History isn’t something in the past if you live on the waterways. It is part of the present, entwined in daily life, in constant reminders, as we walk on and in the very footsteps of the past worn into stones and steps, past bridge rubbing bands worn into deep grooves by the ropes attached to horses pulling boats along the canals, and as we stand on lock landings where boatmen have stood for centuries watching their boats rise and fall just as we do now.
History on the waterways is current. It is yesterday and today spliced together in structures, routes, and water. The sights, the sounds, and the smells of the waterways combine – unchanged and yet totally different. Woodsmoke drifts across our nostrils but is fortunately no longer combined with sewage and horse manure in most places! Rural landscapes roll out ahead as they have done for decades but the wharf buildings which once meant working locations and money for the boaters are now often modernised into offices and homes or flattened entirely.The sounds of mooring pins being hammered in, and the rattle of the ratchet as you turn the windlass to open the paddles remain the same as they always have been. They tell you someone’s coming, or going, or staying nearby.
An atmospheric, multi-media and unique exhibition embracing the similarities and differences of the past and present is now available to everyone, boater or not, at the Foxton Canal Museum until 31 December. Two Women, One Boat, 80 Years by the boatwoman, artist, and printmaker Charlotte Ashman, is a rare glimpse into a remarkable shared story that spans time.
Charlotte and her daughter live and work aboard a 72 foot-long boat, Hyperion, with her butty Hyades (also 72ft towed behind, no engine). Hyperion was built in 1935. Just four years later, she and her butty were in service as part of the war effort. At the tiller, Christian Vlasto, a female artist and printmaker (one of the so-called “Idle Women”). Hyperion plied the waterways between London and Birmingham carrying steel, aluminium, coal, and sometimes munitions.
As she stands at the tiller, Charlotte is vividly aware that she shares a view along her boat that would have been exactly the same for Christian, she stands in the same spot, making the same movements and adjustments to maintain navigation, her hand on gears and throttle operating in the precise shadow of the past. She sees from and in the cabin much that Christian’s eyes would also have seen. The resulting project looking at the intersection of heritage and female perspectives on the water – particularly the unique connections between the two women themselves, as artists and printmakers united by their work and the huge working boat Hyperion, brings a remarkable insight into shared similarities than span the years.
These two women know, and knew, a life many men on the working boats found hard, and many men gave it up because it was too tough. It isn’t easy now, even basic day-to-day living on a historic boat is hard work, but both these women like countless others, thrive on it, revelling in its freedom. Both Charlotte and Christian vividly reflect the places, people, and nature of the waterways in their work.
The soundscape of working boats remains unique, the heartbeat throb of the engine, the soft splashes and ripples as the boats move through the water, the birdsong around, and the creaking of the ropes when moored. In the exhibition at Foxton, visitors have a rare chance to go aboard Hyperion, to hear how Charlotte lives and works aboard today, and to see the inspired work both she and Christian created and create onboard.
The famous locks at Foxton have closed again this week due to a lack of rainfall and reduced capacity in the reservoirs. That means we are restricted for cruising but the life of the waterways remains alive thanks to this remarkable exhibition in a museum that whilst small is packed with multimedia insights into the world that was and in so many ways still is, in existence today. Conveniently sandwiched between two pubs and a cafe, this museum is a MUST VISIT for families, individuals, and schools. Two Women, One Boat, 80 Years is fascinating, informative, and thought-provoking, as well as an artistically beautiful multi-media voyage back and forward across time.
It is an exhibition that will be pulling us back to Foxton as often as I can until the end of the year. See you there!
The drought and hot weather of the past two years has led to an historic shortage of water in Britain’s canals and the reservoirs that feed them. It was the driest spring since 1893 according to the Met Office, and much of the country was steadily declared in drought over the coming months. As a result many canals were closed by chains physically locking shut the locks that allow boats to travel up and down the contours of our countryside.
The first stage was restricted opening hours of locks from the start of July. The Grand Union that runs like a navigating backbone across England, the Oxford canals and parts of the Midland network were the first to experience restrictions.
Being unable to move a boat makes a challenge for boaters without personal road transport or in accessing facilities like water and waste disposal, and without access to public transport basics like getting to shops or doctors can become a major difficulty. It isn’t something you necessarily think of if you don’t live on a boat. The requirement in drought struck movement restricted areas to keep moving boats was waived, and life changed.
In mid October the flight of locks at Stoke Bruerne in Northamptonshire reopened after closing on Bank Holiday Monday at the end of August. We watched from our peaceful rural mooring as boat after boat headed to create a queue ready for the unlocking of the chains. We chose in that instance not to join the initial rush, but to bide our time and travel up a few days after the locks opened. It was a calm unrushed ascent with another boat keeping us company in the wide locks. We only had a short wait at the foot of the locks before heading up.
The journey between Stoke Bruerne locks and the next flight at Buckby Locks took us a while, but when the Buckby flight opened we wanted to be there within a few days as there was some concern that if water supplies proven insufficient, the locks might not be open for the predicted span. Buckby found us 3rd in a queue but one of those boats chose to head to Whilton Marina to fuel up, so we became at their kind request, one of the first two to go up the wide locks on the day.
