A year ago we were moored almost in exactly the same spot we have just arrived at, Pangbourne Meadow, on the river Thames. It is beautiful, even on a cloudy, drizzly day.

What a difference a year makes. Our plan in September 2023 was to travel to Lechlade, arrive on the K&A at Newbury in early November, where we would winter until April 2024. We would travel to Bristol and back before the busy summer season, hoping to avoid too many hire boats and lack of moorings. Other plans were afoot?

Unbeknownst to us our boat had a rusty diesel tank, dirty fuel and the engine repeatedly cut out on the Thames, which was a little unsettling. We limped onto the K&A in mid October, just as the red boards started to appear. Fortunately we made it to Newbury by the end of October, little thinking it would be late May before the River Kennet came off those boards! We still had time to hotfoot it to Bristol before the summer holidays, except a lorry went into the canal and our journey was further delayed!

So here we are Sept 2024 back where we started but do we mind? Not a bit! The joy of this journeying is to accept the lack of control that we have over unforeseen circumstances and to live in the moment. Very much like life itself. Any belief that we are in control is misguided. None of us knows what. tomorrow holds, so it makes sense to try and make the most of the time that we have and to be prepared for the unexpected.

I sometimes reflect that we are so busy living this life, that many neglect to consider the life to come. Yet eternity is eternal and our earthly life is fleeting in comparison. We may care well for our physical and mental needs with good food, exercise and friends as therapy but it might just be worth attending to our spiritual needs too.

We are physically back in the same mooring twelve months later, but I truly feel our spiritual life is in a different place- the people we have met, the experiences we have had, have helped shape us, grow us and enrich us by opening our eyes and hearts to the good that is around.

May that be possible for all others who seek it too.

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Last October, whilst cruising on the Thames, our boat stalled, which was pretty scary at the time and the problem seemed to be related to mucky fuel. A bit of a surprise as we'd had the fuel polished in July. Once we reached our winter mooring in Newbury we heaved a sigh of relief, little thinking it would be mid May before we could cruise again, due to the red boards on the Kennet river.

A problem with our Webasto heater led to us calling out an engineer, who discovered that we had an exceptionally rusty fuel tank, compounded by a quantity of water in the tank, more than could be accounted for by condensation alone. All pretty depressing really but once Joe emptied the tank, cleaned it thoroughly and replaced the newly polished fuel along with the fuel filters, we felt a renewed confidence in restarting our cruising.

Obviously, keeping the internals of the boat in good repair makes all the difference to how the boat runs, but so often you don't realise there's a problem until it's a bit late. My other half tells me the fuel got all joggled up when we were on the river stretch of the Kennet, resulting in the dirty fuel on the bottom getting mixed with the clean fuel above. Regular servicing helps but it can't mitigate everything, so suddenly you find yourself in a bit of a fix.

That's rather like life. Unless we keep our internal self in good order we can find ourselves sinking rather than swimming through life. Negative emotions stop us from living well. Holding onto anger, bitterness, disappointment hinders our ability to get up in the morning and just enjoy the day. The less burdened our mind is from stress and worry, the better we can function.

It isn't always easy to do this in our own strength, especially if we facing some seemingly impossible situations. Sometimes we need a helping hand. Some people use therapy, or mindfulness or finding someone they can trust to share their burdens with. Personally I choose to pray to a God I believe in, who loves us unconditionally, and wants to be our helper throughout our earthly life. Not only is he there for us in our ups and downs, but he forgives us when we screw up, a bit like cleaning the fuel tank. The crud is removed and clean fuel replaces the muck so our internal being runs smoothly.

We often live with the belief that we require no extra help from anyone. This is especially the case when all is well and living feels easy. However it's when the hard times come along we realise life is not so simple. Negative thoughts and feelings from previous years may get mixed into the present, often the case when someone is bereaved for a second time. If they have managed to bury their feelings of grief, without dealing with them on the first occasion, the second bereavement stirs up all the previous emotions and the new bereavement is doubly hard to cope with. In addition to this, we don't want to run on an empty tank or run out of fuel!

We may be good at helping others and not so good at self care, so we end up depleted of energy and zest for life. Now that summer is hopefully around the corner, find opportunities to enjoy nature more, go for walks, chat to your neighbour or just relax in a sunny spot, watching the world go by.

We could all do with a bit of a recharge after this wettest of winters so I hope the sun chooses to shine!

Finding our boat in need of some attention from an engineer, we booked into a Dry Dock.

We took the opportunity to freshen up the paintwork. Over the last year, on the advice of the previous owner, I had dabbed grey undercoat on every new scratch to prevent too much rust forming, resulting in a very pock marked boat that looked, to my eyes, a mess!

