Surviving a heatwave in a tin can

We’re in a heatwave. A time when living and working in a metal box doesn’t always seem the best idea.



It is also a time when social media and crowd intelligence/experience comes into its own. People are quick to share what’s worked for them, from draping cold wet towels over windows to setting up pumps to keep water from their mooring running over their boat roof.



This week started with us stuck in a queue at a lock outside Banbury. We had some shade and the temperatures hadn’t begun to climb to really unpleasant heights. After 26 hours in the queue we moved from 13th place in the descending line to 1st, and were hauled through by our ropes thanks to the efforts of Canal and River Trust staff and volunteers. The roping through was to avoid the possibility of engine vibration causing more damage to the lock structure weakened by a boat strike – a boat slamming into the gate of the lock that smashed the top beam and likely caused damage elsewhere.





From there we headed on in company with boats whose crews we had got to know well during our enforced halt, and two of us found ourselves rescuing an unmanned narrowboat doing a Suez manoeuvre across the entire canal. Using our two boats to push it across I got onboard and tied a one of our ropes to the roof of the casualty, throwing the rope to one of the other boat’s crew who had managed to get into a field alongside. Together we pulled it and managed to tie it up with our donated rope. The plastic twine with which it had once been tied was frayed and useless. From strands on piling some 200 yards further up the canal on the towpath side, it seemed that is where the boat had once been moored.


We took its details and reported it to CRT. If it is licensed they should be able to contact the owner. If its one thats abanadoned then sadly it can cost £6-7,000 of the charity’s funds tk get ir removved.

It was rewarding for the four of us to find a mooring and a pub where we could toast our team efforts  at the end of the day. The boat won’t stay moored for ever though – the rope although stronger than twine will also be rubbed against the metal piling by every boat that passes, and we’ve certainly seen plenty of boats on the south Oxford.



We’re now moored up for a week in one place unfortunately not somewhere with massive amounts of shade and the temperatures are rising.



Collective intelligence suggests boat dwellers are using ingenuity to keep their homes cool, and many of these will work for bricks and mortar dwellers too. I’ve collated the top 10. If you have any to add please do! These hot spells are not going to get any less frequent.


1.Mooring under motorway bridges (usually wide spaces). Tricky in bricks and mortar I grant you!
2.Opening doors and windows but keeping curtains or blinds down on the sunny side. Obviously this means swapping over as the sun moves round.
3.Working in the evening outside when it’s cool and it’s easier to think – easier for freelancers!
4 Use fans or air con units wherever possible to move air around. Solar powered fans are particularly handy.
5.If you have to move then do that early in the day when it’s cooler, stopping mid morning.
6.Make sure curtains and blinds are thermal lined
7.Make sure your home/office is well insulated – not only does this keep things warm in the winter but at times like this it helps keep it cool. Our retro fitting of insulation is definitely paying off.
8.Use wet towels as floor mats for your feet, and for any children and pets to keep cool on
9.Take the advice of those who live in hot countries and take a siesta if you can. Sleep is often disrupted on hot sticky nights so becoming tetchy through discomfort and lack of sleep can be an issue.
10.Keep cold drinks on tap – I’ve got elderflower cordial in the fridge with lashings of mint from the roof and it’s proving invaluable



Boatdog has her own tips to share!

1.Walk early morning and late evening ideally near the river when a paddle is definitely in order
2.Keep my water bowl topped up
3.My cool mat which is activated when I sit or lie on it is very good (we even lent it to someone in the lock queue to try for their dog!)
4.Wet tea towels aren’t the best look but they help
5.Large meals are out but lots of little snacks in the day work better
6.Having a haircut has helped although being done on the boat by a far-from-professional groomer means I look more scalped than shorn in places. This approach applies to humans too – don’t wear too many clothes but enough to keep your skin safe


The weather really is causing a few problems for the roof garden. Veggies are being burnt from above and their roots sizzled from below. Some of the big baskets are doubled up to allow air to pass between the hot roof and the soil which seems to be working, and some have been given respite from the roof whilst we are stationary. The courgette seems particularly happy with this arrangement! Thanks Emma!

The courgette with its giant mussel shells from the Wendover Arm




Next week we will be on the River Thames, and whilst levels are down they aren’t suffering as much as the canal network. At the moment the red markers indicate closures, and the beige indicate areas where restrictions are in place – reducing the times boats can travel through locks particularly. The common sense approach to using locks applies at this time of the year especially- it’s not first come first served at a lock but the first to go through is the boat approaching the way the lock is set. If it’s empty then the first to go will be a boat coming up and if full then a boat going down. That way no water is unnecessarily wasted.




Maybe next week if it’s still so hot and we’re in deeper water I shall be able to take advantage of some wild swimming to cool off. Wonder what Boatdog will make of me joining her cool down times? We shall see.

Don’t miss opportunities for success


You have to see it, to believe you can be it, they say, and in education and careers that is so true. It was brought home to me this week at one of the best inaugural professorial lectures I have attended (and I’ve been to a fair few).

Probably one of the worst photos I’ve ever taken! Apologies Sheryl!

Professor Sheryl Williams, Professor of Engineering Education at Loughborough University in an inspiring and often emotional personal lecture, reminded us all of the importance of being able to see people like ourselves in diverse roles so that we can see the opportunities available to us, and of discovering the dreams of others.



