Monthly Archives: June 2021

the great unlock

the great unlock

or the glorious 12th - of April!

Aqueduct Marina

We are delighted to be welcoming back old and new faces to the marina and we can’t wait to see what this boating season will have in store for us.

January 2021 was certainly gloomier than the average January, not only was the weather poor but we were back in full Lockdown. This meant that boat owners were unable to visit their boats or the marina for the foreseeable.

On Valentine's Day we had to hold our annual 'moorers and storers' wine and canapés event as a Facebook live virtual event. As much as we missed having our usual sociable afternoon, we had a tremendous level of viewings and we were extremely grateful for the support.

Thankfully, a week after out event, Boris Johnson unveiled his roadmap. The first key date was 29th March when owners could re-visit, though were not allowed to stay overnight. This did create more footfall on the marina, but there was no great tidal wave of customers returning, probably as a result of the miserable weather. We also quietly reopened the café for takeaways only on this date.

aqueduct marina

Before we knew it, the big day arrived. The key date that everyone had been looking forward to, April 12th – holidays could restart and cruising could begin. The waterways were officially open!

As if by magic, the sunny spring weather arrived (though frosty in the mornings) and our customers returned. Now we are a few weeks on and Aqueduct Marina feels much more normal, with people sat on tables and benches outside of the café and making the most of the blue skies. There is definitely a buzz about the place!

Our fully stocked Chandlery is back accepting customers as normal and there seems to be lots of movement as boats head back out on to the water. Some however, have been taking the opportunity for work to be conducted on their narrowboat. Our boat yard has also been busy – with DIY blackings taking place or the Aqueduct team carrying out the highly-skilled work.

Aqueduct MarinaBrokerage viewings were also able to commence on the 12th April – although we are sticking to viewings by appointment only to help maintain COVID protocols and to uphold the improved service we have been able to provide to buyers and sellers through this policy.

We were able to sell a few boats virtually over the lockdown which is great and the demand for boats still remains very strong. This combined with our free collection service has resulted in a few boats arriving on the brokerage and quickly going under offer – some even before they have hit the market!

The rest of the season and the year is definitely looking promising and the Aqueduct team are in the midst of putting together plans to make up for our missed anniversary event; all to be revealed soon! In the meantime, if there is anything we can do to help or answer any questions, please do not hesitate to get in touch with our team.

the dark side of the fly

tales of the old cut

the dark side of the fly

To talk about a fly boat instantly conjures up images of sleek narrowboats relentlessly gliding through the water night and day.

Shropshire Union Canal Company boat “Saturn” is now the only one of this kind left, a beautiful survivor from a bygone age who spends her retirement travelling in state to teach children and adults alike about the Old Days.

Saturn Fly Boat

The problem with the Old Days is that there are of course Good Old Days and Bad Old Days, and not many people want to talk about the latter because they tend to be brutish and nasty.

I am of course going to look at the Bad Old Days.

By the 1820’s, the industrial revolution was heating up and speed was becoming an overriding factor of life. Boats, especially narrowboats, were what we would recognise today and the only card that the jostling competitors really had to wave at prospective clients was time and security. In these early days, vessels were broadly split down 2 types; the slow boats (carrying heavy goods such as stone or coal) and the fast ones (carrying alcohol, food, valuables or people). The fast ones were fly boats, (a name coming from the “flying wagons” they were replacing) working all the hours they could muster and often having right-of-way to overtake the slow boats.

Passengers could legitimately book a space in the hold of one of these boats with the company or they could ask around the wharves and find a boat willing to smuggle them on board for a brown envelope to the boat’s captain.

In 1823, Thomas Shaw, his sister and her 5 young children arrived into Liverpool on the ferry and took a barge over the river to Preston Brook Wharf, where they went into the cosy office of Messrs Snell and Robins and booked a space in the next flyboat bound for London.

She had, as all flyboats did at that time, a crew of 4 (2 working and 2 resting on a shift rotation) sharing a small back cabin, and her passengers were given a generous bed of straw towards the front of the hold.

The boat had been going for 3 days when they arrived at Cowley Lock (on the Grand Union Canal), Shaw was in the hold and witnessed another Irish woman being led from one boat cabin to theirs and money disappeared into the back pocket of the 20 year old captain, Samuel Hodkinson.

What truly happened next is unclear, but on arriving close to London, Hodkinson turfed the new passenger out and pointed her in the wrong direction for the city. A watchman corrected him and, as soon as Hodkinson was out of sight, Eliza Clayton burst into tears and said she had been raped repeatedly on the journey.

Although the crew of the boat were ultimately found innocent, it is hard to believe that they truly were. Eliza did not benefit from lying, and during the court case it became clear that at one point she had tried to travel in the hold with Shaw and his sister, but they had been too frightened of the response of the crew to intervene.

16 years later Christina Collins would board a Pickfords flyboat at Preston Brook and suffer a similarly distressing journey with a more tragic end, and although it can be truthfully said that the evidence against the boatmen as her murderers was somewhat thin, they were certainly frightening enough that no one dared intervene against them. Christina clearly needed assistance.

