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It seems a long time ago now, in another world almost, but when still working I used to regale my accountant once a year with the odd tale or two which had nothing to do with work - or accounting. He used to look forward to my missives, and declared when he saw my headed paper it was time for a coffee and feet up. He knew nothing about canals or narrow boats, so my descriptions might seem unecessary to those who do, but Paul benefited from it. Some may find this tedious, and some may find it familar, but I thought I set this tale down if nothing else for amusement value. It was after all, just a few days boating, and there are those here who will have done something similar on a regular basis, and thought nothing of it let alone bother to write down what might have been just another few days work. ------------------- An Autumn trip. You may remember we had bought an old narrow boat ‘Tycho’, an Icebreaker built 1936. I finally committed myself to a date to take her back to Stockton in Warwickshire for the necessary repairs to steelwork, the back end being in very poor condition. As the boat had originally been built by the process of hot riveting pre-formed steel plates together, I was keen to have the repairs done by a yard that was willing to carry out repairs in the same manner and Stockton Dry Dock had assured me this was possible and the right thing to do in the case of an historic boat such as ‘Tycho’. Prior to setting off from Cassio, I had a great deal of work to do in removing all the fitted furnishings that made up the old back cabin, including floors and panelling up to just above gunnel level. This was necessary to allow access to all the steel of the hull so as to carry out an effective repair. Ripping out the old worn woodwork was heartbreaking, largely due to the fact that it had been so firmly fitted and been in place long enough that virtually every piece had to be smashed, ripped and jig-sawed out in splintered pieces and mis-shapened bits. Though I was able to salvage the decorated cupboard doors and a few other bits as patterns for the rebuild at a later date. With accommodation removed, my four-day journey was to be made with sleeping and cooking done under the hatches [Blue tops] in the hold. Access to this area is through a great steel hatch in the fore-deck, down a short steel ladder of three widely spaced rungs, then turn and duck under a steel RSJ cross beam into the back end of the hold which has headroom to stand up in. Here I set up a mattress on the floor, camp table, garden chair, paraffin primus stove and paraffin lamps. The four-day journey was preceded by me having the mis-fortune to have taken a tumble off the bike whilst riding along a wet Hampstead Street. I had just touched the brakes to let a car out from a side turning and - Wallop! The bike wenr down throwing me off on my hands and knees, not even a skid. In attempting to pick the bike up, I was slipping all over the place; there was some sort of oil under the layer of water on the road. Whilst I got up straight away and carried on riding, I had landed on my knees heavily and over the next few days they became more and more painful. Setting off from Cassio I was feeling very stiff and aching, but determined to get to Stockton on the pre-appointed day. Working a boat single handed can be a very rewarding experience. If you use commonsense and adopt as many of the old boatmens working practices and tricks as possible, good progress can be made, in fact I was at times catching up other boats who were ‘mob handed’ simply because they were working inefficiently. Even so, it is undeniably hard work. Having stopped the boat below a lock, you get off and make fast then set the lock which may just mean opening a gate or, having to go up and close the far set of gates then emptying or filling (depending whether you are going uphill or down) the lock before bow hauling the boat into the lock with a line taken from the cabin top. Your hands soon get rope burns from this practice and the palms and finger pads become red raw. Gloves cannot be used, they cut down the ‘feel’ of what is happening, can get caught in lock gear and are generally a liability, so gloves are a no - no. Stopping the boat from the lockside is easily done with a turn around a lockside bollard. Sometimes these are missing and you have to be the bollard. All this entails a considerable amount of walking to and fro and physical effort, kept to a minimum if you get into a routine but still quite a bit. Add to this the climbing of ladders and steps, standing for long periods at the tiller, and it can be seen that the knees take a pounding. Mine were screaming stop! That, after half a day! If that wasn’t enough, I had early morning starts just before daylight, creeping away at 6.30am past others still abed, curtains twitching, the odd hatch opening. With darkness falling around 6.30pm I would push on into the darkening sky until all was pitch-black night, for another three hours or more. 10pm was the latest. On the canal, a bright headlight is not necessarily an advantage, and when another boat is coming towards you the reflected light off the water can cause much glare, so any kind of ‘dipping’ light just wouldn’t work. A low powered light tilted slightly upwards is the best. With this bridge holes and overhanging foliage can be seen more clearly. In fact, if there is a good Moon you can often see more with the light ‘off’ altogether (though I have spooked a few others running like that!) On the morn of the fourth day I was up and in the engine hole at 6am for an early start. Not to be! – the battery had given up sufficiently not to spin the engine over compression. I had a handle, but the three pot Petter with 1100cc per cylinder was not to be messed with. I thought of calling out the RAC – seriously, if you can use their services in someone elses car, then why not ones boat? There was roadside access and some jump leads were all that were required. I decided against this on the grounds that I was opposite a marina, which should at some time show signs of life – and hopefully a helping hand. After an hour a lady came in sight walking her dog, and after some small talk I suggested she might like to press the starter button whilst I simultaneously cranked the handle and dropped the decompressor, to which she agreed. The combined effort of starter motor and ‘armstrongs patent’ treated us to a most satisfying Taat-ta–ta-Taat-ta-ta as the Petter burst into song. Thank heaven for direct injection, fired up straight away. I thanked her and called her an angel, which seemed to please her, and off I went up Buckby flight. After working 97 locks since Cassio, I arrived mid afternoon at Stockton, exhausted, dirty and smelling a bit ripe. Washing facilities were not of paramount importance for the trip, (my family might say they seldom are anyway) so I felt it right to apologise to my friends for my personal bouquet. Being boaters themselves, they understood without complaint. After packing a few belongings I took their proffered lift to Leamington Station and then a train via; Oxford – Paddington – King Cross and St Albans. During the last day, my knees had begun to seize steadily. Any movement was with great difficulty and pain. Getting into the car for my lift was excruciating. I could hardly bend my knees enough to get my feet into the foot well. Standing on the platform at Leamington I could not control the shaking, and there was nowhere to sit! Finally boarding the train, I found the modern day seating so cramped as to cause even further discomfort. . I couldn’t bend my knees far enough! Using the mobile (what godsends!) Louise was there at St. Albans station waiting to take me home, bath, and bed. ‘Tycho’ would be on dock for the next nine months, during which time all I had to do was to keep pumping money into that bottomless hole in the water that all boats make! --------------------- Now there's a lump in my throat. There's a lot to miss when you leave the cut.