Goodbye Braunston, Hello Rugby, With Some Characters in Between

"Sometimes you will never know the true value of a moment until it has become a memory." ~ Anonymous

     I never purposely sought to have any connections to Braunston and yet I find they are there. Chronologically the first one is imparted through the video Les made for me in November of 2010, introducing me to the area. It was a means of showing me a place he liked and bringing me into his world. I showed at his memorial service last March.

     My next connection came in December 2012 and January 2013 when we saw Christmas and New Year's in aboard NBV, moored up on the fourteen day moorings just across from the water point near Midland Chandlers and the two bridges. We were pointing south and planning our spring and  summer cruise down to London, up the Lea and Stort and onto the Thames. It was at this moment when Les' body began giving us signals that something was wrong and a visit to the doctor was in order, but Les being a typical man, shrugged it off and refused to listen to me. Seven months later after symptoms had become so bad Les was constipated, vomiting up his food and in so much pain he literally beat his head against the counter, he finally went to see the doctor, to be referred back to his GP, who examined him and referred Les to a Gastroenterologist. Two weeks later we met with the surgeon, and finally, nine months later Les had the first surgery to remove the cancerous mass in his rectum which had grown "as large as a two year old's fist", to quote the surgeon. Every time I pass this mooring spot my heart aches with the knowledge that Les would probably still be here with me if only....if only.
     So there I was moored on my own. I came to Braunston on Wednesday the 19th in the afternoon to meet up one more time with my friend Ray. I had every intention of leaving on Thursday and heading for Rugby but the weather deteriorated into overcast skies, rain showers and strong, gusting wind on Thursday and Friday, so I decided to stay through Sunday as I wanted to get my Saturday Daily Mail TV Magazine. I wish the other papers had a telly mag as good but they don't so I only pick up the paper on Saturday. Les always used to get me my paper, even when I would insist that I could and would be happy to go and get it myself.
     "No, let me Jaq. It is a small thing and I love doing this for you. You take such great pleasure in your paper and it won't take me any time to all to walk up to the shop for one."
Shortly thereafter my Best Beloved would come back through the door with a smile, eyes twinkling to hand me my paper.
   I fetch my own paper now on Saturdays, a lump in my throat as I remember Les' love for me in such a simple and thoughtful act repeated weekly.  I was off up the towpath about four boat lengths to Butcher's Bridge and the foot path across the canal, between the meadows and up to the main street store by 9:00 AM. There was a break in the weather and the sun came out to make it a pleasant doddle. I love this walk because there are so many of my favorite green allies allowed to grow along the way, In the States they are classed as weeds and sprayed with poisonous herbicides, Here the Brits leave nature to its own devices for the most part along the verges which allows me to stop and say hello to some of my favorite plants: Burdock, Nettles, Comfrey, and Maid's Petticoats (Hollyhocks). It was a joy to be able to walk up the hill without any pain in my knees, and to enjoy the beauty of the cottage gardens along the High street where my senses were assaulted by the scent of roses, and a lush green scent I could not identify.

Burdock is a biennial. The first year it makes a large rosette of leaves and establishes a root system.

The second year it sends up tall stalks with large wavy green leaves sometimes mistaken for rhubarb.

Burdock is the only non-spiny thistle growing here. It is form the spiky seed heads that Swiss engineer George De Mestral received the idea of creating Velcro. He was walking in a field and several burdock seed heads stuck to his clothes. Examining them closer gave him the idea to create a synthetic version and viola! Velcro was conceived.

The root is the medicinal part, dug from three year old plants. It can be used fresh as the Japanese do. they call it Gobo and it is added into soups and many other dishes, sliced thin. It can be cleaned, cut into small pieces or diced and dried and then used in medicinal medicines. Burdock is a potent anti-cancer plant and a  main constituent of Essiac Tea which I used in combination with Gerson therapy to fight ovarian cancer. I had Les on Essiac until we were told that his cancer was traveling through his blood stream and not his lymph. Burdock root cleans the lymph system of everything including cancer cells.

This is Comfrey in bloom. Its leaves are hairy and slightly prickly. This plant was used to close surgery incisions and deep gashes before modern surgery techniques. It is loaded with allantoin which our bodies manufacture in our skin cells. It's folk name is knit bone and it will indeed knit bones back together.

     It is my custom to make a cup of "Kwahfee" and sit with a pen, reading through the TV magazine and marking any shows I find interesting, then reading the articles and checking for a good recipe in the back of the magazine. The newspaper is rubbish as far as I am concerned and I use it to wrap up garbage and wash windows.
    After being pinned down by rain and high wind gusts through last weekend, fueled by a deep trough of black depression which renders me filled with a malaise that can make the simplest things like getting out of bed, brushing my teeth, and facing another day a very difficult proposition, I had a good stern talk with myself. It is painfully difficult to cruise along passing places Les and I have been to together or to moor up somewhere we spent time; especially our last spring and summer together.
     "Jaq, if you allow depression to eat up your life then you might as well be living in a house again. Depression will steal all your joy and if you have no joy in living this life what is the point?" Point taken on board literally, so I moved to the water point on Tuesday the 24th at 7:00 AM, filled up the tank, dumped the rubbish, and set off cruising to Rugby. It was warm, humid, overcast and slightly breezy weather.
     I cried passing the Onley prison moorings, remembering mooring up there in October of 2011 and our first meeting with George and Carol Palin on NB Rock N Roll, Maffi on NB Millie M, Ann and Chas Moore on Moore2Life, and Paul and Lynn on NB Piston Broke. I was over the moon meeting boaters whose blogs I had found and followed back in the States and I felt as a child would have when meeting one's super heroes in person. Our lives as husband and wife and fellow boaters together was newly minted with all the hope of a long and happy future ahead of us.

