12 weeks on the cut

[Bill Kennedy]

Chapter 6 – Week 5, River Thames

 

Saturday May 29

Cruising the Thames

 

Off to the station at 8.15am after Maki sent us a text to say she was coming on an earlier train; warming coffees to drink on the way back to the boat then underway by 9am. Bill negotiated us successfully out of Oxford and onto the western course of the Thames which we are to trace out as far as Lechlade if we can this long weekend. We passed out onto Port Meadow, a flood plain that is a home for wild birds and a favourite summer recreational site. People cycle, tramp, camp, picnic, canoe and boat here.

 

Our first lock was Godstow lock, a large, manned affair, as are all the locks on the Thames. Joy oh joy not to have to use a windlass for several days. The six locks we traversed today all had pleasant young people manning them, including one girl. The lock houses were all identical and built at the end of the nineteenth century. At Godstow lock we bought our one month licence for the Thames, for the record, at a cost of ₤93.

 

The scenery today was so different from the canal scenery to date. The water is deeper and a pleasant oily green. There is no debris and wildfowl abound. We saw flocks of geese who shepherded their young into the centre of circle bounded by the mature adults. Swans bobbed for weed and a cormorant looked down on us from his lofty perch in a dead tree. We saw some curious little boxes mounted on floating platforms that we were not sure if they were traps or nest boxes. I made a mental note to ask the next lock-keeper.

 

The course of the Thames is very convoluted and Bill spent most of the day hauling on the tiller this way and that until it felt like we were on a hurdy-gurdy. We met many power cruisers heading towards Oxford. Apparently one of the local clubs had been on a “treasure hunt weekend”, whatever that involves. We passed an enormous mobile home village and noted that almost every place had a respectable looking cruiser moored at the bottom of the garden. It would seem a popular retirement option is to sell the family home, downsize to a large mobile home in one of these villages, buy a cruiser or narrowboat and spend the summer roving the country. One could do worse.

 

In the bends of the river where an isthmus of land projects many of the land-owners had planted magnificent stands of (I think) poplars, creating a magical Constable like landscape-quite beautiful with the light filtering through the trees. The bridges have been exquisite, especially the 13th century, yellow stone “New Bridge” with its variably sized mitred arches. Sensibly they have erected wooden deflectors in front of its pylons to stop any large debris (or boats) damaging them.

 

Tonight we are moored by an 18th century bridge of more classical but equally beautiful design. Having paused at midday to consume for lunch many of the goodies purchased yesterday, we have now arrived, at five pm, at the enchanting “Trout at Tadpole Bridge” where we aimed to have dinner and stay for the night. As the pub doesn’t open until 6pm we have created our own “happy hour” on board, consuming some of the delightful nibbles Maki bought as a gift, and opening a wine. After dinner we’ll light a fire and make Maki a mattress from the cushions our two easy chairs. She assures us she’ll be comfortable.

 

Our plans for dinner were foiled somewhat by the fact that dinner at the pub was booked out. Tadpole is described in Nicholson’s as “a very isolated rural stretch of river, meandering through meadowland and having little contact with civilization”, so I ask you. Undaunted we raided our larder and came up with fresh salmon on a bed of chilli tagliatelle, fresh asparagus and a lovely salad of baby cos lettuce, vine ripened tomatoes, red onion and semi-dried tomatoes, followed by fresh mixed berries and accompanied by a pleasant Brown Brothers sauvignon blanc.

 

Sunday May 30

Rub a Dub Dub

 

Late in the evening three men in a rowing punt had been messing about on the river near to us and to our surprise they had moored next to us and slept on board with a canopy over them (I don’t know how they did it.). As they surfaced to greet the dawn they pulled out a camping stove and kettle and proceeded to do a full breakfast. I saw Bill chatting to a chap on the bank when he returned he had a copy of “The Australian”- the fellow was from Brisbane.