It made me think about how often we fail to ask those who don’t look like us, those who are older, younger, from different backgrounds and cultures, what their dreams are or how we can help them achieve them. In our traditional worlds we are often hidebound by expecting everyone’s journeys to look the same as ours, to imagine our problems will be the same we encountered, but so often that is a very false assumption. Professor Williams revealed the simple truth to effective, successful education – that everyone can succeed if they have someone who will hear them, really listen to the story of their journey, someone who will believe in them and give them the right support. I would add they you can only give the right support if you know what is needed.

Bridging gaps between people and in our knowledge of each other is vital





Living and working on a boat, we may think that we know everyone’s journeys, that we’re all in the same boat.We know that boating breaks down barriers. Whoever we are, whatever our backgrounds, incomes, genders, or cultures, we are all engaged in sharing the waterways, travelling on boats whether using them for holidays or homes. We all have to navigate locks, negotiate service points and travel slowly.

We’re not all in the same boat




This week I’ve encountered holidaymakers from London, Florida, Glasgow, and New York.  I’ve met boat sharers from the UK, boat owners of all ages (from 23 to 87), and permanent continuous cruisers: single women, couples of various ages and incomes and single men, one of whom has just had a heart operation and is now waiting for a cataract operation. All have narrowboats. I’ve seen some widebeam boats but not had the chance to chat to anyone on board them.



Why am I telling you all this? Well it struck me as a clear way to illustrate that while it might appear everyone is in the same boat, making the same journeys and facing the same trials…but in actual fact the only similarities are that we are all in a similar environment. As far as needs and requirements go, we are hugely diverse.

Even when we do look the same, our experiences rarely are



Discovering what individuals need is something vital to educators, but also to anyone responsible for the success of others: managers, bosses, team members, boaters etc. Watching an elderly gentleman mooring up at a water point, we asked if he needed help. No thanks, he was fine but he obviously appreciated the chance for a chat. Earlier in week I saw a holiday group at a lock and didn’t initially go to offer help because there were so many of them I couldn’t imagine they needed any. As their boat wandered away from the bollard it was (very) loosely looped over, not even tied, and the Skipper almost fell off the back of the boat trying to sort it, I grabbed the rope and reunited boat, towpath and rope. Their skipper was grateful, and glad to discover how to tie a rope so it would hold a boat.



Yet again , boating has delivered me lessons for life and reminded me once again that we should all never make assumptions [that makes an ass out of u and me (ass-u-me)]. Instead, we need to genuinely engage, ask and listen to discover how we can support, whoever it maybe in whatever situation. It’s not always easy but it needs doing.

It’s often uncomfortable at first, but you get used to making more of an effort





So as we continue chugging down the Oxford Canal I will ask if people would like a hand, I will ask what support I can offer and I have no doubt I will learn some interesting things from some fascinating people on our journey together.

Lemonading through


If life gives you lemons they say – don’t be sour – make lemonade! Or as Monty Python  would have it ‘Always look on the bright side of life’.

Got my lemon ready and this week has given me the chance to find myself an air plant which I’ve wanted for ages



This week we had every opportunity to get miserable, fed up and utterly despondent. Our goals were being thwarted every turn it appeared. We left the Aylesbury Arm, aiming to head for Brentford along the Grand Union Canal, and there to head onto the tidal River Thames. From there we would move through the sights of Windsor, Henley and onto the River Kennet, before turning onto the Kennet and Avon Canal to take us all the way to Bath.



But as I write this, we find ourselves in completely the opposite direction,  back in Northamptonshire, nowhere near London, moored up on a narrow towpath as torrential rain hammers down creating pools and  puddles outside.

We’re dry inside and the outdoor plants need the rain!





So what happened? Our highway is an old one, in this instance, many sections are over 200 years old. The stonework, metalwork, and woodwork of canals are subject to wear and tear of usage and weathering, to failure, and a constant need of repair and maintenance. This leads to a permanently state of juggling resources and finances to manage repairs. This has consequences, and anyone who has been following this blog over the years will have seen us diverted (around this time of year usually) because of unexpected failures or problems.



So we shouldn’t really have been surprised to find out, as we got to the top of the Aylesbury Arm celebrating having completed its length before it was announced to be closing in a few days time because of a lack of water, that we weren’t going to have an easy passage if we turned right as planned. To turn right would have meant a halt before many locks and another halt for a month or more further south. Locks needed repair because of problems which had come to light.



As you probably would have done faced with that news, we turned left instead of right, just as the weather changed.  In wind and rain, we began wending our way back the route we had come a few weeks before, back through Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Milton Keynes and now into Northamptonshire.



As a friend we met en route (thankfully he volunteers for Canal and River a trust as a lock keeper at Soulbury and we timed our day there to coincide with his shift- result!), put it “So you’re going in reverse!” We are indeed reversing our route – back the way we came, turning at Norton Junction to head down to Braunston and then turning onto the Oxford Canal. We shall travel almost to the city of Oxford itself before dropping onto the River Thames and follow it down to pick up our originally planned route of the River Kennet and Kennet and Avon Canal. That’s the plan but as we’ve seen this week, and in previous years, there are a lot of miles, and a lot of locks to negotiate before we reach Bath and each has the potential to throw a spanner in the works of our plan!



We’ve come up with an alternative, a solution, a through route in the face of disappointment if you will, but that isn’t fully embracing lemonading. The term appears to stem from researchers at Oregon State University when they looked at how people coped during the Covid pandemic.



