The thoughts, fantasies and random ramblings of Ashton Boatman Chris Leah, largely, but not exclusively, connected with his work for the Wooden Canal Boat Society, restoring historic wooden canal boats and putting them to work doing good deeds for the community and the planet.
When we first publicised our project for care and NHS workers last Autumn we got an enquiry from a couple in South Wales who wanted to book the boat for several nights holiday. This was slightly beyond the scope of what was on offer, but we agreed a reduced price rather than a totally free trip and booked them in for Easter.
The repaired gearbox for "Forget me Not" arrived a couple of days before the trip and I fitted it on Thursday. The Albin gearbox shares its oil with the engine. The problem had been that the oil feed from the engine had got blocked, causing excessive wear to various components. Our friends pulled out all the stops to get it repaired and back to us as soon as possible. The main delay was getting the parts from Sweden.
I tried turning the gearbox by hand and it worked fine. Once fitted I started the engine. It ran happily in forward gear but when I put it into reverse the engine started to labour. I thought it just needed adjusting, so I took the lid off and screwed the clutch adjustment back a bit, re-tightened the locking bolt and started the engine with the gearbox lid off.
Once again, it ran fine in forward but as soon as I changed to reverse the clutch adjuster started to turn, in spite of the locking bolt being in. This tightened the clutch, causing it to try to run in forward and reverse at the same time, thus stalling the engine. Drat!!!
I'm not blaming our friendly gearbox menders, who did a fine job. Like I said, if turned by hand the problem didn't show up.
After studying the difficulty I came up with a possible solution to fix it temporarily. On Good Friday morning I got up early to work on it. After several hours of effort I realised that my bodge wasn't going to work. There was nothing for it but to jam it into forward gear and do the trip with no neutral or reverse. I wasn't going to disappoint our guests. it would just mean that I would have to steer the motor boat all the way and not do any training.
Getting volunteer crew at Easter is difficult. I can usually rely on the amazing Aaron Booth but he had a positive covid test. He claimed that this was a false positive caused by drinking milk shakes (!?!!) and would have been happy to come along. There's no way I was going to allow this. Luckily I'd just met a couple of new volunteers, Jason and his partner Claire. Jason was working Friday and Saturday but Claire was free so she agreed to come along for a crash course in butty steering. The faithful Nessie came as butty steering coach and Daniel Stocks joined us to work the lift bridge and generally help out.
The original plan had been for a trip to Bugsworth and back but this was stymied by the closure of Marple locks on Easter Saturday. Instead I had suggested a return trip to Marple followed by a foray up the Huddersfield Narrow Canal. Our guests were happy with this.
I was filthy, covered in oil, with just a couple of hours to go before our guests arrived. I headed home for a shower and to change into my boatman garb. Nessie fetched "Hazel" back from her battery charging point and got her ready.
With guests on board and crew assembled we set out. The lack of manoeuvring ability meant that we had to shaft "Forget me Not" on to the Tame Aqueduct then bring "Hazel" round behind her and connect the towline before starting the engine. Almost immediately she picked up something on the blade. With no reverse I could not perform a 'chuck back', a brief engagement of stern gear to reverse the propeller and throw the rubbish off it.
We stopped to clean some rope and plastic bags off the blade whilst Daniel waited at the lift bridge wondering what had become of us. In the narrows of the lift bridge we picked up another load of crap and had to stop once again. Black smoke and slow progress became a theme of the trip.
Claire turned out to be a natural at butty steering. At Manchester Road bridge in Hyde we stopped for yet another blade cleaning operation. "Forget me Not"s cabin shaft wasn't in its proper place. I expressed my concern that I may have left it on the towpath at the last blade cleaning location. Nessie offered to go and look and unthinkingly I said OK. If I'd thought about it I would have said no as I knew he was suffering with blistered feet. He'd not been gone long when I realised that I'd put the shaft inside the cabin. I rang him and listened to his 'phone chirruping in his coat in the cabin.
With the blade clean we set off again, concerned about how far Nessie might have to walk to catch us up. It seemed an age before he did so.
At the old Joseph Adamson works in Hyde there used to be a man called Bryn who lived on the canal side in a caravan. He had a menagerie of animals and birds in cages on the bank. Bryn used to live on a boat but when he had it craned out for repairs it broke in half. On recent trips I'd noticed that the menagerie was diminishing but saw a flicker of TV from the caravan. Clearly age was creeping up on him. This time the caravan was all shut up, half the cages had gone and a younger bearded man, with a look of DH Lawrence, was working there, apparently clearing the site. I said hello then, when it was too late, kicked myself for not asking about Bryn. Presumably he's either gone into a home or died.
