Lock coming up Joyce! What already? I haven’t finished preparing lunch yet, came the reply from down in the galley. I know, its been an easy one this morning, the flow is not as strong as yesterday, all that rain we had last week must have finally worked itself out of the system.

We were aboard Art Deco, a wide beam canal barge that has been our home for the last seven years. On the river Thames, we’re cruising up river, heading for Iffley Lock where we are due to meet up with a couple of other boats. There are good moorings there and a pub, the Isis Farmhouse, right on the towpath, in a lovely, remote rural setting and the perfect place to spend a few nights before we head up to Oxford, just a short cruise away.

This is our first cruise of 2022, a chance to spread our wings after the confines of the winter, which has been particularly wet on the Thames, with quite a few periods on red boards. We had spent it around Marlow, a favourite place of ours. There are great moorings by Higginson park, and it’s just a short walk into the town and all its facilities. It even has a railway station, on a small branch line from Maidstone; how it survived the Beeching cuts I have no idea, perhaps a ‘person of influence’ lived there at the time. An extra bonus is a water tap, well hidden and not for public use, but if you know where to look and have an extra long hose, you can fill up, under the covers of darkness of course!. It came in very useful this winter as we were on red boards for over six weeks. Diesel could have been a problem at the time, but one of our fellow boaters had access to a van, so we were able to fill 5 gallon cans from a boatyard at Caversham just a few miles away.

We liked to get in a long cruise as early as possible in the year, before the river becomes busy, and this year is no different. We had set off mid March, heading down river, easy cruising, we were going with the flow of the river as it made its way towards London, and eventually the North Sea. Our journey would take us as far as Kingston on Thames, the last main town before Teddington Lock and the tidal Thames, a no-go area for us as we do not have a licence for that part of the river. We looked forward to this time of year with the anticipation of the better weather and plenty of cruising.

It had become a bit of a tradition on Art Deco to start the new season with a complete cruise of our area, Kingston to Oxford, a distance of 88.5 miles, it would give us a chance to familiarise ourselves with the river, towns and locks again and see what damage, if any, the winter weather had caused. Our first overnight stop would be Windsor, but before there, just above Romney lock is an EA mooring, where we stop for lunch. From the river there looks to be nothing around, but just a few meters away, hidden behind the trees is Dorney Lake, the venue for the rowing events of the 2012 Olympics. It is now owned by Eton College, has an impressive arboretum set in a nature reserve, and remarkably is open to the public. We have spent many an afternoon there wandering around the extensive reserve with its wonderful view of Windsor Castle some miles in the distance.

In Windsor we’re heading for the EA mooring opposite the castle, a small mooring just large enough for a boat of our size, which is much sought after and virtually impossible to get in the summer, but this time of year we have no problem and spent the night there. Its a good mooring, spoilt only by the aircraft coming and going into Heathrow, I swear you can almost see the crew in the cockpit. The noise is deafening but thankfully they aren’t allowed to fly at night, much to the relief of the residents, the Royal family included, although I am told that when they are in residence the planes are diverted.

Our journey next morning would take us down as far as Sunbury where again there is good mooring just the other side of the lock. Not easy to find if you’ve not been there before. On exiting the lock you have to make a 180 degree turn to the left and the mooring is on the right, opposite the boatyard. We like to overnight here, it's a quiet mooring and it will make life easy tomorrow, when we hope to moor outside Hampton Court. To get there we have to pass through Moseley lock, but before we do that we will use the facilities, take on water and dispose of our rubbish. Hampton Court moorings are just after the lock so we will moor there for a couple of days, again, a very popular mooring but we will be okay at this time of year. There is a charge but it's well worth it. Apart from the palace there is Home Park the old hunting ground of Henry VIII, a great place to spend an afternoon wondering around and spotting the deer. Kingston on Thames is a short distance from the moorings and normally we would make a visit, but we decide to start the journey up river to Oxford from here. There is not much to see beyond this point and its only a short cruise to Teddington, the end of the non-tidal Thames and our licence area.

After a couple of nights we decide its time to leave and it's a bright and sunny April morning when we set off, without a firm plan in mind, apart from getting to Oxford around the first of May. There are many favourite places along the way and we will make lots of stops, we know the best moorings and where to stock up on food, water, diesel etc. We will just 'go with the flow', not the best phrase as we will actually be going against the flow, but you know what I mean. That's the beauty of this lifestyle, compensation for the long, wet winters we have to endure. We spend our first night at the Weybridge moorings, just below Shepperton lock, there is not much to see here, so we often walked the mile or so into Weybridge town centre.

