One Year Ends and Another One Begins

"Some people may not understand why those who are grieving are reluctant to move into a new year; they see a fresh year, a new season...but for the bereaved it's moving into a new calendar year, which their loved one will never live in." ~Zoe Clark-Coates, British author on grief after loss

     I had hoped to have posted again before now but time and life have a way of unraveling around my ankles these days. Having fetched up in such a lovely spot like the Flashes I was looking forward to chilling out, writing, sleeping and going for walks. This was the week before Christmas--my least favorite holiday. It is a dark and traumatic time of year for me under the best of circumstances, and this year doesn't rate even that high. The festive winter season brings so much baggage along with the short, cold days and long, dark nights. My baggage was packed for me in childhood, by a violent alcoholic step-father who undoubtedly had his baggage packed for him in his childhood by his alcoholic parents. It is a tragic chain of dysfunction and pain. I won't go into great detail. I will only say that guns were usually involved in shooting bulbs off the Christmas tree, presents and tree were tossed out into the snow, our home was ransacked and torn to pieces in molten anger, and my mother was beaten severely while I hung off my step father's leg, biting and screaming at him to "stop hitting my mother!" I was only a tiny, tow headed child and Christmas never got any better in our house. My mother and I walked on egg shells while she went through the motions every year of making Christmas a time of family celebration; our family simply didn't celebrate like everyone else. I never told my own children about my horrendous childhood until they were well past their mid twenties. I never wanted them to be tainted by that kind of pain. I did my utmost to break that chain, to provide my daughters with happy holiday memories of fairy lights, baked cookies, stockings filled and hanging at the end of their beds, candy canes and snow sprinkled love. Once I became a witch my focus changed from December 25th to the Winter Solstice--the turning of the wheel of the year back towards the light. Who in their right mind cannot celebrate such a pivotal seasonal event? The longest, darkest night of the year is my saving grace; it is the moment offering my heart and soul hope that all the goodness, grandeur and beauty, all the abundance and glory of nature will come back to me once more. It is a hallmark of the spirit as well. what lives will die and be reborn. This is nature's endless cycle.
     My first day moored at the flashes I was truly alone. I cleaned the boat, did laundry, and made a pot of soup, taking care of the Administration of Life Duties so I could spend the next few days resting and writing but the best laid plans etc. etc.etc. The 22nd dawned clear and bright, the sun splashed across the landscape lighting up the wet green grass. Soon enough I heard the put-put-put of a boat coming along behind me. It was the fuel boat NB Halsall which had refueled at Kings Lock chandlery and was back on their run. I flagged them down to get the two emergency jerry cans filled with diesel. As Lee and Roberta started to pull alongside me, a hug clump of grasses broke free of the offside bank and wrapped itself around their prop. Now Halsall is an old working boat and it doesn't have a weed hatch. The working boaters had to work stuff off the prop with a boat hook or take a dip in the cut to remove it by hand, so Lee worked diligently with his boat hook at clearing their prop.

NB Halsall clearing grass and weed from their prop.

