The Lost Knee

The Lost Knee.

Stuart was busy cleaning up, organising and labelling "Hazel"s wrought iron knees while I worked on the new sternpost. He started to look puzzled. We discussed shotblasting and rustproofing the knees, still in remarkably good order after 97 years. Obviously the number of knees was an important issue in pricing the work on them. There should have been 26, 13 for each side of the boat, but Stuart could only find 25. A search of the boatyard ensued. "I did hear a plop" said Stuart, "but it didn't sound big enough to be a knee". He started investigating the canal alongside the boat with a rake, but found only bits of stone. We went home with the missing knee on our minds.

Tuesday was a rare day as neither me or Stuart could be there. I had a meeting to go to and Stuart a funeral. On Wednesday the hunt for the missing knee resumed, Ryan entering into it with his usual enthusiasm. He progressed from using a rake to a grappling iron. After many fruitless throws the iron was thrown once more, but Ryan forgot to hold on to the piece of string.

There was now nothing for it but to get in the water and recover the grappling hook, whilst at the same time feeling about for the knee. We lit the gas heater in the main container and Ryan stripped off, emerging clad only in his blue overalls. He leaped with gusto into the water and began feeling around with his feet. He soon found the grappling iron, and a G clamp, which Stuart thought was probably what caused the plop that he heard, but still no sign of the knee.

Eventually the cold and frustration at finding only bits of stone drove Ryan out of the water to dry off in the container. I began to wonder how much our excellent blacksmith, Ed Sveikutis, would charge to manufacture a new one.

As going home time approached Stuart elected to have one last go at finding the knee. He got in the water, wearing red overalls, and worked outwards steadily from the previously searched areas near the bit of boat that the particular knee came from. He moved into increasingly unlikely waters until he reached nearly to the fore end of the boat, far from the source of the knee. He bent down, reached his arms into the water and triumphantly lifted the piece of curved iron out of the mud with a yell, before climbing out on to the bank with his prize.

How the knee got there we will never know, but at least we now have a full set again.