 

By 8am we were underway in our strike for Lechlade, eastern gateway to the Cotswolds. There were five locks, one unmanned (too early for the lock keeper) so it was fun working out how to operate it. The Thames was full of twists and turns as was yesterday’s section, sometimes with sequential hair-pin bends. This was all a bit un-nerving at times as people were out in force enjoying the sunshine in everything that floated and was allowed on the Thames (and some that shouldn’t have been). There were cruisers, tourist barges, canoes, kayaks, rowboats, inflatables, motorboats, sailboats, punts and even a blow-up canoe being towed by a speedboat (the lock-keeper seemed to have a few words to say about that one). The big boats were fine, you could see the people on their sterns coming at you through the meadow grasses but the little guys were the surprises around the corner. As we neared Lechlade the valley narrowed and the rolling hill country edged in. The sky was bright blue with wonderful cumulus clouds and everyone was having the best time messing about on the river.

 

We made a brief exploration of Lechlade (would have liked more time there) had humble fare at a riverside pub beer garden and then proceeded to do our turn around. Now this is something a man likes to do in private, especially for only the second time in a river with a good current running. No such luck for William who was looking quite anxious as the moment drew nearer. Now, Nicholson’s guide says that at this particular winding hole (the only one in town) you can turn a full sized (70ft) narrowboat, but does caution you to beware the sandbar on the northern bank. It was there alright but claimed us only momentarily but there was a certain weeping willow tree whose branches Bill became intimately acquainted with. Although the turn was completed with not quite the suave manoeuvre we’d strategically planned, it was nevertheless done without jeers or cheers from the gongoozlers and we proceeded on our merry way, back to the “Trout at Tadpole Bridge” where a mooring was waiting but, you guessed it, the pub doesn’t do food on Sunday nights.

 

Monday May 31

Reflections

 

Today was the day of our necessary return to Oxford. We’d looked in Lechlade at the possibility of putting Maki on a bus back to Oxford so we could spend more time in this beautiful part of the country. We would then have continued with a two day exploration of the Cotswolds but alas, instead of there being more services on public holidays, to cope with demand and congestion, most services were cancelled. C’est la vie.

 

It’s strange that when you retrace your footsteps, especially at a different time of day, things look completely different. We woke to a misty morn, which we’ve learned usually heralds a wonderful fine and sunny day and we were not disappointed. It was glorious. As we headed back the rising sun created fantastic reflections on the water. There’s something magical about sitting at the bow of a narrowboat, fifty feet from the noise of the engine, gliding noiselessly through the water (except for a tiny tinkle it makes on the hull) and just observing nature. I love it.

 

But you all know by now that travelling with us is never without exciting challenges (our latest euphemism for disasters). This occurred at 8.30am at Shifford Lock, which at that hour was unmanned. I worked the paddles while Bill and Maki held the ropes around bollards to hold the boat steady in the lock. I was opening the exiting paddles when I heard Bill yell at me “Close that paddle quickly, NOW...” I turned around to see the boat in the lock on an incredible 30degree angle to the horizontal and then heard the crashing noise of cutlery/crockery. I don’t think I could have closed that paddle any faster, I can tell you, and the boat rapidly assumed the normal position – that is, totally in the water. This all dismissed any thought the lockkeeper may have had of sleeping in and he quickly appeared on the scene. He explained that the ropes had been held too tightly and the edge of the boat had hooked itself up on the chains lining the lock.

 

While Maki and Bill moored to survey the internal damage, I wasn’t inclined to waste a good hot and cold running lockkeeper and thought I’d pin him down on the question of the little boxes on floating platforms that we had seen in the upper reaches of the Thames. It turns out they have been put there by Oxford University to survey the mink population. The boxes have an imprint substance in the floor and some food, so the mink goes in after the food and leaves his footprint on the floor so they can then get an idea of the mink population. Later they plan to trap them as they are becoming a nuisance. I had actually seen one of them, black with a white face and a long ratty tail, on some branches under the overhang of a bank but it slipped quickly out of sight as we passed.

