12th to 15th August 2013
‘Those whom the Gods would destroy; first they make mad.’ (Well, the way self & Eddie go on – we must be mad.) “Go!” was the command, “Take Python from Blisworth to Alvecote.”
Monday 12th August Blisworth to Hillmorton
So, off we went, early by the Transport Manager’s standards, from home. We got to Blisworth and all was as we had been told by the excellent management team with only a few steps from the car park to the boat. A few minutes to put our stuff on board then the Transport Manager roared off with a screech of tyres back to Chesterfield. Then Python set off up the cut in cheerful mood with no cares.
This part of the Grand Union is a bit of a holiday cruise. No locks for two or three hours, mostly fairly deep with the water on the weirs and no rubbish to afflict the unfortunate boatman. Eddie liked the scenery, but I’m of the ‘See one field, you’ve seen them all’ school; though I do like looking at the trains. This is the bit of the Grand Union where you approach the Watford Gap which, as gaps go, isn’t spectacular, but it led the Romans to put their road, now the A5, through the Nene/Avon watershed, to be followed by the canal, the railway and the M1. You can see them all snaking alongside each other until they begin to diverge near, yes, Watford (that’s Northants., not M25 land). I’m a bit disappointed that there’s absolutely no sign from the canal of the old Georgian Military Depot at Weedon. I’m sure that the arm under the railway was still there, but blocked, when I first went that way and wandered about the site. I believe that it was a Napoleonic Wars anti-invasion base, built to take advantage of the new, high speed travel, canal system. The idea was that, if the enemy threatened London, the King could be whipped off from London up the cut, while the soldiers from the barracks could be rushed southward to meet the invader. But, guess what, Waterloo had happened by the time the money had been spent. Elephant and White come to mind.
We came to the locks at – where? I’ve always known them as Buckby Locks, but over the last years they seem to be called Whilton Locks. But it’s always Buckby Top Lock. Whatever, these are Grand Union broad locks so we were pleased that a boat was entering as we approached only to find that he was a single-hander. He did his best, but he wasn’t as good as a crew of three! The good news is that the New Inn at the top lock is open again. I’ve had welcome refreshment there over the years. We were up in good time so, sternly mindful of our duty, turned our stern on the New Inn and charged off along the summit, through the tunnel, to Braunston.
Wiggles is what comes to mind when thinking of Braunston Tunnel. I don’t know if they made a mess of building it, like at Saddington when they got out of line, or if it’s because the geology round here is rubbishy old sandy, marly stuff which shifts about. I do know that if you are going to meet a boat in about a mile of tunnel you are pretty sure to meet it on one of the wiggles. It’s not too bad on Python, but if two full length boats meet, then a certain amount of Bong!! is likely.
Anyway, we got through to arrive at Braunston Top Lock and meet up with another, shortened, working-type boat, Aster. We fair shot down the locks even though the second and third pound were, as usual, low. All right-minded people are glad that the Admiral Nelson, at the third lock up, is open again, but we resisted temptation and carried on down the locks. I had gone ahead setting up the locks because of complicated reasons to do with a boat getting in everybody’s way, and the weather was warm, so I made use of the little shop at the bottom lock to scoff an ice cream while waiting for the boats to arrive. Don’t tell Eddie! The afternoon was getting on and there had been talk of stopping at the pub near the Junction, but no chance – nose to tail boats. I never really think of stopping at Braunston other than in the lock pound below the Admiral Nelson. You’ve precious little chance of a mooring if you arrive after three o’clock. It’s about ten years since I trudged up the hill to the village. So we thought we would charge on to Hillmorton, although we were pushing it a bit for time. Bingo! We tied up exactly opposite the Old Oak in a deep mooring with just a quick nip over the bridge to get a refreshing pint. Then a gourmet meal on the boat with parkin and custard for pud, Yeah! It doesn’t get better than that!
Tuesday 13th August Hillmorton to Hartshill
Up with merry cries to the great annoyance of the lark. The great thing was that we had done with the big Grand Union locks and all that lay ahead were fifteen titchy little Oxford and Coventry narrow locks. With these long, lock-free stretches that we were now on, Eddie, as chef, came up with a new breakfast system – get under way for a bit and then partake of sausage, egg and bacon sandwiches with his home-grown tomatoes on the back of the boat while chugging along. (Eddie’s Chief Chef. He cooks and makes me write the blog. I can see and he can hear, so we make a good pair.) We had to wait for grub for a bit because we had only about half an hour before we got to Hillmorton locks. I like these because they are paired with two locks side by side and they seem always to be in good condition. It’s rare to get much of a queue and there’s plenty of room in the pounds. The only snag is that the rubbish skips and sanitary station are arranged so that they would be more awkward to get to only if protected with barbed wire and a minefield. Well, straight through, and on towards Hawkesbury in fine weather. We had only a couple of brief showers all the way to Alvecote. We should have known it was too good to be true and that The Curse was lurking in wait.
