The motor was running as well as ever, and the Mayfly was again looking her best as Jim and Amanda edged slowly out of the basin, having stayed a few days and were more than happy to be on the move again, despite the rather persistent rain and the ever recurrent cash problems.

Autumn was beginning to take more of a hold, and was most noticeable on clear nights and bright mornings when the thin plywood shell did not do much of a job of keeping the cold out. Their next main destination was to return the pollution monitor they were testing to Clive Prentice. Whilst looking forward to seeing him again, it also meant the end of any income from the device, and no further way planned to earn more. Nothing seemed to bother them, though as they were on the move again and that was what they did best.

“We ought to phone Marie in the corner shop at some time,” Jim suggested, as they passed under a bridge. “See what the state of play is back home.”

“This is home,” Amanda smiled. “But I know what you mean, except not today, let’s have the next twenty four hours just for the two of us. There’s nobody chasing or trying to arrest either you or me, and that’s sort of good I think.”

Jim smiled in reply, knowing their easy going routine had returned and both should be savouring it. They stopped for the night early in an area of open country to enjoy the evening, the meal, a long walk under the darkening sky, and the return, lit only by the stars to the warmth of shared closeness in the cabin. The breeze that had blown up since they retired gently rocked the boat until they both drifted off to sleep. They would have slept late into the morning had the noise of the breeze, which had now achieved almost gale force, not woken them at around six o’clock.

“That’s going to be a bummer,” Amanda said, lazily.

“Stuff it,” Jim replied as he stretched out. “We’re going to get more of this as the year goes on so we may as well get acclimatised.”

And more of it they got. Over the next week if it wasn’t raining, it was blowing or, just for a change, doing both.

They started each day damp and finished it soaking, but, fuelled by a hearty breakfast and strong tea, they plugged on forward though progress was sometimes only a third of their normal daily distance. Even with covers fully deployed, the wind blown rain still found its target, and, worse still, the force of the gusts pushed the boat all over the place.

Eventually they put anything that wasn’t waterproof in the cabin, and ran without covers, accepting saturation as a fact of life. By the end of each day they were chapped and sore from handling wet rope and windlasses. By the end of the week, Amanda had a bad cold. The weather continued as wild as it had been.

“Right,” Jim eventually said, “You stay in the cabin today. There’s no way you can work.”

Amanda protested, but knew he was right, despite which, she was pretty sure he was going to catch the wretched cold and then it’d be her turn. Both were correct, In another day Jim’s temperature had risen to what Amanda had decided was probably a dizzying height and she insisted that they both stop until they felt better.

“We weren’t born to this,” she croaked. “And I think even old Lou would let us off for a day or so.”

“I remember,” Jim said. “He didn’t want you roughing your hands up.”

The cough he’d developed stopped him saying more.

The rain, mist and wind made everything on Mayfly seem damp and cold, mainly because it was. They used the paraffin stoves to provide some warmth, but they were noisy, smelly and the instruction booklet that came with one of them warned they shouldn’t be used as space heaters. The daily walk for provisions and water added to the general state of gloom that had settled. They were again running short of money, and each day they did not travel eroded their budget further.

It was the weekend before either of them felt fit to move on and, with slightly improved weather, they edged off towards their planned destination, a canal bridge quite near to Clive Prentice’s business. Taking things easy, thankful that the wind, at least had died down, the covers could stay up sheltering the sporadic rain. With gradually clearing rain and small periods of sunshine, Jim tried hand towing to save petrol claiming that the exercise would do him good.

With the holiday season over, they could go on for over a day without seeing another boat on the move which meant that they avoided daft comments and offers of help, as happened previously, from people thinking they had broken down.

“We’re going to have to think of ways to keep warm once the real cold weather starts,” Amanda pointed out, coughing as she did. “Or we’ll catch something really bad and be found frozen to the marrow in midwinter by one of the lengthmen.”

“Best not buy any marrows then,” Jim quipped, knowing his partner was right.

The eventual solution came from a pile of fly tipped waste.

“If we heat the bricks on a small campfire, we can put them in one of the empty deed boxes," Amanda said. "Kind of like the haybox cooker in reverse. It’ll keep the real chill out of the cabin."

“That one worked,” Jim smiled. “At least I won’t be thinking you’ve gone bonkers whilst we make the thing,” he added with a laugh.

“OK then” Amanda smiled, “Let’s go for it. We can do this Jimbo! Last one to find a bit of wood is a lemon!”

Optimism had returned and the pair set off with a new enthusiasm towards their destination.

 

(©2026 Michael Nye)

Over the summer I have been drawing and painting in some wonderful places around Preston. Haslam Park and Nature Reserve has been a particular source of inspiration, encouraging me to get outside and create. The Lancaster Canal inspires me too, and I often think how lucky I am to have all this on my doorstep.

I recently became aware of the 'Visions of Preston' art project run by Climate Action Preston. It is an Open Call to artists in Preston with the brief: 'How could we thrive, in harmony with nature and with each other?'

We are encouraged to think about familiar places like the Lancaster Canal - green spaces, old buildings and building sites - and imagine what we would like to see there. What would be fun, beautiful, and helpful to the planet and to wild creatures and plants? We are asked to consider Friends of the Earth’s “Hope Starts Here” poster to help us think about what could change in Preston to make things better: how we get around, grow food, and share things.