After Captain Clarkes bridge the canal follows a lovely wooded winding course along the edge of Haughton Dale. Bladefuls of rubbish became less frequent but I began to worry about excessive noise from under the cabin floor. I got Daniel to steer while I investigated.
About 10 years ago we replaced the thrust bearing that supports the prop shaft and transfers the push from the propeller to the structure of the boat. I was surprised that all that secured it to the shaft was two tiny grub screws. Nevertheless, it had given no trouble, until now. For some reason the grub screws had loosened, allowing the shaft to move forward until one of the couplings started rubbing on a floor bearer. Reluctant to get my clothes dirty I decided to carry on regardless.
Daniel had to leave us but Jason, Claire's partner, turned up on his bike, having finished his work shift.
By the time we reached Romiley the abrasion between shaft coupling and floor bearer was producing smoke and sparks. I had cooled it a few times with a handbowl full of water, but it was obvious that I would have to stop and crawl into the oily black void under the counter, clean clothes notwithstanding. Soon I had hammered the shaft back to its proper position and re-tightened the grub screws. Nessie headed for home and we carried on our way, with the engine labouring a lot less.
We tied for the night at Chadkirk, one of my favourite spots, in the concrete trough that was installed about 30 years ago when the canal started to slip down the hillside. Opposite are very nice gardens and on the towpath side the ground drops away into a wooded valley. A short walk away is a holy well, a mediaeval chapel and lovely gardens. In the other direction are the shops, pubs and restaurants of Romiley.
Claire and Jason got on their bikes to ride home. Our guests went food shopping and, after tidying "Forget me Not"s cabin I rode my bike into Romiley and purchased a veggie burger as I was tired and didn't feel like cooking.
The plan for Saturday was that Claire would join the boats at 10AM and we would go up to Marple to wind, then head back towards Ashton. Nessie would check the boats at Portland Basin then make his way up the towpath to meet us. I was dubious about this in view of Nessie's poorly feet, but he insisted that it would be OK.
Claire arrived by bike bang on time and we set off.
Under the railway viaduct at Marple we breasted the boats up and I used the long shaft to wind them before setting off back towards Ashton. Entering the narrows of the aqueduct I badly cross winded the motor, shouting an explanation to Claire that I was showing her how not to do it!
The return trip was mostly straightforward. At Romiley railway bridge I eased down to give a day hire boat time to clear the narrows then, entering the bridge, I gave a long blast on the horn to warn an approaching steel boat. The steerer did the usual beginners trick of slamming it into full reverse, causing the boat to slew sideways across the cut. Luckily he'd jumped on to the towpath and got it under control with a line by the time "Forget me Not"s stem iron got close.
We were still picking things up on the blade every now and then but I found that if I stopped the engine then quickly ran along the gunwale to the engine 'ole, leaned in and pressed the starter button then it would usually clear it.
Passing the Warble moorings between Hyde and Dukinfield we picked up something serious on the blade which stopped the engine. We breasted up to keep control of the boats and shafted them to one side to allow "Community Spirit" to pass with a load of passengers. A little work with the cabin shaft removed a mutilated dog bed from the propeller.
Claire did an excellent job of steering the butty. She's clearly a natural at it. As we got closer to Ashton I got increasingly concerned about Nessie. Attempts to 'phone him just accessed his answering service. Later we learned that he had left his 'phone behind and set out up the towpath but been forced to retire with painful feet and get a taxi back to Ashton.
The difficulty that I faced was that with only the two of us and no neutral or reverse gears, working through Dukinfield lift bridge was going to be tricky. With only a few hundred yards to go Jason appeared on the towpath, having been summoned by Claire at the end of his shift. I threw him a windlass and anti vandal key and he went ahead to prepare the bridge for us.
Dukinfield lift bridge is an out of the way spot and so a favourite place for fly tipping. The canal was dredged a couple of years ago, which greatly improved things, but now it is filling up with rubbish again. On this trip I noticed that the adjacent car park had been recently blocked with two lorry sized mounds of soil and rubble. These don't affect the canal, but do demonstrate the scale of the problem.
As we went through the bridge the motor boat rode over some rubbish, then the engine started to struggle as she had picked up more on the blade. I decided to call it a day so we breasted up and tied at the end of the landing bollards. It's a nice spot for our guests to stay the night anyway. Sometimes, when Portland Basin has become a night time haunt for drinkers I bring "Hazel" up here for overnight guests.
I went home for the night and spent the evening 'phoning potential volunteers. One of the frustrations of working with volunteers is that some people regard showing up as optional. For this reason you have to invite more people than you actually need to make sure that you have enough. Sometimes this results in an embarrassingly large number for the job in hand, but that's better than too few.
Sunday's planned trip was up the 3 locks to Stalybridge, then back down them again. Easy! Well, it should be, but this length of waterway has many obstacles. I wanted to be mob handed.