It has been theorised before that, that the development of the family boat around the 1850s was when the boatman started to become a creature of quiet dignity raising his family as best he could; before that, the boatmen were small packs of feral young men “fearing neither God nor man.”

The famous Pickfords took it as read that their crews were going to go about the country in coats with poachers pockets and shrugged it off, only getting involved if the crew had the audacity to try and steal bulk cargo off the boats. In 1811, they had no sympathy when a crate of china was found to have been cracked open and the missing goods discovered in the cabin.

For every new safety measure to seal the cargo, the boatmen came up with an answer; wax seals were melted off so they could be replaced, sacks would be carefully unpicked, barrels of alcohol would have a hoop knocked off and a hole drilled through the timbers, contents poured out, canal water poured back in and the hoop replaced.

By 1832, there was a distinct lack of confidence about the safety of a cargo and long fore cabins were appearing on some boats to allow expensive cargoes to be physically locked away from the crew, an idea that never gained particular traction due to the crew simply picking the locks.

Of course, for every flyboat that gained notoriety through some misdemeanour, another 6 or 7 just quietly and efficiently did their job. The fly boaters were a particularly tough specimen of an already hardy breed of people, and the companies recognised it. A Pickfords captain in the early 1800’s could be paid 5 guineas for a trip from Manchester to London, out of which he had to pay his crew, but as the horses were supplied by the company, a captain stood to make a good profit in just a few days' work. Not that he had much of a chance to spend it, as many flyboats worked one trip after another without break, forcing the crews to live cheek by jowl for weeks and even months on end.

It’s unsurprising then that captains quite regularly found their belongings had disappeared into the night along with a member of the crew when they arrived at the wharfs; watches and neckerchiefs were regularly pocketed but coats and other clothing also went. Trousers were a favoured target  with one apocryphal case telling how a captain woke up to find all his meagre clothes, including his only pair of trousers, had been taken in the night, leaving him forced to come out of the boat with a threadbare blanket covering his dignity in search of help. The blanket being so threadbare that a constable was summoned by security because of a pervert nudist walking round the wharf!

saturn fly boat

 

a waterways story

a waterways story

by Alice, a newbie waterways chaplain

Becoming a new Waterways Chaplain on the Kennet and Avon canal began badly for me! For one thing, it was 2020 with Covid and lockdown; for another, I have no car. And finally, my bus driver is not allowed to transport my old fashioned ‘sit up and beg’ bicycle.

I began enthusiastically bussing and then walking. But it all took me an age. I got cold feet literally, and the dark came down before I got back to my bus stop. Scary!

So we bought me a small folding bike. Also, I began knitting with some thick wool I had so I should have some very thick socks to wear inside my cold (and split!) wellies. Oh, why did the charity shops have to be shut?

Alice, waterways chaplainThe socks turned out too thick to fit inside my wellies; and my new-to-me folding bike’s saddle decided to slip down as my weight, and the towpath bumps, aggravated it.

So, on my first official venture along my assigned stretch of the Kennet and Avon canal (now wearing my new gilet emblazoned with the Waterways Chaplaincy logo) and with leaflets, Bibles, etc. stuffed in the cavernous pockets, I once more became both benighted and cold; and, moreover, on foot again. Also, I found I had NO signal on my mobile phone to let my husband know why I was so late.

Happily, a boater miraculously emerged into the half light with a mallet: just the thing to hammer my saddle back up into a rideable position, perhaps?

She asked me what I was doing… so I prattled on about why I was there in the descending darkness along this particularly gloomy canal ‘cut’. And I produced a leaflet…

Then two things happened. One, she told me the way to a train station nearby; two, she took the leaflet.

So I got home safely and thought no more about it, except that I must get myself proper equipment!

Then, subsequently, I received a phone call. It was from my mentor: could I please visit a particular boating lady who was lonesome and in some sort of need.

So off I set. This time, I travelled by train and during a morning. I put on two pairs of socks inside my leaky boots and I took a map and money.

I had a wonderful day! I met three lovely boaters, who welcomed me with cups of tea, sat me in the drizzle under an enormous umbrella on the towpath (because of social distancing) and we laughed and chatted. This is what they told me:

That leaflet I gave away because of my useless bike had eventually been passed to a lady along the canal. She, in turn, had rung my mentor to ask for help for her friend (the lonesome one).

I made an immediate connection with them both and also with another boater who turned up (on a “spiritual hunch”).  He had "sensed" that Gillian - name changed - needed urgent help. This was true. Some welding had come adrift and her water tank had flooded. I couldn’t help with this but both the leaflet story and this man’s arrival to assist led to an amazing conversation about God’s guidance and help. Especially amazing as Gillian herself does not (or did not) have much faith.

colourful socksSo, what of my redundant socks? Well, her floor was flooded and would take some time to dry out so her socks (she never wears her boots inside the boat) would get wet, too, as she padded about. The shops were closed; I couldn’t get her some slippers quickly. So I took her the socks (only ever tried on once by me). She was thrilled and sent me a picture of her feet inside them, feeling cosy, she said.

Gillian and I have become firm friends and I have even had a lovely ride with her on (not in) her boat and we have enjoyed more spiritually-based conversations, too.