It wasn’t just those who looked for alternative ways forward, solutions, or opportunities to be creative when things looked bleak who came out of the pandemic stronger – but people with a playful approach according to the scientists. If we channel our inner child, look for the fun and good things, don’t take ourselves too seriously, find humour in our days, help others and do the things we enjoy we will be more resilient, more capable of coping when we face challenges.



We’re looking for the fun things – different things, little things that we might have missed when we went this way just a few weeks ago.



We’re picking up and fishing out rubbish as we go, trying to leave things a bit better in our wake, but at one point, searching for a net to hoick out a large piece of polystyrene, as realised a duck and her duckling had commandeered it for a raft. We smiled at their ingenuity and left them bobbing about on their perch!

Contented mother of invention



We’re welcoming the rain as a solution to the stoppages on canals all over the country.



The extra 106 miles and 24 locks on top of the original 188 miles and 198 locks of our journey also means we should arrive at Bath fitter (or exhausted!) which could be seen as a major bonus (at least in my case a necessary bonus!).



So on we go, armed with waterproofs and woolly hats, gloves and rueful grins about “Flaming June”. Will we get to our destination at all? Who knows, but we can keep trying, and if we can’t get there, we will get somewhere (with luck) and enjoy the journey with stops for plenty of lemonade (and cake?)!

Black cats are lucky aren’t they?



Whatever life throws at you this week at home or work – get lemonading!

We all need to put more effort in

Comedian Chris McCausland got us thinking this week that we all really could benefit from making more of an effort at living (that doesn’t mean doing something big like say ballroom dancing, although if that’s your thing – dance away – Voltaire would approve!).

Who knew Voltaire was envisaging Strictly?



An antidote to pretension at the Hay Festival, where we saw him, McCausland’s insight as for any comedian, is based on observation of how ridiculous we humans can be. In Chris’s case (being blind), his ears are honed to pick up stupidity via sound.



In between making me laugh so much, my ribs ache still, was his serious point about how much effort technology has taken from us. Little things like changing a TV channel. Once we would physically move from our chair or sofa and cross the room to manipulate a button or dial on the TV itself.  Then we sat where we were and merely pressed the button on a remote, and now we don’t even have to press anything with voice-activated channel changing. Technology is making tasks, and us, effort-less.


Technology means many of us are living much of our lives remotely. Remote from the experiences of living, remote from the little things that make us healthy, well-adjusted humans, and I offer a solution from personal experience if you feel you’ve become remote from your life.



Narrowboat living as a continuous cruiser. In narrowboat life, at least  the way we live it, we are in the moment. We have to be. We practice mindfulness all the time, in the tasks of daily living. In washing up (no dishwasher).  In collecting the water we need. We never turn on a tap without thinking about our consumption, and being grateful for the last time we physically went to the water point to fill our tank. In charging our phones, boiling a kettle on the hob, switching on a light, we recognise the effort of installing solar panels and the battery to store it.

Shopping has to fit in the bags we take with us



We are, because of how we live,  aware of our consumption and physically connected to what it takes to keep us going. We walk to shops with our backpacks, occasionally using click and collect but not home delivery although we know some boaters do. Where we can, we use farm shops and markets, buying local products in season from local producers.

In that respect, our lives hark back to simpler times, to life before shopping online.



Having spent part of this week at the Hay Literary Festival on the Anglo Welsh border alongside the glorious River Wye, (involving a herculean effort to get there) we encountered Chris McCausland and many other well known names. The festival made us acutely  aware of how much reading we do on our boat. We benefit hugely from the book exchanges along the waterways network. They have brought us serendipitously into contact over the years with authors and ideas, prose, and meter we would never have encountered otherwise. Getting our books this way demands effort – finding book exchanges, getting to them, selecting and choosing what to read, and of course selecting and carrying to them what we are offering to others. On a boat, it’s one on, one off, or we get get way too overcrowded. That discipline demands effort, believe me!

We are very guilty of at least one effort-less thing. We don’t have a TV (voice activated or old school). We rely on an iPad to connect us to entertainment remote to where we are. We rarely make the effort to seek out and support local musicians, actors, and performers unless by chance. Rarely do we moor in the places which would allow us to enjoy the stimulation of live entertainment on a regular basis. We’ve just been moored on the Aylesbury Arm in the basin right opposite the Waterside Theatre. Did we visit? Did we support? No. Our excuse when we arrived was that what was on was not something we wanted to see, but we didn’t check the programme again later into our stay.

It’s often an expensive business getting out and supporting the arts. But if we don’t all  make that effort of finding a suitable mooring, making that effort of investment of time and money, say once a month or once a quarter, then there may no longer be live music, live theatre, live entertainment to enjoy. We need to put the effort in, put on clothes suitable for being seen in public, get off the sofa, and make the effort to get out out.



We work remotely like so many now – but we recognise we don’t have to live our lives remotely too. We are lucky boatlife allows us a rare connection and contact with our surroundings, with nature and resources. Making more of an effort to live a directly connected and mindful life, ensuring we aren’t withdrawn and distant from the things that ground us and can give us pleasure, is something that can repay us all in physical and mental health and happiness.

You don’t need a narrowboat to adopt those principals (though I find it helps). Just think, “Where can I shun technology and put in some effort in myself?” And then DO IT! The sense of satisfaction, of achievement (even from something like washing up), is a positive.