Roping in friends to help, day one and two went like clockwork although on day one I did get stranded on the boat as the water emptied from the dock and I realised my legs were not long enough to reach the ground. Balancing some nearby logs one on top of the other, my other half managed to make a step that allowed me off the boat, albeit rather precariously! At 6ft 3” he didn’t have a problem! I was also grateful for my mobility and agility in being able to hop on and off the boat reasonably easily. Little did I know what was around the corner.

Rising from a sitting position on the ground, I thoughtlessly stood up and twisted my leg, pulling a thigh muscle that led to me being incapacitated, for how long I had no idea. The boat half painted, 28 locks ahead of us on exiting the dry dock and a house move imminent, I retired to bed feeling myself to be in a dry dock mentally, notwithstanding a four hour stint in A&E to assess the damage and obtain some much needed crutches.

Overnight I struggled with both immobility and pain when twice needing to go to the bathroom, but surprisingly slept well on my front, as my leg seemed more comfortable when fully extended. I knew a couple of family members were praying for me and all I can say is their prayers were heard because at 8am I got out of bed, no need of crutches and the ability to walk around unhindered and no pain relief required.

Coping with the unexpected is something we all at times have to navigate. How we respond determines how we cope and how we eventually feel about life and ourselves.

Our boat is usually floating along in the water, giving us joy and refuge. Yet when it goes into dry dock, the tiller removed, it is little more than a large tin can unable to fulfil its function. A boat needs water just as we do to live and thrive. When we are physically dehydrated our bodies start to give us problems, such as headaches, fuzziness, an inability to concentrate.

When we are spiritually dry we may lose a zest for life and a purpose of being. There may be an emptiness inside that cannot be filled by retail therapy, alcohol or other addictive substances. Tapping into our spiritual nature can release a side of us that is unseen and unfathomable but when activated leads to untold joy and purpose.

So if today you feel like you are in a dry dock, try and remedy the situation by tapping into your spiritual side, perhaps by doing something creative, or going for a long walk or by asking God to reveal himself to you in some small way, to show that he is there, he does care and he wants to fill you with the water of life.

Mindfulness. Living in the present, not fretting about the past nor worrying about the future. So hard to do, yet if we can achieve it how much happier we might become.

I heard recently that it is not possible to be anxious and thankful simultaneously because of the way our brains are wired. Therefore if we can count our blessings instead of filling out heads with anxious thoughts, our anxiety should lessen. If that actually works, isn't that be amazing, because there is certainly alot to be anxious about…our health, climate change, nations at war, debt, our concerns for family and friends, to name but a few. Loved ones dying, our dying, loneliness, hunger, cold, things we may fear. The world can be a very hard place to live in. It is small wonder there is so much depression and hopelessness around.

I'm sure the God I believe in did not want a world such as this. He designed a place of beauty and joy, where he wanted humans to live in harmony with one another and the nature around. Our free choice and our greed has destroyed so much yet each of us, individually, can work towards making a positive difference to where we live and those we encounter. Kindness, empathy, a smile can make such a change to someone else's day. Having time to say hallo and be a listening ear to our neighbour.

We are so blessed to be part of the boating community. From reading the feeds on some of the narrowboat Facebook groups you can sense how kind and helpful people are towards each other. Of course there are always those who appear embittered, grouchy, angry. But maybe we have to wonder the root of those emotions. What life blows has led to someone becoming so unhappy and discontent?

The joy of spending time with a tiny baby, who looks at life with contentment, reminds me that we are born innocent and so often it is our circumstances that lead to trauma which then leads to dis-ease. Spring is a time of new beginnings, fresh growth and vibrant colour. Perhaps we can make a difference to our neighbour by offering a hand of friendship, listening to their concerns and seeing what we might be able to do to help.

For instance, I have just read a book highlighting the work of Christians Against Poverty (CAP). The work they do turns around the lives of so many people who have spiralled into debt and just don't know how to get out of it. All the stories spoke of advisors who came alongside, non judgemental, caring and wise, able to enable the debtor to regain control of their lives without shame or loss of dignity. To give them a fresh start and hope for the future.

Now, more than ever, we need to look out for one another, spreading a little kindness and love. I have an image of a bare winter tree, save for some tiny buds, that gradually turn into lush green leaves all gently swaying in the breeze. Each of us can be a leaf on that tree, living alongside one another in community, offering both shade from the sun when the world gets too hot and being a thing of beauty in itself to those who are in need around us. However small and insignificant we may feel we each have the ability to make a big impact on those around us and make our world a better place to be.

“what can I give him, poor as I am. If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb. If I were a wiseman, I would play my part, Yet what I can I give him, I give my heart”.

