Ellesmere Boat Festival...thru' aspiring boaters eyes

[landmarker]

I always feel close to my Dad’s spirit when I’m driving the roads of Shropshire. Ken was born in Ellesmere, in 1921. Funnily enough just a few yards from the banks of the Llangollen Canal…only back then it took its name from the village of his birth.

 

 

I always imagine Ken speeding up those lanes on his Matchless, or B.S.A. and I’ve experienced the same of course. Mind you, name like Yamaha and Kawasaki don’t quite summon the same nostalgic images….the advantage was the fillings in ones teeth were not shaken loose over 3,000 r.p.m.

 

We fired up the auld Audi under cloudless skies and soon were south of Tarporley town, the affluent settlement in Cheshire with a slight regency feel. As Cheshire gave way to a brief dip into Wales we could see a hot air balloon in the sun-soaked sky , seemingly hanging in one spot due to the almost windless, breezeless boost to late summer/early autumn that we desperately need after another grey wash-out.

 

Back into England now as the ‘Welcome to Shropshire’ sign conjures up Ken again, rakish in leather flying helmet and goggles, a grin chiselled into his face, set against the onrushing wind as the trees, the Austins, Wolseleys & Morris’s were left behind.

 

Whitchurch came and went and I didn’t go the wrong way this time. Just lately I find myself taking many a wrong turn and heading in the wrong direction, much more so than in times past when my navigational skills were legend - in our house anyway.

Wallet re-assured me the last time this happened …. ‘yer losin’ it’

 

We arrived at Ellesmere by nine-thirty, and parked by the ‘mere’ where thirty years ago I scattered Mum & Dad’s ashes. Thoughtfully, someone planted a willow tree shortly afterwards and it’s now approaching adult status.

 

It weeps - I don’t anymore, but pause for a contemplative few moments gazing out across the blue of the lake. Closure? That’s not for me. Is it for anyone, or just a handy term for Journalists and insurance companies?

 

Wallet was about to get stuck into the butties as she elbowed a couple of pensioners off a handily located bench. Turkey and mayo - mmm.. & granary bread .After filling up we headed for the narrow little streets of the village that’s become a town since Dad’s day. There was a sense of busyness about the place and signs for the festival and boat rally were all over the shop.

 

Logically enough we headed down Wharf Street , I’d been down here before, thoughtfully leaving a memento of my visit as the lens cap of my lovely new Minolta fell from my grasp and rolled through the slots in a drainage grid with all the precision of an aimed, fairground-like attempt.

 

Further indelible memories of childhood came when I spotted this. Dad’s boss had one. I used to sit in it occasionally in the late fifties willingly wooed by the walnut opulence of the dashboard and that big, black huge steering wheel with it‘s chromium plated horn ring, not to mention the classic Viking badge in the middle of it. Funny that it should be one parked up there I mused.

 

Coming into the wharf area itself we were greeted by a blaze of colour from the assembled craft. We’d never been to a boat rally before, but with a wife demanding more and more canal treks it was inevitable sooner or later.

 

Many of the narrow boats were decked out with symbols of childhood , Disney characters and the like which was the cue for wide eyed kids to stare in wonder at this annual invasion of a quiet backwater.

Stalls sold boatee stuff and bric-a-brac and Wallet was immersed in her new found hobby - looking not buying. We’re still in economy mode - neither of us has earned a red cent for six months!

 

We strolled along the crowded towpath admiring the efforts of proud owners, and the skill of boat builders whose art is surely never more evident than in the graceful curves of the bow sections of these canal craft. We find ourselves attracted to the ‘cruiser-stern’ approach which means there’s room for two or three people to sit at the helmsman’s side rather than the ‘traditional’ tiller area where there is only room for two to stand up.

 

We encountered friendly folk who offered advice and tips on getting started. There were signs inviting passers-by to ‘look inside’ - Wallet didn’t need asking’ twice!

 

As lunchtime approached we walked eastwards away from the crowds and found a seat ideal in proportions for my still somewhat challenged needs. Having had two hip rpelacements this year I have to sit above knee height. Someone had thoughtfully carved a makeshift chair at one end of an old log , and the other end was still high enough for me to perch myself against as we finished off the turkey. A Melton Mowbray Pie apiece added to the occasion, Tunnock’s providing dessert in the familiar oblong shape of a the ubiquitous caramel wafer.

 

We’d walked through a tunnel to get here. Almost a hundred yards long. I was half way through when I realised I’d see a whole lot better without my sunglasses - stupid man ! There was a handrail to prevent disaster - I know the cut is only a few feet deep but falling in could be catastrophic, not least for the sandwiches…always a let down when soggy.

 

Making our way back after lunch the stamina sapping heat began to affect our minds, and we stopped at a marina to look at boats ‘for sale’ … this is no time for such diversions, although there was a cracking little thirty-five footer emblazoned with the red rose of Lancashire which looked an ideal starter craft for two complete novices. We must put our longings on the back burner for now. Hiring is our first priority and we intended to check out another marina a few miles down the road where I’d organised a day hire later in the month.

 

We finally got back to the wharf. Wallet rested herself on a bench and gazing to the side of it I spotted a suitably sized wooden stump upon which I could rest my recently battered buttocks. As I checked the top of it for smoothness a vicious splinter stabbed my index finger and broke off inside. Wallet seemed only mildly interested as I struggled with pain and modest blood loss , even my best little-boy act elicited little sympathy. Not able to see the true extent of my injury - I’d left me reading glasses in the car - I valiantly held back the tears. Later, back mere-side and able to see what I was doing I managed to squeeze the spell out the same way it had invaded my body. It was all of an eighth of inch long !

 

By now Swans had gathered by the willow tree and I smiled inwardly at the serenity of the scene.

 

We drove westward towards Whittington . There is a pub called the ‘Narrowboat Inn’ a couple of miles outside the village where Great, Great, Great Grandparents struggled on the land in the century the canal was planned. We settled upon a swift half apiece - Ale of England ‘Bombardier Bitter’, cheekily flaunting itself so close to the Welsh border. We chose outside chairs where Wallet turned her back to me as her gaze was captured by yet more boats. She spotted the one reserved for day-hire and was thrilled to see a ‘cruiser-stern’ and a sizeable bow, where she can sit, wine glass in hand like some hand carved figurehead as the craft poodles along on at a stately pace.

 

At eighty quid a day it looks a bargain. We’ve booked it.

 

Ale sank it was time to go home. I tuned the radio to football as Manchester City, in shirts the colour of the still cloudless sky above demolished Arsenal , the only blot on that landscape being the antics of African Adebayor who taunted the opposition’s support and put the boot in a former opponents face.

 

We had been planning a ‘pub-tea’ but when /Wallet gamely offered me a meaty quarter -pounder and chips on one of local baker Mr.Roberts’s floury white baps all thoughts of bar meals were banished. We picked up supplies at Tarporley SPAR.

She does a lovely burger does Wallet , and the bottle of Shiraz already earmarked for later was the perfect accompaniment.

 

All in all a grand day out. One we’d looked forward too and it didn’t disappoint. Thanks for sharing it.

 

 

photos from 8-00pm tonight on

www.grimacing.wordpress.com -

still at the developers

[NB Alnwick]

An interesting account . . .

[landmarker]

We’re still in economy mode - neither of us has earned a red cent for six months!

 

(Me;Bi-lateral hip replacements She: Redundancy after 25 years - Wallet got another job last week!)

Just in case anyone thinks we're spongers

Edited September 19, 2009 by landmarker