 

That vital piece of information about the mink secured, I returned to the others on the boat and, to our great relief, only my scotch glass from Black Country Museum had broken. The cutlery draw had slid open and everything from the bench above fell into it, including a tray of pressed flowers. Time for a good vacuum and floor wash anyway along with a wash of all the cutlery. I was somewhat amused that at the very next lock, which was manned by that time, the assistant lockkeeper said “Now be sure to keep it a couple of inches from the side so you don’t hang up on anything”. No lockkeeper had told us this before and I could just hear the Shifford Lock fellow phoning ahead saying, “Look out for those crazy Australians coming through, they just almost tipped their boat over in my lock.” Poor Maki believed it to be all her doing and wanted to know how Bill had noticed so quickly and knew immediately what had to be done. I then had to explain to her about left and right brain - wasn’t putting any of that superior intellect nonsense into her head.

 

Just before we returned to civilization we paused in the river (after a minor, easily fixed grounding at the bank of Port Meadow.), tied the boat to a willow tree and a pin and had a lunch of nibbles. Back in Oxford, Bill had a snooze after three solid days at the helm while Maki and I went for a walk along the towpath. In Oxford, walking the towpath is something of a life threatening occupation. Oxford is the Beijing of the UK as far as bicycles are concerned and energetic students ride them two abreast at full pelt along the towpath. Only one has used her bell to warn of her presence. So when one’s 58 year old brain is suddenly aware there are two cyclists about to run over ones heels and there is only a foot of space to manoeuvre without falling in the Thames, you develop this Ministry of Funny Walks loping walk in which you jerk your head around through 180 degrees to look behind you every three paces.

 

Tuesday June 1

Up to our ears in it

 

Yesterday afternoon I ventured for what I euphemistically call a “wee” and to my consternation saw that our whiz bang double slurping toilet was showing its red light. Alarm! I scurried to the rear of the boat to convey this information surreptitiously to Bill, not wanting Maki to know there was a potential problem. The nature of this problem was that after the red light comes on permanently, you have only three flushes and the toilet will slurp no more. The executive decision was that we had to “fess up” to Maki that from here on in it was “Save a flush, pee with a friend”. Even after our walk along the towpath I suggested a pit stop at the railway station on the way back but this was not the panacea I’d hoped it would be until we could reach a pump out station in the morning. Our miscalculation had come about because a pump out lasts us seven days but with a guest it was reduced to four.

 

Having seen Maki off at the station we prepared to bed down for the night and thought spending one of our three remaining flushes to avoid a wet footprint in the morning. Now the Kennedy household is one of habit and fidelity and Bill’s habit follows a coffee and two fags. I am in possession of a sensitive gastro-colic reflex, which like clockwork, follows a bowel of cereal and a cup of coffee before showering in the morning. Suffice it to say, once this reflex announces itself, it will not be denied easily. You can imagine my horror as I swallowed the last mouthful of cereal, when Bill said casually, “Oh and by the way, don’t use the toilet and don’t lift the lid, it won’t flush”. The bugger. He then told me the next pump out station was about seven miles away. Do you know how long it takes us to go seven miles? Can you imagine my facial expression when we had to wait half an hour at a lock and daintily dance amongst the cowsh and ducksh freely distributed on the towpath by the respective animals? Then in that same lock I pushed with my foot against the wall to help prevent repeating the nearly-tipping-over-in- the-lock trick and what I thought was moss but which was actually, I think, a felt of animal excrement, clung to the sole of my boot and was immediately graffitied across the foredeck. It seemed every animal in the country had freedom of “expression” except me.

 

Finally we reached the next lock to have a pump out station and guess what it was a DIY one, our first. Now Bill is not a man who’s big on dealing with emissions from either end of the alimentary tract and as our pump point was on the open water side of the boat I had visions of his fainting, falling in the Thames and drowning, all for the sake of a pump out - what an obituary. But he managed magnificently and all missions were accomplished. We realised afterwards that we should have turned the boat around – it’s all a learning curve.

 

On then to the diesel refueling. After a second try at berthing (the first involved mutual tantrums), in which we wound up facing in the reverse direction, thanks in part to the current and a neighbouring sandbar, this mission also was accomplished.

