It is one of the most romanticised sights you can see on the canal, a patient boathorse quietly striding forward, its boat gliding silently behind.
In this age of ecological cares it’s not unreasonable to question whether the horse should make some sort of comeback, but what is the difference between a horse and an engine?
The horse and the modern combustion engine are in fact extremely similar. They both come in a variety of sizes and strengths and, while they can both theoretically be used by someone with no idea, they perform best when used by someone with more specialised knowledge.
The combustion engine is of course doesn’t think and is entirely predictable, While even the calmest, best trained horse in the world is quite capable of looking at a perfectly innocent hedge, deciding there is a gremlin in it and leaping 6 foot into the air. In 1930, a young man named James Morgan caught the horse he was walking past by surprise and was kicked into the water. In 1890 Thomas Carrington gave his horse a smack on the bum and received a hoof to the face for his trouble.
A small child riding on the back of her family’s horse in 1930 tugged the reins and, despite it being something she had done on regular basis since she was born, was thrown from the horses’ back into a brick wall with predictable result.
An engine will tolerate being abused with resignation whereas a horse, naturally, will not, as demonstrated in 1906 on the Peak Forest canal, when Daniel Davies apparently decided to show off to the boatload of passengers they were towing and lashed the horse with his whip. The horse responded by lashing him with both iron-shod back hooves squarely in the chest, bowling him over the top of the embankment they were crossing and killing him.
Engine’s don’t have to be taught the job either, a task that needs to be carried out by professionals and even then it can be frankly dangerous, as seen in 1865; a pair of narrowboats, the “Elizabeth” and “Sarah” were working along the Bridgewater canal, drawn by a pair of horses working in tandem, that is, the two horses were hitched together, one in front of the other. The lead horse was an old hand at the job, which allowed 32 year old John Holt to concentrate his attention solely on the second horse, a leggy youngster learning the trade.
As they left Broadheath, Holt was walking by the young horse’s head on the water-side of the colt, probably because he felt it preferable to be shoved into the water then crushed against a wall if the colt took umbrage. As they came under Seamons Moss bridge, the youngster tried to quicken his pace and Holt held him back by the bridle. The inexperienced animal tried to turn, his back foot slipped off the coping stones, and he panicked.
As the youngster fell into the water, the lead horse was dragged in by the weight of his companion on the traces and Holt, still holding the bridle, was pushed beneath the water by the flailing animals. The approaching boats had no chance to stop and glided over the seething waters, while the two men on board ran forward to split the boats apart and try to unhitch the horses. Only the horses survived.
Horses can get sick, but so too can engines. The equine mechanic is a vet, and it is arguably only because of the reliance on horses that the veterinary field exists at all.
Of course in the hey-days of the horse, vets were limited in what they could do; in 1868 four French boat horses started frothing at the mouth and ultimately went mad after being bitten by a rabid dog, and in 1886 an English horse that had been seen by a vet twice for “lethargy” simply dropped dead in what could be described as catastrophic engine failure.
Perhaps the biggest point in the favour of the engine is how it’s unaffected by the ignorance of the general public. In 1936, a horse working through Rugby was hit by a golf ball struck from the nearby course and, quite naturally, turned tail, snapped the towrope and bolted away from the direction of the offending missile. Also dawdling about on the towpath at the time were some walkers, who leapt shrieking into the hedge to avoid being mown down, and some fisherman, who didn’t help the situation by screaming at the horse when they realised they’d abandoned a fishing rod on the towpath. The terrified horse kept running for another mile.
The Caraboat was a clever invention of a Mr Tom Carr who made them for a short time between 1971 and 1973 in Sutton -in- Ashfield Notts. 
Having had a Creighton 20 called "White Cloud" on the Lancaster canal for some years we were keen to explore other canals, so when the Ribble link fully opened in Spring 2003 my ten year old son Ben and I set off to visit the Llangollen canal in Wales.
The 20 is basically the front end of Inlander with an Outboard motor on the back. It is built so strong by Creighton Ball at Nelson Lancs., that even though it had been ablaze, it refused to sink.
I replaced the Braking system, wheel bearings and wheels, then towed it to Garstang where my Freeman was moored, for a test launch to check everything was watertight.
We have used the Caraboat mainly as a boat, but have taken part in the Kendal Torchlight Parade to try to promote restoring the Lancaster canal back to Kendal for six years.
entered the Cumbria Steam Gathering at Flookburgh for ten years or so as a Historic Caravan.
Also in 2007 we sailed the Leeds &Liverpool from the Bingley five rise to Adlington near Chorley.
In October 2009 we finally made it to the Llangollen canal and have been back twice since.
The importance of towpaths as free, accessible places to re-charge or for exercise was highlighted during the first lockdown in the spring, when we saw a surge in usage in many urban communities where the canal provides vital green space, available to millions. Towpath counters around the country showed the biggest increases in visits in Burnley (+261%), Sandwell (+199%) and Blackburn (+187%). (Source: 
It is with a sad heart, that I notice an increase in selfishness by some users too. Almost a disregard for manner or etiquette. I was nearly run over by a bike when walking under a bridge. Later I saw a dog poo bag, a used one on the ground. Round the corner, a beer can on the fence.
In the spring of 1969, Lady Jena, the family’s 16ft plywood cabin cruiser, sank due to a plastic lid working its way through a piece of rather soft plywood.