From the Buckby Flight we turned right at Norton Junction onto the Leicester Line, heading back towards family and friends and that was where we encountered the longest queue of this autumn. The queue stretched back parallel to Watford Gap services on the M1, and wound its way up to the base of the locks which take just one boat at a time, and include a staircase.
When we arrived at the top with a day to go before the locks opened on Monday 27th October there were 12 boats at the top waiting to come down, but at the bottom with us were another 22 boats. That same day the next flight of locks at Foxton were also due to open, for just a single week. We needed to get through both flights to move on along the Leicester Line, so we knew we needed to get through the flights at both Watford and Foxton as soon as possible to ensure we could get through while water supplies remained for us to do so.
That added anxiety to the queuing process at the foot of Watford Locks. We believed we were boat no. 13 in the queue to head up, and that gave us plenty of time to watch queue psychology in action.
There are some definites in this queuing process which those who manage queues in person or online know about:
In queues people want to get started.
Not knowing how long you’ll have to wait makes the waiting longer.
Waits that are perceived as unfair are longer than a fair wait.
Anxiety always makes a wait longer.
Explained waits are easier to cope with than unexpected waits.
Boredom or nothing to do makes a wait seem longer.
And it becomes obvious that queues contain very different personalities. Embracing the waterways its apparent that these align well to the birds we see most days. Here are those spotted at close quarters:
Herons – those who stand and watch and wait. They stay aloof and don’t get involved. In boating terms they stay on their boats and only move when they have to.
Geese – make a lot of noise, believe there is safety in numbers and move together. In boating terms they move along with their boat, chatter about the queue – who was where and who should be where according to them (not always the same thing).
Ducks – purposefully travelling, move ahead to make way for others, tell others of opportunities for food and nesting. In boating terms they help on the locks helping everyone through, whether supporting their boat or not.
Moorhens – dash back and forth in a hurry making quite a racket similar to a squeaky toy! They always draw attention to themselves. In boating terms at Watford the vloggers busy with their filming and charting their own journey and not helping others up or down the locks.
Swans – because of their size they often organise food queues at boats and sides of canals. They paddle hard, pull their weight and try to stay serene. In boating terms they could well be said to be CRT staff and CRT voluntary lockkeepers, some of whom over the past weeks have faced a lot of unnecessary stress from queuing boaters but try to maintain calm.
What were we? I hope we were ducks. The Skipper worked locks all morning, I worked them all afternoon, and that certainly helped the length and boredom of waiting. The lock keepers chose to bring all boats down first after then 10am opening, and then began on bringing boats up which began in the afternoon. By the time the locks were re-locked at 2.30pm we were the penultimate boat to travel up. The relief was immense, but we knew there was still 20 miles to travel to get to the top of Foxton’s 10 Locks once we moored in the gathering gloom at the top of the 7 Watford locks.
What birds would be gathering and chattering at the top of Foxton Locks we wondered? The answer was a single, highly efficient Swan who started us straight down the flight as we arrived. So now we are down at the foot of Foxton Locks, able to travel to Market Harborough’s Union Wharf or up to Kilby Bridge for a while. Beyond Kilby Bridge there is no water to enable navigation so until there is, we will remain where there’s enough to stay afloat. Around us are very few boats but plenty of swans, a heron, moorhens and ducks – all I’m pleased to say, of the feathered kind!
Finally we bid farewell to the Grand Union main line and turn back on the Leicester Line.
How far we shall get with water shortages remains to be seen, but we are about 14th in the queue for Watford Locks. They are due to reopen at 10am on Monday for just a week, all being well.
We have been on the Grand Union since we turned off the River Thames on 20 August. Just 5 days later some of the major lock flights were chained shut because of falling water supplies. To get to this point, even with the risk we may not get much further, seems an achievement. Much has changed in the world since we turned off the Leicester Line on 11 April this year.
Going…Going…Gone onto the Leicester Line
This summer has made us reconsider how we live afloat and how we might alter our cruising because of the results of climate change. Should we only cruise in the winter and sit out the summer? We don’t know yet, but we are aware that once we move through these next two flights of locks, it seems there wont be a way back until Spring next year unless we have floods that can be harnessed in reservoirs.
So for us, next week we will be travelling into winter, and we are ready!
It’s here, and it feels wonderful to embrace autumn, particularly this year after the long dry spring and summer, that turned everything to dust.
Living and working on a boat brings nature and the changes of seasons to you in a way that living in bricks and mortar cannot. We are in and out into nature constantly, travelling, walking, carrying, and fetching. Living demands being outside in nature, whether getting water, shopping, moving boats, working locks, walking the dog, or collecting firewood.
Autumn really heralds a change of gear, a time to slow down and take stock, to restock, ready for the quiet and still of winter.
Days are shortening but remain mild and often warm, but the evenings have a definite chill, and the fire is lit for the nights.
