It was during a long wait at Billing Aquadrome that some girls started to wash their hair, returning to the sitting out wells with towels done up as turbans. But before long this interest had spread, and some were now washing boys’ hair. All  the boys seemed (to me) to be tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, and I could well understand why some girls might want to get their hands on them! Naturally, the boys had to take their shirts off first. I wasn’t sure whether to be plain envious or to feel critical and puritanical – after all, I was the Spanish Inquisition, to ensure that things were kept morally ship-shape!

Later the following day, I was enjoying my evening meal alone, using the galley hatch as a table top – when I saw bikini-clad Ingrid (for it was still hot and sunny) climbing around the boat towards me, meal in hand. We had shared a few smiles earlier in the day.

“Hi James, can I join you?”

“Sure, share my hatch!”

“Have you seen these boys having their hair washed? So I was wondering if you’d like a hair-wash too?”

I feel myself going red from the neck up. Fortunately, I was pretty red anyway from long hours at the tiller, in the sun. “Er - that would be great! But I’m not sure that the Spanish Inquisition would approve!"

“The what?”

“The Spanish Inquisition. You know – the Monty Python sketch!”

“Oh yes – that’s brilliant! Except the red cape might get caught around the propeller! Anyway, when you’ve finished your meal, come and find me, and we’ll get started. We can use one of the washing-up bowls.”

Ingrid is a tall, slim and attractive girl from Staines, and studying Geography at Newcastle. With her glasses on she looks studious, without them, sensuous. With only a bikini on - smokin’ hot - one might say. I find her by the towpath, perched on the side of the boat.

“Come on James, let’s go inside – the kettle has boiled, the water is warm, and the shampoo is here . . .  But you need to take your shirt off first - of course."

This is the difficult bit, as I’m only too aware of my narrow chest, lack of muscles and skinny legs. So I never wear shorts on the boats, or on any holiday for that matter. And compared to Ingrid’s curvaceous body, I feel like a rake. But it doesn’t seem to bother her:

“Okay? So put your head down, and let’s get some soap into your curls.”

I do as instructed and, with her gentle hands massaging my scalp and longish, curly hair, my anxieties and unease seem to float away. It gives me a deep sense of connection, both to Ingrid and to the whole cruise. Certainly no girlfriend had ever offered me such a treat. After she’d finished, she wraps my head in a towel –and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you!” I blurt out – “that was wonderful! The high spot of my week!”

“You’re welcome – I enjoyed it too! See you later.”

But what’s going on? Envy? Guilt? Sensuality? Gratitude? A whole chemistry of thoughts and feelings now flood my brain. For I had never thought that the Spanish Inquisition might be like this!

Nevertheless, despite this, and despite (or even because of) all the unexpected moments in the cruise, I was well and truly “all aboard” on this new adventure in my life. From now on, on a day-to-day basis, my interest in canals and planning for the next trip would become the bread and butter - and jam - of my life.

Cast off the ropes!!

“We’ll go on the Canal Cruise – it sounds a bit different” came Mel’s monotone voice.

Still, I’m pleased that she and Alec, the Church’s youth leaders, have made a positive choice for a summer holiday with CYFA (the Church Youth Fellowship Association) – the main Church of England Youth organisation. I had already been a leader on a couple of CYFA holidays based at Independent school campuses, but I’d never really noticed the Canal Cruise before as a potential holiday option.

My next move is to contact Roger, the cruise leader - who is a vicar in a northern parish. I learn that the cruise consists of four seventy foot narrowboats, with room for 35 youngsters plus ten leaders – and he suggests that the two of us should meet up and take one of the boats out on the Oxford canal for an afternoon’s training.

I’m intrigued.

casting off

It’s a fresh and misty February afternoon when Roger and I step aboard ‘Crane’ for my two hours of training in narrowboat handling. Rays of weak winter sunshine filter through the chilly mist as Roger casts off the ropes, then jumps on the back and, with a chug, chug, chug from the diesel engine – the boat slowly slides forward through the water, under Roger’s careful supervision. He will take the boat along the short canal arm until it meets the main Oxford Canal. Turn left and you get to Coventry and the north, turn right and you get to Oxford and London. But not today.