It’s all a bit isolated feeling along the North Oxford. After Hillmorton you go through Rugby where there’s a big Tesco near the canal but the town hides away so effectively that Eddie missed Rugby! The canal has long straights but it’s shallow quite often and is blighted with overhanging trees and overgrown banks like everywhere else (except the Bridgewater?). There are few villages between Rugby and Hawkesbury and very few handy facilities. To my mind, it’s not an exciting canal except that it offers one of the few chances to just steer for hours. I read an article somewhere which said that the North Oxford, the Ashby and the Coventry were the busiest cruising canals because they are virtually lock-free. And yes, we did get into a five-boat procession which, while annoying, didn’t cost us much time. But, the Oxford does end up at Hawkesbury Junction which is a genuinely picturesque location and has a pub which I never miss – The Greyhound. It also has a 180 degree bend from the Oxford on to the Coventry which Eddie was dying to have a go at and which he accomplished magnificently to the applause of the onlookers (if there had been any!).
So we pop-popped along. The situation was that we were scheduled four days for the trip (Monday to Thursday) but we didn’t want to go down Atherstone locks on Thursday because;
1. The weather forecast was of rain all day on Thursday and;
2. You do not want to be going down Atherstone locks anywhere near an August weekend because of the queues,
so Wednesday would be better than Thursday.
As we were on a long, lock-free stretch, it was easy to make long distance because we just swapped over every half-hour and there was nothing to stop us just going for as long as we liked. The only snag being that the Coventry is decidedly shallow and has a fine collection of things under the water which you bounce or roll over – especially the bridge holes. Even if you put the boat in neutral, you still clonk things in the bridge holes. Nuneaton is well known for having challenging bridge holes and a fine collection of junk. We did get something on the screw, but it came off easily enough with the boathook. I think Nuneaton tends more to the old bike with sculptural stonework school of junk rather than the shopping trolley school. (Kidderminster seems to be the shopping trolley capital of the world.) Even out in the middle of nowhere you can find a fallen tree which has only the obvious branches cut off, but which still has a very solid trunk about two and a half feet under water for you to climb over. It’s possible that these obstacles may have foreshadowed what ill-fortune was to come. Imagine – shadowy figures half seen in the darkening forest, pale eyes slipping back behind gaunt and twisted hedges (and all that stuff).
Nevertheless, full of cheerful optimism, we found a mooring right outside The Anchor at Hartshill. While having our dinner, we heard a Bolinder popping its way up the cut, it was Clover who tied up alongside us. Of course, we all ended up in the pub.
Wednesday 14th August Hartshill to Alvecote
If you noticed the title of this piece you may be thinking “Curse, what curse? This is just a gentle trip.” Wait for it, wait for it, I cry!
When somebody starts up a Bolinder six feet from your earhole, you tend to wake up with a start yourself! Hence we were up and about in good time as Clover vanished into the early morning mist. We watered from the pub tap then set off ourselves for the hour or so to Atherstone top lock. The traffic was picking up already, we were following Clover who had been waiting at the top lock, and a boat came out in front of us from the overnight queue at the top lock. It’s quite a nice little basin at the top lock and it always seems well kept. I liked it best with the coal yard. We went down the locks quite well, plenty of water, not much waiting and we did get some locks set for us. It was pleasing to see the pub in the A5 pound was open again, but it was too early to stop.The main characteristic of Atherstone locks is that they are slow fillers, so you just have to be patient and make sure the bottom paddles really are fully closed. It took us just under three hours for the eleven locks, which ain’t bad.
There was only an hour or so left before Alvecote.
I like this length from Nuneaton to Alvecote because I find a lot of interest and curiosity in the mining and quarrying remains. At first glance, the canal seems entirely rural and wooded, but it’s easy to see that there are no end of signs of quite large scale industrial operations. Great long lengths of wharves and loading staithes, mostly well overgrown, but with some still showing signs of operations going on out of sight. Here and there you can spot pumps drawing water from the cut and further along is a pipe draining water back again. At Polesworth, there’s a short loop off the canal which, so far as I know, was a unique arrangement for loading coal into boats and allowing them to turn, and which was used right into the sixties. It’s now used for moorings but its origins are hardly discernible. I think it’s a pity that there is no recognition of all this, not even a sign to tell you that this concrete wall, with the remains of a railway on top, was once the site of somebody or other’s crushed stone loading chutes. Personally, I would rather a few pounds be spent on a few such signs than the silly carving of daft haiku-type poems on lock beams; an affliction which has now reached Hillmorton. (If Herself, God bless her, reads this then I, too, will be afflicted by sharp remarks about hobbyhorses and being grumpy.)