     In the meantime another boat approached around the bend. It was NB Hobo. Now I had never met the owners Anne and Arthur, but I had seen their names mentioned on FaceBook as friends of Ray and Tracey Arbon on NB Billy Whiz and former owners of Tea Junction, the floating cafe. Arthur pulled in behind me and hovered while Anne stepped off with a puppy in tow on a lead. We explained the situation and I said it shouldn't take long to fill the jerry cans once Halsall's prop was cleared. Anne went back to relay this to Arthur. Just as Halsall was pulling away it was clear there was still weed around the prop so they came in about two boat lengths ahead of me and proceeded to sort it out and get on their way.
     Meanwhile NB Hobo decided to crack on as they were trying to reach Venetian Marina to rendezvous with Ray and Tracey. Somehow they ended up caught on a shallow lump of mud on the offside and their boat tipped sideways a bit. One of their four dogs decided to make a break for it as well and so a bit of pandelerium ensued. Dog back aboard, they pushed off the mud and started to pass NB Valerie and their engine cut out. Arthur couldn't get it started and so they pulled in to moor up in front of me. This was the start of a breakdown saga that stretched over the proceeding days.
     RCR was called out and a Marine Engineer (ME) appeared about an hour before dusk. Working in the waning light he ascertained that NB Hobo had diesel bug. Their tank was about half full of fuel. Getting stuck on the shallow offside had tipped their boat and the fuel in their tank, sloshing the diesel bug which usually lurks near the bottom in the interface between the diesel and the water in the tank caused by condensation and diesel additives. The bug was now mixed through their tank and clogging fuel lines and filters. Not good!!! I can definitively say boaters live in fear of that stuff because it can bring cruising to a complete halt and cost hundreds of pounds to remedy. The engineer pumped the diesel out of Hobo's tank and replaced the clogged fuel filter.
     As dusk closed in the ME's phone rang. It was his wife reminding them they were going Christmas shopping that evening, the 23rd. A bit rattled now by his wife's reminder call, with a numbing cold and darkness setting in, the poor bloke poured the contaminated fuel back into the tank instead of using some of the 100 litres of emergency fuel Anne and Arthur had stored in jerry cans. Tired, cold, and stressed no one remarked on this or took notice until the next morning, when the engine coughed, spluttered and fell silent once more. Another call to RCR early in the day brought two ME's back out. The diesel was pumped from the tank again and another clean fuel filter was installed, with a tube running from the engine to a clean jerry can of diesel. The engine was soon running and the ME's took off for the one mile walk to the nearest bridge and down the lane to their parked van. We truly were moored in the middle of nowhere. As Anne and Arthur set off after lunch their engine was still hesitant. I could not in all good conscience leave them to float around broken down on their own on Christmas Eve so I gave Anne my mobile number and told her to call me if they broke down again and I would tow them to Aqueduct Marina, which was only about three miles away. About forty minutes later my phone rang. The engine stalled and was well and truly dead.
     I threw on my cold weather gear, lifted my fenders, pulled my pins, and cruised off towards Nantwich. I came upon them about thirty minutes later. A slick of diesel lay on the surface of the cut for half a mile behind them. Arthur had fallen in the cut and was down inside changing into clean, dry clothes. Anne and the dogs were waiting on the towpath with the midline. Now I have never towed another boat, but I reasoned that if I took things slowly and was careful it would be okay. I just needed one of them to stay at their tiller and steer their boat. Anne came up and stood on her bow to keep an eye on the bow rope we attached to my stern bollards. Off we went and I am pleased to say NB Valerie performed like a champ. Sadly though, the afternoon was spent by then and we had about another forty minutes of daylight and of course just when all seemed to to be going well, the wind sprang up with a vengeance. We made it from bridge 21 through bridge 15. Coming out of the bridge hole the wind caught us broad side and I wasn't going fast enough to counter its power. We were pushed like paper boats over to the offside where cows stood grazing while staring at the strange interlopers on the other side of the fence. I tried to shift NB Hobo backwards and NB Valerie became stuck on the shallows. Arthur and I both had boat poles out shoving against the bank. Each time we broke free the wind viciously slammed our boats back against the offside.
     Just ahead of us a lovely boat was moored in the tranquil dusk which our engine revving and shouting was disturbing to say the least. It was NB Scarweather and the folks on the boat were out walking their dog. They stopped to help. I decided it was time to moor up and call it a night. I told Arthur and Anne that I was going to reverse off the shallows and push Hobo's stern against the towpath where Arthur could get off with the midline and begin pulling the boat in to moor up. As soon as Hobo's stern touched the metal siding on the towpath, I untied its bow from my stern and using their bow rope I heaved and pulled Hobo's nose clear of my stern fender buttons and shoved it towards the towpath, giving NB Valerie a bit of reverse wellie to keep Hobo's bow moving the right direction. As soon as they were moored up, I reversed NB Valerie out of the shallows, put her in forward and pulled in front of Hobo to moor up myself. The man from NB Scarweather was kind enough to hold my midline while I banged in the pins, tied up and dropped my fenders. A short while later as I was out on the bow filling my coal bucket, this same fellow was out having a smoke on his stern. We chatted briefly and introduced ourselves as boaters do. I explained how I came to be towing NB Hobo, and Richard, a retired Marine Engineer asked me if I was alone on my boat. I explained my circumstances and we parted for the evening. By now the cold I had picked up the first weekend in December and which I was desperate to shake, had settled down in my lungs.  I was exhausted, frozen, and sick. A scalding hot shower and clean jammies soon sorted me out and I fell into bed but of course I couldn't sleep because of the phlegm in my chest and the sharp stinging in my throat. A hot toddy of honey, lemon, and rum soothed things a bit and some tincture of the Herb Pharm's Immune Defense was taken as well.
     Christmas day arrived cold, with blustery winds blowing and a light scattered sprinkle of snow dusting the wet, muddy towpath. Tracey and Ray Arbon turned up mid morning with some emergency supplies for Anne and Arthur. I last spoke with Tracey back in May when I was moored up at Campbell Park in Milton Keynes on the Grand Union canal. It was lovely to see her again and to actually meet her husband Ray. With water topped up a bit and petrol for their generator, Anne and Arthur were settled in until tomorrow when I offered tow them the rest of the way to Aqueduct marina.
     As I was just putting the finishing touches on my evening meal, there was a knock on the boat. It was Richard from NB Scarweather inviting me aboard theirs for Christmas dinner. Seeing as I was just in the process of dishing up my own dinner, we agreed I would join them afterwards for wine and Port. I spent a lovely evening in their company. Richard explained the intricacies of diesel bug to me in his marvelous Scottish accent. He had served in the Merchant navy where he met Sarah in the Falklands. Richard has experience on the giant container vessels that move constantly across the face of the oceans. Sarah is a retired GP. She sipped a good wine, Richard and I emptied a full bottle of lovely Port, and we shared crackers spread with the most delicious Camembert I have ever tasted as we swapped stories and got to know each other. Their boat has a tug deck with a rather large water tank. They graciously offered to tow NB Hobo to Aqueduct marina since that is where they keep their boat and they were heading back the next morning. I was planning to fill up with water at the marina but Richard suggested I fill my tank from theirs as they were going back to the marina anyway. Aren't boaters lovely people??? Yes Mo, (NB Balmaha) they are.
     The next morning was bright and partly sunny. Richard brought Scarweather along side NB Valerie and moored up. A hose from their shower tap to my water tank soon had my boat filled with water and hunkered back down in the cut, siting more stable when the tank is full. Disconnecting the hose, Richard also reached out to take my rubbish bags from the bow deck.