We know the area very well, in fact we spent five months stranded here during the Covid lockdown when the river was closed to traffic in 2020. Actually we were very lucky at that time. We had left the boat in a boatyard at Walton on Thames and visited family and friends back in Sheffield, but the day we arrived back the whole of the country was put into lockdown and the river closed. We had no alternative but to stay put and take advantage of the situation, negotiating a deal which allowed us to stay in the boatyard and use its facilities, including shore power! Anyone who has spent time living on a boat will know what a luxury that is, and indeed we need it more than most. Art Deco has an unusual electrical system, not powered using the usual 12volt leisure batteries as most boats are, but a 48volt system consisting of 24 x 2 volt motive power batteries, which coupled to an inverter, gives us masses of 240volt electricity. Enough to power an oven, hob, microwave, dishwasher and washing machine, plus mains plug sockets throughout the boat. As an extra bonus it means we have no need for any gas on board. We have a 12 volt circuit that powers just the cabin lights and water pumps. The beauty of the system is that we are able to have domestic appliances throughout the boat, the downside is that we needed to run the engine to charge the batteries. This is not normally a problem as we are ‘continuous cruises’, cruising most days, but lockdown was an unknown and no one had any idea how long it would last, certainly not 5 months. We considered ourselves lucky compared to what some people had to endure, we were ‘self isolated’ on board and we had Walton town centre just a short walk away with all its facilities.

We like walking, in fact we have walked most of the Thames path, not all in on go, but in stages. Whenever we moored for a few days we would explore the area, not just the riverside but inland as well. Its amazing the places you find hidden away and it was one of the most enjoyable parts of our lifestyle.

We had no desire to stay, so early the next morning we were off, planning to pass through Windsor and moor overnight at Runnymede, another favourite place of ours. There are National Trust moorings on the left bank by the meadows, and we try and spend time here whenever we are passing, but it can get very busy in the summer, so we take advantage and are moored up before lunch. In the afternoon we walk across the meadow to the Magna Carta memorial. It’s in a lovely setting surrounded, fittingly, by English Oak Trees and is a very peaceful place. But that's not the only attraction. Sitting nearby are ‘The Jurors’ by the artist Hew Locke, depicting 12 intricately sculptured chairs cast in bronze. Its very difficult to describe in words but we love it. If that wasn’t enough there is another installation about 500 meters away: ‘Writ in Water’ by Mark Wallinger and is a new memorial celebrating the signing of the Magna Carta, again difficult to describe in words, but as the title suggests, it's very reflective. Add to that the John F. Kennedy memorial and the memorial to all those killed in the service of the Royal Air Force, there is lots of culture to be seen by the river at Runnymede.

There is no hurry to set off the next morning, we have no plan just as long as we are heading up river in the direction of Oxford. We stop for lunch at Maidenhead just below the railway bridge, Brunell's iconic brick built structure that never ceases to amaze me. It seems to defy gravity, in fact when it was finished there were people who would not travel over it for fear that it would collapse. It still stands proud today, testament to Victorian ingenuity and engineering. In the afternoon we passed through Boulters lock and on to what we think is the prettiest part of the river, Cliveden reach. With open meadow on the left and steep wooded chalk hills to the right, topped by Cliveden House, it is the classic English river landscape. We have often moored on the tree lined bank below the house and walked into the gardens, there is an entrance that is never manned, but to ease our conscience we always have coffee in the National Trust cafe. Of course Cliveden will be associated by people of a certain age with the Profumo Affair of 1961 and the scandal around it with John Profumo, Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davis. Even so it is a stunning place to visit.

The next morning we set off for Henley on Thames making the short cruise up to Cookham lock. This stretch can be quite difficult if the river is running fast because of a turn sharp to left, needed to get into the lock cut. If you get it wrong you can be in serious trouble and finish up in the trees on the Cliveden side of the river, it happened to us once, so we are extra careful here. We moor by the church and have lunch and take a walk around the village before we set off for Henley, where we have a dinner invitation from Jean and James on ‘La Bouvier’, good friends who are, like us, constant cruisers. They have spent the winter in Henley, along with a few other boats we know, and they love entertaining on their large boat. There will be eight of us for dinner, and as it's the first one of the year there will be much to catch up on. We know from experience that dinner will be a full on roast with all the trimmings and plenty of good wine accompanied by a few gin and tonics. They are the perfect hosts, the drinks flow and conversation is convivial. We discuss our plans and Jean and James, along with Jan and Mike on ‘Afterglow’ decide to tag along for their first cruise of the year. I don’t like to travel in convoy, its too restricting, so we arrange to meet at Iffley lock moorings in a month's time. We would prefer to meet at Oxford where there are moorings at Osney lock, a short walk from the city centre but it's just not practical, we would struggle to moor 3 large boats on the limited moorings there. At Iffley there is a long stretch of visitor moorings and we know we would have no problem mooring all 3 boats together.

