June, 2020 - CanalsOnline Magazine

Like most people of my generation I remember England doing well in a certain football tournament. It was a big thing. I remember the winning goal which was heard loud and clear on a Ferguson transistor radio somewhere on the Thames. This was during our first holiday on a boat that belonged to the family.

A modest windfall that spring meant we were able to buy a 16 foot, two berth “Rutland” cabin cruiser which the owner said was an Uffa Fox design. As a nine year old, I hadn’t a clue what that meant but I was sure it was a good thing.

The boat was powered by a 10 horsepower Albin petrol engine, had a few creature comforts and bore the name “Lady Jena.”

All seemed well apart from the fact that there were four of us. This meant we needed 2 extra bunks and some more storage space so out went the water tank and sink. Given the tank was corroded and the sink scratched and cracked, it didn’t really matter. Out too went the petrol stove which my mum decided was dangerous, to be replaced by a succession of methylated spirit stoves, some of which definitely were!

With a bit of fiddling about, we were good to go on holiday up and down the Thames again. That’s when we discovered that the motor wasn’t too reliable, often stopping in midstream or refusing to start when we had to exit from a lock.

It was our boat and we were on holiday in her so, to me, she was the best craft on the whole river despite the discovery of a couple of soft spots in the plywood hull. On a good day, the motor had a good solid twin cylinder thump that sounded as though it could run forever and we plodded the familiar route to Lechlade and back, pausing to hear the famous words “They think it’s all over… It is now,” whilst waiting to go into Penton Hook lock.

The next year, mum and dad decided to explore the canals (beginning my lifelong love affair with the things).

With a few more modifications, which included an escape hatch, removal of the mast, a transom bunk, a new and even more dangerous methylated spirit stove and an upgraded toilet (which was truly evil) we set off. Our trip took us to Napton and back, with a quick trip to Lechlade thrown in.

The next year, we got a bit beyond Braunston, becoming a bit more adventurous with each passing holiday.

Modifications to the boat were planned and executed during the year, the most major of these being the covered cockpit. This changed the appearance of the craft and, to my eyes, made it look a bit ungainly. It did at least provide a space that didn’t leak when it rained. The old pram cover was little better than being out in the open, and we never did get far with stopping the cabin top leaking. This wasn’t helped at all when a gust of wind somewhere near Somerton deep lock caught the back of the boat causing the cover to be ripped on the arch of a bridge during a thunderstorm. We carried on undaunted whilst Mum sewed the thing back together with an embroidery needle and white cotton as the storm continued unabated.

When my brother and I were old enough, we were given the privilege of operating the locks, this also being the first year we had a go at the Hatton flight. I found the mechanisms rather odd after the rack and pinions of the Oxford canal and, whilst easy to work, the things gave me a good few blisters from the rough cast BWB standard windlass that I was using.

This, I think, was also the year that our holiday nearly came to an abrupt halt at Henley on Thames when a small hourly hired aluminium motorboat put a hole in our side. We heard someone shout “Slow down.” They sped up and the sickening thud followed. We had a hole you could nearly put your head through just a few inches above the waterline, and the occupants of the motor boat had done the proverbial runner. The yard helped us out with some plywood to patch the hole and we were on our way within a surprisingly short time. I’m not sure what was paid by who or to whom but we still had a decent holiday out of it.

I remember one year where the engine didn’t break down, the sun shined (no problem with leaks) and just about everything went well. I also remember that during the following winter, Lady Jena sank. She rose from the watery ashes to return to the river with a new sheet of plywood replacing the one with the soft spots, and new blue paintwork. Also, because of the need for space, and water damage to the motor, it was decided to power her with an outboard. The first of these, an “Ocean four plus,” lasted us from Kingston upon Thames to Kiddlington in Oxfordshire whereupon it seized up solid and was returned under warranty. The replacement, a 1967 Mercury 3.9 was an absolute gem and powered Lady Jena until another young family bought her from us in 1972.

Overall, my memories of our first boat are very happy ones. I could forget about school and let myself be fascinated by my surroundings even when I had to keep a diary one summer for a school project which was forgotten about the following September.

The diary became the backdrop to my first book “Mayfly” and the little Rutland cabin cruiser appears in my third book “Emily’s Journey” as “Willow Wisp III.” In the book I decided to give her a rather more reliable motor though.

For all these reasons, I remember 1966 as the year Lady Jena changed my life.

There was something about some football match too I think.

When walking into the cool, quiet, serene confines of a local parish church it's easy to be transported back to a simpler time. The welcoming signs and pamphlets offering information about the next bake sale or seniors' outing haven’t changed, except for the dates, often for hundreds of years. The monuments on the walls bear silent witness to centuries of life and death in the community that the church serves. Low burning candles are often good reminders that these churches are still living, vibrant entities, a focus of social activity for many. They aren't simply a place of worship, although that is obviously still a vital and overarching function, they may also be the centre of the local community.

As I've travelled the canals throughout England and Wales, I've tried to visit as many of these churches as possible. They give me a small insight into the community, its people, and its place in the larger world. I can often find a gravestone or memorial with a name that I recognize, making me wonder if there's a connection with a friend or of some famous person. The ancient dates on these always fill me with awe and wonderment as I come from a place whose written history only goes back a century and a half.

I also love the architecture, not just of the parish churches but of all the old buildings found throughout Britain. Brick and stone are rare building materials on Vancouver Island; they're not too earthquake-friendly! The soaring beauty of a stone nave with a decorated and arched ceiling serves its purpose well, if that purpose is to inspire awe and reverence. The meticulous carving of the pillars and massive blocks of stone making up the walls are a delight to see.

Parish churches themselves aren't always small and local however. Even large towns and cities have parish churches, and are sometimes difficult to tell from cathedrals. In fact, in a few cases a cathedral is also a parish church. I'm by no means an expert on the complex hierarchy of the Church (any church) so I won't try to explain how this works. Besides, while cruising I seldom visit cities or even larger towns, I prefer the quiet of the countryside and the small villages dotted along the canals. This has led me to visit many small or not-so-small parish churches; some of my favourites are highlighted here.