A burned out sunken boat; someones pride and joy gone now, floating in the cut, waiting to be removed by CaRT.

Entry to the new Onley Marina, the newest of the six marinas now circling around the Braunston/Napton area.

Les and I used to moor up along here before this marina was dug out.

Swathes of Joe Pye Weed or Eupatorium Purpureum, whose other folk name is also gravel root. Teas of the roots or tops were used as a diuretic, as well as for rheumatism, gout, fevers, diarrhea, respiratory disorders, and even impotence. (Gravel-root refers to the kidney or bladder stones that E. Purpureum was supposed to eliminate.)

     Eventually I made it to Hillmorton for the trip down the dreaded Hillmorton lock flight. Why do I dread it?
     In the six years Les and I traveled on NBV, every time we faced the double set of locks at Hillmorton (three on one side and three on the other which theoretically should make passing up and down this short three lock flight a dawdle), at least one if not more, of the locks would be broken, with reams of yellow caution tape and bright orange plastic webbed "walls" festooning everything. Queues of boaters in both directions meant on our first trip down the locks, a two hour wait!
     Also, on the starboard side locks as one is going down, the landing is terrible; uneven footing caused by a landing made of rocks of differing heights which jut out under the water. One cannot always bring the boat in closely to tie up, which requires jumping on and off across the gap. So while this flight is actually only three locks it is seared in my mind as an unpleasant experience.
     And finally, I've made my acquaintance with a fair share of those who are a part of the shiny boat brigade (SBB) at these locks. For those elsewhere in the world who are reading this, "the shiny boat brigade" is a term for those boaters whose boats sit in a marina or a mooring for most of the year, and whose owners bring them out on an occasional weekend over the summer and expect everyone else to get out of their way, as they not only pay their CRT license but they pay marina mooring fees, which they feel is unfair (Continuous Cruisers only pay a license fee as we have no home mooring) entitles them to take command of the cut and any locks, AND their boat is clean, shiny and hardly used; their precious if you will and they don't want a scruffy boat like ours within a thousand yards of their boat. Also known as the G & T crowd for sitting on the stern of their boats a lot of the weekends throughout the year, drinking Gin and Tonics but not moving out of the marina, one cannot call them on their egregious behavior without being told, "I have been boating for thirty years and I know what I am talking about." Never mind that in those thirty years they have only actually cruised two years worth of days and never consecutively. Now please understand not all boaters who keep a boat in a marina behave this way, but far too many do for my liking. I wouldn't give a fig about these people--mainly men with dependent wives doing all the lock work while their husbands stand like Lords at the tiller waiting for the little woman to put her back into it--if they didn't throw their weight around, especially in my direction.
     Imagine my surprise to find no queue at the either end of the lock flight! AND both sets of locks were in working order!! Blimey...so I moored up on the right hand side, jumping the gap of uneven stones and pulling in NBV as best I could against the jagged edging. There was a very nice woman there from one of the boats, with a cat in a harness on a leash. As I was tying up she walked the cat over and it promptly tangled its leash in my mooring lines, requiring a bout of hokey pokey to sort it out. As Cockney comedian Mickey Flanagan would say, "'Ere we go, 'ere we go," and we did. I strode to the lock gate with my windlass only to have cat woman follow me, pet in arms, asking to walk over the lock gate. Okay, but her eyes widened in alarm as she spotted a boat moored up at the top of the adjacent top lock. The owners had two Staffies or Pit Bulls as they are known in the States, and they were loose on the lock landing so I had to stand and wait while a conversation ensued about whether or not it was safe for woman and cat to come over the lock gates. One dog would be fine with the cat, the other would not, so its owner had to take it back to their boat, while I stood waiting for all this happiness to unfold.
     Meanwhile sure enough a member of the SBB on NB Adventurer pulled in behind me. His wife jumped off with a windlass and two small Spaniel looking dogs at her heels just as I was setting the lock. She inquired as to whether or not I was alone and I replied in the affirmative. She offered to help me with the lock and I thanked her and said yes.
   Once the paddles on the top gates were up, I walked back to my boat, untied it from the bollard, and set about getting back on board by jumping the gap again, windlass in one hand and midline in the other, whilst grabbing for the roof rail. The bloke on NB Adventurer asked if I needed his help.
     "No thank you, I am fine."
I proceeded to steer NBV into the lock as the gate was opened by his wife. Once inside, I hopped off our boat, wrapped the midline loosely around a bollard and went to lift the paddles on my side of the bottom gates. As the water dropped, taking NBV with it, she replied,
     "You can get back on your boat now. I will get the gates for you."
     "No, I cannot jump down on the roof and clamber down into my boat now. I've had knee replacement surgery and that is just not possible." ('Nor is it necessary, as you will soon see). Her face fell as I shared this news. She just looked at me as if to say, "Well how in the deuce will you get your boat out of the lock then you silly woman?" And I thought, "wait and watch." We opened the bottom gates, I unfurled the midline from the bollard and begin bow hauling the boat (pulling it by the midline) out of the lock. This is how Les taught me to safely enter a lock going up or exit a lock going down and I stand by it. He said to never ever use the ladders as they are too dangerous, and being a short arsed woman jumping around on the roof is not an option for me. I have no trouble bow hauling our 18 ton boat, however it does take a moment or two to get the boat moving. Just as I had things in hand, Mr. Adventurer appeared beside me, grabbing the midline from my hands and stating in an exasperated tone,
     "Let me help you. We haven't got all day."He might as well have waved a red flag at a bull.
     "Give my line. My husband died six months ago and I am doing it all on my own. I'm sorry if I don't do it to your satisfaction. I'll pull over once I am outside the lock and you can go ahead of me since your in such a bleeding hurry. You shouldn't be on the cut if you're in a hurry. The motorway is over there and that is clearly where you belong." I grabbed my midline out of his hands and then I turned away and burst into tears of frustration and anger, which I hate. I pulled NBV out of the lock and tied up at the landing outside the bottom gate, nipping inside to blow my nose and have a wee. When I returned top side, a confrontation was taking place.