One reason for buying our narrowboat was to slow down time. Leave the mad rush of living in the South East and enjoy the tranquillity of the canals. We had a plan of where to go and what we would do, all at a slow pace you understand, but I did not expect it to be quite so protracted. Covid, family concerns and then finally the weather all hampered our progress and in the process I learnt that on a narrowboat you cannot do the dictating!

Our plan to get nb Naomhog to the River Wey for the winter, instead of taking a week took a month. I am not complaining – we moored for ten days outside the Anchor pub at Pyrford and another ten days at Dapdune Wharf, both great places to stay. The relentless rainfall during the month of November saw the river flood and the lock gates padlocked. There were a few windows of opportunity to move but they didn’t coincide with other plans we already had in place. November took on a strange hue as daily we would look at the weather conditions on the Wey. We learnt adaptability and to live in the moment. To do otherwise would have led to frustration and irritability. It reminded me that whatever our circumstances we have a choice as to our attitude towards them. We learned to value our time, partly because we unexpectedly had so much of it and we didn't want to waste it! In truth, we took a chance leaving it so late to get on to the River Wey, but it had made economic sense to wait until the beginning of November. A week earlier, the sun was shining, the rainfall was minimal and the River Wey would have been a breeze to travel along.

My mum, a Scot, was always economic and brought me up to be frugal and to shop cannily. Our childhood diet was rich in fruit and veg, leading me towards vegetarian cooking. Wearing extra layers of clothing, using hot water bottles and woolly hats for warmth, rather than central heating, reminds me of growing up in a cold draughty vicarage where we got dressed under the bedclothes! We may not want to return to that but it has become all too easy over the years to be profligate with our utilities. (Boating has really taught me the value of water!)

The choice between heating and eating is sadly on the increase, with the prospect of unpaid bills leading to anxiety and fear, especially for those with families to support. The fast approaching Christmas festivities, with continuous TV advertising telling us what we need to buy to have the perfect Christmas, compounds this problem. How to afford all the gizmos and gadgets that are on offer, wrapped in festive paper, that will eventually end up in landfill sites. There is a subtle pressure that encourages us to spend money to be happy. I may sound bah humbug, which I don’t really want to do. Rather, I would like us to be able to celebrate the Christmas season without it costing the earth and eroding our mental health.

Instead of worrying about how to afford to buy material presents, why not give the present of time? Time is our most precious gift because none of us know how much of it we have. To give our time to others is therefore a great gift. Taking time to listen to a friend in need; chopping up wood for someone’s stove; offering to do boat or clothes repairs; sharing a meal; walking a dog; lending a book. So many ways to show love in a non materialistic way. We all have different gifts to give.

The original message of Christmas is all about love - by sending his only son into our broken world, God showed his immense love for us all. In the relatively short span of years that Jesus walked this earth, he gave freely of his time modelling to us a selfless way to live, putting the needs of others before ourselves.

Whatever belief system we may have, this message is as vital today as it was over 2000 years ago - to love one another, to be kind, to bring hope into lives that may be hopeless and to share what we have with one another.

A present of time need not be too costly and you never know how much lasting joy it may give.

Dying in the midst of the covid pandemic, it was only last month that we said a final farewell to my 96yr old mum, celebrating her life with a service of thanksgiving.

Echoes of what was said about her resonate with the comments being made about Queen Elizabeth II in the wake of her recent death – duty, service to others, family commitment, love, constancy, humour.

Mum had been a constant in my life for nearly 60 years and so although unsurprised by her death and after a life well lived, I grieved for all that she meant to me and the big hole she would leave behind in the lives of all who loved her.

Grief is the price we pay for love, as the Queen herself once remarked, so unless we decide to live in a vacuum, surrounding ourselves with invisible barriers that let no-one in, we are all likely at some time, to experience the deep deep sorrow of grief. We have no choice but to live in this world without the physical presence of that loved one in our daily life, for it is as likely to be our faithful pet as another human being that we long for.

Grief is something we have to embrace, to walk with, as we make sense of our new reality and come to accept the changes forced upon us by the finality of death. Mourning is part of that process and it is interesting to see how collective mourning, the like of which we are experiencing at this moment with the passing of the Queen, draws people together and creates a sense of unity and intimacy. Our neighbours become our friends as we bond in our sadness. Of course there will be some who do not share in this sentiment and wonder what all the fuss is about but for those who do, perhaps in the face of such a public death, emotions rise to the surface of our own private sorrows of loved ones who have died and the grief, buried deep, is sometimes still to be found raw and active.

I was once told working through grief is hard work as it forces us to focus on painful and heart wrenching emotions. It is of little surprise then that for many it is preferable to bury the emotions deeply within and to escape the grief by constant activity, or stimulants such as alcohol, anything that relieves the need to face up to a death that has torn us apart inside.