Could that patch of land become a play space or a vegetable plot? Could that empty building be used as a workshop or youth club, or be taken down to create a green space or nature reserve? Could the city centre be full of plants and wildlife? Some streets could become playgrounds. How could we find space for more trees? What could we do with the city rooftops, and how could we encourage people to use cars less, so it’s nicer and safer to walk around? What about the canal and riverbanks - is there a way we can enjoy them more without endangering wildlife or children? What about Preston Dock, the biggest in Europe in its day, which sits empty most of the time now? And the old railway lines?

With this brief in mind, I have been travelling around my favourite places in Preston, wanting to paint the beautiful, exciting and uplifting things I find - plants, creatures, a favourite insect or bird, energy. Our colourful canal and waterways can be shown in so many ways.

I have submitted a piece for the forthcoming exhibition for consideration, my acrylic painting, Bexhill Road Bridge (No. 15) Ingol, on the Lancaster Canal. A favourite place to watch the sunset and reflect.

Details of the exhibition venues will be announced over the summer. Venues being approached include the Harris Museum, Preston City Hall, Preston Bus Station, and local community centres and libraries.

As numerous canals continue to suffer low water levels, breakdown and assistance firm, River Canal Rescue, is receiving daily calls from boaters with fouled props and damage to rudders and skegs, plus associated damage to drive systems, impacting engine mounts with ‘legs’ failures, and gearbox coupling/drive plates.
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Although the museum was only open at weekends for the first couple of years, visitors arrived randomly during the week. They would often get an impromptu guided tour. One such visitor was Old Bill. He introduced himself with a question, “Have you got any steam boats here?”. We hadn’t, but we liked him so we invited him in for a brew and a chat.

Bill had recently retired from lorry driving for the nearby car factory. He told us he had always been known as Old Bill because, everywhere he worked, he had been the oldest William. At Vauxhall there had been Young Bill, himself and Bill the Bum!

Like many amateur engineers of his era, Bill had a lathe in his garden shed but he’d run out of projects since retirement. His first job had been as fireman on a steam lorry and he’d yearned for involvement with a steam engine ever since.

“We don’t have a steam boat,” I explained, “But we do have a pair of hydraulic pumping engines”.
“Oh!” said Bill, “Can I have a look?”

The steam engines used to provide hydraulic power to the whole dock estate. Sadly, they were derelict and all their bearings and other brass bits had been nicked. I unlocked the door and we entered past the silent Lancashire boilers then up the steps into the engine house. Bill got very excited. “Do you think,” he asked “if anyone would mind if I just cleaned them up and painted them?”

Old Bill, realistically, wasn’t going to stop with prettification. He aimed to get an engine running. Soon he had an agreement with a brass foundry in Widnes. He would supply the wooden pattern for the required part, along with scrap brass, and they would cast the part for free. Volunteers who came along at weekends began to bring unwanted brass items with them to add to Bill’s brass stash.

Bill worked long hours in the engine house. He would often drop in for a brew, regaling us with tales of his years driving trucks, his time serving in world war II, and his childhood, playing with snowballs made from asbestos waste.

It took him 3 years to get the first engine running. Reviving the Lancashire boilers was impractical so a small vertical boiler was installed the other side of the covered arm. On steaming days the job of fireman fell to me, using scrap wood as fuel. A simple intercom was used for communication across the water.

As time passed the Boat Museum increased in fame. I acquired a wooden motor boat called Sarah that, like Lilith, needed rebuilding. It developed a bad habit of sinking.

We had an arrangement with the local fire station when a boat sank. They would come and pump it out and put it down to training. The one proviso was that, if they should get an emergency call, they would rush away to answer it.

One day Sarah sank, gunwales under, right in the most prominent part of the museum. I summoned the brigade and they started getting set up, then an emergency call came in and they were off, returning later to recover their equipment.

The museum committee started to take an unusually intolerant view of my sunken boat. They let me know that they were expecting a visit from an unspecified but very important person, and Sarah was an embarrassment.

 

Lorries began to arrive, delivering half of Derbyshire in the form of crushed limestone to make new roads and paths. A British Waterways dredger turned up and started work. BWB also started work repairing the bottom lock, giving access to the ship canal. This required the use of three huge Sykes Univac pumps, two on the land and one on a work flat.

The job finished on a Friday. The two pumps on the land were taken away but the work flat was brought up the locks and left in the outer basin with the pump still on board.

When the workers had gone I went to have a look. There were suction pipes, diesel in the tank and a starting handle. I shafted the boat into the museum and tied her abreast of Sarah. The suction pipes were soon connected up and fed into the sunken boat.

I spun the handle, knocked down the decompressors one by one and the big 3 cylinder Lister roared into life. Water started to jet across the basin from the pump outlet and a mini Niagara started all along Sarah’s gunwales. In almost no time the cascade stopped and the boat popped up like a cork. The big pump ran out of water to shift, so I rigged up a little electric pump to complete the job.

