Writing for Fun
July 2016
The Long Journey - Jenni Bowers
We left home and dropped the cat off at a new cattery en-route – then began our long journey across country to Shropshire where we would pick up the boat and commence the much discussed leisurely, relaxing holiday on the 4 Counties ring! Norbury Junction, on Telford’s Shropshire Union canal, is quite large with mooring for about 30 pleasure narrowboats plus a few that are still used commercially.
Ours was called Pippin and as the rather rough looking boatman showed us the ropes I felt a tremor of fear as he leered at me whilst steering us out onto the canal, then David my new boyfriend took the tiller and headed along the beautiful scenic route to our first mooring of the trip. I began to unpack and discover just how narrow it actually was. Suddenly Dave shouted to me and I rushed to see why – banging my head on the stern sliding roof! I fell down the 3 steps backwards into the cabin clutching my bloody forehead and swearing loudly. After calming down I joined Dave who was trying to act concerned but laughing at my predicament. ‘Are you ok now’ he queried.
‘Yes but what’s the problem?’ I retorted.
‘Just want you to jump off with the mooring rope, there are some rings here so I thought we’d have our tea and stay for the night.’
‘Me – jump? Are you mad?’ I gasped looking at the three foot gap between boat and towpath in horror. However, by then he was guiding the boat in so that I could jump sedately onto the path and clutching the rope attempted to haul on it as it carried on drifting forwards and outwards again. ‘Oh no I’m losing her, I can’t hold her she’s too heavy,’ I cried in alarm, my arms straining with the weight of the vessel. But Dave also leaped off and grabbing the stern mooring rope deftly tied it to another ring and passed me, grabbed the bow rope and tied that to another ring – hooray, we were moored safely at Gnosall Heath.
Securing the one small padlock we left Pippin and made our way to a very attractive canal-side pub for our first meal of the holiday – I chose duck in cherry sauce and decided I could just stay and eat there every night as the meal and lovely friendly atmosphere was so good.
That first night passed quite well although strange noises disturbed my sleep and I thought I could hear someone walking the towpath at midnight – silly me, imagination – it’s too dark and no other boats along here tonight.
Next day we meandered along at about 4 miles an hour, taking in lovely scenery, admiring the wildlife and taking photos. Other boats would pass and we’d all wave and chat, I began to relax and enjoy this new experience – even the locks.
‘What’s a windlass?’ I asked when Dave told me to grab it and go open the paddles. He picked this heavy metal object up and handed it to me – so again I jumped off onto a towpath and walked to the lock gates, inserting the windlass into the appropriate orifice in the lock gate and turning – each gate was different in that the weight of water could make them very hard to turn the windlass but I managed to do most of the ten we encountered on our journey outwards, repeating them en-route back to Norbury.
Sometimes other boaters would be there to assist and open or close the gates with me and a couple of burly chaps even took their own windlasses and worked the gates for me, enquiring as to, ‘Why isn’t he doing this, love?’
My sad reply was that, ‘I can’t steer the boat into the locks.’ The idea of steering left when going right and vice versa just wouldn’t work with my brain – I tried a few times and was ok on long straight stretches of canal, but if I lost concentration and began to drift towards a bank I’d over-steer and the boat would crunch against the muddy canal-side and come to a stop much to Dave’s annoyance – so it was easier to be the ‘crew’ rather than the captain most of the time.
Cooking meals in the tiny galley was an experience too – I’m used to caravans but this was so tiny and the oven was out of the ark, the fridge only got cold in the freezer compartment which made for inventive ways of storing our few supplies – we managed to eat out at three different pubs as we slowly ambled along on our chosen route but when ‘wild mooring’ (no nice rings but hammer and stakes to hold the boat against the towpaths) it was good to just cook, eat and relax onboard – playing cards, dominoes, reading, doing crosswords and even watching TV a couple of times. However, each night was the same – I was sure someone was walking the towpath at midnight. One night the boat rocked violently against the bank and I fell out of bed. ‘What was that?’ I gasped, sure I’d heard a boat pass by but nothing should be moving out there at midnight.
The daytimes were good, I spent many hours just taking photos, we followed Herons who were obviously fed up with that game after a while and would soar up into the trees until Pippin had passed their preferred fishing places. We were awed and inspired to see buzzards overhead but the euphoria was replaced with sadness when we saw the feathers of baby ducklings and geese along the banks and realised they’d been predated. With many sad looking, bemused parents just sitting, some with only one offspring left.
Each bridge over the canals is numbered and my enthusiasm for taking ‘great shots’ waned after about bridge 68! Picturesque though they may be I’m not sure our ‘holiday snaps’ will keep lucky relations awake for long. Loading them onto our laptop I noticed a grey figure looking down from one of the bridges – she looked a bit old-fashioned and held a lamp – strange?
After lock ten we had to turn around and come back, the 58ft boat should be easy to manoeuvre in the winder (these are designated no mooring areas which are wide enough for a seventy foot boat to turn in – unfortunately the one we needed to use at Goldstone Wharf had 2 large boats moored either side. Dave made 3 attempts to turn the boat and narrowly avoided colliding with either offending vessel and with the help of another boater we managed the turn and began to head back. The nights were the same, I was sure I’d heard a boat pass at midnight but Dave just turned over and returned to sleep. Then there was a scraping at the door. ‘Someone’s out there,’ I whispered loudly. ‘Dave wake up.’
Annoyed he rose and shouted, ‘Clear off whoever you are,’ but still the scraping persisted. He picked up a heavy frying pan and gingerly opened the hatch – nothing there!
After a sleepless night we decided to hasten back to Norbury junction and moor up with other boats, spending out last night feeling safer and enjoying a beer in the local pub – the barmaid asked loudly ‘any of you see the phantom boater this time out?’ Dave looked at me and grinned.
‘Well, can you tell us more?’ I enquired slowly.
‘Oh yes, love, back in the day (1856), one of the old working boats was set on fire and the whole family perished – it was a feud between 2 families over coal deliveries – but the poor dead family are said to be cruising the canal at midnight still trying to deliver their load!’
‘Oh my God,’ I gasped, ‘then we did ‘hear them pass by.’ But why the scraping at our barge door?
‘Well ‘tis said the father is still trying to avenge his family, Pippin is an exact replica of the other family’s boat.
Next year we’re off to Italy!