NB Adventurer with its overbearing owner at the tiller.

     The woman with the two Stafffies, working the other top lock saw what had happened and while her husband steered their boat into the lock and set the bottom gates she strolled over to have a chat with Mr and Mrs. Adventurer. As I approached the knotted group I heard Mrs. SBB exclaim snootily,
     "Well we tried to help her and she refused our help."
      "No," I replied, "What your husband did was grab my mooring line out of my hand, commandeering my boat and and taking control of things."
The woman with the Staffies said,
     "Well now. When someone's boat is in the lock its their lock not yours.  And when someone is single handing a boat as she clearly is, they have to go about things differently then we do with partners to help out."
     "Exactly," I replied. "A single handed boater has a set way of doing things in a certain order to get through a lock and your interference only throws us off our stride. If I had wanted or needed your help I would have asked for it."
     "Yes," said Staffie woman. "That's it exactly, and I watched her. She did everything right." Turning to me she gave me a hug and said,
     "Bring your boat over to our side of the lock flight Pet, and I will help you down." And so I did just that. I tried to remain calm as her two Staffies and NB Adventurer's two dogs wove in and out of my feet while I worked the lock gates, thinking to myself that I wish CRT would make it mandatory for all dog owners to keep their pets on a lead or in their boats at locks and service points, but that is a different conversation for another day.
     As we locked down I chatted with this lovely woman. Her name is Mary and her husband's name is Trevor. Their boat is NB September. They have lived  aboard as CC'rs for eleven years and they were really kind. She was patient and helpful. Mary told me not to let the SBB couple ruin my day. At the bottom of the lock flight Mary said they were also traveling north to the Weaver and we would no doubt pass each other along the way, hopefully having time for a cuppa. I look forward to it Mary. I'll bring the biscuits!
   Calm restored, I cruised past a couple of trading boats with bright Hippie signs posted and various colorful materials flapping in the breeze. As I rounded the bend NB The Old Bovine came into view moored up. I slowed to a stop and called out for its owner but there was no answer and I spotted locks on the doors, so I continued on again.
     Les and I met L. down at Watford in 2014. He was a successful jazz musician in London for thirty years. His wife had died from cancer and he couldn't bear to stay in their home so he sold it and bought his boat--a replica working boat--which he keeps spotless and tidy. You may have seen him out and about. He wears women's clothes and rides a woman's bike. He is a cross dresser, not transgender and not gay. Wearing his wife's clothes is a means of staying close to her memory for L. and he gets on with it. Sadly he gets a lot of stick for this penchant of his from a judgemental world. L. is a good boater;  he is also kind, funny, and good company. Les and I enjoyed tea with him and always looked forward to seeing L. so I was sad to have missed him.

Our friend's lovely boat. © Joe and Lesley Kimantas, 2013.

     I cruised onward towards Clifton-Upon-Dunsmore, planning to moor up by bridge 66 just before Clifton Cruisers hire base through the bridge hole. Les and I moored here several times and this was a favored place. We preferred it to mooring in Rugby. We could walk up to the bridge and catch a bus into Rugby or the train station nearby. There is also a very good chiropractor located at the top of the lane who has no issue at all working on boaters just passing through. His name is Peter Sawyer and his American wife is from Boston. I wanted to moor here and visit Peter for a much needed and anticipated adjustment.
     Across the cut from this mooring were the lovely back gardens of houses up the street. The gardens were well cared for, filled with flowers, fruit trees and vegetable patches. A farmer let his cows out into the adjacent field and they often made their way right down into the cut on hot days, hanging out in the shade of the water side oak tree, splashing in the water and entertaining us with their antics. Les and I had a memorable day there with son Kevin and his partner Adele visiting us, enjoying the sunshine and time spent with family.

Bovine bath time in the cut. Les, Kevin, Adele, and I enjoyed the beauty of a sunny summer's day in 2015 watching the cows. Kevin used to work at a dairy and he knows cows up close and personal. We had a lively discussion about different breeds. These are English Longhorn.