Under the M42, and we were at Alvecote. Does anyone know how to pronounce Alvecote? I’ve heard; Al-vee-coat, Alv-coat, Alv-cot and Al-vec-ut. I’ve never thought to quiz a local. However you say it, we got there a day ahead of schedule and still in fine weather. So what about this Curse? Well, you will see!
Discussions took place with our masters and with the Marina manager so we were told to move from the towpath into a marina berth. This did not really please us because our towpath spot was only five yards from the road and very handy for loading the car. But ours not to … etc., so we did as we were told. That’s when we twigged that, although the weather was fine, the wind was getting up. We had to moor against a little marina jetty, which meant turning round and going in stern first. Well, we did it after several goes, but we hoped that no-one had noticed us struggling! We remained grumpy about awkward mooring; too windy, not near car; grumble, grumble etc., but we were later to hang our heads in shame for not trusting in Providence.
We had opted to arrive early to avoid rain, which worked out well because there were rain showers from the afternoon on. (We were compelled to wait overnight because the Transport Manager was out all day drinking and being silly with the Girls). Our situation was not too bad because there’s a pub, the Sam Barlow, which I remember being built, but which I had never visited. It doesn’t open until four, so we did some tidying and messing about. We also had the opportunity to do a genuine Good Deed. Badger came in and had to do the same as us, reverse into a mooring. She’s 70’ and sheeted all along, so has a big sail area and just could not cope with the wind. We then rushed out, oblivious to the rain and wind, to assist by pushing on a pole and heaving on a rope until she was in. I had to stand at the very end of an 18” wide jetty heaving on a rope, while precariously balanced like some act in a Chinese Circus. But we were successful and were soon to find that as you sow, then so shalt thou reap! All seemed well.
The Curse Returns !!
Cobble up a leisurely meal, sit about at the pub, admire the very beautiful barmaids and so we passed the evening. Back to the boat for the last hour before bedtime. Then It Struck! “Oh, the bilge pump’s running.” Then it stopped – must be a bit of rain got in or something. “Oh, it’s running again.” Then it stopped. And started. And stopped. And started. Panic rose within the breast. The Curse Had Returned!!
We timed the cycle. It was about one minute of pumping every twelve minutes. That’s two hours in a day and Python was due to sit there for nine days which is eighteen hours of pumping. Would the battery stand it? We had no idea of the battery’s capacity, nor of how many amps the pump took. Anyway, we weren’t going to sink overnight (the marina’s about ten feet deep – submarine type stuff!), so we decided to go to bed and panic in the morning.
Thursday 15th August At Alvecote
Cook discovered the Great Barrier Reef by bashing into it. It didn’t worry him too much, they dragged the ship up onto the beach, chopped down some trees and mended the hole. That option was not available to us, so what to do?
First, panic everybody back in Mission Control. Eddie got onto his ‘phone to pass on the news. He then heroically grovelled in the stern bilge to see if he could discover anything curable. No chance. (Not least because you can’t get in there without something serious in the way of tools.) The pump was still following the same cycle, so the leak was no worse than last night. I rang the Transport Manager to tell her not to rush over from Chesterfield, so she made a cup of tea and went back to bed. We then gave it some thought on the lines of – Can we staunch the leak? No, because we can’t find it. Can we keep the pump running? Yes, if we can keep the battery charged.
The Curse Foiled!
This is when we realised that, while the Wicked Fairy had put a curse on us, the Good Fairy had done some effective wand work to send us into the marina where there was a power supply available! All we needed was a lead to connect us and a charger. Now, we have our very own Good Fairy Queen (known to humans as Ms Warsop) who waved her own wand and cast spells which brought the news that there was a charger deep within the boat and sent another Very Good Fairy off on a journey all the way from Barton Turn, via Midland Chandlers and Homebase, to obtain a suitable lead. In the meantime, another spell sent the guy from Badger along to chat about our plight. He wandered off while we cleared up the boat, then he returned with a lead which he had borrowed from the admirable Ms Sue Cawson, well known to many canal persons and a leading light in the Historic Narrow Boat Club! May it go before her!
We plugged in. Yes, the power was live. Yes, Ye Olde Charger worked, happily putting in one and a half amps. This, we reckoned, should easily keep the pump going without risk of overcharging the batteries. So, disaster is averted – for now. The last time this happened, the leak miraculously stopped. Is there a pinhole that gets clogged up with mud? Is it something daft like a disused pipe connection that was never properly sealed? Should we have invited the Wicked Fairy to the Party?
Well, Eddie and I had done all we could. The Transport Manager arrived in a bad mood because her power steering had packed up, so maybe she has upset the Wicked Fairy as well.
Glyn Downey.