With Sarah safely afloat I shafted the work flat back to where I’d found it and carefully re-placed all the equipment so that, when they came to collect it, no-one would be any the wiser. After 50 years I don’t think anyone will be bothered!

It soon became clear that our mystery guests were to be none other than Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip. We began to get posh impromptu visitors, who we’d never seen before, claiming to have been the first to think of having a boat museum there. It’s amazing what a royal visit will bring out of the woodwork!

A few days before Her Majesty was due to arrive, stop planks were inserted at the first bridge-hole. Police divers dragged the basin and checked under the boats for bombs. This was quite handy as they found a lot of the tools that I’d dropped in over time.

With the divers' work done the police ringed the whole site, one copper every few yards and every third one with a dog. Access was only possible with a pass. I had a pass, but nobody informed the officers that I lived there. Every time they had a shift change I would get interrogated by bored and suspicious policemen, who clearly thought that my pass was a forgery. I had a wonderful but scruffy mongrel called Caspar who was invaluable in guarding the site, but was not happy about all the police dogs on his manor.

On the big day, Old Bill came dressed in his shiniest overalls. The royal visitors wanted to see his engine running. The sun shone and crowds of visitors assembled, many of the ladies wearing dresses of delicate shades of pink or white.

My job, of course, was to fire the boiler. This had the added benefit of keeping me out of the way as my Cromwellian sympathies were well known. For the first and last time I was supplied with the luxury of coal to fuel the fire.

I had full pressure in good time. The intercom crackled and Bill told me that it looked like it would be a while before the royal party reached the engine house, so we might as well run the engine.

This happened a couple more times, then Bill said he thought they wouldn’t be much longer. I had a full boiler, full pressure and the safety valves just sizzling. To cool things down I put on the damper and filled the firebox with coal. Deprived of air, the coal began coking, and a haze of sulphurous yellow smoke drifted from the chimney.

The intercom crackled again. “They’re coming over now!” said Bill, “Give me steam!"

I removed the damper and, from inside the firebox came a loud WUMPF as oxygen ignited the hot coal. As the products of combustion exited the boiler they took with them the layers of soot that had built up in the passages.

A great cloud of black ordure rose from the chimney, sailed above the island warehouse and descended on the ladies in pink and white dresses...

Bill was dead chuffed about meeting the Queen and later related to us the entire conversation that he had with her, several times.

******

Bill carried on with his work in the engine house for many more years, leaving a legacy that is enjoyed to this day by museum visitors.

The old boiler was replaced with a new gas fired one, eliminating any future risks of dry cleaning claims.

Caspar moved to Runcorn with me in 1982. Sadly, he later succumbed to cancer aged about 10.

Sarah’s original name turned out to be Forget me Not, built originally as a horse boat in 1927 for number one boatman Henry Grantham. She was motorised at Braunston in 1929 and fitted with a counter stern in 1931. She was launched after a comprehensive rebuild in 1994 and now is the principal motor boat for the Wooden Canal Boat Society. Among other things, she tows Hazel on well-being trips. After 32 years in the water she now needs another overhaul.

As numerous canals continue to suffer low water levels, breakdown and assistance firm, River Canal Rescue, is receiving daily calls from boaters with fouled props and damage to rudders and skegs, plus associated damage to drive systems, impacting engine mounts with ‘legs’ failures, and gearbox coupling/drive plates.

RCR managing director, Stephanie Horton says many calls involve a combination of these issues, due to hitting underwater obstacles exposed by low water levels, and confirms a significant number of vessels are grounding in unusual locations. “When this happens,” comments Stephanie, “there are some simple things you can do.

“Where we can, we talk people through how to move their grounded boat. We have a ‘24hr’ rule in many situations as water levels can change, boats come by or customers just manage to get themselves free. It’s not a hard-set rule, but we do advise customers, in some cases, to wait 24hours, if they can, before using our services.

“If the boat can’t be moved, we liaise with CRT staff to check if low water levels are known and if this is likely to change. The CRT will usually endeavour to try to attend and move the boat, but if it’s unavailable or other issues are identified, then we’ll despatch a team. This type of event is usually covered by a fully comprehensive insurance policy.

“If you run aground on a river, put on a life jacket and put your boat in reverse to see if you can move away from the obstruction. If this doesn’t work, walk around the vessel testing the surrounding water depth with a boat pole. This will pinpoint where the water’s shallower and where the problem is. On rivers you can usually see rocks or grave, as the water’s clearer.

“There’s always the option to get into the water and ‘push’ the boat; it may sound drastic, but if you’ve travelled up a non-navigable section then usually the water is less than 12inch/30cm deep. Once you’re off the boat it’s easier to get it moving - just ensure you have a way to get back on, when it refloats.”

Ballast

Stephanie continues: “If the front of the boat’s grounded, move some of the ballast that may be holding it down. The water tank is always at the front of a narrowboat so turn on the taps to empty it and move heavy items such as gas bottles, the anchor and any chains to the rear – this will give the boat more buoyancy at the front and potentially lift it a vital few inches, which may be all it needs to clear itself. Half a ton of water can create a six-inch difference. If it does clear, put the boat in reverse.