After checking for other unsuspecting boats, we turn right onto the Oxford Canal, and head off for Hillmorton locks, a gentle hour’s cruising away – where we will turn the boat around and return to the boatyard. Once in mid-stream, Roger steps aside and hands me the tiller, my aim being to keep the boat in the middle of the canal where there is (normally) the deepest water. It actually seems pretty easy, until the bow (front) seems to be drifting towards the left bank. So to correct, I naturally push the tiller to the right – but that only makes the drift worse, and we end up close to the bank! So Roger takes over to deal with the immediate situation, and he soon gets us back into the middle:

“You see James, it’s the opposite of driving a car. In a car, if you want to go right, you steer to the right. But on narrowboat, if you want to move the boat to the right, you take the tiller to the left! And vice-versa. It’s completely counter-intuitive.”

So I work on this basic principle as I need to correct the boat’s natural drift almost all the time and full-time concentration is required. Not as easy as I thought! So I find myself always

checking the line of the bow which is 70 feet in front of me. The next problem is when I realise that the bow takes quite a few seconds to respond to the tiller’s movements. And it’s easy to think that it’s not moving and so you correct with the tiller – too early – and then get confused as to whether you are going left or right. Then panic sets in! So basically, you need to shift the tiller – and then wait 10 seconds for the boat to respond. The longer the boat, the longer it takes to respond – and we’ve got 70 foot of it, pivoting in the middle! It’s another steep learning curve, but I’m enjoying it, as eventually we arrive at Hillmorton locks where Roger offers to turn the boat around in the ‘winding hole’. The way to do it, it seems, is to steer the front of the boat into the apex of the winding hole and keep the throttle going gently forward, with the tiller hard over, as the back turns in the opposite direction to the front. Then, with a few bursts on the reverse throttle, the boat drifts back to mid-canal and pointing in the opposite direction from where we came. Simples!

On the return journey, I now face the horror of seeing another boat coming towards us in mid-canal, so I need not to panic, but to get the steering steady and spot on, as I nudge Crane slightly to the right without hitting the bank. This I manage to do and the boats pass easily with several feet of water between us - relief! Roger now lets me steer the boat all the way back to the boatyard, where he assists with the throttle, in order let the boat gently slide to a stop right next to the Willow Wren wharf. Easy if you know how.

“Well done James - you picked that up really well. I’ll put you down as one of our eight skippers on the CYFA cruise. There will always be two of you on board to help each other.”

For me, a new world has just opened up, and I’m excited at the prospect of the forthcoming CYFA cruise, meeting up with Roger again, and with many new leaders and members to get to know - hopefully more affable than my own church’s youth leaders. Still, at least they are giving it a try - they might even enjoy it! But doubtless they are, like me, a bit apprehensive at starting out on new adventure - not knowing what lies ahead and what the outcome of their choice might be.

spanish inquisition

Amid the excitement of learning how to handle a 70’ narrowboat, I had conveniently forgotten about another aspect of the CYFA Canal Cruise, that Roger had asked me to take over from him: chaplaincy duties. Among other things, this included my ”getting alongside” the church-based youngsters on an individual basis, to help and guide them with their faith. I was rather taken aback by this because, for whatever reason - perhaps my own introversion - this did not sit comfortably with me.

I did not want to become, or be seen as, a sort of evangelical Spanish Inquisition!

Therefore in some reflective moments before the holiday itself, I found myself asking some pertinent questions:

In my new adventure, how would I fare?

How would my church’s youth group take to it?

Would the holiday be a one-off experience, never to be repeated?

Would my boat-handling skills be good enough?

But, more to the point, how would I cope - as the Spanish Inquisition? It felt more like a difficult place to be, rather than a soft cushion or a comfy chair! [1].

“Ha! Ha!” I think to myself. “But no-one expects the Spanish Inquisition” - least of all, me!

1. This refers to the well known sketch in Monty Python’s Flying Circus. First shown on TV in 1970, now available on You Tube. It’s worth a watch! In point of fact, the phrase “No-one expects the Spanish Inquisition” was also a joke, as the Spanish Inquisition actually wrote ahead to its victims, to advise them of their impending arrival, and their need to be upholding orthodox morals and beliefs.