As was reinforced for us this week, making the effort to get out and about, to hear new views, sounds and perspectives, and see new sights is invaluable in feeling connected with how rich an engaged life can be.Try engaging physically and mentally this week with whatever you can and just see how it makes you feel.

Bag bottoms and historic Arms


Blindgötu, cul-de-sac, sackgasse, the bottom of a bag – dead end doesn’t sound an attractive proposition whatever the language (Icelandic, French and German as well as English here).

To reach a dead end means you’re not making any progress, you’re unlikely to succeed, but this week, dead ends have literally been our focus.

Going… to return…



Heading somewhere and knowing you are going to have to return the exact same way can be psychologically depressing. On a canal though, things tend to look very different heading in opposite directions. The distances remain the same, but even bridges and locks change in character and angle as well as the views, the wildlife, and the challenges.

Arms have a starting point and an end on canals as on bodies. The lockless Wendover Arm, for example, straddles the border of Hertfordshire and Buckinghamshire. Its 6.7-mile length was dug originally to enable water from Star Top Reservoir to be supplied to the summit of the Grand Junction Canal (now known as the Grand Union Canal). Opened in 1797 it became unnavigable in 1897 but volunteers from the Wendover Canal Trust have been painstakingly working for he 1.7 miles from Bulbourne Junction to a winding (turning) point just beyond a beautifully reconstructed Little Tring Bridge. This section (Phase 1) was handed over the Canal and River Trust in 2005 for them to manage the navigation.

After leaks and low water levels were reported in April this year, CRT  took the decision to drain the Phase 1 section and set up stop planks (a stop lock) to hold back water from above Little Tring Bridge to the winding hole. According to the Wendover Canal Trust CRT have advised that repair works will cost £200,000 which they cannot afford for some years, particularly in light of significantly reduced government funding, and a statutory commitment in the area to spend £6million strengthening the embankments of Wilstone Reservoir. This is another hugely important reservoir for the Grand Union Canal, and the safety work to it needs doing under the Reservoir Act.  Canal and River Trust are actually responsible for 71 reservoirs,  most of which date back to the early 1800s. Their monthly published Reservoir Watch makes particularly interesting reading right now, as canals across the country are threatened with closure or restricted navigation because of a lack of water. The Grand Union South water holding at the moment is down by 1.5% in a month. Others where restrictions are in place like the Leeds and Liverpool Canal and Caldon Canal are seeing water levels in feeder reservoirs down by up to 10.7%. February and March this year were warmer and below average for rainfall. April 23rd was the last day we on our travels experienced any rain.  Some reservoirs in the north are also being held at low levels because of work to them. It makes some boaters nervous, and for those unable to travel outside particularly affected regions because of work or fixed moorings, their capacity to travel at all is severely curtailed.



Because of the stoppage on the Wendover Arm, we found ourselves faced with a closed for navigation notice saying only vessels of up to 40ft (we’re 50ft) could navigate and turn a restricted length. We managed to back the boat out of Bulbourne Junction onto the Wendover and moored up to head off to explore on foot. I have to say, much as Boatdog appears to enjoy cruising on the boat, this was a preferable voyage of discovery for her!

Down through dappled shade, the narrow towpath took us between fields, with moorhens and ducks the only passengers on the canal, with a single kingfisher speeding above the water. The outskirts of Tring suddenly appeared with garden fences alongside us, and crossing over a humpbacked road bridge where the towpath changes sides, we were abruptly amid industry – in the form of Heygates Flour Mill which fronts the Wendover Arm, and curves along its length. The history of the mill is evident from its architecture. The newer section is near the road, and as the Arm and the mill continues, older brick buildings rise five stories high. The smell is of flour and something else – cleaning fluids perhaps?

Once past Heygates, the Arm returns to bucolic surroundings, fields and horses, arable crops, with the water’s edge full of abundant yellow flags and reeds. The water is clear and plant life below the water, evident. Within feet of the pumping station at Tringford though, it’s a very different matter. The canal bed is exposed beyond stop planks and pumps and very dry. The walk to the winding hole is one of discovery still – huge mussel shells, a gas canister, and ubiquitous plastic bottles.

We made it to the end of navigation – just without a boat!



The Aylesbury Arm on the other hand is a very different story – 6.25 miles and 16 locks opened in 1814 to enable the transport of grain, timber, coal and building materials to and from the market town. It too struggles with water these days – we were held by CRT at the top of the Arm whilst they adjusted water levels in the top pounds because many were low and one was almost completely dry. It is a task which needs to be done most days now, apparently.

Originally, the canal was intended to carry on from Aylesbury to join the River Thnames at Abingdon, but wealthy landowners not keen for a commercial enterprise wending its way through their acres put paid to that. It stopped at Aylesbury Basin, and there it stops today.

The first two locks from Marsworth Wharf are a staircase, the only staircase in the Southern Region, and what a delight it is to be back on narrow locks again! The 16 locks give insights into the history of this stretch, with names like Jeffries, Gudgeon Stream, Buckland, Osier Bed, and Hills & Partridge. The Arm threads its way up and down these locks between fields and woodland. These areas produced goods that filled the commercial boats, which plied the Arm until 1964 when the last cargo boat made its final journey.