Over the following weeks we slowly make our way towards Oxford, catching up along the way with the lock keepers and hearing the latest river gossip, reacquainting ourselves with the riverside towns and villages we love so much. Staying a few nights here and there, sometimes longer if we find something particularly interesting to see or do. By early June we have reached Abingdon, a pleasant town that is very welcoming to boaters. We moor by the abbey gardens and spend 2 nights here, it's a very pleasant town and good place to replenish the larder. After a relaxing couple of days we are fully stocked and set off once again, up through Abingdon lock, where we have a good old chat with the lock keeper and volunteer, two of the friendliest people we know on the river. There are facilities here so we fill up with water and dispose of our recycling and general rubbish before heading off for our next overnight stop at Iffley lock.

We arrive at Iffley on Saturday lunchtime, ‘La Bouvier’ and ‘Afterglow’ are already there and we are able to moor in front of them. As luck would have it there is a bit of a music festival tonight, advertised as ‘A Mayday Festival’ in the field behind the pub, nothing grand, just a couple of local musicians. I quickly check the calendar on my phone, today is the 30th of April, we have arrived on the actual day we planned way back in March! It's a beautiful afternoon so Joyce decides to invite our friends on board for a buffet and a few drinks before we go to the pub. We are sat on the back of our boat chatting, drinking and eating, enjoying each others company when the music starts up, so we stroll over and join the small crowd already gathered and enjoy the music, which is mainly acoustic folk, and fits very well with the idyllic setting. The pub is unusual in the fact that it has no road access, the only way to get here is either by the towpath or river and because of this it is popular with walkers and cyclists who come down from Oxford, and of course boaters who have a good, safe stretch of moorings. The flip side is that it's impossible for delivery vans to get here, so there is no draught beer, larger or cider, it all comes in bottles, but it's a small price to pay for the atmosphere. It's defiantly a summer pub, almost all the customers sit outside and enjoy the surroundings, the inside, which could be best described as “shabby chic”, reflecting this. Never the less it's probably the best place we know on the river to while away a summer evening. We have a very pleasant time, it's a good crowd and the music is surprisingly good; every one is in a relaxed mood enjoying the perfect combination of weather and location. We chat to fellow boaters and locals alike, everyone is very friendly and welcoming, not like some pubs on the river that seem to view boaters as a lower class, the phrase ‘water gypsies’ often heard, but not here.

The music finishes around 10.30, and folks start drifting away, our little party included. As usual we discuss whose boat to go back to for a night cap but decide instead to make an early start in the morning for Oxford, reasoning that if we reach the moorings at Osney by mid-morning there is a chance we will all get moored. Its a fact that our lifestyle, spent mainly outdoors, and maybe also our age, means we are always glad to get to our beds, usually well before midnight, and indeed tonight is no exception. We bid goodnight to our friends and step aboard Art Deco, open the back doors and reach for the light switch just inside, press, and nothing happens, the fuse must have blown. It's dark on the towpath, but we have left a 240 volt light on in the saloon at the front of the boat so I am able to see enough to find a torch. We have a 240 volt mirror in the bathroom and also bedside lamps in the sleeping cabin so I decide to sort out the cabin lights in morning, it will be easier in the daylight.

Joyce gets ready for bed while I take the torch and go back outside to check that the mooring ropes are secure and everything is shipshape and Bristol fashion. I like to have a walk around before locking up for the night, a habit formed when we were on the canals in and around London. The whole atmosphere there was different to the Thames, more ‘edgy’ and the towpath could get busy in the evenings. It's very quiet here though, not surprising, given its remote location, the pub is closed and all the revellers have long since gone. In fact it''s a lovely evening so I sit on the back deck and enjoy the moment. There is a mist beginning to form, the moon is full and the stars, twinkling in the heavens, giving an almost magical quality to the night. I find myself reflecting on the coming day, Mayday, a festival that has fascinated me ever since I first saw the ‘Wicker Man’ film some 40 odd years ago. In pagan times it was seen as a time of death and rebirth; death of the cold dark winter and rebirth of spring, mother nature waking from her deep sleep. I think about our lifestyle and how similar it is to the natural world, we are metaphorically waking up from our winter confinement and looking forward to spring and the better weather. It's so quiet and peaceful, just the occasional call of an owl or the ‘plop’ of something entering the river, a swan glides past, closely followed by 4 cygnets, no doubt looking for a safe place to roost for the night. I need to go to roost too so I take one last look around, thinking how lucky we are to be here at this moment in time, climb down into the boat and lock the doors for the night.