Every walk is different now. Some are scrunching and squishing through this mast year’s fallen crab apples as they carpet the towpaths. As they burst with a satisfying pop underfoot, they release a delicious sweetness that wafts around.
Birds are more visible in the slowly undressing hedges and trees. They, too, enjoy the fallen apples, and the water birds really appreciate the squashed ones. It’s much easier to eat apples with a bill rather than a beak, when they have been opened for you. Swans, geese and ducks are foraging on towpaths and apple bobbing in the water.
Cruising slowly as we are through rural countryside waiting for more locks to be unlocked once the water supplies have been confirmed, autumnal changes are very apparent. Boring stretches are now spectacular with flame reds and sharp yellows. The fields have gone from gold to brown, neat furrows have been smoothed by harrows. The outlines of fields and hills are now unadorned in the patchwork of the landscape.
Smooth fields and spot the heron
As we cruise, the air constantly changes too. It feels and smells different. The scent of boat fires burning foraged wood drifts up in grey spirals into the still air from chimneys redundant since early Spring. There are overnight dews that bring moisture in the air.
The days are mild, but the smell of winter is apparent in the evenings, these suddenly darkening evenings that have us scrabbling for head torches.
Some walks are scuffles, shuffles through crunchy carpets of yellow, red and gold. Anyone glimpsing into the churchyard surrounding a solid grey-towered church the other day might have been startled by the sight of two 60 somethings leaping and dancing under the horse chestnuts and beech trees. No Saturnalian frolics, we were just trying to catch our first falling leaves of the year. The leaves falling are a symbol of change, of the cycle of nature and life. Tradition says catching a falling leaf can bring good luck, a year of happiness or freedom from colds in the winter. All or any will be fine, and my finally captured leaf is now tucked up safely aboard while I await what it heralds.
If it really brings good luck then the remaining locks we have to work to get near to where we aim to cruise for the winter, will have enough water supplies to keep them open for us and for all the boats who want to use them. We are all very aware that the travelling window is short this year, and that the annual maintenance time on the canals and rivers is fast approaching. From 1 November until 31 March a published rolling list of repairs across the network curtails travel, and this year it is made even more difficult for many boaters like us because of the water shortages which have shut areas of the networks.
It’s good to be back on the move again – albeit in short hops
While for some closing locks and thus waterways has been a minor inconvenience, for others, the lack of water and subsequent canal closures has had a devastating impact. Some floating traders have been unable to get to places they could trade or markets they had booked. Some boaters who don’t live aboard have had to pay marina costs for the places they normally leave their boats, and then for second marina moorings if they were unable to get to their home berths.
These next few weeks with locks reopening will see many people and many commercial boat movers working long hours cruising to get boats back to where they need to be. If the water supplies hold out, then by the start of 5 people and boats should be where they want to be.
For us, it offers the opportunity to cruise in an area we know well but where we have never spent a winter. It will be a chance to see an area we know clad in a different cloak. We know we can access essential services and still be able to move along the canal unless the waters freeze, and we shall have the opportunity to keep a car nearby. I am looking forward to a bit of gentle hibernation and autumn with its vivid colours and startling brushstrokes across the landscape is a final flourish before a wintertime of regeneration, peace and rest. Plans and schemes, ideas and hopes will have time to develop in the short days and dark nights to come… what I wonder will emerge from our ruminations?
How long does it take to put down roots, to feel a sense of belonging, to feel part of a community?
Being a nomad, I reckon a couple of days often does it for me, but I am aware it’s different for each individual. For the first time for a very long time, we have been in one place almost continuously for the past 6 weeks (we have had to move to access water and waste facilities). We are heading off again this weekend, but in that time we have felt welcomed, included and generously made to feel we belong by the people who are living in this beautiful village of Grafton Regis near which we are moored. We also know from their honest conversations with us that they don’t always feel this way about “boat people”.
Boats housing people who become locals for various periods of time
It got me thinking about how we as permanent “boat people” we seek to belong, to integrate, and why we do so if we are somewhere for a while. It works for us and is as much for us as it is for those around us and for future perceptions of all of us who live afloat on the inland waterways.
Subconsciously, I realise we have adopted 3Cs over the years, perhaps whether afloat or not, as we have become used to moving and living in different countries, different places, and different communities.
Communicate – in a shared language or if no shared language exists (which we have encountered in places), then with smiles and signs; through universal languages of art, music, hobbies, cooking or laughter. I will remain indebted to all who took time to help me learn their language and customs to help me integrate and belong. Even though I no longer live among them, I know without exaggeration that their kindness changed me for the better. – by taking time to talk and more often to listen – by asking questions about the local area, what they love about it, and what we should see or do while here
Contribute – by getting involved in small ways that make a difference to the whole community. – by litter-picking the local area (not just the towpath – 10 black bin sacks full so far during this stay),
Another haul of cans, bottles and take away wrappers
– by finding out what needs doing locally (nettle weeding in the churchyard this time round for me), – by getting involved as Canal and River Trust volunteers in the locality (we’ve collected an old bike and transported it to a rubbish facility, litter-picked the towpath and cleared weeds from a weir) – by supporting local village stores, farm shops and pubs (I knew going to the pub was a positive!)