One of the back gardens in 2015, with a lovely apple tree, tomato and potato plants, a raspberry patch and lots of love invested in the space.

     So imagine my surprise when I reached this spot and found CaRT no longer trimmed the towpath and it was completely overgrown with plant material, keeping me from mooring there. On the off side across the way the lovely back gardens were gone; the apple tree had been cut down and untended plots choked with weeds were all that greeted my gaze now. The farmer's field next door was empty of cows and someone had tied rope to the tree at the edge, making swings on the branches. I was shocked by the changes. Les and I passed this way almost a year ago now, and the lovely gardens and cows in the field were still in existence. It is amazing how quickly nature reclaims something untended by human hands. Dismayed at these changes, I continued to cruise on towards Rugby. Rounding a bend I was amazed to see NB Arch Stanton, piloted by Mick Granger, while his wife Julia popped her head out from under a canvas flap to say hi in passing. When I saw them last, we were moored up on the N. Oxford with NB Waka Huia a month back. In that time they had been to Birmingham and other north bound places and now they were on their way back to the Leicester Arm where their home base is located.
     A few minutes later I pulled into Rugby, mooring up on the off side at the park, and just before the water point, right in front of none other than Mick and Julia's mate Laughing John on NB Woodiggler. We hugged hello and had a lovely twenty minute chat before John had to be off to Braunston to catch up with the Granger's and give Julia her groceries he had procured in Tesco. I decided to pull over to the towpath side further on towards the Black Path to make it easier to come and go as I had a long list of bits and bobs on my own shopping list.
     I stayed three and a half days, loading up with provisions from Tesco, returning a coat to Fat Face clothing store which I had bought in late March and which was too small. Despite not having any receipt and nearly four months passing, the store took the coat back in exchange for other items and I went away a very happy woman. The customer service at Fat Face is akin to that of Nordstrom's in the States, not to mention they have wonderful clothes which are comfortable, well made and actually fit me.
     On Thursday I walked from the boat, down the Black Path past Tesco on along into Rugby town center to pick up a couple of items at Dunelm. Back along the streets and pathways to Home Base, Wickes and finally Maplins for some items, then to the Range for a couple of things and finally home again for a distance of 3.5 miles with all the in-store walking as well. My feet were swollen and painful, so a hot shower, some tea, and a nap were called for at this point. Later in the afternoon I took the number 4 bus into Rugby town center and hired a Taxi to take me to the chiropractors at Clifton. The lovely staff there remembered me even though I had not been seen since August of 2015. My neck, back and hips are ever so much better now.
     Friday I screwed my courage to its sticking place and ventured out to a large city for the first time without Les. I caught the number 4 bus from Tesco into the city center and the number 585 bus from Rugby to Coventry IKEA. I spent three hours in Ikea, eating lunch first, then casually wandering the marketplace aisles. I picked up a couple of plastic bag holders that mount into the wall, two planter boxes, a cordless drill/driver to replace Les' very large one with the knackered battery, a couple of throw rugs and assorted other bits and bobs. I left with two large blue IKEA bags and made the journey back home on the two buses. I was so grateful to see NBV moored up in the diluted afternoon sunshine. I feel very anxious now whenever I leave her. She is all I own in this world.
     While moored in Rugby a boat moored up in front of me, NB Music For Foxes. As I was passing on the towpath I asked the man mooring up about the meaning of the boat name. He was rather vague about it, saying it was the name of a song he and his wife liked. Later, he was gone into town as I was coming back from Tesco. I happened to look in the window on passing and saw a woman who I assume is the wife, standing with her back to me, chopping veg at the galley counter. She had on a red and white calico apron and underneath she was wearing a leather harness! Now I've been around enough to know S & M gear when I see it. This provided some insight into the boat name, and I chuckled to myself as I wondered about their safe word. Could it be screaming vixens???? I wonder if they keep a ball gag and a riding crop in the wardrobe...
     While moored here three boats passed me in the very early hours over a period of two days. Moving at 6:30 AM is unusual but all three boats were piloted by single women and I knew exactly why there moved so early. It allowed them to move on to swing bridges, and locks without having to suffer from unnecessary "help" by boaters who assume they know it all and a woman on her own is completely helpless without their intervention.
     After three days of pouring rain showers, Saturday dawned lighter if not brighter. No rain forecast until late evening so I walked one last time down the Black Path to Tesco for a Saturday paper and off I cruised, heading for the service point at Newbold. As I cruised along I passed three hire boaters zigging and zagging along. I slowed down in narrow places and let them pass with a smile. Everyone starts out somewhere and I have infinite patience with new boaters as long as they aren't drunk.
      I also encountered another of the SBB coming out of a bridge hole. I was at least three boat lengths back, taking it slow and easy as I always do when approaching a bridge hole and yet when he saw me--and I do mean me, a woman at the tiller--he pulled his shiny boat so far to the tow path he was scraping along in the soft weeds as he wildly waved me on past him--a rictus grin on his face. I thought he might try and drive up on dry land to avoid me despite the fact I was on my side of the cut and in complete control of NBV.  "Some people's children," as my own are wont to say.
     Lest you read this and think I am blowing things out of proportion I can assure you I am being truthful on all accounts. I belong to an online group for women single hand boaters called The Tiller Girls. I have checked with them and my experiences as a singular woman on a boat are not the exception. Sadly, they are all too common to all women who live aboard and/or pilot their boats on their own. There is an unspoken assumption on the cut that women on their own cannot possibly manage a boat as well as a bloke, and some people will say things to and engage in unthoughtful behaviors towards a woman on her own that they would not have even considered saying or behaving in like manner to Les for example--or any other man, single or part of a boating couple. 
     Shortly afterward I nearly had an encounter with a Labrador running loose on the towpath who decided to jump in the water at a bridge hole just before I was headed into it. Honking my horn brought its owner running and she called her dog out of the water. I would have been devastated if I had hit the animal, and an 18 ton boat on the move will not stop on a dime.
     Moving on I soon came to a line of moored boats with a gap and suddenly a side hatch popped open and Mike and Phyll on NB Garnet were waving at me! They invited me to pull over for a cup of tea but sadly I had to decline as now I was moving I needed to keep up my momentum. I plan to be on the Coventry before the middle of this coming week.