The birdsong is only drowned out by the overflowing locks – a feature of the water management system for the waterway. Water for this canal comes mainly from the Marsworth Pound flowing down over the head gates, from Wilstone Reservoir via a sluice on Gudgeon Brook and from another brook further down. The locks carry boats 94 ft 8 inches down (or up) along the canal’s length.

The canal buildings at the Aylesbury Basin were extensive,  including warehouses and at one stage a power station. Now mooring at the Basin is flanked by Buckinghamshire New University and Waitrose. Boats face the Waterside Theatre where comedian Ronnie Barker (taller of the two Ronnies) is remembered. He made his stage debut in 1948 in the town’s old County Theatre.



He’s not the only famous name linked to the town – Henry VIII allegedly wooed Anne Boleyn at the 14th century Kings Head whose wattle and daub walls and original glass are still attracting visitors (and drinkers) today. Yes, we visited – would have been rude not to!

Apparently that archway is designed to drive a carriage through!


So, dead ends we’ve discovered are far from depressing or bag-ends-of-nothing. They can be bag ends bulging with interest.



Want a win win win win situation? (and probably more wins too)

“volunteer (vɒləntɪəʳ) (countable noun)

A volunteer is someone who does work without being paid for it, because they want to do it.”

We’ve had 3 win win days this week – wins for us, wins for the environment and wins (we hope) for Canal and River Trust, the charity that looks after most of the inland waterways we travel and live on.

We have managed to volunteer for 3 days this week – Monday in the Milton Keynes area, Wednesday in Leighton Buzzard, and Thursday back in Blisworth in Northamptonshire. The locations necessitated getting hold of a car to ensure we could make them all, but it was worth it.

Each day was totally different, valuable in its own way, the tasks, the people we met, the exercise we got, and the environment we worked in. Each day brought new delights – new people to meet, an old friend to see in one instance, and wildlife to make us catch our breath in wonder.

The mountain is removed Himalayan Balsam- at least this lot won’t choke our native plants like the beautiful yellow flag iris

On one of the days, a number of our fellow volunteers were corporate volunteers, on paid for days away from their offices. One group were remote working colleagues, and it was a brilliant opportunity for them to come together doing something different, to catch up with each other and enjoy a day working.  Another chap was a lawyer who also works remotely for a large city law firm and enjoys taking his annual corporate volunteering day near his home. He said for him, and his firm, volunteering is an annual MUST.



Corporate employee volunteering is increasingly being encouraged. As we are self-employed, maybe we both encourage ourselves!  Studies and literature show that not only do organisations benefit from the altruistic impact of lending their employees to socially responsible projects, particularly within local communities, but their employees demonstrate enhanced team spirit and wellness as a result.



The wellness element chimes with me and is evident.



The health benefits are certainly physical for me, with all activities conducted out in the fresh air. This week, we’ve had glorious sunshine, too.



On Monday, I was walking, bending, stretching, and undertaking gentle lifting as I collected litter, carrying quite heavy bags by the end of the session. I was also helping to dig holes to plant small saplings and sowing wildflowers.



On Wednesday, I was bending and straightening for four hours, pulling invasive Himalayan Balsam plants out by their roots.
I also had the unexpected bonus of a mud bath! Somehow, I was the only one taking such a dip, although I was very rapidly and good-humouredly extracted.

And I saved both wellies too!



On Thursday I was again walking, stretching, lifting and bending as we filled holes in the towpath, picked up litter (in a CRT car park where there is actually a bin this HAS to be car drivers rather than boaters who aren’t angels either judging from what we find on towpaths sometimes). I do wonder why if someone has a car that has space in it and will presumably take them home where they have a bin, they can’t just keep their litter in it until they get home…



But crucially, at least for me, is the mental benefit of volunteering with CRT.



Surrounded by nature with its myriad greens, close to water with its peaceful calming reflections (when the willows haven’t shed their seed fluff so thickly it coats the canal), with the gentle rustling of breeze in the leaves of the trees around, there can be few better places to spend a day. This is forest bathing in some environments and certainly nature immersion whatever location you’re in. Wildlife abound to entertain, fascinate, and astonish. This week grey herons have been fishing and flying alongside us, mallard ducks have been parading tiny groups of fluffy brown and blonde ducklings, swans have been sitting on eggs as we pass and geese have been shepherding gaggles of yellow goslings on towpaths and along the canal. A mandarin drake added vivid colour (and proved very territorial). He may be small, but boy, is he aggressive!




Vital advice for anyone wanting to improve their mental health is to surround themselves with nature, to walk and look, to wonder and watch. This takes you out of yourself to the wider world and enables that sense  of being part of something bigger, something that endures struggles and difficulties but which has continued for centuries and will continue for many more. CRT volunteering provides all of this for me, plus stimulation in conversations, learning new skills, and meeting new people.



The other part of volunteering is the knowledge that you have value, worth even, that what you do matters and is recognised. However small the task, volunteering makes a difference. It counts. It makes the world a better place. Whether that’s mending a bridge, removing litter, restoring an old building, or washing signs. Every single task makes a positive difference, often to people you will never meet.



Isolation is a huge problem for many people’s mental health, and working from home only exacerbates that. Volunteering for CRT means meeting people, some new, some existing friends and acquaintances. This week I’ve met a delightful lady from Hong Kong now living in the UK permanently with her son and daughter-in-law, a lawyer from Northampton, a project manager from Chesterfield, and some fascinating people people from the areas we’ve been working in. They’ve been an invaluable source of historic knowledge, advice on good pubs and information about the area. They’ve generously shared with us their insight into where they live, and that’s enriched our time there.