Care – looking after the area around the boat and showing our appreciation of its beautiful position
– making sure we demonstrate a willingness and enthusiasm to learn about where we are and what is around us
– showing gratitude for advice on pubs, good dog walks, access to private land and being shown the best foraging spots. In this instance I’ve taken time to walk up to the village with thank you pots of crab apple and rosehip jelly
-keeping our dog under control being aware not all walkers like dogs, and aways clearing up after it
– moving on leaving nothing behind to show where we were apart from some flattened grass and hopefully leaving the area better for our stay
Today, we will move on as some locks are now unlocked because water levels have risen. One day I hope we will return to this little vilage in Northamptonshire but in the meantime, before we leave we will do one last litter-pick, call to say thank you and farewell to many of the villagers who have befriended us during our stay, and leave knowing so much more about English history than we did before. On our last farewell visit, we are likely to walk the same paths frequented by local girl Elizabeth Woodville, wife of King Edward IV and mother of the Princes in the Tower. She was crowned Queen of England on May 26 1465. And she wasn’t the only monarch in whose footsteps we are walking.
Believe it or not – it’s Henry VIIIth!
As we walk across the fields with the dog one last time, we may well be following the very routes taken by Henry VIII, his huntsmen and hounds, as this was one of his manors (coincidentally he swapped it for those of Loughborough and Shepshed in Leicestershire- places we also know well). The kites that whistle and call above us now inhabit the same skies as did Henry’s hunting hawks.
This former and very famous king will have seen, just as we have, the change of colours into autumn across these spectacular landscapes.
It seems remarkable that I never realised that it was here that the fated meeting with Cardinal Wolsey which led to the dramatic dissolution of the monasteries was held. History truly was made in this tiny area of Northamptonshire, a place you might now miss if you just speed past it on the A508. If you can detour into the wonderful church here then the remarkable history is encapsulated in one of the most remarkable, entertaining and unique interactive ways I have ever encountered.
Just push open the door to be transported back through the centuries
While we have been here, we survived unscathed the first named storm of the year, Storm Amy. This is the place where the man who introduced the first storm warnings for shipping in 1861, was born, a man now remembered in the daily shipping forecasts.
Vice Admiral Robert FitzRoy, captained the Beagle, the ship that transported Charles Darwin on his expeditions; designer of the FitzRoy barometer; pioneer of the science of weather forecasting and Governor of New Zealand. In March 2002 Finisterre, one of the 31 sea areas around the British coast was renamed FitzRoy to honour him and his work.
Met office map to show shipping areas
The forecast for his area today reads: FitzRoy:
WIND
Northeasterly veering easterly, 3 to 5, but 6 or 7 at first near Finisterre, becoming variable 3 or less later in south.
SEA STATE
Moderate, occasionally rough until later.
WEATHER
Drizzle in north.
VISIBILITY
Moderate or good.
His sea area is conveniently adjacent to Trafalgar, whose memorable battle in 1805, the year FitzRoy was born, was Nelson’s final success.
This talk of the sea puts me in mind that over the 6 weeks we have been here, 4,603 individuals have arrived in the UK in small boats. They too are “boat people”. For their success and well-being, their involvement and integration, however long they stay here, they too will need to put down roots, to feel a sense of belonging and a sense of community. As we know, even a short stay can contribute and be positive. How these people are supported by communities to integrate, to understand the rich heritage, complex language and idiosyncrasies of the UK nations, however long they remain, will play a large part in their futures and in the well-being and success of the areas where they stay.
Living and working afloat is rich in small moments.
Small things that make days special. Small moments of pause. Small moments of reflection. Small moments of calm or small moments of excitement and drama.
I believe we have more of these revitalising moments every day than we did when we lived in bricks and mortar. Perhaps it is that we have stepped back consciously from the hamster wheel of life and work, making ourselves more open to these moments. Perhaps it is that we live closer to nature, to the outdoors that makes us more aware, that brings us more of these special small meaningful events.
They are moments which we all should seek whatever we do for work or however we live. They are moments of well being, of recharging, of reflective wonder or sheer pleasure.
As the beginnings of Storm Amy are making themselves felt with rain and winds, my small moments of satisfaction are in sound ropes and a safe mooring. Every time the rain clatters on the metal roof, I feel a small frisson of glee that I am safe inside, in the dry and warm.
I feel joy in my own efforts too. The clean sheets on the bed are sheer pleasure. (Making a narrowboat bed is no mean feat but it really repays the effort).
In the past 48 hours alone, I’ve delighted in:
Rainfall – we all need it so much
Watching fluid patterns created on the water by raindrops
Finding a favourite mooring available just for us
Watching reflections of sunlight on the water dance across the wooden ceiling of the boat
Been mesmerised by ducks doing pilates in the rain outside the window as I washed up, entertaining me
Finding a mooring away from tall trees when a storm is forecast
Knowing the water tank is full and the toilet tanks empty
Going to a shop and finding mince pies
Carrying them back down the towpath eagerly anticipating that mince pie with a cuppa
Enjoying that cuppa and the mince pie
Passing someone on the towpath when out with the dog. Smiling and speaking to each other. Little enjoyable moments of human contact demanding nothing, expecting nothing but sharing a moment
Gaps in the rain that allow for collecting herbs and coal from the roof without getting drenched
All these little things add up. They bring joy and contentment.