Me on the stern of NBV, taken by Mike and Phyll Muir of NB Garnet.

    I pulled over at the service point in Newbold, shocked at the changes there.  Apparently the pub there made its car park available as a lay over for caravans and they were nut-to-butt right up to the pick-nick tables just before the cut. There was dog shit in piles on the verge making it difficult to get off the boat and tie up for water, but I managed while avoiding it.
     Les and I had spent seventeen days frozen in at Newbold in the winter of 2011. We walked everywhere and got to know it well. While the pub car park backed onto the canal at the service point it hadn't been unpleasant. A wall of caravans certainly did nothing for it I'll tell you. Water tank full, all rubbish emptied and the bow pushed out to go, I hopped aboard and gave it a bit of welly to pull away from the side and head forward when a sudden strong wind gust came up, blowing NBV back into the side. I was going to hit the boat permanently moored up just past the water point in an attempt to move forward off the side. I couldn't jump off with midline in hand, push the bow out again, and jump back on--the siding was again, rough uneven rocks that jutted out making it difficult for a short legged person to jump on and off and the wind wasn't going to let me break away from the side. I decided the best thing to do was to back up, putting the stern farther out in the middle of the canal and then go forward passing the moored boat and heading into Newbold tunnel.
     As I was backing up another boat came through the bridge hole right behind me and slowed to a hover with their bow thruster, waiting to see what I was doing. The wife came forward to their bow and inquired exactly where was I going? I shouted that the wind was blowing me back against the towpath and I was backing up to break away (I would have thought this was obvious, but then I don't have a bow thruster and some boaters have never done without one). She went back through their boat to relay this information to her husband. As I broke away from the side, slowed the boat, put it in forward gear and began to pull forward I turned to wave and say thanks for waiting. They waved back and pulled in for water.
     I cruised onward and soon enough I came through Bridge 35 and the lovely vista Les loved stretched out in front of me. A farm takes up all of the right side as the canal curves around passed it and widens out. Ahead trees grow close together as the canal makes another turn and disappears into the gloom of  the trees, near a small car park. Les loved this bit of canal and always wanted to pull in and moor across from the farm but every time we passed this way it was full of boaters so we had to carry on past the car park and moor up just the other side of it.
     It was just past 10:00 AM and not another boat in sight! I pulled over, banged in the pins and moored up. A small burble of bliss rose up in me as I planted my new bow garden and sat with cup of tea in hand, watching the swallows dive and dip for water, taking to the skies again with a graceful arc. Cows chewed their cud in the fields nearby and a lone chicken meandered in and out of their legs. I had a quiet uneventful night's sleep and now boats are pulling over left and right, filling up the vacant spaces. Tomorrow I shall leave very early and push on though the swing bridge and onward to Hawksbury Junction and the Coventry canal where I plan to moor up for a day or so, fill with water again, dump the rubbish, and then turn right, heading for Atherstone.

Twenty Four Hour Round Trip

"Whatever our fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, 'This is what I need." It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment not discouragement--you will find strength there." ~ Joseph Campbell, American mythologist, writer and lecturer, 1904-1987

     After a bit of solitude to grapple with my restless grief, on Tuesday a boat appeared around the bend; one I recognized. It was my friend Ray on NB Stronghold, fresh from the Braunston Historic Boat Rally where, as a member of the Historic Boat Trust, Ray had the responsibility of steering the trust boat Nuneaton with Official parade Marshall Tim West aboard and towing the butty Brighton with actor (and Tim's wife) Prunella Scales and others aboard.
     Ray moored up in front of me and we had two lovely days together, in which he introduced to me the The Cobb BBQ  (Lakeland Kitchen store has them at a reasonable price) and Stilton Cheese Puffs, and I introduced Ray to some North and South American musical groups: The Indigo Girls, Pearl Django, Jean Pierre Rampal and Claude Bolling, and Strunz & Farah. We both have very catholic tastes in music, enjoy cooking and eating a good meal, have been educators, and have lost a spouse to illness. So Ray is comfortable with my grief and no words need to be spoken about it. He has walked his own road and he knows what it is; meanwhile I was privy to all the scuttlebutt concerning the boat rally--and a good time was had by all--and we improvised a meal together and I was able to see The Cobb in action.