Joyce is already in bed and I soon join her and begin to drift off as soon as my head hits the pillow. I am at the point where I’m not fully awake nor fast asleep, when Joyce shakes me quite violently and whispers: Dave, Dave wake up, there’s someone on the boat. I am quickly awake and lay for a few seconds before I hear the noise that’s frightened Joyce, a loud metallic rattle and realise that something or someone is at the back doors. It stops suddenly and all is quiet, just the sound of Joyce’s heavy breathing. The adrenaline kicks in and I am out of bed in a flash, out into the galley and hit the light switch, nothing, and immediately remember the blown fuse. I’m quickly up the back steps, unlock the doors and throw them open without a second thought. What greets me is a complete surprise, a figure calmly sat on the rear deck, hands folded on the knees, looking directly into my eyes. For a moment I stand there transfixed, trying to process what I’m seeing. A hooded woman dressed in black, not old, but not young, with a kind smiling face, and piercing stare. She lifts her hands and offers them to me, saying in a clear voice: “would you like some scones?”. For a moment I’m confused, not knowing if or how to reply, so in panic I just shout no! and slam the doors closed. I stand on the steps trying to make sense of what’s happening, eventually coming to my senses, I feel I should engage with her, but on opening the doors find she’s gone. I quickly climb on to the back deck but there's no one there. I look up and down the towpath but there’s not a soul in sight. From the deck I have an elevated view and can see a good way, about 100 metres in each direction, the moon is full, giving off just enough light, and the mist just hangs over the river, but there's no one in sight. Anyone familiar with Iffley lock will know the towpath is dead straight in each direction with no paths leading on or off, quite simply the lady has vanished. This is very weird, it can have only been a matter of seconds from closing the doors to opening them again, no time for anyone to even climb off the boat. I go back to join Joyce in the cabin and immediately she asks who it was that I was talking to. I explain to her the events and say that I must have imagined it, but says she distinctly heard a female voice talking to me. Both of us are very confused, if only I hadn’t panicked but had gone and sat and talked to her, we are sure there would have been a rational reason for her being on our boat, but maybe she knew what my reaction would be. We talk about it for a while, and I wonder if my fascination with Mayday has any significance, but we dismiss that, there is nothing to be done and we are tired so we drift off to sleep.

In the light of day we still have no logical answer, but decide to put it to one side and get on with the day. We meet up with our friends, and relate the nights events. It's soon dismissed by them as a figment of my imagination fuelled by alcohol, so we let it go, but Joyce and myself know better. They plan to turn around and head down river but we decide to cruise up to Oxford and stay overnight at Osney lock. We like the city, the architecture is stunning, ‘the city of dreaming spires’ is an apt description and it's so vibrant, helped no doubt by the students and tourists, a pleasant change after the quiet villages and towns down river. We get a space at Osney, just above the lock, get the boat moored up and have lunch before walking the short distance in to the city, spending the afternoon soaking up the atmosphere. I’m in daydream mode walking round, it’s impossible to visit Oxford without thinking of Inspector Morse, but its more than that, I can’t get the image of the hooded lady and last night's events out of my mind. What’s troubling me most is I think she spoke again just as I slammed shut the doors, it’s been praying on my mind all day. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that I heard her shout “leave this boat” or words to that effect. The strange thing though is that we have been having conversations over the last month or so about selling the boat and moving back on to dry land.

We have had 7 great years with Art Deco, we conceived, designed and commissioned her and I was involved at every stage, from the shell being delivered to her launch on the Grand Union canal at Watford. The problem is that we are not getting any younger and we want to choose when to leave, rather than waiting for the time when we have to leave. Added to that we have our first grandchild back up north and we want to be involved and see her grow up. I can’t help wondering if last night’s event, either real or imaginary, was a warning, fate intervening to help us decide our future.

We stay a couple more nights on the mooring at Osney, we want to sample the delights of the Perch, a well known watering hole about a mile upstream, a lovely walk by the river. It’s one of our favourite pubs, and features in a few Morse episodes. The beer is good, by southern standards anyway, and they do a great lunch, served, if the weather's right, in the garden overlooking the river. Conversation inevitably falls on the hooded lady, but the more we talk about it, the less it seems to make sense. We decide the best course of action is to forget the whole thing. We vow never again to discuss it between ourselves, and to this day we have kept that vow. Not that others have done the same though. Over the next few weeks as we cruise down river we are teased extensively, especially by the lock keepers who know us. It seems our friends have been talking, taking every opportunity to tell the tale, no doubt elaborating and expanding at each telling. It soon becomes clear that everyone on the river knows the story, because thats what it has become, a story, not just any story but a ghost story. A strange tale of an elderly couple who had too much to drink one night and saw a ghost. We take it all in good spirit, pardon the pun, and laugh along, but we know the truth, and to this day I know what I saw and heard that night, I did not imagine it, it was real.