To run away from death may be a necessary coping mechanism but in the long run it can prevent us finding happiness in a new relationship because of the fear that they may die and leave us too. Somehow we need to find a way through that allows us to live again with joy, but also recognising that part of us will always be sad and that’s OK. I heard a story of a widow whose children were still very young so she felt the responsibility of not putting her grief on them. Once a day she allowed herself 10 minutes of time to go to the bathroom, lock the door and scream. That may not work for everyone but for her it gave her time to acknowledge her inner grief and then show a happy face to her children.

A listening ear, small acts of kindness and time are perhaps the most effective ways we can help or be helped when grieving. Being there for one another can bring comfort and joy. In our relatively short time on the waterways we have received so much kindness and witnessed it around us in the interactions of other boaters. It is a wonderful community to be a part of and as the winter bites, the cost of living soars and the state of the world depresses, helping each other out is more important than ever. In the Bible, God says his greatest commandment is that we love him and the second greatest commandment is that we love our neighbour as ourselves. A timely reminder of how true this is and how each of us has the ability to do just that.

My love of narrow-boating started over a decade ago when, in choosing our first canal journey, I thought a circular route sounded more fun than a linear one. Little did I know that this would entail managing the dreaded Tardebigge flight of locks. Richard (my long suffering husband) and I were regularly up at dawn to ensure we’d complete the task and get the hire boat back on time! But I loved it, and remember driving back home thinking 30mph was way too fast. One day I decreed we would return and explore a slower pace of life.

In the intervening years the dream never left me. Gradually I felt God’s guidance drawing me towards a boating ministry, specifically a prayer boat. In October 2020, a six month rental enabled us to experience boating throughout the winter, which did not deter me. Richard, though supportive of my new found passion, does like to return home occasionally. The lawn still needs mowing and it’s not quite so comfortable being 6ft 3” on a narrowboat!

After a further rental in October 2021 went a little pear shaped due to engine trouble, I decided to contact the nearest boat broker to where we were moored up. A 43ft narrowboat had literally just arrived in the marina, with no written particulars, but we were welcome to come and look. They say buying a boat is like buying a house – you just know when you have found the right one. I walked onto Naomhòg and it was love at first sight!

The celtic name means ‘Little Neave/Saint’ or ‘Holy Little One’ and she ticked all the boxes, although I did rather want a bath on board, having enjoyed one on our previous boat. Instead we had a fixed rosehead that Richard could not even fit under. Thankfully that was relatively easy to change. Our sale completed, 1st December saw us in the snow on a six hour journey moving Naomhòg to the stricken boat housing our belongings. By now it was in a boatyard; we could only gain access from the water and with no operable electrics we needed to get there in daylight. As Naomhòg was unfurnished there was not so much as a warming cup of tea or extra layers of clothing to be had. It was a race against time which of course is counter productive to the notion of being on a narrowboat!

Since then we have been predominantly in a marina, living on and off the boat and using shoreline power. 1st April saw us become continuous cruisers and we made the rookie error of leaving the marina without switching the diesel pipe on. We managed to get down a flight of locks before we ran out of fuel but it wasn’t until the Canal Rescue service were in sight that we realised our error. The engineer very kindly spent a couple of hours talking us through the workings of the engine so his time was not wasted and it was very valuable to us.

Then we discovered our two year old leisure batteries were flat, one even bowed out of shape! That resulted in us sitting at Fenny Compton for a week whilst M J Craft, Marine engineer specialists (aka Martin) sorted us out. It was what I call a 'God-instance' that he was working on the boat moored next to ours. Initially we had asked him to look at our engine as it was cutting out whilst idling at locks. Already I sense owning a boat will be full of surprises, not all pleasant and quite a few, expensive!

However, to date, I love it. My mum died a couple of years ago and I have used the money she left me to purchase Naomhòg. I’m looking forward to working out exactly what God’s idea of a ‘Prayer Boat’ means. Already we have had friends on the boat for day trips, for 'rest and recuperation' and a couple of them have borrowed the boat for a week or more whilst we have returned home. I love talking to the people on their boats or those walking along the towpath. Hearing their stories is a privilege.

It is not necessarily an easy option living the canal way of life but we have appreciated the wonderful community spirit and there is such a breadth and depth to life on the Cut and surrounding areas.

I am not naive, I realise it won’t all be rosy but it’s an adventure and an opportunity to do something new and see parts of Britain that to date we have never seen. I started a blog previously which I have continued. The husband of the lady who commissioned our boat in 2007 came across it and sent me a picture of Naomhòg whilst under construction, coincidentally with a wooden cross perched on its roof, proof enough for me that God has been involved in our venture from the beginning.

If you see us on the Cut, the kettle is always ready to boil – and there’s usually a secret stash of crisps and crunchies which Richard manages to secrete on board when I’m not looking!
Blessings
Mary