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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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