Ryan in the blue T-shirt on his boat Southern Star, at Braunston, © Ray Oakfield, 2017

     Thursday brought Ryan Dimmock on NB Southern Star (partner in Jules Fuels), to refuel our boats. I filled up with diesel, bought a bottle of Calor (propane for cooking), and some bags of kindling since there is none available locally here via Ma Nature.  Watching Ryan maneuver his boat just before a bridge hole, past NB Valerie ad two other moored up boats, with other boats attempting to pass him (impatient gits!), all whilst towing a butty behind him, was a moment of beauty. Of course he left with a foil package of Pumpkin Cake and wave. Shortly after Ray cruised off too.
     Now on this boat when the water tank is full, the boat sits lower in the water. After six years of daily life aboard with no gauges to tell if the water tank is low to empty, I gauge where this is at by the feel of the boat. When full, NBV sits low with the cut cradling her and she has a heft that makes it easier to bring her in to moor up on a windy day. As the water tank empties, the boat rises in the water and feels lighter, like an 18 ton leaf skimming the surface, and she rocks about more when I walk or when the wind blows.
     I am perfecting this "feeling gauge" now. I last filled up a week ago on Thursday. The boat was now sitting high in the water and the tank had burped (what I call the sound of the stainless steel tank when it expands or contracts and makes a metallic sound as the water is used up), so I dipped the tank with the measuring stick Les made years ago. Surprise, surprise!! I still had half a tank of water, so I went ahead and got some laundry out of the way and took a shower which took me down to just under a quarter of a tank left. Time to move!

     Friday morning broke quiet and still. I had my usual two cups of Joe (American slang for coffee, or Kwaaahfee as I used to say with great exaggeration each morning as it made Les crack one of his lovely smiles), sorted another load of laundry to wash as I went along and cruised off towards Braunston. Not far ahead I passed NB Bristol Cream with Zena and Chris aboard. When I was moored up at Napton Marina last month, they came over and introduced themselves. She reads our blog and they keep their boat in the marina there. We waved at each other in passing, and I slowly chugged past boat after boat on tick over. It took me an hour and half to travel the three and quarter miles to Braunston as a result of all the boats moored up along the way but I didn't care. Though overcast, the morning was lovely and birdsong accompanied me on my journey.
     At Braunston Turn there was someone on the water point and traffic was picking up so I decided to moor up in the first spot I saw--just past and opposite The Boat pub, and fill with water later. I had not slept well the night before. Four hours of sleep is a rough gig and that is my usual since Les died. Some nights I manage five and only rarely have I pulled six consecutive hours of sleep so after sorting out mooring up (putting up the TV antennae, putting out my small step in the bow that makes it easier for me to get in and out), and taking a walk over to Midland Chandlers to see what they had in stock that is on my list of needs, I decided a nap was in order.

Pela Pump

     Saturday rolled in with warm weather, partly sunny skies, and just the right temperature for me! My normal morning routine no matter what time I wake, is two cups of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal made with steel cut oats, and then I have a tidy up. I washed the breakfast dishes, swept the floor, changed the sheets on the bed, washed a load of clothes and hung them to dry, cleaned out the loo, dressed and was off, walking up to Braunston Chandlers to buy a Pela Pump. Ray has one and he let borrow it some time back to remove water from the bilge in the engine bay. I decided then and there to get one. I looked online and at other chandlers and figured the cost at Braunston Chandlers was about the same after postage and handling. I wanted the six liter pump and they had one in stock. With that sorted I walked up in to the village store, picked up my Saturday paper, and crossed the street to the butcher shop which also carries the best fresh fruit and some veg. For £13.50 I took away a half pound of gorgeous proper thick cut American style bacon, a lovely freshly made chicken and mushroom pie, five fresh tomatoes, five splendidly ripe nectarines, a punnet of fat, juicy raspberries, two punnets of gleaming baby potatoes, a Sweetheart cabbage, and five fat, orange carrots. What a deal!! and I was home again all by 10:50 am! Just the way I did my Saturday chores, shopping and travels when I lived at Cloudhouse in Pullman, WA.
    I fixed myself another coffee and warmed a Croissant in the oven which I enjoyed while reading the paper. Boats came and went constantly. At one point I heard the distinctive putt-putt of a large old working boat so I popped my head out the window in time to say hello to Sarah on NB Chertsey! We have not seen each other since 2012. She looked grand and glowing at the tiller of her boat.
     After reading for several hours I walked over to The Boat Pub and splurged on a burger and fries for lunch. Back home a nap was in order. I was waiting for the boat traffic--which is heavy through Braunston on the weekends--to die down. By 5:30 PM all was quiet. The golden evening sun caused water reflections to sparkle on the roof. Time to move...
     I made my way to the water point by the Braunston stop-house, moored up, began filling the boat with water and dumped the rubbish. I washed the dishes, filled the tea kettle, put on a load of clothes to wash, and cleaned the windows on the towpath side. Not another boat came by and the canal was quiet during the dinner hour. Once the tank was full, it was time for me turn the boat in the entrance to Braunston Marina. This is the reason why I waited for the quiet of evening. I maneuvered NBV around the cafe boat which is always moored just after the water point and just before the marina entrance. I took my time and gently turned the boat. I didn't do it as smoothly as Les would have done, but I did it without trouble and in my own way and headed back the direction I had come from yesterday.