“If the boat’s grounded on one side, it’s a similar scenario; move anything that’s weighing it down in this area to the opposite side. Do this in cautious stages - if you over-balance, the vessel will list and it could end up taking on water.

Tow

“If there are people onboard, position yourself at the helm and ask the remainder to rock the boat gently; the momentum may move it. If the rear of the boat’s aground and the propeller’s lifted (which is a rare scenario), you’ll probably need a tow.

“And while it’s tempting to ask a passing boater for a tow, this should only be undertaken by an experienced boater. We’ve had cases where the person towing the vessel has got into trouble and we’ve ended up rescuing two boats. Also, anyone on a hire boat will invalid their insurance if they try to tow you, so it’s better not to put them in that position in the first place.”

“If you are able to free your vessel, check it thoroughly at the first possible opportunity – particularly the hull – as this could have been damaged.”

Patience

Stephanie advises: “Find out about restrictions and closures, the protocols and what’s happening in areas you plan to navigate. Situations develop all the time, so be aware of the risks around you and be cautious while cruising. If you’re on a canal and you find the boat is not moving as fast as usual, and water levels look low, DON’T simply increase your speed, be patient and wait until the water levels increase or you can get though a lock to a better location. Speed on low water levels puts pressure on the drive systems.”

Drive systems

Stephanie concludes: “Putting more revs on to speed up, creates rather than resolves the problem. Without the depth to ensure smooth travel though the water, the load transfers to the drive system, putting it under undue pressure, resulting in gearboxes overheating, and a higher risk of hitting or catching something underwater, damaging drive plates and couplings.”

The last of the light slid behind the hedgerows, leaving the canal washed in indigo and silver. Theo balanced the violin against his knee, listening to the water slap gentle rhythms against the hulls. Across the narrow gap, Ivy leaned against her cabin rail, mug cradled between her palms, her father’s cap shadowing her eyes. She looked at home in the half-dark, as if the canal had decided to claim her after all.

Theo tightened the bow hair with careful turns. “One more tune?” he asked.

She smiled faintly. “As many as you like. The canal doesn’t keep time.”

He drew the bow across the strings, starting slow, letting the first notes breathe. Not the storm-fire reels he was known for, not the restless tearing at melody. Something gentler. A waltz his grandmother had hummed when he was a boy, rough-voiced in the kitchen while water boiled and windows steamed. The sound settled into the dusk like a lantern on still water.

Ivy closed her eyes, rocking slightly with the rhythm. “That’s different,” she murmured. “You’re not fighting anything in that one.”

Theo gave a slight shrug, still playing. “Can’t fight the ghosts. Best to let them sing.”

When the tune ended, the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt companioned. He set the violin across his lap and reached for the apple she had passed him earlier, biting into it, the crunch loud in the quiet.

“You said your father read the market like a book,” Theo said, wiping juice from his thumb. “What did he read about you?”

Ivy’s smile flickered. “That I was always in a hurry. He said I tried to skip ahead to the last page. Maybe he was right. I left the canals for years, thought I wanted noise and speed. Now…” She gestured to the water, the sky, the boats rocking together. “Now I wonder if he knew I’d come back eventually.”

Theo tapped the violin’s belly with his fingertip, thoughtful. “Fathers like to think they can read the future. Maybe they hope loudly enough that it feels like prophecy.”

She looked at him steadily. “And yours?”

He shifted, shoulders tightening before he forced them loose again. “Didn’t stay long enough to read anything. Music filled the space he left. Bandmates, teachers, crowds, they all had an opinion. None of them were his.”

Ivy said nothing, but the quiet she offered was better than words. She reached across the gap with another slice of bread, bridging the boats with her hand until he took it. The gesture was small, but it felt like an agreement.

Theo raised the violin again, this time offering the bow toward her. “Want to try?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’d sound like a cat in a sack.”

“Cats can be tuneful if you listen right,” he said with a grin. “Besides, there’s no audience but the water.”

She hesitated, then set her mug aside and stood. The step between the boats was a narrow risk, but she crossed, balancing with arms outstretched until her boots found his deck. Up close, the lantern glow from his cabin caught the strands of hair loose around her face, the green-gold in her eyes. She looked younger, but also steadier.

He placed the violin gently in her hands and guided her fingers. Her laugh bubbled out when the first note squealed, but she pressed again, slower this time, and the sound smoothed enough to be recognizable.

“Not bad,” he said softly. “For someone in a hurry to get to the last page.”

She shot him a playful look, then tried another bow stroke. The melody faltered, but Theo filled in around her, weaving his bow under hers until the two sounds awkward and assured met in the middle. The waltz limped into being, uneven yet beautiful for its effort.

By the time she handed the instrument back, her cheeks were flushed with laughter. She sank onto the roof beside him, breathless. “You made me sound better than I was.”

“Every good tune hides the rough notes,” Theo said. “You just have to carry on until the music forgives you.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder, the violin resting between them like a third presence. Above, the stars thickened. Below, the canal rocked them gently in its slow pulse. Theo felt the knot of tension inside him loosen another thread. Here, with Ivy’s laughter still echoing and the water steady beneath, he no longer needed to fight the silence. He could let it hold him, note by note, story by story.