And all because my bike broke down and my homemade socks were too thick for me!

I received new wellies and two pairs of thick boot socks for Christmas and I’ve been lent an electric fold-up bike! So I’m sorted, too.

Nor do I go out now without a torch and an alarm. And, of course, with the bike battery well charged!

proper boating

proper boating

Six years ago, I wrote an article on ‘Proper Boating’ as I had been told that my new build was not ‘Proper Boating’.  Recently, my wife, pointed out to me a social media squall on the subject.  Despite not engaging with computer forums, I have revisited the subject.

The hull must have sunk at least once; not due to the lack of skill of the helmspersons but because of age.  Including the lack of refined repairs by the operating company back when canals were used for trade.  The hull could be made of wood but more likely is of iron, with long deep rivets.  The metal thickness must be limited and the old rivets merely markers of age and ancestry, not there to hold the hull together.  If wood: several cloths must be wedged in crevasses to make the vessel watertight.  No, what holds the hull together must be an impressive array of brass plaques that one can obtain for attending boat rallies or travelling through flights of locks or along canals.  This plethora of unpolished brass spreads over the boat like acne on a teenage boy who’s each spot is a mark of a recently found hobby.  The bow of the boat must be high racked like a Viking prow and as intimidating as the tillerman’s sneer.

None of the brass has ever seen Brasso or any other cleaners (which are available).  Should any cleaning be necessary it will be with a home-made mixture including vinegar and urine.  However, like a mint Indian Dollar any cleaning will ruin the saleable value.  The engine can be dotted in shiny oil-encrusted brass. Preferably, this engine should only have one cylinder and no more than two valves, steam can flow through its veins or, if you must, some inflammable liquid which causes a musical sound.  The tenor of the sound can be varied to cause a symphony of old engine noise, but the speed of the vessel is either full ahead or dead stop.  The engine comes equipped with an individual encased in dirty greasy overalls, a soiled red bandana, paunch and beard.

The superstructure should be a boatman’s cabin with the hold in front being pure working boat, although a residential shape is passable provided it won a competition back in the Fifties – 17,18 or 19 Fifties.  The paint should be dull and multicoloured, but with no obvious colours visible.  Windows are optional but never clean or surrounded by anything which would be called shiny metal and must be made opaque by the presence of stickers advertising trade on the canals, or the current bandwagon of ‘public opinion’.

Fenders should be one rotting mass of ancient fenders made before the Great War; this mass of rotting hemp is not chained to the boat but is merely held on by age, suction and green moss.  If no ancient fender is available five old car tyres will suffice.  Rope should be the blue plastic variety, long marked by age, and gained by fishing this discarded rope from the canal system; well knotted throughout its length but with its thickness reduced by constant strain.

Light should only be available by means of oil lamps and candles, but an ex-army floodlight is permissible on the front.  The light needs to reveal the scars of war and only works when the engine is singing and a person is available to hit it with a spanner.

Washing facilities consist of a bowl of water from the cut, with clothes occasionally washed by use of the said bowl and a hand posser, anyone not knowing what a posser is should visit a local museum or ask their Gran.  Toilet facilities are provided by the local council, the Woodland Trust and Messrs Bucket and Chuckit.  The bucket can, of course be used to wash clothing in order to save space on the boat.

The superstructure should have a least one faded and ignored Patrol Notice.  It is not essential, as other canal carriers were available, but some mention of Morton, Fellows and Clayton should appear in faded oil paint somewhere on the boat.

The accompanying helmsman should have, at least, a small criminal record.  A recent survey made by myself and two mooring friends showed that they had been both been to prison twice and myself three times.  My record consists of Saughton Prison, Edinburgh, to complete a security inspection, Famagusta town nick to have released the Dhekelia Diving Team who had removed items from a Turkish wreck (no thanks ever received from them) and once in the Guardroom of 9 Signal Regt.  The latter was a misunderstanding concerning the colonel’s daughter or was it because I had removed a bronze statue of ‘Jimmy’ the symbol of the Royal Corps of Signals and buried it in the RSM’s garden, or was it both; memory is going quicker than a CRT logo.

A boat dog is essential but not necessarily a brute or violent dog; it can be a peaceful, loveable mutt but one that snaps at any offered hand when the hand’s owner is not quick.  The dog must have a red bandana but not always around its neck.

No respectable proper boater would be seen dead with a smooth empty roof, if the boat has a roof.  The space must be covered with logs, tree trunks. old washbasins. wheelbarrows, several plastic containers of strange liquid and unknowable mounds covered in tarpaulins.

If parked, sorry moored, excuse my boat language but remember I am not a ‘proper boater’, the accompanying towpath must be strewn with the detritus of life – barbecues, stolen bicycles, wood chopping block, and waste items of every description.

Above all, no conversation must be held with the owner of a glass-fibre boat sorry ‘plastic’.  The occasional grunt or throat noise may be made to any passing wood or metal narrowboat provided that does not imply that the owner of the passing vessel is a proper boater.

Ah! proper boating.

All complaints to the Editor, please.

David Scowcroft talking to Timothy West

The Author ‘’Gone West’ with signs of proper boating behind...