To turn the boat around here, one must pass the Cafe boat, turn the bow right and just put it into the bridge hole, then put it in reverse with the tiller over hard left and slowly turn the boat, straightening the tiller as the bow comes around.

     As I cruised slowly along the North Oxford again, a gentle breeze began to ruffle my hair. The evening air was scented with Sweet Woodruff and roses, and the illusive smell of Honeysuckle from a boater's permanent mooring garden. Swallows dipped and dived all around me. The bright pink blossoms of Fireweed moved in the breeze. I was surrounded on both sides of the cut by nature's floral arrangement: short green stalks of Yarrow poked their tightly clustered white heads up above the grass, interspersed with fat bowls of pink clover. The rigid stalks of Giant Hogweed stood above everything with panicles of bright white flowers. Foamy sprays of cream colored Meadowsweet danced in the evening air, with glimpses of purple Loosetrife tucked in between. Sheep grazed in the fields and I could feel my Best Beloved there with me, standing behind me, his arm around my waist, his right hand next to mine on the tiller. Ours was the only boat on the move. Everyone else had already moored up for the day, and the aroma of dinner hung in the air as I passed by long strings of boats,like rectangular jeweled beads moored all along the cut.
     In the hour and a half it took me to cruise back out to Bridge 103, the sun disappeared behind a low bank of silver clouds and the breeze freshened into a twelve mile an hour wind with gusts raking the trees, turning leaves inside out, making the weeping willow trees wave wildly in the wind. As the evening air cooled I found a spot, pulled in, moored up, set up the TV antennae, and enjoyed a scalding hot shower. Dressed in clean pajamas, I allowed the night to fold itself around me like a soft, sweet glove.    

From Our Keyboard to Our Front Door

"I love ordering things online because when they arrive it's like a present to me, from me. " ~ Anon.

   As Les mentioned previously, the spot near Birdingbury Wharf and the Boat Inn pub on the North Grand Union Canal is a great place for having items delivered to a boat. It offers easy access from the road, a house address right across the lane from the canal, plenty of space for a delivery van to park, and a good gap in the hedge to bring things through to the boat. We had some crucial items that required an easy delivery location but we also needed to be in Braunston to take advantage of the Midland Chandler's Freaky Friday Sale offering 20% off everything in the store.
   It was decided that we would cruise up the three Calcutt locks onto the North Oxford Canal, stopping at Napton to spend two more nights visiting with our friends Andy and Tina, and then cruise into Braunston for the sale, after which we would come back to Wigram's Turn, down the Calcutt flight and moor up near the Boat Inn again for our deliveries, then turn around and go back up the flight, cruise back through Braunston, meet up with family and then cruise off North to Rugby and beyond. We thought we would escape the North Grand Union quickly after my knee healed but our old boat has other ideas. The batteries are knackered and need replacing, and we have to purchase the things we need for boat jobs when they are on sale. Such is life on a narrowboat.

Birdingbury Wharf is the good delivery place near the Boat Inn, on the Northern Grand Union Canal. The green line is our boat moored up. The Calcutt Lock flight takes you down toward Birdingbury Wharf and on into Warwick, or up towards Napton-on-the-Hill. The small red circle at the bottom is near Wigram's Turn where the Northern Grand Union and the North Oxford canal meet. It is also where Napton-on-the-Hill is located. The red circle on the upper right is in Braunston where Midland Chandlers is located. The double canal bridge arches are across from the Chandlers.

   We arrived in Braunston shortly after the chandlers opened at 8 a.m. and two refrigerators were already heading out the door on trolleys. Luckily since we arrived early we were able to moor up at the chandlery. We had a list of items, and were paid up and out the door fifteen minutes later, with Les hoiking a huge tin of bitumen on a trolley. We have blacking to do soon.

Freaky Friday Goods!

   We moved the boat ahead ten feet to the service point and dumped our rubbish, filled up with water and watched the new owners of author Terry and Monica Darlington's boat Phyllis May II cruise past. 
   As we were setting off, I spied NB Millie M. on the chandlery moorings. Maffi was in town so we breasted up next to his boat and had a quick natter as he came back from the sale with his goods in tow, then we headed off in different directions; and that is often how things happen on a narrowboat--time enough for a short chinwag and then everyone cruises off.

Saying goodbye! Maffi, dog Mollie, and his boat NB Millie M. He backed up stern first through the left arch in order to turn back towards Braunston Marina. We came through the right arch with our bow pointed back down toward Napton, Wigram's Turn and the junction with the Northern Grand Union and yes--once again the Calcutt locks. The roof of Midland Chandlers is poking up above the footbridge, their mooring empty now that we have all moved on. 

   We headed back down toward Napton and down the Calcutt locks to moor up near the Boat Inn in order to take delivery of a few things we needed: groceries from Tesco and four new batteries from Advanced Battery Supplies. Many thanks to our friend Robert Rogers for sharing this excellent web site. They offer reasonable prices and free next day delivery. Currently they have a special offer going for narrowboat batteries and the prices include VAT. 
   As it happened, just as we moored up our alternator crapped out on us! Good thing we were in the perfect location for River Canal Rescue (RCR) to pay us a call. An engineer removed the alternator and took it away for testing. It turned out to be knackered beyond repair and we ended up with a brand new alternator--not a refurbished unit. The alternator was covered under parts replacement by RCR and we were only liable for the £50 pound excess/co-pay.  