Over the following weeks, as we slowly make our way down river, I can’t forget the night at Iffley lock, although I try hard to put it out of my mind. I would go days not thinking about it, but suddenly, for no reason, it would jump into my mind and I get a chill run down my spine. Could the hooded lady be somehow haunting me, not manifesting herself in person, but getting to me through my subconscious, haunting my mind. I dwell on the last words I heard her say “leave this boat” they go round and round in my head, like when you hear a song on the radio with a catchy chorus and you're humming it for the rest of the day. Of course I don’t mention any of this to Joyce, as far as she is concerned its forgotten, and I want to keep it that way. The whole incident seems personal, something only between me and the hooded lady, almost like an illicit affair you want to keep secret. I like to think that I’m normally a very rational, level headed person, but I have to admit the whole thing is getting to me; it's becoming an obsession and I think the only way to end it is to give the hooded lady exactly what she wants, for me to leave the boat.

We carry on our discussions about selling the boat and after weighing up the pros and cons decide that the time has come. Apart from what I mentioned earlier, other factors seem to be pointing us in that direction. In the five years we have been cruising the Thames, river life has changed considerably, and not for the better. The funding that the Environment Agency gets for maintenance of the river and its facilities has been cut to the bone. Consequently that shortfall has to be replaced and it falls to boaters to do that. The licence fee has increased and the facilities are not maintained, so when something breaks down it is not fixed. The number of lock keepers has dropped, when we first came onto the river virtually every lock was manned, sadly that is not the case now. The river does not feel as friendly a place anymore and we think it's time to go.

We contact a brokerage in the Reading area and make plans for the sale of Art Deco, and prepare to become ‘landlubbers’ once again, a sad time for both of us, but we knew when we started on this adventure it would not be forever. We agree to have the boat onto the sales mooring by September, giving us a month or so of cruising and time to say goodbye to everyone we have met on the river, be it lock keepers or fellow boaters. It's fitting that we should spend the last weeks aboard Art Deco retracing our well known steps, heading down river to Hampton Court, then back to Oxford before leaving her for one last time at Reading. This way we will see as many friends as is possible and share a few drinks with them for one last time and say goodbye.

It's a couple of days into our final cruise when I realise I have not thought about the hooded lady, not once has she entered my mind, the first time it has happened since that fateful night at Iffley lock some four months ago. Has the ghost finally been exorcised, has she achieved her goal? For some unknown reason I think she has. I have a feeling that a large heavy load has been lifted off my shoulders, my spirt has lightened and I am looking forward to the future and a new chapter in our life. Little did I know that the next chapter would be more life changing than the last.

On the morning of March 18th 2023, after eighteen months on dry land I suffered a stroke while at home in Sheffield. I was rushed into the Royal Hallamshire hospital in the city by emergency ambulance. Fortunately the hospital was able to perform a procedure that dissolves the blood clot and I was spared the full effects of the stroke. I say fortunately because not all hospitals have the specialist equipment or clinical staff to carry out the procedure, which has to be completed within an hour of the event happening. Had I been on Art Deco, it would have been impossible to do so within the time frame, given the remote locations we often found ourselves in. Due to the experienced hospital team who treated me and the subsequent rehabilitation, the effects I suffered are limited.

I like to think that the hooded lady helped me ‘to dodge a bullet’ so as to speak.

I’ve done nothing. This could be a challenging 800 words; you may as well stop reading now. What have I done on the boat in the last few months?? Hmm... Diddly squat. Actually, I ripped the entire shower out, but more of that later.

Years ago, racing very old wooden often leaky old dinghies, one would get quite excited by the end of February and start applying liberal amounts of glue, glass fibre and paint; all of which failed by end of June being a total waste of time, effort and money and leading to even more leaks, so you learn the hard way. Glass fibre needs 24 hrs above 10 degrees c to set properly, as well as what ever it’s being applied to needs to be dry, which with theamount of condensation about, just isn’t happening. Paint especially modern stuff, which is water based is exactly the same, in fact I will save you reading a list: just apply the above to any product we may use to “tart the old tub up “and none of them will work until April (later if this weather doesn’t stop freezing).

