12 weeks on the cut

[Bill Kennedy]

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.