Richard on the deck of NB Scarweather breasted up with NB Val and filling my water tank.

A hire boat passes decorated with blow up holiday figures.

     This is an example of the reason why I had to offer help to Anne and Arthur when they needed it. Les and I have been blessed to have had so much help and offers of help from all across the canal system and boaters are still helping me as I go it alone. It was an opportunity for me to pay that help forward to other boaters in a time of need. While I didn't manage to get them all the way to the marina, NB Valerie and I did get them to a place close to a bridge and a main road where assistance would reach them. We had the good fortune to fetch up near Richard and Sarah's boat and I made lovely new friends--a fine holiday gift offered by the vagaries of life on the cut. Soon enough Scarweather and Hobo were off and away.

     Two days later Ken and Sue Deveson came by to pick me up for lunch at Aqueduct marina where their boat NB Cleddau waits on the hard standing for blacking, painting and servicing. It was impossible to be so close and not stop in and give her a pat and rub! We enjoyed lunch together and a walk around the marina.

American house broom with slanted brush.

      Two days later I brought NB Valerie into Aqueduct marina for a week. I was off to stay for three days with Carol and George Palin on their wide beam Still Rockin' moored at Hambledon marina on the Thames. They invited me to spend the New Years with them, knowing it would be a tough time for me and I might not be the best of company. We had a great time, walking along the Thames and across the nearby fields, watching Kites wheeling in the sky with their distinctive V shaped tails and amber under feathers. Les loved these birds and could sit watching them for hours. They treated me to a day out in Henley where we ate a delicious, leisurely breakfast at The Katherine Wheel, mooched about the streets enjoying the old black and white timbered architecture, explored the most amazing Tardis-like antique shop, and found a handle for my new American broom head the Devesons were kind enough to bring back for me from their recent trip to California. We share a passion for books, listened to music, laughed, napped, swapped family stories and relaxed in one another's company. The Palins treated me to lovely meals fixed by Carol (her Lemon chicken is mouthwatering!), and a New Year's Day dinner at Cote Brasserie in Marlowe, and drove me home all the way up to Cheshire and NB Valerie where George in his expert capacity as electrical engineer, repaired my TV antennae and cleared the fan on the composting loo which made a horrible growl from debris caught in it; several small leaves and a snail! I have been hunkered down for the last 48 hours enduring 70 MPH winds form winter Storm Eleanor which has lashed the British Isles.