So I and the Skipper have benefitted from our time volunteering, Boatdog too. She has been stroked and fussed, patted, and at lunchtime found volunteering groups a source of tasty snacks.

Dog tired after a hard day’s fun and fuss asleep on the Skipper’s hat



Wherever you live, there will be volunteering opportunities and we’d highly recommend taking them up on a regular basis whether once a year, once a quarter, once a month or once a week. We find we benefit as much if not more than the environment and charity (CRT) we are supporting. It really is a win win win win situation – a win for CRT saving the charity money on maintenance that needs doing, getting the work done and improving the environment. A win for us for our physical well-being and a big win for our mental health knowing we’ve made a positive difference and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves too.

Fragile but vital reminders

It’s been a week of remembering, celebrating and feeling immense gratitude.

Victory in Europe 80 years ago spoke of peace, an end to fear and suffering, of hope for all. It has added poignancy today as it appears some individuals and some nations have moved away from recognising the courage and strength required to be peacekeepers and peacemakers. We can hope that those who have that courage and strength can prevail against the greed and avarice of warmongers.

Eighty years ago, my father was in a Baltic prisoner-of-war camp, liberated but yet to be repatriated. My mother, a cypher officer, was in England, wondering what was happening to him and what would happen to them now. She was celebrating the unconditional surrender of the German army and the end of hostilities but had lost a brother and many friends as well as having her new husband shot down and imprisoned. Their lives had been changed for ever. They would never be the same people they were before the war.


War comes at a terrible cost.


This week, the freedom that we have to move freely without fear, to enjoy the sounds of birdsong rather than bombing, to choose how to live our lives has seemed even more precious. It is because of those who sacrificed so much for this peace that we can live like this. We must not forget.



On VE Day, I heard the Poet Laureate Simon Armitage deliver his commemorative poem, words full of the fragility of peace, of memory. If you haven’t heard or read it, then here is In Retrospect.


The Peace Pagoda in Milton Keynes is just a short walk from our current mooring. A thousand cherry trees and cedars are planted on the hill around the Pagoda in remembrance of victims of all wars.





Through the constant of trees, annual reminders of blossom and flowers, we can and must keep memories and reminders of the horrors and sacrifice of war to keep us and future generations as peacekeepers.



Simon Armitage puts it so well when he talks of the paper thin petals of the scarlet poppies appearing in expected and unexpected places year on year. They carry a huge weight as vital reminders for us all:

They nod and they nag,
reminding us not to forget, flagging a red alert
as their crumpled petals unfold.

At our peril, do we ignore their red alert.

Swanning about at work, and life



Monday mornings when you live on a canal are rarely heart-sinking events as they can be in conventional life, but this Monday brought a real heart-stopping, breath-holding moment.


From our dining table, desk, and workspace this week we’ve been able to see a swan nest, piled high with broken reeds by the pair of mute swans who have been, according to locals here, sitting there for over five weeks.

The first little one emerges



Sure enough, on Monday morning, two tiny heads emerged through the growing green reeds framing the nest. Guided from the nest by mum, and with dad waiting in the water for them, these two little bundles of pale grey fluff appeared to blow onto the water, apparently as unsubstantial as dandelion heads. Dad dutifully and determinedly positioned himself between any passing boat and his new offspring. Mum returned to the nest, and another two fluffy heads could be seen beside her.

Dad taking his duties seriously




By Tuesday morning, all four were on the water, again chaperoned by dad. You can tell the cob and pen apart because the cob tends to be larger, and the fleshy black knob at the base of the beak is larger on the cob swan.



They didn’t travel far from the nest, though, and mum seemed to have returned to sit once more. By that afternoon, 5 youngsters were on the water with dad. Mum still sat once more – exhausted or just seeking some peace perhaps…

5




Wednesday morning brought both parents onto the water – now in the company of 7 youngsters. It is possible for swans to lay and hatch up to 10 eggs, with the number declining as the parents age. This pair apparently laid and hatched 7 last year too.

7





Passing boaters, moored boaters, and local people all united in their delight at the sight. These little fluffy bundles bobbing about on the water brought us all out (the sun helped too), to just stand and watch their antics. They splashed and suddenly disappeared briefly under the water to emerge spluttering and shaking droplets from their downy feathers.



One of the biggest delights about living afloat is our proximity to nature, to moments like this. The canals of today, unlike the commercial canals of old, are places where nature thrives. We have a ringside seat, out homrs becoming floating hides among the woldlife. Living close to mute swans as we often do is a privilege. Locals walk by and enjoy the sight of ‘their’ swans, but when they’ve gone home to bed, it’s our boats the swans are knocking against as they nibble the weed that collects against the hull, or just wallop the side of the boat with their beaks to remind us to open up the swan hatch and reach for the swan food for them!





They might be called mute, but as anyone summoned by them knows, they are far from silent. They grunt and snort in a strangely piglike way – very effective at waking snoozing morning boaters.



In Spring, we regularly get to watch the mating dance of these beautiful big birds. Reminiscent of balls in period dramas, full of pomp and stately ceremony they bow to each other in turn before entwining their necks, often ending up creating that heart shape so beloved of Valentines cards!