The boat is actually a mess, all the floor tiles are up and stacked against the bulkhead because condensation just forms under them and they freeze and never dry out. All the locker tops are off for exactly the same reason but with added mushroom growth if there is no air. There’s no water connected because it would just freeze the pump, pipes etc., causing bigger issues. Gas is off at the bottle. One concession I did make today was to remove the bubble pack from the windows and open them and the vents all afternoon: a good breeze can dry out better than any heater. As for the outboard – it’s still there! I haven’t even looked at it let alone try and start it recently. The very last thing I want on a water-cooled engine is water inside when temperatures get down to below minus five. The battery is at home in the warm and dry rather than freezing. Even with solar it’s getting very little if any charge and apart from that cold batteries don’t charge anywhere near as well as they do when warmer. I did repair a zip in the canopy after a storm, it was like trying to sew concrete the vinyl was so hard and stiff. However, another few weeks and it will all be fine again. I also can’t move in the cockpit because the canopy is strapped down at every location with “bolt rope” as the weather goes from freezing to hurricane in a matter of hours.

The shower! Twice I have put a new tray in and twice it’s cracked – because it has the thickness of a margarine tub. Also the floor isn’t level so it has to be built up about 9 inches and the whole thing unless built as a wet room, leaks into the void below growing better fungi than the lockers. So before what seems to have been a mini ice age I ripped it all out with the idea of new tray, may be even a decent shower screen - you know, the kind of thing like you have at home. Then I gave up because I saw that originally the shower was built into the boat, the drain went through and into the bilge plates collecting not at the back but in a large trough under the floor. I throw this in because that seemed to be the 1970s way of doing It and not just on Dawncraft! In the bow section there was even the remains of a pump - the whole lot exiting through the sink waste. However, someone had filled it all with expanding foam and although I did try and gently remove it using bent wire in a drill (sort of egg whisk thing) caution got the better of me, seeing as we are below the water line! So, what have I done instead – I come from old school where boat buckets served so many purposes!! My shower is a bucket, well actually it’s a large blue tub because a bucket isn’t big enough and it works a treat! I got the idea from some swanky B and B made of a corrugated iron shed on wheels! (shepherds hut). It’s cheap, it’s simple, can be lifted out easily withoutaffecting its function. Just add soap and hot water and gently agitate.

Last bit is a word of warning. If, like me, you have done diddly squat, do not start that outboard on last season’s fuel – it will be stale, full of water at bottom of the tank and liable to block your carburettor by the time you have done less than a mile. Ditch it and start afresh, there are recycling centres that will take it in an approved container.

It won’t be long. Spring must arrive.

An original and tattered copy of the Newbury Weekly News Centenary Supplement dated February 1967 has recently been discovered in Hungerford Town Hall. It contains the following article by David Barnes.

Newbury has seen many changes, mainly for the better, over the past 100 years, but one for the worse, in the opinion of many people, has been a steady decline in the use and maintenance of the Kennet and Avon Canal.

Gone for ever, but nor forgotten, are the days when a fleet of barges carrying thousands of tons called at Newbury every year as they plied between Reading and Bath on this once-important inland waterway linking the Thames with Avonmouth.

Older readers will recall the time when supplies were regularly unloaded for coal merchants at the Wharf and West Mills, corn was brought in from the farms to Dolton’s Mill and large quantities of gravel, sand and other building materials were invariably moved by barge.

Today, Newbury is one of the few places where the canal is still fully navigable for a few miles in each direction. Elsewhere, it is now a quiet backwater choked with weeds and rushes, but still a potentially valuable amenity appreciated most by fishermen and a band of enthusiasts dedicated to its eventual restoration.

Completed in 1810, it was hailed at the time as a masterpiece of civil engineering, consisting of 87 miles of waterway with 106 locks, 29 of them within 2½ miles at Devizes – and an aqueduct over the River Avon about a mile from Limpley Stoke.

For the next 30 years, the canal lived up to expectations that it would be a profitable commercial undertaking. In its heyday, 300,000 tons of merchandise passed along the canal, bringing prosperity to landowners, manufacturers, merchants and tradesmen who lived along the route and revenue of £70,000* in one year, 1832, to the owners, the Kennet and Avon Canal Company.

But by 1840, this golden era was drawing to a close. The advent of the Great Western Railway brought severe competition and a battle for survival between the railway promoters and the canal company.

Long struggles through the House of Commons and the Lords ended in 1851 when the Great Western Railway bought out the canal shareholders for less than a fifth of the million George III gold sovereigns it cost to build with the undisguised object of eliminating all competition.

From 1918 onwards the condition of the canal deteriorated to such an extent that the time taken to navigate it practically eliminated all commercial traffic.

The railway company continued, however, to pursue a policy of discouraging traffic to such an extent that before nationalisation there was rarely a canoe or rowing boat seen on the canal at Newbury.