The sun slid down toward the tree line, painting the water a coppery shade and casting a shadow. Ivy had cooked bread, warmed on the stove, with cheese softened at its edges, and apples cut into neat slices. The kettle rattled and hissed before she poured two mugs of tea. She hesitated with the second mug, then stepped onto the stern, balancing both.

Theo sat cross-legged on the roof of his boat, violin at his side, fingers idly plucking at the strings. He looked up when she approached, the faintest grin tugging one corner of his mouth.

“You bringin’ a peace offering?” he asked.

“Or reinforcements,” she replied, holding out the mug. “Depends on how you play it.”

He took it with a nod. “Then cheers to both.” He blew across the surface, sipped, and winced. “Hotter than it looks.”

“Always is,” she said, settling on her own roof across the narrow gap of water. Their boats rocked gently in tandem, like two lungs sharing the same breath.

For a while, they sat in easy silence, the water lapping softly against steel. Theo plucked a tune, fragmented, uncertain, and Ivy found herself humming before she meant to.

“You know it?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Dad used to whistle it in the market,” she said, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice. “Every Saturday, like clockwork. He said the tune was older than the bricks in the bridge.”

Theo’s bow lifted the melody into the air, soft and unhurried. Ivy closed her eyes, hearing not just Theo but her father’s ghostly whistle threading through. She smiled. “He’d have liked that. You’d have annoyed him, mind you, but he’d have liked it.”

Theo’s brow furrowed. “Annoyed?”

“You play like you’re fighting something. He liked music that didn’t argue with the listener.”

Theo considered, bow stilling against the string. “Maybe I do argue. Maybe that’s the point.”

“Or maybe you just haven’t been listening,” she said before she could stop herself. The words hung between them, too honest to take back.

Theo looked at her for a long moment, then chuckled low. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, line-burn.”

“It’s Ivy,” she corrected, though she smiled as she said it.

They ate together without ceremony, passing bread, trading slices of apple, sharing the space as though they’d rehearsed it. Conversation slipped between silences like oars dipping into water.

“Your father,” Theo asked at last, careful as a man setting a fragile thing on the table, “he was well-known on the cut?”

“Not famous. Just… known.” She brushed crumbs from her lap. “People trusted him. He fixed engines, gave tows, and listened more than he spoke. The market was his measure of life, bread weight, fiddle tunes, and the way folks greeted each other. He said if you can read a market, you can read a village. And if you can read a village, you can tell if you belong.”

Theo nodded slowly, eyes on the canal rather than her. “Sounds like he belonged everywhere.”

“Everywhere there was water,” she said. “Everywhere the lines hummed the same tune.”

Theo set the violin across his knees, fingers stroking the worn wood. His voice lowered, almost more to the strings than to her. “I came here because the noise was too much. City noise. Band noise. Even the applause felt… like shouting in the wrong key.”

Ivy tilted her head. “And the canal fixes that?”

He gave a half-smile. “Not fixes. Teaches me how to sit still long enough to notice what I’m carrying. Out here, you can’t outrun yourself. The water’s too slow for that.”

She studied him, trying to read the words underneath. He hadn’t said what he was escaping, not directly, but she heard it in the pauses, the weariness, and the dissonance of a man who’d given too much to the world and lost his own voice.

“Maybe slow is what you needed,” she said gently.

“Maybe it’s what we both needed,” he answered, looking at her then. His eyes caught the last of the light, green-gray and steady. For once, he didn’t look like he was arguing with himself.
The night settled around them, crickets stitching the silence. Theo lifted his bow again and played, not the storm-fire she had first heard, but something quieter, almost contemplative. Ivy listened, tea cooling in her hands, heart warming in her chest. For the first time since taking her father’s boat, she felt less like a visitor to the canal and more like part of its slow, unfolding song.

In military circles it is said that plans rarely survive contact with the enemy. The same could be said of my plans for a teaching career. I dropped out after my first teaching practice and got a dead end job in a fascist paper factory. I use the F word advisedly. The boss kept asking me if I was Jewish and once told me that he’d fought on the wrong side in the war.

No longer needing to be near the college I moved my two little boats to join Lilith on the farm moorings. The fees were 50p per boat per week, which was a bargain for Lilith. Even at £1.50 for the 3 boats it wasn’t too bad but, when he realised that I was living on them the farmer demanded £3 a week for the 3 craft. Extortion!

I moved on to the towpath side near the village of Stoak. With a wage in my pocket I was able to re-activate the little car that I had left behind at my parent’s house.

The planking was complete at the stern end of Lilith and I wanted to build a back cabin to live in. Someone told me that at Ellesmere Port the canal was chock full of wood from the recent motorway construction. I drove over there and, though I found no free wood, I came across volunteers preparing the derelict area for opening as a boat museum in a few weeks time.

I got talking to Tony Hirst who told me that they had a problem. They were planning to bring lots of historic boats to the opening, but had no way of keeping them safe in a place renowned for vandalism and arson. I immediately volunteered to become resident volunteer caretaker, boat pumper outer and vandal chaser offer.

 

 

 

The photo is of Lilith on her 120th birthday, December 2nd 2021. We towed her and Hazel to the first winding hole up the Peak Forest then returned to a patch of waste ground in Dukinfield and had a bonfire. An oak tree was planted in the ashes, growing the wooden boats of the 22nd century!