     Tomorrow I take possession of a grocery delivery and will cruise out of the marina and into 2018, uncertainty dogging my wake. I need to make connections in the local area and enroll with the JobCentre Plus. I will have to return to Aqueduct marina on the 17th to have my diesel tank cleaned and a new stern gland fitted. Hopefully there will be nothing else required but I have been warned that the engine shaft and stern gland tube could be worn which would require an expensive overhaul that could conceivably reach a thousand pounds in the worst case scenario. The ME Chris here at the marina is hoping it will be an inexpensive and easy repair.
     This is what is feels like to be a widow in a newly unfolding year: 2018 is a new year without any new memories of Les. I feel even sadder and more alone than I did last year. It is the difference between moving forward through the year after his death, remembering Les and us together in his final months, weeks and days versus turning away now from our previous life together into an uncertain future which holds nothing tangible of the man I love. The cold wind is at my back and I am so alone without Les--without any new and recent memories of my sweet, kind, funny, loving Best Beloved to warm and sustain me.    

Odds 'n' Sods While Waiting for Repairs

"Don't squat with your spurs on." -Will Rogers, American cowboy, comedian, humorist, social commentator, vaudeville performer, 1879 - 1935

     Right well after the not-so-grand beginning of setting off for a singular life on the cut (picked up a pram cover around the prop day 2, and the engine showed signs of overheating on day 3; broken bilge pump hose day 4), I came to a dead standstill just after Fenny Stratford Stop lock. Before Tom and Jan on NB Waiouru carried on the next morning, Tom and I opened the engine hole cover and he proceeded to give me a quick tutorial AKA Vetus Boat Engines For Dummies. In the process we discovered the band new bilge pump hose has cracked and the bilge pump no longer functioned so Tom patched it for me. That was a week ago yesterday. 
     I planned to stay in this spot for about four days to visit Bletchley Park, stop in at Ikea and purchase the accent paint I need to finish painting the boat.  I dipped down in the engine hole several times a day to check things out and while there was a small drip occasionally from the stern gland it was nothing to be concerned about--or so I thought. 
     Imagine my surprise and shock last Monday to pop the engine hole cover and find a bloody swimming pool underneath my engine! I baled for Britain, emptied most of it out and used newspapers rolled up and taped as wicks to pull up the remainder. All together I baled 20 gallons by hand and 5 gallons using the patched up bilge pump. Tom Jones called me to check on me and I told him what had occurred--and no we had not had any rain so it wasn't rain water leaking into the engine hole. Monday evening ended with me standing at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth. I bent over the sink to spit and the wooden port hole window frame fell out on my head! I spent two hours gluing it back in place with wood glue and securing it while it dried.
     Meanwhile over the next few days Tom sent me the schematic for my engine--it is the same as his--and he talked me through how to loosen the collar on the stern gland and grease it with silicone grease. I pulled out Les' set of Allen Keys, found the two half used tubes of silicone grease Les used for this job and grabbed a rag. Down into the engine hole I went. The collar was on too tightly for me to loosen it. Every time I poked the Allen Key into the dimple on top of the collar to attempt to loosen it, water began flowing quite briskly from the stern gland into the engine hole, so I left off with it and now I have a fairly consistent drip which bears monitoring and clean up.
     A lovely spot in my week was the quick visit with Debbi and Dave on NB