Tesco delivers to NB Valerie.

NB Valerie, new batteries, and the courier with his van. Easy-peasy!

Each battery weighs 25 Kilos/55 Lbs. each!

   After taking our Tesco groceries aboard, the four new batteries arrived soon after and the new alternator was fitted later the following morning. Sorted! 
   In the mean time, feeling like extras in a British re-make of the movie Ground Hog Day, we worked our way back up the Calcutt locks, and moored up in Braunston. A delightful day was spent in the company of our family who came up from Watford to visit over a lunch of fresh baked bread, homemade Tomato and Roasted Red Pepper Soup, and Brownies. Did we get pictures? Well of course not because we did our usual Les and Jaq thing: we had such a good time with our daughter in law, her mom, and our grandson, that we forgot to take pictures!!! 

Norton Junction

Having come up the lock flight from Braunston and gone through the tunnel we decided to have a few days at Norton Junction where the Leicester Arm of the Grand Union starts. Our mooring was just before the last bridge on the main line before the junction. This gave me access to Long Buckby station(35 minutes walk) and a train to my Urology appointment.

As I said before all was well but just the last few days has seen an appointment turn up for this coming Wednesday for a pre-op check up. Strange as I am due to see the surgeon this coming Friday to tell me the results of my Water soluble contrast enema.
If you remember when Mr. C was cut out the damage was sewn up and this test was to see if anything leaked before the sewage pipe was put back as it was. Anyway the Urology surgeon told me all was good.

Today being a holiday I have no way to check/alter appointments but can only assume the Colorectal surgeon has asked for the pre-op so he can on Friday tell me the results of the leak test and add me to the list for the Stoma reversal surgery.
The plan was to hire a car for the Friday appointment and see family at the same time. Now I might jump on a train for the Wednesday pre-op as I no way want to delay my getting on the waiting list for the surgery. Tuesday and a couple of phone calls will decide my best plan.

A view from the mooring.

Norton Junction. Braunston and our mooring are to the left. Leicester arm straight across and to the right the Buckby flight and downhill all the way to London. Coming from Braunston turning up the arm the view is limited by all the overhanging trees. To the right the maintenance depot has gained some extra boats.

Fourteen vessels taking some mooring space from boaters and reducing the canal to single lane in one place. If your counting the Blue ones are motorised and there are a lot like the one in the foreground, towpath side, hidden amongst the Blue tops.

Looking up the arm

and down. Plenty of width to get through but no clear view of anything coming from the right.

Daft place to put a water point

Time to walk around while the water tank fills. This is a genuine Shepherds hut, well the chassis is. It was rebuilt on an original chassis and is just a bit wider than the original. The lady of the house told me it was used for extra sleeping accommodation. The huts were used by Shepherds during lambing season and were towed into the fields by horse or tractor. Link HERE.

The footbridge replaced a swing bridge and all thats left to see is the guide rail.

Drifting along through the counties of England

The carved wooden village sign

One of the village streets

Another day back on the boat heading for another village mooring.

Upper Weedon and Lower Weedon known as Weedon Bec. Bec is a place in Normandy and following the Norman Conquest the manor of Weedon was given to the abbey in Bec hence Weedon Bec. Later Eton College became lords of the manor. More HERE.

Just a few spots of rain but just about the time she hopefully said "I do" the heavens opened for an hour  so not sure about the wedding photos following the service. Perhaps they used the umbrellas. Weedons hidden canal.

 

A nice bit of thatch on the roof and signs of the 1696 window tax on the upper floor to the left of the door. Perhaps our government might try to re - introduce it after the bedroom tax failed.  I can hear U.S. readers asking so here`s a link.

 

William dates back to 1931 and is now a camping boat. Twelve bunk beds on board and at a cost of  £200 ($324) per day including skipper seems a cheap camping experience with a difference. Cost that to hire a canal boat that comes without a skipper and his canal knowledge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here comes the Admiral, must tell her to keep away from the top gate.

Now that is what you call leaking gates.

 What it looks like when the gates are holding back the water. This flight of seven locks at Buckby raise the canal by 63 feet and when you get to the top and perhaps are sitting in the new Inn with a pint just be grateful they didn`t build the intended 10 locks back in 1790.

All Saints` church Braunston.

All saints` has stood above Braunston for a thousand years in one form or another this one was built in the mid 1800`s.

The red dome of the windmill is a 20thC addition. The original mill was 80 feet high and had a castellated top. It was built in the early 1800`s to compensate a miller whose mill at the top of Braunston locks was unworkable as the canal came through and took it`s water. The Anchor was a pub attached to the mill at the top of the locks and with the six other pubs in the village it`s easy to see why the boat people loved Braunston.  There was of course a lot more to the village for the working boat people than just the pubs.

Just love this but know nothing about it. Only guess is it is the old timber frame of an old cottage once adjoining this building. Braunston History link

Some neighbours at a mooring along the way.

Goodnight.