to traverse to get to our meeting place, a pound between a road bridge (34) and a lock, where Will can drive his car into the British Waterways service depot and come alongside the boat. There is just room for us in the pound without obstructing the approach to the lock but I’m sure in this wind that people would like more room to manoeuvre but it can’t be helped. All we can do when we hear a boat approaching is to stick our head out and tell them we are waiting for a service vehicle. All have been very understanding to date. We have scrubbed (literally) the boat to the best of our ability. Using canal water just leaves brown spots all over the paint work so we had to use multiple basins of soapy water and then rinse it off by hand with more basins of clean water, sponging it dry as we did so. Cleaning my little car seems a breeze by comparison. I am somewhat embarrassed by all the chips (dare I say chunks) out of the paintwork, and the scratches, but Bill is a little more philosophical. I tried to do a cut and polish of the long scratch down the side with toothpaste but to no avail. Will Abbey said he would be here late morning, so as we are on “Kennedy Time”, we have been ready and waiting since about 9.30am. Hence the writing of the journal entry now and not at the end of the day. Around 10.30am I was sitting typing and said to Bill, “I can smell bitumen”. I looked up and saw clouds of smoke billowing up at the nearby bridge. I stood up and, to my surprise, there was a narrowboat under the bridge belching the smoke. It was a steam driven coal burning narrowboat with a butty in tow and all the men were in traditional boatmen’s costume. It carried a banner saying it was “The President” from the Black Country Museum. We watched, fascinated as it entered the lock and detached the butty and maneuvered it alongside. The things that can happen when you’re sitting with nothing to do. Will arrived around 11am and after a cuppa and a discussion of our trip so far (had to show him the Thames pictures), he got to work. I was silly enough to tell him that the water pump doesn’t consistently pump water to the shower unless we turn the hand basin tap on first to get a continuous flow in the shower. He then spent an hour trying to correct this as he said we shouldn’t have the inconvenience. I did reassure him we don’t mind, but he insisted. This has necessitated taking all the food from the cupboard and he had his head in the kitchen cupboard for twenty minutes and I can’t tell you how many gallons of water have been used in the testing. We could have thrown buckets of it over the boat this morning if we’d known. Getting water will be another job for today. In addition, he has been unable to fix the problem and, as we discovered at bath time, are now unable to make the water run continuously. Bill was hoping that the service would take about an hour and that today we’d be able to make a start on the Hatton Flight. However he is talking himself into a state of calm and has just mentioned that we’ll concentrate today, on just getting to the bottom of the Hatton Flight. Not having a map may make that a little hard to pinpoint. After Will left we set off again, and travelled until about 5.30pm when we made it to what we thought was the foot of the Hatton Flight. There was a water point there and we filled up and then moored for the night, next to the towpath and across from a factory. We were beyond caring about the tone of the neighbourhood. Friday June 25 Record Lock Day - Early Mark Well, we did say we wanted to get stuck into the Hatton Flight early but setting off at 5.30am - I ask you. We snuck out, hopefully not waking the two boats who had breasted up in front of us last night, after the finish of the England/Portugal match, around 10pm. After the first two locks there was a long gap and we realised that these two were just a warm up and not part of the Hatton Flight at all. There was also a large pound above them with moorings and a pub but hey, too late now. And then the locks began at about 6.15am, all 21 of them. We decided to do three each, turn about, but Bill kept cheating so he did the lion’s share. We completed the job by 9.45am and fortunately all of the locks, save one, which had leaked and filled during the night, were almost empty so the task was made much easier. At the penultimate lock we remembered there’s a kiosk that sells the best chocolate muffins so we paused for a cuppa and a well deserved muffin at the top. Somehow the whole thing seemed so much easier than when we travelled down the flight earlier in our trip even though we travelled most of the way with another boat. Perhaps it’s the muscles I’ve developed. We journeyed on, still mapless until we came to the obscure Kingswood junction. If you’d blinked you’d have missed it. It was like stepping back in time, returning to very old tiny locks, where there are only inches to spare either side of the boat. There are also quaint little iron bridges over the canal with a central split so the horse rope to the boat could pass through the bridge and original little Dutch gabled Lockkeepers houses - all from the late 1700’s. Having been on the Grand Union and Oxford canals then the R Thames, then the Grand Union again, we haven’t been in a narrow lock for weeks. On the Grand Union we only used one lock gate but there was still more room than in these small fellows. Despite their small size they are deep and their gates very heavy. Bill did the first six locks as my right SI joint was making me aware of its existence but he didn’t need much persuading later when I asked to take over. The countryside, however, was charming - real Wind in the Willows territory - magical. At 3.30pm we did our 32nd lock for the day, our personal record. At the next lock there just happened to be a pub called The Fleur-de-Lys with a well reported restaurant. In view of our marathon day we gave ourselves an early mark, went to the pub for a drink and booked to return for dinner. Progress This week Distance (miles) 72 Locks 115 Total Distance (miles)570 Locks 486 The journey continues………