Chuffed. Dave offered to go down the engine hole and have a look but I knew they were only passing through and I figured this issue could take some time so I politely declined. Thanks for stopping and it was lovely meeting you both in person. Perhaps next time circumstances will allow us to have a longer natter over a cup of tea and a piece of cake.
     On Thursday I called RCR (River Canal Rescue).  When I explained my plight I was told that the repairs I needed were not covered under my agreement with RCR (non propulsion issues are not covered), but since Les had been a member for eleven years and I am a newly minted widow they were gracious enough to send out an ME (Marine Engineer). 
     The two young blokes showed up at 5:45 PM Thursday evening, complimented me on how clean my engine hold was  and how prepared I was with the Allan Keys, etc. The consensus was that the new bilge pump hose needed to be replaced with proper hosing and not cheap plastic electrical conduit, and the stern gland needed a proper greasing. I was told it would be a fifteen minute job and they would return with the parts in the morning. YES!!!
     The grease I had on hand was not considered fit for purpose as there was no screw on attachment allowing the grease to be squeezed out into a tube and forced around the stern gland. Les purchased it several years ago in a Stove shop in Leighton Buzzard but the tubes obviously did not come with fitted nozzles attached to tubing for the stern gland. How Les managed to get the silicone grease into the stern gland remains a mystery to me, especially as Sunday last I spent five hours cleaning out the largest of his three man drawers in the hopes of figuring out what most of it was and for what purposes it all addressed; I sought to tidy it all up and make order out of chaos. I figured out what most of it is for but Ido have two plastic margarine pots of shiny bits and bobs about which I am clueless.

It was freakin' amazing how much stuff my Best Beloved had squirreled away in that one large drawer! It left me scratching my head with wonder at how many scewdrivers and needle nose piers one man needs. I also cleaned out and tidied up the middle bow step. This leaves two more man drawers, two more bow steps, three stern steps, and the bow and stern lockers to be sorted and tidied; and to think that before I moved on board Les used to keep a lot of this stuff in three "nests" throughout the boat so he could reach for things at a mo's notice without having to traverse the length of the boat to find it.

      Friday dawned and at 2:30 PM when I had heard nothing and no ME had turned up, I contacted RCR to be told that the hose and the proper silicon grease for my engine had to be ordered and would be delivery would be delayed by the forthcoming bank holiday. The parts were expected in on Tuesday or Wednesday next (May 2nd or 3rd) and someone would call me at that time to book an appointment with and ME to come out. Crap! I should have known "the job will only take fifteen minutes and we'll be back in the morning," was too good to be true.
     It would have been grand if Les had been able to teach me about the engine however by the time we reached Cowroast after his terminal cancer diagnosis, he was too weak to lift the solid steel engine hole cover and I never could lift it on my own. Les also could no longer climb in and out of the engine bay and I could not do so either with my badly arthritic right knee. I realize now that the things I did on board NBV made our lives comfortable and certainly made Les happy as he was kind enough to tell me so frequently, but it was the stuff Les did that kept us cruising along the cut and I totally took him for granted. Yes I told him often how much I loved him and how happy he made me, but I never once thanked him for his labors in keeping the boat going. He loved tinkering with that stuff and I simply let him get on with it. I wish I had understood how vital his tinkering was to our lives and I desperately wish I had thanked him often. I will be taking the engine maintenance course offered by RCR in September.
     So now my next dilemma is water. I have been moored up here a week on Friday last. I cannot move the boat until the stern gland issue is seen to for fear of causing it to leak severely and now the bilge pump is not working at all for some reason, so...I climbed back down the engine hold again (I am down there at least four times a day. Now that it has been freshly painted and cleaned out it no longer appears to be the Black Hole of Calcutta and it isn't the least intimidating. I am on a first name basis with my engine. I will let you know when we progress to cutesy nicknames), found the five gallon plastic water butty, last used in the winter of 2011/2012 at Newbold to fill up with water when were were frozen in on the cut. I reasoned that five trips to the water point to fill up the butty and empty it into the water tank would hold me well.
     I took the canvas bag off our hand trolley and with trolley and water butty in hand I proceeded to walk to the water point by the service area near Fenny Stratford lock. Imagine my surprise yet again--to find the water point there is not only not working, there is also no "out of order"sign on it. Thank goodness I didn't chance backing the boat through the lock to the service point to fill up with water! Crap!!!
     Back on bard NBV I instituted emergency water measures and after speaking with friends on the phone this morning, I decided to try my luck in asking for water from one of the lock side cottages. First I dumped my rubbish and tried the water point once more to be sure I had not missed something; nope! Still broken...a woman and a man were sitting out at in front of one of the cottages having their morning tea after a bit of bijou gardening. I approached, introduced myself and asked my favor. The woman replied,
     "Don't I know you?"
     "Yes, we met several years ago when my husband and I stopped to sue the water point. You had a lovely crop of Pot Marigolds (Calendua Officianalis) growing in your garden and I asked if I could pick a few to  make a healing salve. You were very gracious and allowed me to help myself.  I took your email as you had a little dog with a skin condition and I emailed you an easy salve to make yourself as a remedy."
     "Oh yes I remember it now. How is your husband?" And so the conversation carried on. Her name is Lynn, she is a lovely person and she happily filled my five gallon water butty for me. I found out through our conversation that other boaters on the long term moorings just under the bridge before the lock have been asking cottage owners to fill up with water as well as the water point has been out of service for some time! I did send an email to CaRT (Canal and River Trust), but of course it is bank holiday weekend so nothing will happen very quickly. Can I just say what a luxury it is to have water heated on the stove to wash up with? This is taking me back to my childhood on Alaska and the early years of my first marriage when we as a young family of three, lived off the grid in a log cabin the sticks with no indoor plumbing or electricity. Aah yes I remember it well and to altogether fondly. A bit too much hardship and deprivation is not good for the soul. 