Often, they float past the boat with a leg folded up against their back. It looks uncomfortable but is apparently a way the bird can regulate its body temperature. The large surface of their webbed foot is used in the same way an elephant uses its ears.


Work has been happily interrupted all week as the white and fluffy family flotilla call on us for easy pickings (our supply of swan food has been seriously diminished). We’ve also had locals calling by to ask if we’ve seen them as they’ve begun to move their youngsters further and further from the nest.

Anxiously I’ve been counting the small heads each time they pass us.  At the last count, there were still 7. Cygnets have so many predators – crows, herons, magpies, turtles, like and large perch, as well as the mink and foxes that can attack adult birds too. Last year, this pair sadly lost all their cygnets, so it seems the whole village is monitoring their progress with bated breath. We hear people counting out loud as they pass the boat when the swans are near.




If they survive, the youngsters will stay with their parents until about October, and then they will be chased away to join up with the first flock of swans they encounter. They will stay with them for about four years until it’s time for them as fully adult swans to seek out a mate for life, a lifetime that could be 12 to 30 years depending on the environment where they live.



In July, we will be heading down onto the Thames, and if we are lucky, we may encounter the rowing skiffs of Vintners, Dyers, and His Majesty the King, involved in the annual Swan Upping. This census of swans on the river will be taking place this year between Sunbury-on-Thames and Abingdon from 13-17 July. All the Crown’s birds are left unmarked, but those allocated to the Vintners or Dyer’s livery companies, will be ringed for identification. During the five-day journey up river, cygnets and swans will be caught weighed and health checked.




All the swans on waters other than the Thames automatically belong to the King. Perhaps it would be only polite for me to send him notification of the birth of his latest 7 here in Northamptonshire…

Travelling in the footsteps  and hoofprints of history

1805. Admiral Lord Nelson told his men that England expected them to do their duty as they approached the combined French and Spanish fleets at the Battle of Trafalgar, knowing many would lose their lives. As the smoke of cannons cleared, it was apparent the smaller fighting fleet of the British had triumphed, although 5,000 men, mainly French and Spaniards, were dead, as was Nelson himself.



That same year, a canal tunnel was opened in Northamptonshire that indirectly contributed to the war effort at Trafalgar that resulted. The opening of Blisworth Tunnel on the Grand Junction Canal was another key element that revolutionised the British economy, but lives were lost in its construction.




The tunnel we use today to pass in our own boat from the village of Blisworth in the north, along the 1 3/4 mile; 2,812m; 3075 yards to Stoke Bruerne in the south is that very same tunnel that was dug by hand with picks and shovels and wheelbarrows by navvies. Work began in 1793. The first tunnel collapsed due to quicksand. The second route is the one we use today.



Engineers set up poles as sightlines for the route of the tunnel, using the tower of  Stoke Bruerne church as the sighting point. Twenty shafts were dug, and some of these remain as air vents today. The resulting tunnel was originally brick-lined, but in the 1980s, a third of the tunnel was restored with a concrete lining.



The tunnel was just wide enough for two laden narrowboats to pass. Building a towpath to let the horses pull the boats would have been way too expensive, so manpower rather than horsepower was required to get a boat through a tunnel. Initially, boats were pushed through with poles, but soon, the system of legging tool over.

A model in the brilliant Stoke Bruerne canal museum shows just how legging worked (and how the workers were dressed)

It was quicker and more efficient. Men lay on boards at the bow of the boat and with their booted feet against the walls of the tunnel they walked the boat through. When the candlelit lamp of another boat was seen coming the other way, men on boat boats needed to rapidly pull in their boards to pass and then resume their passage. It was hard, dangerous work, and many leggers died in tunnels across the network as they strove to get their cargoes through these dark, dank subterranean commercial routes.



Blisworth was one of the canals where official leggers were employed by boatmen. After some claimed they had been terrorised into paying leggers, the canal company introduced easily recognisable brass armbands for the leggers in their employ. Wives and/or children escaped the underground confines to walk the horse over the Boathorse Road above the tunnel.



This week we’ve managed 2 trips through the tunnel – north/south followed by a prompt about turn and then south/north, all to try and find a mooring on a wet Bank Holiday Monday. We finally found a mooring back in Blisworth, and so later in the week, we took the Boathorse Road or Tunnel Path.



There were horses with us too – from a local stables rather than towing horsepower. We trod in their hoofprints and in those of their forefathers as skylarks soared high above, and buzzards rode the thermals in a blue, blue sky.



From Blisworth, we passed the imposing mill that once turned the rural Northamptonshire air rich with exotic spices shipped from lands far away, like cinnamon and nutmeg.



By the tunnel entrance near the stable where horses would wait to be reunited with their boats, we began to climb up to the fields above, across the springy grass with tunnel shafts show the route of the canal. The path now is not the most direct, which presumably it was in days gone by, but it makes for a delightful walk, rejoining the towpath just after the southern entrance to tunnel by the blacksmiths forge. 

Southern entrance with one of the concrete lining sections




That forge was also the former tug boat store because from 1871 until 1936, the practice of legging was overtaken by progress. Steam tugs that could pull 10 fully laden boats were employed to bring boats and their cargoes through the tunnel. They halved the travel time to 45 minutes ( now our engines enable us to pass through in 25-29 minutes).