 

As the Thames is almost as wide as the Brisbane river at this point I felt happy enough to take the helm and take it in to a couple of locks, the only self disgracing incident being the hooking of my rope on the back steel door hatch and then falling on my backside on the lock verge trying to slow the boat. For the lockkeeper and his assistant it barely rated a glance and certainly not even a pause in their conversation - bet they’ve seen it all before.

 

What was described in Nicholson’s as an idyllic mooring south of Abingdon for tonight turned out to be only big enough for one boat and on the other side of the river so we missed it. As a compromise we have settled for the night tucked into the bank at the bottom of someone’s cow paddock, probably illegally, but no-one has appeared with a shotgun yet and we will leave at sparrow’s in the morning.

 

Wednesday June 2

Reading or bust

 

The sparrows woke late at 7.00am but we were away by 7.30am. As the locks on the Thames are not manned until 9am we decided to lock ourselves through. This is not difficult but time consuming as the Thames locks are very big bathtubs to fill, winding by hand as one has to (by day they are electrically operated). We tied up at the lay by with me looking after the bow ropes and Bill the middle rope. He then went forward to look at the lock mechanics and instructions and began to try to wind open the lock gates. Now this is difficult (impossible) when the lock is not full and I delicately pointed this out. “Of course”, says he with a grin and commenced the tedious filling of the lock. During this operation he glanced at the boat whose middle rope had come loose because it was not tied properly (by you know who) and was wandering its stern out into mid channel and he said impatiently, gesturing towards the boat “Now listen Lynn, look at the boat.” I scurried back to remedy the problem, muttering a few expletives after which followed a jovial banter about how differently the conversation may have gone. Just as we completed our exit from the lock the lockkeeper came on duty.

 

The day has been truly glorious. The Thames is a magnificent river and many of its banks have been conserved for posterity. Where homes (read mansions) adorn the banks, they have obviously been there for a very long time. We are talking about extremely serious money here. Many of the homes have exquisite boathouses that I would be delighted to live in. The boat moors under the house with access from the river and the house is overhead. Many have a quasi-Tudor, gingerbread house decoration and are quite delightful. The Thames is gloriously wide and the scenery alternates between willow fringed flower and cow filled meadows, fabulous historic homes with their extensive grounds and manicured gardens and dense preserved woodland.

 

We moored for lunch outside Abingdon with a view to die for, feasted on pitas filled with salmon and avocado etc with fruit and felt inspired to have a drink for the occasion. Tonight we are in Sonning, outside Reading, with a similar view and have been inspired to have two drinks to celebrate our situation. We have taken a mooring designated for patrons of the local riverside hotel so in an instant the curry was relegated to tomorrow.

 

As a preliminary to our planned evening of fine dining we took a stroll up the high street which just happens to be a major thoroughfare from London to its dormitory suburbs. Given that there is an ancient one way bridge in the middle of Sonning which has a stop/go traffic light to control the flow of cars, we were entertained to see that no cars were over five years old and that this was the land of the Range Rover/BMW/SAAB/Merc/Daimler. The houses had names like “Manor Farm”, “Manor Lodge”, ”Manor Barn”, “Limewash Cottages”, “Rose Cottage” and other cutsey names. One easement even had gold and black wrought iron gates like Buckingham Palace. We returned to the “Great House Hotel” who have provided our moorings and entered the “Regatta Restaurant” to book for dinner. When other guests began arriving in evening dress and emblazoned jackets we thought the curry on board might have new appeal, sitting there as we were in our canal boating gear. The bucket of wine and schooner of beer enhanced this thought. I took a casual stroll around the garden looking for a possible escape route. Every exit was locked. No way out except the way we’d come in. Here is an excerpt from the menu, verbatim, to explain our need to escape. “Bavarois of Stilton and white chocolate with toasted almonds” or “Celeriac & cress salad with apple syrup”. Finally we decided to make a run for it and casually strolled out the way we had entered, not bothering to wait to cancel our reserved table when no one was in attendance at the desk. On the towpath we nonchalantly passed our mooring neighbours from the cruisers, resplendent in their evening gear, making their way to the hotel and dinner. Should they inspect the moorings I shall have to feign illness.