Focusing on the small, positive details of life, can build up to days or months or years of such moments of surprise, pleasure, enjoyment or delight.
Sometimes they can be the tiny incremental things that rebalance us after bigger events have thrown us off course. Recognising that small matters and small adds up is vital.
We can all find those small moments. Sometimes it is harder to stop and look for them, but it will repay us if we do.
Trust is vital when you let someone cut out a chunk of your floating home with an angle grinder while you’re on the water…
Trust we had but I still feel glad the dramatic work is over, and we are still afloat! It was something that had to happen.
So why did we need to have the whole well deck (deck at the front/bow/pointy end) cut away?
Take a look at how it looked before the work. Rusty and getting thinner by the year. Walking on it was about to become a game of chance. The risk was if your foot went through the thinning deck you would end up with a very wet damaged leg – the well deck being the top of our water tank!
Over two years ago, we found an angle grinder/welding wizard – Kev Kyte. His work changed the safety and ease of living on our boat then, and now he’s done it again!
We have streamlined the boat at the bow internally in the process. For now the structure on top of the well deck that supported wooden planks that we used as seats are gone. We used to store much underneath them – coal, wood, all sorts of things we couldn’t decide whether to throw out or not! It is now a large (relative to a 50ft boat) open space, with a more flush water tank lid, all covered with a fitted canvas, which gives us the opportunity to rethink its use.
Our aim is to allow us a chance to consider how we want and need to use this space, and to maximise it rather than use it as a dumping ground which would be the temptation if we returned it as it was. Ideas at the moment are for moveable seating at different heights, fixed storage and potentially in the future, a new fuel tank to supply a diesel stove. The latter is a future-proofing thought – a way of removing the effort and need to haul around a ton of coal every year onto and into the boat to supply our heating.
So this work was the first stage of new plans for the future and for a valuable section of the boat. We also had an invitation this week to get involved in a different but equally forward thinking and vital planning exercise – bringing two of my personal passions together. Academia and narrowboats – an odd combination perhaps but one I’m used to remotely (via online) or with only one or two academics on board with me. This though was over 30 academics all at once. A logistical nightmare perhaps, but not when spread over 3 boats.
Academic away days can be many things – when I mentioned it to another former lecturer she recalled basement rooms with little light, another remembered an expensive hotel with over-active heating, both considered they were exhausted and drained by the end of the day. The group we had were invigorated, revitalised by fresh air and sunshine, and from the look of those on the boat I was invited to skipper, hugely productive. Tasks were allocated to be completed between locks or pause points, and when you are chugging along in the middle of a river with the only distractions being ducks, swans, a heron, a cormorant and a kingfisher (sadly the latter only spotted by me on the tiller), focus and completion don’t seem so difficult.
Groups changed within the boats and tackled a variety of academic tasks as we went through the day. We weren’t on the padlocked section of waterway where we are currently moored but on a river with working locks, so the groups had physical exercise and new lessons to learn too.
Thanks to the friend and former colleague from Loughborough University for the invitation to an inspired, inspiring and hugely fun away day. Rumble, Fumble and Jumble from Sileby Mill proved perfect foils for an effective day of planning and team buildimg with a real difference. Huge thanks too to the colleague who was happy to provide accommodation to work with me off our boat later in the week (and provide a comfy space for Boatdog too) while welding work was going on!
And a final thanks to the dentist who fitted me in for an emergency dental appointment. Living afloat doesn’t make us immune to such necessities, but fortunately that’s the first required in 5 years for either of us.
So another memorable, busy, and productive week afloat to start our 6th year afloat. Next week is looking alarmingly full already – and there is talk of the padlocks being opened in Northamptonshire for three weeks from 10 October, and then two flights of locks on the Leicester Line being open for use from 27 October for one week. That means, all being well and more water appearing from the skies to continue replenishing reservoirs, we may have the chance to move next month back into Leicestershire to cruise there through the winter months.
Our “Let’s give it 2 years and see what happens” experiment in living and working afloat has just passed 5 years!
In that time with our 50ft floating home/office/workshop we have travelled 3,530 miles, worked her through 2,328 locks (counting locks we’ve officially lock wheeled for others in that time we have worked 3,043 locks).
A day afloat
It was our response to the pandemic. A wonderful catalyst that forced us to stop saying “If only…” and say “Why not? What have we got to lose?”
It’s been five years in which we have travelled with our boat to the heart of London, to the glorious countryside of Yorkshire and Lancashire, into Wales and this year we went down to Bath via Oxfordshire, taking in the Thames, and a section of the tidal Thames. We have taken in every one of the Seven Wonders of the Waterways.
We set out accompanied by the incomparable cocker Cola. Having lost him after 15 years together and several happy years afloat we were joined by furry Freya Boatdog – the cockerpoo.