I’m leading my fourth school canal cruise when an unusual and frightening incident takes place. Thus far it had been an excellent cruise, the only anomaly being that we turned our two boats around in the middle of nowhere, having failed to make it to either Leicester or Market Harborough. After returning through the Foxton lock-flight, we pass the Laughton Hills on our right and moor up just before Husbands Bosworth tunnel, just as a breeze is getting up.

After the evening meal I get asked by both crew and kids if we can have another ‘Coke & crisps’ night – so I agree to go to the village to get some large bottles. I notice on my OS map that there’s a short-cut from the towpath to the village, which I take. It soon turns into a fairly narrow path with high fences and modern houses either side, making it quite dark. But suddenly I get stopped in my tracks by the sound of loud barking and two Alsatian dogs jumping about, further up the path. I’m terrified - as I’ve never been a fan of dogs, especially large ones with aggressive reputations. Their pointy ears tell me they are Alsatians, and they are standing right in my path! My natural inclination is to retreat - but I can hardly return to the thirsty crew and kids empty-handed - and with what excuse?! I feel totally stuck and unable to move either way. I could be stranded here for hours!!

One thing that surprises me however, is that the dogs haven’t already come after me – so I can only assume they are chained up. But the path is so narrow that they will surely be able to attack me if I try to squeeze by. So I continue to wait, with mounting anxiety about what to do. I also notice that their barking is like an echo - as if it were coming from behind the fence to my left. By now, my eyes are adjusting to the darkness as I creep, inch by inch, towards them, ready to race away at any moment should they escape their chains. Their movements are also very repetitious, their ears flicking backwards and forwards - but nothing else.

Eventually, after what seems like a lifetime, I venture to think that they might not be dogs after all. So I take some further steps forward to see them more clearly: they are not Alsatians! Nor any kind of dogs! But four miniature fir trees swaying in the breeze! Do I feel foolish or what? Although now utterly relieved, I realise that I’m still shaking and sweating with anxiety before heading quickly for the main village store as fast as I can.

Upon my return to the boats, I’m naturally asked what took me so long, as a search-party was just about to set off! So I reply calmly that I had been attacked by a couple of Alsatian dogs, but I had fought them off! Well, it was sort of true! However, back in my own bunk that night, I realise the glaringly obvious – that one’s own anxieties can actually precipitate the very situations and dangers that one actually dreads! Situations that may, in fact, be groundless.

This incident was one among several at around this time that got me seriously thinking about my own moods, anxieties and identity. A decade later I read an excellent psychology book* that transformed my life and which, a few years later, led to my becoming the Head of Psychology in a large secondary school.

Thus it was that on that particular breezy canal cruise evening, it wasn’t just four miniature fir-trees but my whole future life and career that was blowing in the wind.

James Adams

Adapted from Chapter 8 ‘Sunshine and Shadows’ – from the author’s: ‘The Curious Incident of the Bacon Butty a Broken Tiller and a Mid-life Crisis’.

* John Bowlby and Attachment theory by Jeremy A. Holmes. Routledge.1993.

Across the years

In my early days of canal mania, I used to visit one particular stretch of the Leeds and Liverpool canal rather a lot, with friends, or sometimes alone. This stretch is the lockless pound that winds its way through stunning Pennine scenery from the bottom lock at Bank Newton (on the outskirts of Skipton, North Yorkshire) – to the bottom lock at Greenberfield - on the outskirts of Barnoldswick in Lancashire.

From these various visits, two specific (and contrasting) memories stand out:

The first was on a beautiful summer’s day when my partner and I simply didn’t want to leave the place where we were, even though it was getting late and dark. But the moon was bright and the night air so warm and balmy, that we seriously considered just lying down on the lush towpath turf, and spending the night there under the moon and stars. It was so very tempting but, in the end, realising that we had in no way prepared for an overnight stay, we made our silent way home - but not until I had photographed the dramatically silhouetted copse on Copy Hill, just across to the west from beneath the bottom lock.

The second occasion was on a New Year’s Day walk – in the middle of one of the coldest winters for years, and with a heavy overnight snowfall in evidence. However, the gritting lorries had done their job, and the roads were clear enough to get to Greenberfield locks. The sun set quickly with it’s brilliant colours and we were reluctant to leave this magical place, despite the cold. Snow and ice gripped everywhere, with everything in a deep freeze. Even the canal itself was frozen over. However, I was keen to get a particular shot of the bottom lock – from the middle of the canal! So I tested the ice, and it seemed solid enough – before making my way into the middle. [WARNING: do NOT try this at home – or on ANY water). With my photograph taken and the walk completed, we returned home, frozen yet happy, with coffee and mince pies to look forward to - and New Year’s Day to look back on!

