2005 Cruise

[Bill Kennedy]

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.