❤️🐾🐾
Right now we are stationary. Low water has brought us along with many boaters to a halt, waiting for rain to refill reservoirs and restock water courses. We are patiently locked in Northamptonshire in a beautiful spot and as we are still afloat, there’s no hardship right now. We aren’t where we aimed to be for winter, but maybe we will be able to move before then. Low water levels caused by severely reduced rainfall over the past two years plus heatwaves has resulted in over 400 miles of waterways being temporarily closed by Canal and River Trust.
It’s a chance for us to take stock on another year afloat. We started this year in Church Lawton, Stoke-on-Trent on the Trent and Mersey canal and we ended it in Grafton Regis in Northamptonshire. In between we travelled a waterway new to us – the unexpectedly delightful Caldon Canal. Winding its way from the industrial heartland of Etruria, through Potteries villages and the scenic Staffordshire countryside, its two very distinct arms took us to Leek and then through the incredibly low Froghall Tunnel – possibly the lowest on the network- to Froghall Basin. 9
That gave me a chance to meet up with an old school friend I hadn’t seen for years, and what a delightful catch up that was and led to further meets too – thanks Karen Webb. I do hope that extensions to the Caldon can be completed in years to come taking boat traffic into Leek (which we adore) and Uttoxeter. Both market towns would, as similar sized places already do, benefit from having the focal points of canal basins encouraging water-borne and other tourism.
From the Caldon we headed south along the Trent and Mersey to make it onto the Erewash Canal. We have dipped our boating toes onto the Erewash before but Covid struck us down and we never finished its whole length. This time we did, through the rural, the industrial, through locks that were seriously hard work and sections with sunken boats to Langley Mill. Once more we discovered new places and met up with old friends and colleagues who introduced us to more cafes and pubs.
Whilst on the Erewash we made it to the unique and renowned Sheetstores Marina for welding work to the battery tray in readiness for a new era on nb Preaux, and then found ourselves trapped by a lock repair outage at Ratcliffe that was delayed by flooding. For the first time in our boating history we booked ourselves a winter mooring. But it was the other side of the lock – at Barrow upon Soar.
Fifteen days after we began paying for our mooring, we finally reached it, and began a new way of boatlife for a few months. Family, walks to and from school, standing on the sidelines of football matches and training nights, and two highly successful Christmas trading markets on land.
On 6 January waters rose. We know the Soar and know it floods, but this flood was unexpectedly high. I hate the overused word unprecedented but that’s what they were. Higher than ever before. People were evacuated by the Fire Brigade from boats, caravans, and houses. We sat tight once we had splashed back to the boat, lengthened the ropes and checked them every few hours. At 2pm the peak was reached and a slow subsidence began. We breathed more easily knowing we had survived even though months of mud would follow.
Floods
By the end of January waters were navigable again and we made it to our location for new battery fitting. The highly knowledgeable and efficient Ed Shiers of Four Counties Marine installed a LifeFE PO4 battery with a new alternator, alternator controller and all associated wiring. It really has changed how we live and saved us so much on diesel. It allows us to maximise and store the solar available. We no longer have to run the engine on days without solar when we aren’t moving but need power, and it has allowed us to move away from gas for cooking. The only need for gas on our boat was for cooking but now we have an induction hob. We no longer need to buy and lug heavy gas canisters, or pull them from their lockers to change them over. The lockers are now extra storage spaces.
We made the most of our winter mooring stationary location to undertake training and become CRT volunteers which was a wonderful opportunity. It has also allowed us to volunteer as we have travelled when we can meet up with local groups, and enables us to volunteer by ourselves as rangers.
In March the next major change to the boat began as our old kitchen, sitting room and dining area was stripped out. Ben, an incredibly talented craftsman from Holm Oak Trading made and installed a kitchen/diner/office that has become the envy of many friends from boat and bricks and mortar homes alike. Crafted from oak, maple, black walnut and beech, this kitchen has given us so much storage and is a thing of beauty to be admired and caressed as well as used. 0
A kitchen/dining/office of dreams
By April we were underway once more in our new look home, heading onto yet more waterways new to us. The Aylesbury Arm with the delightful Circus Fields marina was another unexpected find. We also explored the Wendover Arm to its conclusion but only sadly on foot as a breach has left it dewatered. We prepared to turn towards London aiming to head onto the tidal Thames and Thames to get across to the Kennet and Avon but just as we were about to do so a lock near London went out and word was it would take a long time to repair.
We turned back, a detour adding 106 miles and another 24 locks to our journey. This meant we reached the Kennet and Avon via the Oxford, South Oxford, and non-tidal River Thames. On the way we were towed through a broken lock – thanks CRT – learned how to river moor sometimes attached to trees.
Mooring with some differences!
Boatdog became super confident at walking our 8ft planks to get on and off the boat, and together we explored new swathes of the countryside by boat and foot.
The K&A deserves at least a blog to itself because it is so diverse. We travelled its length to Bath and then returned because lock closures on the main network were underway. Our route back was via the Thames and the tidal Thames to Brentford where we joined the Grand Union once more.