Arrangements were made to move my boats. Lilith was to hang on behind the Thomas Clayton pair Spey and Gifford. My floating hutches were to follow on after the celebrations were over.

Lilith still had no means of steering, so it was an interesting journey, dangling on the end of a line from Gifford’s anser hook. Tony Lewery was steering the butty and a combination of his efforts and my use of an improvised shaft we mostly kept her out of trouble.

Trouble came on arrival at The Port. The volunteer harbourmaster was the owner of a Josher steamer and tended to look down on lesser craft. With one glimpse of my disreputable Joey boat he ordered her to be taken down to the bottom basin, which was then still derelict. Bad decision!

There are parallel locks down to the bottom basin, one set wide and the other narrow. Being a narrow boat Lilith started down the narrow locks. It had been several years since she had been through a narrow lock and she had not been dieting. It took a team of volunteers, diverted from other work, most of the afternoon to drag her protesting hull through those two locks. It was then decided that she could come into the top basin after all. She returned up the wide locks.

When the weekend festivities were over I fired up my little Ailsa Craig outboard and whirred along the canal with Mosquito and Melford, the floating chicken hutches, to take up residence in the basin and start my new duties.

Gifford is still an important part of the Boat Museum’s collection.

Spey is still travelling the canals in the care of the ‘Spey crowd’. They are probably the best example of a shared ownership group looking after a historic boat. They have continually maintained and improved her for over 50 years and are now passing her on to a younger generation.

Lilith is in the care of the Wooden Canal Boat Society and, in her 125^th year, is awaiting another restoration at Portland Basin, Ashton under Lyne.

Please feel free to get in touch if you would like to help https://www.wcbs.org.uk/ 07931 952 037

The British waterways are turning from a reminder of the past, industrial legacy into something far more, into something with future potential! Our network of canals now represent everything, from house boating and alternative transport to the cruising holidays and ecotourism that attract so many visitors. As people turn to an altogether simpler lifestyle, the eco credentials that alternative transport offers will only continue to enhance the role our waterway vessels play.

DataIntelo forecast that the canal boats and narrow boats market value globally will come to 2.8billion USD by 2025, and that by 2033 it will reach 4.1 billion USD at a CAGR of 4.8%. European waterways contribute more than 42% to the global canal boats market and the UK’s demand for canalboats remains highest, a result of our strong history of boating and well-established network. If you’re already a boating enthusiast, looking to purchase your first boat, or just curious to learn about the different ways in which Britain’s waterways are being used, it's a good idea to look at the trends of modern waterways boats.

The Revival of Britain's Inland Waterways

Britain has more than 2000 miles of navigable canals and rivers forming the most acclaimed network of inland waterways anywhere in the world. Developed in their heyday to carry coal and manufactured goods to industrial centers, canals are now an important tourist attraction and offer an attractive way of life for thousands, in addition to playing a significant role in local economies. More investment is being channelled into upgrading the marinas and waterways and a growing number of people are taking to the waters to experience a water-based life style in these increasingly trendy outdoor living days. Keeping alive all of the heritage but adding to it a modern touch to develop new markets.

Narrowboats Continue to Define Canal Living

None capture the essence of Britain's canals more effectively than the narrowboat. Originally built to accommodate the historic locks of England and Wales' canal network, narrowboats are the vehicle of choice for travel across the majority of the two nations. Their compact build provides access to canals inaccessible to other types of boat.

Modern narrowboats mix old with new:

• Fully equipped kitchens
• Central heating
• Solar panels
• Smart electrical systems
• Comfortable living spaces
• Remote working facilities

Their versatility makes them suitable for:

• Weekend cruising
• Long-term touring
• Residential living
• Holiday hire businesses
• Digital nomad lifestyles

Canal holidays popularity continues to create demand for narrowboats across the country.

Widebeam Boats Are Expanding Residential Options

Although narrowboats have remained a symbolic image, widebeam boats are becoming increasingly popular among prospective buyers who desire additional living space.

Providing a widebeam boat with a home-like design is attractive for individuals intending to live comfortably on wider canals and rivers over an extended period.

The primary benefits are:

• Larger bedrooms
• Spacious kitchens
• Full-sized bathrooms
• Dedicated office spaces
• Greater storage capacity

With the rising cost of housing in many cities of UK, people are more likely to consider floating homeas an alternative way of living. According to DataIntelo, applications for floating homes are amongbthe rapid growth areas in the market.

Battery-Electric Canal Boats Are Powering a Cleaner Future

Perhaps the most exciting development transforming inland waterways is the advent of electric, battery-electric canal boats.

Compared to the average diesel marine engine, electric propulsion can be:

• Quiet cruising
• Zero exhaust emissions during operation
• Lower maintenance requirements
• Reduced fuel costs
• Improved onboard comfort

Lithium-ion batteries now facilitate multi-day electric boating with a range of increasingly availablec harging options at marinas across the globe. “Global Electric Canal Boat Market will be experiencing an 11.3% growth from 2023-2029 due to the increased awareness about global warming and climate change, and the implementation of clean transport rules. The demand for ecologic-friendly water crafts among people is the major reason for market growth,” reports DataIntelo.