Partly because of the servicing requirements of our new power unit, we decided to go onto the Oxford Canal via the Sheepwash channel. That took us through some rather weedy water which proved conclusively that the “weedless” propeller was anything but. That discovery was eclipsed by the experience of the electrically powered lift bridge near Wolvercote. Dad sounded the horn as required. Nothing happened so we reversed to hold position in the water.
We were ready to continue again, which we did for another mile. There followed a tooth jarring screech as the Aspera (not Villiers as advertised) motor seized up solid, never to run again. It was an ex outboard, dead as a doorpost and sworn at by the whole family. We continued by hand towing until we got to somewhere with a phone. That place being a pub called “The Wise Alderman,” the landlord of which had a pint ready for Dad as he stepped in.
The mixture of petrol, smoking, Methylated spirit stoves and slowly decomposing plywood would strike horror into the heart of may boat inspectors these days but such Heath Robinson boat fit outs were commonplace on the waterways of the mid to late sixties.
The superstructure of another pontoon was made of the recycled front of a Birmingham boutique. This was powered by a 4 hp British Seagull outboard. This truly couldn’t be ignored in my writing and first appears in “Mayfly” as “Chrysophyllax Diver” - a name I pinched from a severely holed and very poorly made plywood dinghy that I saw being slowly incinerated on a bonfire near the River Wey.
Have you ever thought about the attractions of waterways beyond these islands?
It is of course possible to boat further afield on European waterways, but the closeness of France, its user-friendly network, and its innate attractions make it the number one destination.
And the ‘cons’ are far less daunting than they can appear. First, you do need someone on the boat to have certification. You will need an International Certificate for Operators of Pleasure Craft (or ICC) to provide evidence that you are competent to handle a boat. In the UK, this scheme is run by the Royal Yachting Association (RYA). If you have had previous boat handling training, you may already have the necessary evidence of qualification for the ICC – the list of acceptable qualifications can be found on the RYA website.
The cost of a boat appropriate for French waterways will be higher than for UK narrowboats because you need a different kind of boat for river conditions – widebeam, with a protected prop and rudder, and a strong diesel engine. You can easily spend £250,000 and upward for such a boat new; a decent second hand similar craft would cost around the £100,000 mark.
Of course, there is an initial capital outlay – typically £2-3,000 per week purchased, but this can be recouped if and when you want to sell. Think of it this way: a bank loan of £2,500 to buy a week would cost just £125 a year at, say, at 5% p.a. interest. Add that to that, say, £400 per week running costs makes a total of around £525 a year. That wouldn’t hire even the smallest craft for a week in low season, let alone a luxury 50 ft widebeam craft. Or of course you can spend a six figure sum on a depreciating asset, another 10% every year on maintaining it, and then use it for just a few weeks. Just ‘do the math’ as they say over the pond.
There are various roles available on the boat:
Children from the parish church have been taken each year on the Christmas cruise, with Santa on board. One year, I was taking the Minutes for the church council meeting and wrote in my notes, obviously without thinking, that the children were being offered the chance to book for Santa Cruz! “Sorry, we aren’t thinking of taking them that far,” was the leader’s comment!
Keeping that beautiful boat of yours in tip-top shape throughout the year can be a difficult task if you don’t know how to protect 
When it comes to 
Of course, you can’t apply ceramic coating or any type of external protection before fixing and priming the paint job. Your mechanics should prime the exterior first by buffing and sanding out any irregularities, fixing any damage, and correcting the paintjob to create a seamless finish. Once that is done, they can start adding the ceramic coating to seal the surface and give it the level of protection it deserves to keep your boat looking pretty.
Back in February I won the ‘Best Comedy’ award for my short stage play at The Worcestershire Theatre Festival.
I was walking the dogs, Blue and Milly, down the towpath toward bridge number 38. It was coming to that weird sort of half-light between afternoon and dusk and we were happily trotting along - well the dogs were, I was shuffling about as usual - when a ghostly spectre appeared out of the mist (it wasn’t actually misty, but I’m trying to create an atmosphere, o.k?) A vision of Darth Vader appeared from under the arch and began to charge toward us at an alarming rate of knots. He was easily seven feet tall, dressed entirely in black, topped with a helmet with tinted visor. And - get this - he glided. Yes, that’s right, he glided - moving neither arms nor legs.
As he drew level briefly, by now he was moving at just below subsonic speed, I saw that it was only some chap, in full motorcycle regalia, stood on - honestly, I kid you not - stood on a single motorised wheel about 2 feet (I’m not sure what that works out to in tonnes per hectare, or whatever it is these days) in diameter. Two footrests extended out from either side of the axle on which he balanced like a trick cyclist at the circus. I assume that he controlled the speed by leaning forward or back as they do on one of those Segway thingy’s you can hire out on your holibobs in Benidorm, but it was hard to tell as we were buffeted around in his wake amid a swirl of fallen autumn leaves, towpath dust and small dead mammals, slaughtered on his passage through the countryside.
But the real culprit I’m afraid is Andy Street, Mayor of the West Midlands. He’s a champion of old style technology like trams, trains and of course bikes. I’m sure he’d like us all to become latter day Edwardians and am expecting him to launch an initiative soon to eschew our en-suite bathrooms in favour of building outdoor privy’s and wiping our bums on torn up squares from The Sun.