 

Thursday June 3

We’re in the money

 

No we haven’t won lotto. If we thought yesterday was the day of mixing it with the well at heel, you should see today’s display of wealth. The banks are lined with cruisers of values with a lot of noughts at the end and the houses are mansions on 1-5 acres. The boat houses are now the size of residential homes. The one good thing is that the owners obviously have the wherewithal to maintain all this so it is most pleasing to the eye to cruise by. I do believe this is the most pleasant strip of water I’ve ever travelled on in my life and doing it on a sunny day has only enhanced the experience.

 

The locks are very big and today the biggest had seven cruisers and our little narrowboat in it. At Maidenhead lock, the Nicholson’s warned us that on warm summer days there are many gongoozlers and today was no exception. The lock has been built with cement steps around it in a kind of amphitheatre arrangement and is obviously a place where mothers and grandparents take the kids and OAP’s (old age people) come to watch the boats come and go and eat an icecream in summer -“ If yer good I’ll take yer down t’ locks for an ice ter watch boats” We did our best imitation of people totally familiar with boats. Bill must have impressed the lockkeeper so much that the chap said “You can go now skipper”. I told him not to let it go to his head.

 

Today we cruised through Henley-on-Thames, all decked out in its regatta finery. The racing channel was boarded off, marquees for the boats up, along with grandstands for the spectators. It looked all very spectacular - can only imagine it on a regatta day - got the impression one was coming up this Bank holiday weekend. Marlow glistened in the sunshine, Bourne End was gracious and the National Trust’s Cliveden Deep was spectacular. Tonight we have moored at Maidenhead and had a drink and cod ‘n chips at a gracious old pub with a view of the Thames. In all a splendid day.

 

Friday June 4

Her Majesty’s Pleasure

 

Knowing that the locks open at 9am we decided to be on their doorstep when the lock out of Maidenhead (Boveney Lock) opened this morning. This would have been very clever except for the fact that we and five other boats also needed to get water after passing through the lock so we had a delay anyway. We were number three in the queue at the water point and Bill had to do some very clever turning to get us into position as it was around the corner from the lock, downstream from the weir and this meant working against a fair current. He is becoming much more comfortable and competent with his skippering. We have learned to use wait time like our 45 minutes there to clean the boat, do washing etc. so the waiting wasn’t too hard to take and we now have a nice shiny boat.

 

We decided however that today was not the day to air our washing outdoors. Can’t have the risk of royalty seeing our “smalls”. One spectacular spot on the trip to the lock was the Oakley Court Hotel/Conference Centre which appeared, from the Thames, to be a castle developed into a luxury hotel complex with all new building in sympathy with and complementing the old – the architect is to be congratulated. I would have been very happy to attend a conference there and do a breakout session in the summer house.

 

The water procuring delay brought us into Windsor about 11am. On the approach to the moorings we could see only one long enough for us and secured it quickly. Several shorter ones would have suited cruisers but they were all gone by the time we returned to the boat this afternoon.

 

We paid the ₤4 for our 24hr mooring at the leisure centre across the park and proceeded on into Windsor. Is that a tourist Mecca - specialty, souvenir shops and eateries everywhere. Even the Castle has three shops. We hired self guiding handsets which were invaluable inside but outside managed to join one of the free guides who was both informative and amusing. The guides are not permitted inside the State Apartments, for some reason. Hadn’t realised how devastating the 1992 fire was or what a fantastic effort has gone into the reconstruction. It’s hard to believe Windsor Castle has been standing so long and is still used as a private residence. We returned to the boat having had an effortlessly pleasant day. A savoury ragout is bubbling on the stove and I am sitting on the poop(less) deck with a scotch, watching the youngsters and teenagers here zoom up and down in their inflatables with outboards, skulls, skiffs etc. It is 6pm and the sun is still shining. I am feeling no pain.

 

 

Progress This week Distance (miles) 122.5 Locks 48

Total Distance (miles) 393.5 Locks 314

 

The journey continues.....