With nationalisation in 1947, management of the canal became the responsibility of British Waterways. Its commercial use revived for a while, but in May 1950 it finally ceased completely when the Docks and Inland Waterways Executive closed a section between Reading and Newbury, ostensibly to repair some of the locks.

A second attempt in 30 years to close the canal, this time by the British Transport Commission in 1955, again met with widespread opposition. After protests and a petition, Parliament decreed that the canal must not be allowed to deteriorate beyond the state into which it had fallen.

In recent years, report has followed report in defence of the Kennet and Avon, but despite the thousands of words on the value of the canal as an amenity, its future is still uncertain.

The Kennet and Avon Canal Trust, who for years have been campaigning for the complete restoration of the canal, recently showed what could be done by rebuilding a derelict lock at Sulhamstead with prisoners and soldiers carrying out the work under the supervision of the British Waterways inspector at Newbury. This project was carried out so successfully that the Trust hope to repair other disused locks.

* over ten million pounds in today’s money

Readers may know that the K and A canal was eventually restored and opened by the late Queen in 1990 – I will write about its restoration in the next issue of Canalsonline.

“Last year,” Jim said calmly as he leant over the little outboard motor. “Last year when I did this, it felt like life wouldn’t ever be the same afterwards.”
“I remember when you turned up at the shop, and claimed to live on a boat and I thought you meant some kind of houseboat,” Amanda replied, calling to mind with affection the day that Jim had first come into her life.
“And it was a houseboat!” Jim protested. “Just not the sort you expected.”
“And if you want the truth, it still feels like home,” Amanda smiled. “Even as empty as she is. Let’s head for the island Jimbo.”

With that, they were off, cutting through the water at a good pace on a brisk morning. It was less than a year since Jim had first covered the journey in the newly restored Mayfly, the weather was different, and there was another person aboard, but that day replayed in his mind as he watched the now familiar scenery roll past. Then he had no plans beyond getting to Dave Harris’ home on the island, now he felt there was at last something more solid about life. Not exactly a certainty, but there was a confidence that he felt that things would somehow reveal themselves and resolve. Maybe not the way he expected, but resolve anyway. Standing in front of him, between the cabin doors, and leaning on the top deck was the reason for this.
“You look miles away Jimbo, you been drinking bilgewater again?” she joked, her hair unruly in the breeze.
“There isn’t any,” he smiled, looking to check that the work on the rivets had done the job.
“That, my love, just goes to show that I am right!” Amanda replied with a wink.

The run to the island was over all too soon, but the afternoon’s work was still to be enjoyed. By early evening the rest of the craft was ready for the moveable items to be restored to the correct places ready for any journey they may want to undertake. Most of the deed boxes that they had used as storage for anything from clothes to food were stacked neatly in the bungalow, and would remain there until required, but ropes, anchor and other sundries that turned the little varnished wooden boat into something more usable needed to go back aboard both for convenience and due to lack of storage ashore. A celebratory meal from Killer Ben’s chippy now seemed apt and dusk saw the pair returning to their home sharing from the newspaper insulated parcel...

The dream of drifting on water, like that of falling through clouds, is not uncommon, and is usually terminated by the dreamer waking with a start in completely familiar surroundings to the realisation that it was just a dream. The sun was out, the couple were amiably moving across calm water as if by magic. No motor was running, nor was there any rope to shore, just two people, a boat and...
“JIM! JIM! wake up! NOW!”

With more of a start than the normal finale of such imagination he was bolt awake to see Amanda less than an inch from his face, and darkness instead of sunshine.
“We’ve been cut adrift!” she shouted.

No more information was needed, and Jim was out of the cabin within seconds.

“We need to move… NOW!” he replied as grabbed the fuel tank, and scrabbled to connect the line to the outboard whilst Amanda cleared the canvas covers out of the way, pushing them hastily into the cabin. The order of choke, no choke, then half choke was second nature and the little motor, as if understanding the urgency of the situation, started without trouble. Amanda cast the big torch she had brought aboard around to get some orientation on where they were, which was drifting sideways, and rather too close to quite a large weir.

“Jesus!” Jim exclaimed as he put the motor in gear and swung the craft to point upstream before turning the throttle to full and disengaging the choke, hoping that the spark plug would not foul up due to his ham-fisted treatment of the thing. Although cold, it responded, pushing as much power as it had, first to halt the Mayfly in her journey to oblivion, and then to start putting some distance between her and the weir.