Sustainability Is Becoming a Major Purchase Driver

In every segment of recreational use, awareness of the environment is driving consumer buying habits, and boating is no exception. New boats often come with the following:

• Solar charging systems
• Hybrid propulsion
• Battery-electric drives
• Lightweight construction materials
• Energy-efficient lighting
• Water-saving plumbing
• Smart power management

In turn, these technologies make life more affordable while also making water cleaner. But for lots of customers, sustainability is at the forefront - it has grown equally vital to functionality or comfort.

Canal Holidays Continue to Grow

What was behind the rise of 'slow travel'?

It’s this movement that has led to the comeback of the canals. These travelers want to step off the fast train, and slow down, with the time to experience both the nature, and the locals, of a place.

Canal holidays provide:

• Flexible self-drive adventures
• Wildlife watching
• Historic towns and villages
• Cycling and walking routes
• Waterside pubs and cafés
• Family-friendly experiences

The results of new market research have confirmed narrowboats as the number one option for canal holidays. Their unique ability to enter Britain’s historic network of canals, coupled with the convenience and comfort they offer couples, families and groups, mean they have proved extremely popular.

Technology Is Modernising Traditional Boats

Today's inland waterway craft often benefit from modern digital technology while maintaining a traditional look.

Popular upgrades include:

• GPS navigation
• Battery monitoring systems
• Smart heating controls
• Remote security monitoring
• Wi-Fi connectivity
• Solar energy integration
• Mobile app controls

These innovations make boat ownership easier while attracting younger buyers accustomed to connected lifestyles.Technology is helping traditional boats remain relevant for modern living.

Why Europe Continues to Lead the Market

Europe remains the world's largest canal boat market due to several unique advantages:

• Historic canal infrastructure
• Strong boating culture
• Heritage tourism
• Extensive marina networks
• Government investment in waterway restoration
• Growing eco-tourism

Great Britain has a special place as the UK boasts a history of canal building and is host to a thriving community of boat owners. As work continues on waterway restoration and with growing public support, there are positive indications that Britain's waterways can look forward to future growth.

What Buyers Are Looking for Today

In the last decade consumer expectations have been totally revolutionized.

Today’s consumers have come to value:

• Energy efficiency
• Flexible interiors
• Sustainable propulsion
• Remote working capability
• Luxury finishes
• Low operating costs
• Comfortable year-round living

The companies are responding with vessels that incorporate traditional looks with the practicalities of the modern era. This compromise is turning into the major selling point in the market for inland waterways vessels.

The Future of UK Waterway Living

A fresh lease of life for Britain’s canals is ushering in a new chapter for these unique waterways, where the traditional can coexist harmoniously with the new. Narrowboats are the main form of waterway craft operating in the UK. The wider beam canal boat is becoming increasingly popular as a form of houseboating, while electric battery canal boats show what benefits Eco-tech could bring to the alternative lifestyle afloat. An increase in investment, a growth in eco-awareness, and an interest in this lifestyle will create a solid, sustainable growth in UK waterways for years to come. From keen boaters and potential purchasers to our vital canal communities, UK waterway living will never have been greener, quieter, or more connected.

Reference: https://dataintelo.com/report/canal-boats-and-narrow-boats-market

Most narrowboat crews spend hours choosing routes, packing provisions, and researching waterside pubs. Far fewer think about daylight until they are already on the water, discovering they have overcommitted to a day they cannot finish in the light available. Getting your daily mileage right on a canal holiday comes down to one thing more than any other: knowing exactly when the sun rises and sets at your location.

Key Points:

1. Check your specific UK location's sunrise each morning so early lock starts are planned, not guessed.

2. Mooring at least one hour before sunset is a firm safety rule, not a loose suggestion.

3. Checking bank holiday dates in advance lets you avoid congestion on the busiest routes before it happens.

Daylight Is the Real Engine of Your Itinerary

On the canal network, the sun sets the pace. Locks are not safe to work after dark. Swing bridges require clear visibility to judge safely. Even picking a mooring alongside other boats gets genuinely difficult in low light. Once you accept that natural daylight, not the number of miles on the map, governs each travel day, everything about planning a narrowboat holiday starts to make more sense.

In high summer, a crew can be underway by half past six and still have a relaxed evening mooring by seven. By October, the same route might offer fewer than nine usable hours, and a mis-timed start can leave you searching for a mooring in near-darkness. The difference between a comfortable day and a stressful one is often a fifteen-minute check the evening before.

How Location Changes Everything

Sunrise in the Scottish lowlands can arrive significantly later than sunrise in the Thames Valley, even on the same calendar date. That gap might only be twenty or thirty minutes, but on a day when you are trying to get through a flight of six locks before the queue builds, twenty minutes matters enormously.

Checking sunrise times for your specific location gives you a precise figure rather than a rough national estimate. Most experienced narrowboat crews build this into their evening routine: note the local sunrise, subtract preparation time (engine warm-up, removing mooring pins, getting the kettle on), and that gives you a realistic departure window rather than an optimistic one.