All that steam belching out meant the air vents were event more important and created yet another job – the need for the tunnel to be swept regularly of soot. Initially they would cut down a large bush and mount it on a boat to scrape the tunnel roof as it moved along, but after a while steel bristled brushes were attached to a tunnel shaped frame that was fixed to a boat. Progress meant more noise, more pollution, but faster deliveries for industry, and safer passage for those on the boats.


Blisworth tunnel is a perfect example of the pace of change. It is also a perfect example of how we who live and travel the waterways of Britain travel in the hoofprints, footprints and indeed in the wake of those who went before us. We are very aware of the history around us as we move.



Our work and our boats may be different to theirs in many cases, our lives safer and easier, but we follow the same routes, travel through the same tunnels breathing the damp, dripping air as they did, and passing through the very locks they navigated. We live their history thanks to the work of campaign groups, the Inland Waterways Association, British Waterways and now the charity Canal and River Trust who shoulder the responsibility for the upkeep of the 2000 miles of our canals and rivers. 

Our waterways are a remarkable living museum

Reflections on many, many things!

Happy Easter everyone! I was delighted to be near this boat this week in a bit of serendipitous mooring!



Hire boats packed with multigenerational holiday makers are evident on the waterways this week, which is great to see.  As Boatdog and I passed a moored one we heard a small girl being reassured by her Granny yesterday that the Easter Bunny would easily find a narrowboat because they moor very close to rabbit holes in banks alongside the towpath!

I don’t think she’d know what to do if she encountered a rabbit!



We’ve seen plenty of rabbits in the rolling fields around us, as well as skylarks which have been a delight. The fact that skylark song seems able to our ears to drown out the sounds of planes in the skies above them is glorious. It reminded me of that first lockdown five years ago when birdsong seemed positively deafening when it didn’t have to compete with traffic noise. The skylarks make me nostalgic for that element of lockdown.



It’s hardly been a week of frenetic movement afloat, but time for a bit of work, a bit of maintenance and some volunteering as well as welcome catch ups with family and friends. We have travelled more by bus rather than boat this week (to do a ‘big’ shop).

It makes me realise how lazy we became with the car at our disposal all winter. Shopping was a drive whereas now we walk to the bus stop, enjoy a sociable journey (particularly liked by Boatdog who always becomes the centre of attention), discover more of villages around because of circuitous routes, and then walk around local towns rather than just arriving in a supermarket car park.

We get to markets, to side streets, to local independent cafes on our shopping expeditions, and have conversations with local people that give us insights into the area, as well as plenty of steps and a bit of weight training thrown in! Presumably this was one reason previous less car-reliant generations appear slimmer and fitter in images from their day.

Back to conversations…this morning, I learned that just as Milton Keynes was planned for London overspill, so Daventry in Northamptonshire was planned as an area for Birmingham overspill. Famed as a centre for radio, the town’s Borough Hill, an ancient earthwork, housed the BBC’s long wave and eventually also shortwave transmitters for years. Those transmitters played a key part in the Cold War with the Soviet Union up to the end of that conflict in 1991.

I also discovered that Daventry Market has an excellent plant stall, plus great fruit and veg although I honestly can’t verify the shout of “Get your local fruit here” when the first thing that caught my eye were grapes! Most being brought in at this time of year from Chile, Greece, Morocco, Mexico, or Portugal!

Plants were local though, nurtured in poly tunnels. It means we have some pelargoniums and new for this year some yellow Tumbling Toms tomatoes. I just have to hope the change of weather doesn’t kill them off as they are now on the roof, joining  sweet peas which have sprouted well in the old cutlery tins.

I’m hoping these sweet peas will become spillers – spreading across the roof or across other containers



The old adage about planting 4 seeds to get one plant:  “One for the rock, one for the crow, one to die and one to grow” is different for a boat roof garden. I believe 4 is still the number to sow but as my soil has no rocks to impede growth, it’s the pincer movement of heat later in the year from above and below (the garden sits above a metal roof after all) that puts paid to some of the crop. I’ve never seen a crow on our roof but pigeons and magpies and some ducks make up for them, and all enjoy some fresh green shoots.

Some seeds just don’t germinate, inside or out.  I’m struggling this year with the chillies that came from a new packet and just have decided they aren’t going to grow.  This means that when something does sprout and makes it to maturity and can be picked, the joy of that success is all the sweeter.

Hopefully, before we move away from Northamptonshire, I shall have acquired a tyre and some good rotted manure to create the perfect environment for courgette growing on the roof. That’s going to be this year’s new veg experiment.

Whilst volunteering, it was great to clear undergrowth and excessive growth, using the off cuts to form dead hedges for wildlife, and create a flood water diversion experiment. Within days of the undergrowth being moved, new growth was apparent, purple violets and curly fronds of ferns emerging. A timely reminder that wherever and whenever things look barren and bleak – nature is at work if we look hard enough. Not everything needs to be seen to be happening.





Volunteering as continuous cruisers is something new to us and to Canal and River Trust too. It’s taking a bit of organisation, but it’s worth a bit of hassle because we meet fascinating people and feel hugely positive about giving something back to a charity that depends on the contribution of volunteers to support its work on the waterways. These are after all, the waterways on which we live so the meant we can do is contribute a bit of effort to the upkeep of them and their environs.

It should also help to work off all those Easter eggs I’m hoping the Easter Bunny will bring – when he finds our boat! (It’s been a long Lent without chocolate or alcohol!)