The roughness of sound mellowed slightly as the cylinder block slowly warmed through, and a little more power fed its way to the propeller. Amanda moved the torch around so that Jim could see the piling ahead, on which was mounted a large notice proclaiming the danger that they had come all too close to. Jim took the throttle back to a more sedate speed as they glided past the obstruction, close enough to clear the chain that crossed the channel as a further confirmation of the danger that lurked. From there the island was not too far and in a little over three quarters an hour, Mayfly was again tied up to the jetty, albeit with shorter lines but with an anchor thrown out for good measure.

“Thanks Mand,” Jim said with a distinct tremor in his voice. “You’re a gem.”
“You too. You just went for it,” Amanda smiled nervously, blocking the image of the all too fast approaching weir from her mind.

Almost as though they had both been standing in front of a neon sign that had just been illuminated for the first time the realisation of how close to death they had both been dawned simultaneously on them. For some time they just stood as their minds absorbed the situation, then came the embrace, almost long enough for Rodin to sculpt the two in stone. Silent, as tears rolled down both faces, they took in the fact that, as a result of both their actions, they were still there, as was the Mayfly which had not suffered so much as a single scratch.

We've had a disaster on board
There's egg all over the floor
The omelette pan took a dive
When a boat went past full bore

We thought our ropes secure
And that we couldn't possibly move
But said pan was on the middle ring
And it didn't stay in the groove

We've all got that ring on our hob
That's really not fit for purpose
Like trying to balance a saucer
On the back of a moving tortoise

It's a lot like living in a jelly
Stuff slides and shifts about
If someone goes past too fast
Cupboards open and things fly out

Now many shout at the boaters
that seem like they are in a race
And those that are not on tickover
Risk getting my egg on their face

If you're a boater with the zoomies
And behind you there is a wake
Lay off the throttle at moored boats
To reduce the chance of a culinary mishap.
For heavens sake

Fifty five years ago, construction of the Westway forced relocation of hundreds of North Kensington families, earning it a place in history as one of London’s Most Notorious Highways. Today it’s a cautionary tale for Planners and Engineers in how NOT to build public infrastructure … and also how to mitigate its impacts.

Skateboard parks, exercise facilities, shops and offices were eventually added to Westway undercrofts, integrating the highway into neighbourhoods along its length.

Except for a bit that swerves over the canal near Westbourne Park, which stayed notorious, and lately has gotten worse. Burnt, sunken vessels — relics of a remarkable conflagration a year and a half go — still block mooring on one side of the overpass. On the other side a patch of rubbish and construction debris swells and shrinks depending on how recently CRT has evicted the
responsible entity.

How does this cycle end? How does the community take possession of a unique public place? The only rainproof stretch of canal in all of London? Allowing it to fulfill its promise as a weatherproof showcase for commerce and performance? Something London needs more than ever in the post-Covid age?

With the 300+ mixed unit Taxi House development rising within view of the blight, Cheyne Capital has a stake in it, but no clear obligation; their primary obligation is to shareholders and tenants. The Canal and River Trust is obliged to maintain their towpath, but lacks enforcement power and funding. Borough government is the only one with the financial means to address the problem. It is their residents, after all, who benefit most from a beautiful towpath; and their residents who suffer from its absence.

So the City of Westminster must be applauded for developing London’s latest borough-wide strategy to improve the canal in service to constituents.

The ambitious plan, launched after Labour took over for the first time in borough history, details three ongoing projects and seven future ones. The Flyover is listed as high priority.

With borough funding, Your Canal Boat is getting a jump start. Beginning Sunday Feb 23, we present 30 free workshops at the site to demonstrate a different vision for the space, and to grow support for its use as a point of outreach addressing the NHS's new priority, an epidemic of loneliness and isolation estimated to account for 20% GP office visits.

Sessions run the gamut, from drama therapy and teaching your toddler to make music, to journalling, crocheting, mindfulness and cooking. Gerard Williams, the Running Mayor of RBKC, leads running and walking sessions every morning that use our host boat, “Bibo”, as bag drop and refreshment station.

The full program can be viewed here: One of London's most notorious highways

Our partners are “social prescription” advocates Golborne Medical Centre, who believe that doctors should dispense more than pills, including recommendations for time on the water. That’s consistent with something that boaters learned long ago, that the canal boat experience is its own tonic.

Dr. Yasmin Razak leads a lunchtime discussion on the 25th of February on the topic of the canal as a tool for social prescription. A second lunch forum on the 26th features Dr. Greg Cowan, architect, boater and lecturer at University of Westminster, giving a boater’s history of the Westway. Imperial College’s Luke Muscutt moderates a panel of architects dissecting various proposals for the Westway’s future.

Attendance for both discussions is free, but limited to 10. Write to admin@yourcanalboat.com if you’d like to be part of either one.