Planning Your Morning Around the First Lock

The best crews on the canal network share one habit: they never arrive at a lock flight at the same time as everyone else. Popular flights like Hatton on the Grand Union, Audlem on the Shropshire Union, and Tardebigge on Worcester and Birmingham can see significant queues forming by mid-morning during busy periods.

Starting early, not as a point of pride but as a practical strategy, can transform the experience of a long lock day.

Here is how to structure a productive travel morning:

1. Check sunrise and local weather for your section of canal the night before
2. Set a departure time that gives you full daylight from the first lock, not just from when you wake up
3. Complete the main lock flight before eight-thirty whenever possible
4. Eat breakfast before you leave so stops do not cost you time during the productive window

Getting through the first lock flight in that early window means you arrive at your midday mooring well ahead of the crowd. Afternoons on the canal are far more pleasant when the heavy work is already done.

What Makes an Early Start Actually Work

There are a few habits that separate crews who manage early starts comfortably from those who intend to leave early and end up an hour behind before the engine is on.

• Lay out ropes and windlasses the night before so the deck is ready to go
• Note any water points or sanitation stations you need to hit before leaving the area
• Brief everyone on the crew about the plan so nobody is caught off guard by the alarm

None of this is complicated. It is just the kind of preparation that makes six-thirty feel natural rather than chaotic.

The One-Hour Rule Before Dark

This is the rule that almost no experienced narrowboater argues with: moor up at least one hour before sunset, and ideally longer. It sounds conservative until you have once tried to find a mooring in failing light on an unfamiliar stretch. Towpath edges become hard to judge. Other boats appear suddenly. The mooring pins you need to hammer in are harder to see than you expect.

Checking sunset times for your stretch of canal each day is the simplest way to know when your working day ends. That information gives you a hard stop time, and you can plan your afternoon progress around reaching a good mooring point before it arrives.

What the one-hour buffer also gives you is the evening itself. A narrowboat holiday is supposed to include sitting on the roof with a drink while the towpath goes quiet, a meal at a pub a short walk from the water, or watching the light fade over a lock cottage. None of that happens if you are still trying to place the boat in near-darkness at eight o'clock.

Bank Holiday Weekends: The Traffic Problem You Can See Coming

There is a specific kind of congestion on the canal network that surprises first-time hirers completely. Bank holiday weekends push a concentrated surge of boats onto the water, and the most popular routes take the full weight of it.

The Llangollen Canal in particular, one of the genuinely spectacular waterways in Britain, sees significant queuing near the Pontcysyllte aqueduct approach over the May and August bank holidays. The southern Oxford Canal fills up in a similar way, with tight moorings and slow progress through the villages. The Kennet and Avon between Bath and Devizes can become almost stationary on a long weekend in summer.

Checking public holidays before you finalise your dates gives you real options. You can book a quieter route where traffic spreads more thinly, plan to hold position at a pleasant mooring on the busy day and let the surge pass before moving, or treat the bank holiday itself as a deliberate rest day rather than a disruption.

Mid-week windows, particularly the Tuesday-to-Thursday stretch, are consistently calmer on almost every canal in England and Wales. If your hire allows any flexibility in start dates, even a one-day shift can make a significant difference to how much space you have on the water.

Matching Your Route to the Season

Every canal route has a different character at different times of year, and daylight hours shape much of that character. A week on the Llangollen in July and a week on the same canal in November are almost different trips. The miles are the same. The experience is not.

Shorter days in autumn and winter do not mean the canal network is not worth visiting. Many experienced boaters prefer the quieter months precisely because the towpaths are empty, the moorings are available, and the pubs are genuinely welcoming. But the planning discipline becomes more important, not less.

A practical approach for autumn and winter cruising:

• Build no more than five to six hours of actual cruising into any day
• Identify your target mooring in advance and have a backup option within one hour of it
• Treat the later sunrise as a fixed constraint and plan around it, not against it

Light Hours Across the Hire Week

One detail that catches out multi-week hirers is that daylight changes meaningfully even over a single holiday. In late September, you can lose close to two minutes of evening light every day. Over a ten-day hire, that adds up to twenty minutes of usable evening you no longer have by the end of the trip compared to the start.

Building a small buffer into each day, rather than planning to use every available minute of light, absorbs that drift without any stress. The crew that leaves a little margin each day arrives at the end of the week in exactly the position they expected. The one that plans to the last minute ends up compressing the final days to recover lost time.

If you are using one of the many hire boat companies to book your trip, your holiday hire details will often include route guidance, but they rarely calculate daylight hours for you. That part is yours to manage, and the tools to do it are simple.

The Day the Canal Gives You

The canal network rewards a particular kind of traveller: organised enough to respect the limits of the day, and relaxed enough not to fight them. Checking sunrise and sunset at your location each evening, noting the bank holiday dates before you book, and building a realistic daily plan around what the light allows, these habits cost almost nothing and return an enormous amount in comfort and enjoyment.

The waterways have been carrying boats for over two hundred years. The pace is built into the infrastructure. The locks, the bridges, the mooring rings, all of it expects you to work with the day. Once you start planning that way, the whole experience shifts into something genuinely unhurried. And that, more than any particular route or destination, is what a canal holiday is supposed to feel like.

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