My precious!! Five gallons of clean, drinkable water.

     Anyway here I sit waiting for Jules Fuels to come by to top up the diesel, buy some coal  (I am down to three quarters of my last bag so that is timely!) and wait for RCR to contact me. One final issue cropped up on Friday to put the worm on top of the whipped cream on this disaster: I checked our bank account and found unauthorized activity--charges when no card was present it said--which leads to ask how in the hell the charges were made--to Amazon.com in Slough! My last amazon order was April 5th, Les' was even longer, and there were no new charges on either account. I had to email Amazon and ask for Les' account to be closed due to death. I contacted our bank and they will refund the monies to our account. This led me to finally contact our banks and make an appointment with a bank bereavement advisor to remove Les' name. I simply could not face this chore before but I see I really must do it and so I will. I don't understand the need to make an appointment with a bloody bereavement advisor. I asked why bereavement advisors were necessary and received this reasoning: 
     "Oh well not all of our employees have taken the bereavement training and we need to ensure grieving customers are handled with sensitivity. An appointment ensures you will be seen by someone who has had the proper bereavement training and can assist you in with this issue." I'm sorry but I think this is a load of utter crap. If the only customer service reps employed by a bank who can show a bit of kindness and sensitivity to a grieving customer is one suitably trained to so then there is something seriously wrong with the bank's hiring process in my humble opinion. At our U. S. bank I went in to the nearest branch with Les' death certificate, our birth and marriage certificates, and a teller assisted me, only requiring my ID and Les' death certificate. It took all of ten minutes. She was suitably kind and sensitive which didn't require special training; being human seemed sufficient. But hey ho I am in Britain where bureaucracy reigns supreme, so I will endure it as all other Brits do. 
   To end this post on a positive note I am happy to say I saw Adam and Adrian pass through yesterday on NB Briar Rose. I knew they were headed my way and I left the boat at 8:30 AM to walk to Tesco for some bits and bobs hoping to return before they arrived. On the rare occasions when I wander in to Tesco do do my sopping in person, I have found that there is a totally obnoxious two year old who follows me around the country form Grocery store to grocery store. She/he/it sets up an ear splitting, hair raising, nerve tweaking caterwauling the minute I walk in the door that makes me want to step on its wind pipe. So I thought perhaps if I went to Tesco early I might make it through my shopping before the little brat child had even had breakfast. It worked but sadly I nearly missed Adam and Adrian. I didn't get a picture but they did and it is on their blog. I will see them again tomorrow for a longer visit involving tea and cake when they return this way.
     Finally I wish to share a nifty item I picked up at Robert Dyas in Hemel Hempstead two weeks ago. It is a night light. Les and I discussed this issue thoroughly in the months leading up to his death. We looked at all sorts of night lights but few if any ran on 12 volt electrics and I was hoping for one with a motion sensor to use in the bathroom and in the galley. Nothing we found online was suitable and the topic feel by the wayside so I am chuffed to bits to have found The Egg!

The Egg on a small boat shelf near some framed pictures to give you an idea of its actual size and dimensions.

The Egg up close while off.

The Egg shining brightly!

     Battery operated, one taps the bottom of The Egg on a hard surface to turn it on and taps it again to turn it off.  If left on it will shut itself off after about a minute and a half. The Egg produces bright light and I can carry it in the palm of my hand late at night to use the loo or make a cup of middle of the night tea. Brilliant!!