Skipton and East Marton

It was not until several decades later that I suggested to my new companion that, given a fine summer’s day, we make our way to North Yorkshire to visit the sights of the northernmost stretch of the Leeds & Liverpool canal. Due to the recent drought conditions, all the locks are closed, with the trip boats from Skipton having to venture south-eastwards towards Bingley. We stand in line for a trip on several occasions – only to be barged out of the way by pre-booked end-of–term school children! Nevertheless, Skipton is a delightful town where we refuel on coffee and buy lunch for later. Then we’re off to East Marton, the only canalside hamlet between Bank Newton and Greenberfield locks.

Upon our arrival, I notice that the Cross Keys Inn is boarded up and looking very closed – a great pity. So we take the track down to the canal, passing a farm and a row of beautiful stone-terrace cottages on the way. At the bridge (No.162), there are several boats moored up where the canal towpath and the Pennine Way co-exist for a short distance. Taking the towpath to the north (towards Bank Newton), we are soon out into the open countryside and rolling hills of north Yorkshire. There are blue skies above and green hills and hillocks all around the canal, where nothing moves – except for a single pink kayak, taking advantage of the drought conditions. With no main road for miles around, there is no background sound or hum at all. It is perfectly quiet – like on an Alpine lift, with only the occasional cowbell disturbing the unique silence. But here there are not even cowbells – just a few cows.

But then, as we continue our walk, the highlight of the tour emerges: the TV repeater mast [the only visible sign of modernity] which was in front of us, is now across the canal to our left and then on our right. Before long, it is actually behind us – what’s going on? “The best example of a contour canal in the UK” is what’s going on – a double ‘S’ bend. Better even (in my opinion) than the contour bends on the southern Oxford canal*, as here, near East Marton, you can actually see the canal as it snakes it’s way north – given away by the lines of dry stone walls, and the occasional walker, only a few hundred yards away as the crow flies, yet almost a mile away along the contour-hugging towpath. For the contours are hugging the valley sides beneath the canal, so that you can see straight across the bends. However, it took a photo from a decade earlier to convince my companion that narrowboats actually work this canal – and had done so for a couple of centuries – the motorway of their day!

We reckon that Bank Newton is a stretch too far to walk today, so we unwind the bends on our return to East Marton, passing the TV mast at least three times as we do so. With lunch already consumed, we nevertheless have enough space for a coffee and delicious cake at Abbot’s Harbour Restaurant, next to the stone-terraced cottages. Abbot’s Harbour – so called because Cistercian monks built this house (in the 12^th century) in order to harbour their animals as they were moved between pastures.

To Greenberfield locks

Back in the car, it’s a ten-minute drive to Greenberfield locks, where we arrive just as the locks are opened for a few hours – so we see some boat movement at last. There’s also quite a few people in and around the car-park, where a large caravan provides ice creams and other refreshments - with a Canal & River Trust toilet, not far away: clearly it’s a popular place for a day out. My attention however, swiftly shifts to the bottom lock which I had photographed from the ice several decades earlier. But now, instead of the bitter cold, ice and darkness, is a glorious vista of rolling green hills and valleys and a delightful hump-back bridge, its arch picked out in white (no.158). We cross it, and walk on a bit further, towards a signpost for the witches of Pendle – and the Yorkshire-Lancashire border, which we cross before turning back. For I have a further photo to take – of the copse on Copy Hill – to compare how it had fared in the four decades since I last captured it on film.

The sun had shone all day and, having enjoyed the best part of the day amid the tranquil countryside of the northern Leeds & Liverpool we are sad to say goodbye as, Satnav at the ready, we prepare to exchange the serenity of motorways from time past, for the frenetic and furious motorways of time present.

James Adams

author: ‘The Curious Incident of the Bacon Butty, a Broken Tiller and a Mid-life Crisis’

website: www.jamesadams616.co.uk

* primarily at Wormleighton: Nicholson’s Waterways Guide 1: Grand Union, Oxford & the South East