This year then we have discovered 7 waterways new to us, the Caldon, Erewash, Aylesbury and Wendover Arms, Kennet and Avon Canal, the entire non-tidal River Thames, and a section of the tidal Thames.
Our 5th year has taken us 764 miles, through 669 locks including a descent and ascent of the famous Caen Hill Flight of 29 locks, and 19 tunnel trips resulting in 12.5 miles travelled underground.
We have met some delightful people on and off the water, had great times with family, seen lots of old friends for much needed catch ups, made new friends, met just one man I’d rather never see again in a GRP cruiser, seen breathtaking scenery, sunsets and the occasional sunrise which we were up in time for, and have gained another year of fabulous memories. After 8 years of owning our boat, we have made major changes and updates to her, changes that make living on her even more enjoyable.
We have fed countless swans, cygnets, ducks and ducklings. Been enthralled by kingfishers, herons, moorhens and Canada geese. Delighted in tawny and barn owls, green and lesser spotted woodpeckers, foraged for our cupboards and meals and revelled in our slower, more thoughtful life.
What’s next? Well, the first thing is to see if and when the locks ahead of us are going to open and if they do for us to move nearer to family for Christmas and we have on land Christmas trading fairs booked. We have some major welding work booked in to make life even better.
After that? Well, Birmingham has more miles of canal than Venice apparently and we still have many sections around Birmingham to explore, so those are beckoning.
Our 2 year experiment that’s become a 5 year lifestyle shows no sign of ending! Living this way has its challenges but those are part of the appeal. Life would be boring if it was without excitement.
Cruising into another year
We remain together, afloat in all senses, and looking ahead to what our 6th year afloat will bring.
There is little as rewarding for mind and body as a foraging stroll, ideally for me with a dog, along towpath hedgerows.
Crab apples
This year despite the drought, many fruits are early and so plentiful boughs are groaning under the weight and sweet scents accompany every walk. Gleams of orange, red and purply black signal ripeness and plenty ready for the taking.
It is easy this year to stick to the foraging code of only taking a maximum of a third of the available finds leaving plenty for wildlife and future propagation. Even so, the beautiful cupboards on the boat built for us by the brilliant Ben of Holm Oak Trading, are already brimming with delights. We are running out of bottles and jars, and still the fruits beckon us to use them every time we step outside.
So what have we found and what are we using already?
On our way back from Bath we picked green walnuts, blackberries, damsons, Mirabelle plums and bullace. Since then on our last three moorings we have found apples and pears and in the past couple of weeks at have been preserving rosehips, sloes, crab apples, elderberries and blackberries to see us through the winter and into next year. Jars, bottles, fridge and freezer have been commandeered to cope with the glut on offer. We have gorged ourselves on fruit crumbles and enjoyed fresh fruits on cereals, as desserts and just as treats.
The satisfaction of simply walking the dog, collecting fruit as I go, returning laden with goodies and spending a few hours turning them into jams, jellies, gins and sauces is immeasurable. Every time I look at the labelled jars and bottles I feel a joy that exceeds the reduction in the shopping bill. It is something to do with returning to simplicity, being part of a centuries-old tradition and keeping skills going.
Living afloat means we live in an historic tradition in part. Our boats now have horsepower of a different type with mechanical engines, our boat interiors house modern floating homes carrying comfort not cargo, but the past is part of our daily lives. Knowing we walk the towpaths treading in the hoofprints of the horses which pulled the boats, passing the worn grooves in the metal rubbing strips saving bridge stones from the wear of the ropes, using the locks and swing bridges boaters have manipulated for centuries, brings us into direct daily contact with the past.
Making the most of the free harvest on offer along the towpaths is another thing we share with previous generations, whether they were boaters or not. I remember my grandmothers pantry in autumn, shelves groaning with bottles and jars. Each labelled in her spidery hand, telling of a makers’ pride. Some of the things she made I don’t, and wouldn’t have a clue about, the space for or the desire to eat – pickled eggs for one. But there are many things I have made this past week that have a strong connection to those laden shelves of my memories.
Rosehips
Rosehips, those vibrant orange-red oblongs scattered along the hedgerows, beloved of small boys for itching powder because of the tiny irritant hairs within them, were discovered to have 20 times the Vitamin C of an equivalent quantity of oranges. When citrus fruits were scarce in the Second World War, the Ministry of Food exhorted women in 1943 to collect them and bottle a rosehips syrup to keep them and their families healthy.
I have been collecting them this week and combining them with crab apples to create a luscious golden jelly that has a sweetness with a tart edge to it.
Crab apples are very versatile, which is good this year as they are everywhere. The round or oval fruits, sometimes green, sometimes flushed with red are ready when they start to fall, and quite frankly they are falling so thickly that they are ankle breakers for anyone running down the towpaths near us at the moment.
Paths are strewn with fallen fruit
They have so many uses – for jellies, wine, apple butter, or as a tangy addition to crumbles when combined with ordinary apples.
Sloes, the fruit of the blackthorn with their gleaming purple-black polished skins have found their punctured way into gin to make sloe gin that should be ready for Christmas and beyond (if the bottles last that long!). It is important to make sure they are sloes – and the thorns easily spotted on the older wood of the tree will help correct identification.
Sloes
Blackberries and elderberries have merged into a hedgerow preserve, thst makes an absolutely delicious sauce for desserts, ice creams and cereals. Cutting or pinching the clusters of elderberries from the tree and then taking them from stems with a fork is a simple, repetitive and meditative process. Green or spoiled berries find their way through the swan hatch to the waiting ducks, swans or fish. Nothing is wasted.
Elderberries
There don’t seem many elderberries near our current mooring this year. Perhaps there were so many flowers early in the season that many people were out gathering them for cordials and wines, resulting in fewer berries, but maybe the birds have taken more than their fair share too. On the offside of the canal are elderberries and the blue tits, coal tits, robins and blackbirds are feasting there every day. They are welcome to those – out of my reach and a pleasure to watch them all taking their turns at the sweet black berries.
If I have time next week , shall look forward to experimenting with fruit vinegars of blackberries and crab apples, and making some fruit leathers, another excellent way of preserving fruit. Any other ideas would be gratefully received.
I’ve always thought I don’t have the space to make wine, but if you make your own wine, do you find it takes up a lot of space? Is it something you would recommend, and if so, what foraged fruits do you use?
The satisfaction of foraging and of making are two separate delights, which are then added to by the joy of consuming or giving away the items made from the hedgerows. This week, the local dogwalker who pointed me in the direction of rosehips was delighted with a jar of rosehip and crab apple jelly. Giving is good, and when the fruit is free, it is really a gift of love and labour.
Travelling to the United States of America by narrowboat is not something I ever thought we would be able to do, but this summer, we did just that.
We travelled down the River Thames to the Berkshire/Surrey border, moored our boat home with the help of a handy English oak, and set off on foot a few hundred yards to a symbolically carved wooden gate to step onto American soil.
Gateway to wisdom
This beautiful gate reminds us of the importance of an approach that aligns to a narrowboat way of life – slow but sure. It reminds us that our actions may not bear fruit in our lifetimes but that we must begin those actions in order for them to ultimately be achieved.
The gate leads into a single acre of American soil situated in Runnymede gifted to the United States by the late Queen Elizabeth II in 1965 to commemorate President John F Kennedy.
The content of the 35th President of the USA’s Presidential Address from January 1961 seems even more pertinent with the current situation in his country. He told all Americans to unite for their country. “Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.”
He called on all nations of the world to join America in a fight against the “…common energies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease and war itself.” Success he said would take time, no instant quick fix, but it was beholden on us all to start the work to achieve these essential goals.
Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas in November 1963 but the goals he set for himself, his government, and his nation are ones which we would all do well to support to bring to fruition.
Kennedy’s clear guidance for the world to understand the key position of America is carved on a 7 ton block of Portland Stone
“Let every nation know whether it wishes us well or ill that we shall pay any price bear any burden meet any hardship support any friend of oppose any foe in order to assure the survival and success of liberty.”
Leading from the memorial are 50 steps, one for each US State, and an overarching American Scarlet Oak. This acre of America stands within a stone’s throw of Runnymede where the Magna Carta was signed in 1215, the place seen as the birthplace of modern democracy.
The other most significant item for me within this area was a large circular building whose exterior belies its purpose- to house a remarkable installation by artist Mark Wallinger. Writ in Water harks back to a line on poet John Keats’ gravestone ‘Here lies one whose name was written in water.’
No clue outside to the magic that awaits inside
The building is a simple labyrinth with a central chamber open to the sky. It brings the heavens to reflect into a central pool with the sound of constantly flowing water, edged with inscribed steel. It is, like life, ever-changing with time and seasons.
That inscription reflected alongside the changing sky in the apparently bottomless dark pool, is the wording of Clause 39 from the Magna Carta. “No free man shall be seized or imprisoned or stripped of his rights or possessions or outlawed or exiled or deprived of his standing in any other way, nor will we proceed with force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land.” This remains unchanged by time or the fluctuations of nature.
This is one of the most powerful, peaceful, thought-provoking and profound art installations I have ever experienced. Its power is in simplicity but complexity. The calming aound of water combines with the quiet induced by the embrace of the concrete labyrinth. Weeks later, its impact remains with me. If you have the chance to visit, don’t miss the opportunity.
It seems that all politicians of every hue here and in the United States would do well to visit both Writ in Water and to absorb the fundamentals set on American soil here in England. If they, and each of us in our small ways, would commit to continue the aims of Kennedy’s Presidential Address and the principles encapsulated in Clause 39, wouldn’t the world be a safer, happier place?
Wouldn’t it be wonderful each of us asked what can I do for this country where we live? Whether cleaning up graffiti or litter picking, being a volunteer or taking another selfless role, there is something every single one of us can do to make the world a better place. Why would anyone not do that?
Bagged litter pick heading to the bin – a small act but one that makes a difference
Pickingupducks 