I was pleased as the crew started to assemble. Aaron Booth was first there as his covid tests were now showing negative. Daniel came to join us, and both Jason and Claire were there as neither were working that day. Nessie joined us, in spite of his foot problem, as did Joan Wainwright. Geraldine Buckley 'phoned to say that she'd meet us at lock 1.
The first difficulty was the turn at Portland Basin. This would be very difficult with no reverse so I stopped the boats on the aqueduct just before the junction. I shafted the motor round the turn Aaron and Nessie followed with the butty with Joan steering. Nessie threw me the towing line, I dropped its eye over the dolly, started the engine and we were off. All very neat.
The next problem was entering the lock with no stern gear. Normally I will shorten the line as I approach the lock with brief bursts of astern to enable the butty to catch up. When the motor is mostly in the lock and the butty right behind a burst of astern can be used to stop the butty just short of the bottom gates. The mast line is then thrown up from the butty to someone on the lockside and the gates quickly shut as soon as the motor is in the lock. The top paddles are drawn and, as soon as there is some water against the bottom gates, the butty can be hauled forward so that its fender is pressed against the gate. The line is made fast to hold the butty in place when the lock is emptied again when the motor has moved on. It is then an easy matter to haul the butty into the emptied lock.
On this occasion I cut the engine just as the motor's bows entered the tail of the lock and it all went surprisingly smoothly, despite a little confusion about which line to throw up from the butty. Geraldine had the lock workers well organised and a couple of people walked ahead to prepare lock 2 unbidden.
We set off into the narrow shallow Whitelands tunnel, opened out over 100 years ago. The motor always struggles through here so, as it's not possible to steer in the narrows, I stepped on to the towpath and helped her along by hauling on the back end line.
The next lock was not quite so smooth, but not bad for a largely inexperienced crew.
Locks 2 and 3 are close together so we bowhaul the butty between them.
I took the motor ahead, but my heart sank when I saw the water level on the notorious long pound between locks 3 and 4. It was about a foot down and I knew that we would have a hard time getting through it to the winding hole at Staley Wharf. It was, of course, inevitable that we took 2 lockfulls off before starting along the pound.
The first few yards above lock 3 are some of the most difficult. On the towpath side the bottom is strewn with rocks, probably left by contractors when they rebuilt the towpath wall. On the outside there is lots of submerged industrial machinery. The gap in the middle between these obstacles isn't very wide or very deep.
Inevitably we ground to a halt in mid channel. Luckily we had some strong lads with us who were surprisingly easy to co-ordinate. Sometimes when a boat is stuck different people have competing ideas about how to unstick it, which makes things very difficult.
Gradually we moved forward, stemming up time after time and having to be hauled free by the strong men on the towpath. The exhaust threw out black smoke as the propeller dredged up plastic bags from the canal bed.
At the cast iron aqueduct over the river Tame we found ourselves stemming a tremendous flow of water as the boats inched forward.
I later discovered that this was because another boat was following us up and was drawing off a further lockful. On the plus side, Geraldine and Nessie had gone ahead to try to find water to run down from pounds higher up to help us through.
Just beyond the aqueduct the narrows of a former bridge is another notorious fly tipping spot. Cheryl Dinsdale met us here to take photos as we laboured to get through this obstacle. Eventually we moved on and, after struggling through Bayley St bridge
we entered the relatively deep stretch leading up to Staley wharf. Here we breasted up and let the following boat, which had now caught us up, pass us to enter lock 4.
We paused for a while at Staley Wharf. I left it to Aaron to wind the pair, using the shaft, while I pulled strings of twisted polythene off the blade. Some people went off in search of food and drink and our guests provided coffee for anyone who wanted it. Geraldine returned from her water hunt but attempts to communicate with Nessie were once more met by his 'phone ringing on the boat.
Eventually we set off for the return trip. This was a little easier as the water level had risen. The biggest problem was that a vicious wind had sprung up, making it difficult to keep the boats in the channel. At one point we were stopped for quite a long time with both boats pinned on to the towpath by the gusty cross wind. As soon as you got a boat free another gust would put it back on the towpath.
At last we reached lock 3 and started to descend towards Ashton.
Earlier in the trip Carl, one of our guests, mentioned that a cousin of his had a boatyard in the area. This turned out to be Robert Holmes of the Ashton Packet Boat Co. I said I'd take him there, so this became our final destination. We worked down lock 1 and set off towards the Asda tunnel. As we passed Portland Basin it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't see Claire anywhere. Jason was steering the butty and a shouted conversation with him established that we'd left her behind at the lock.
It was pleasant to be navigating relatively deep and clear water. The ocassional plastic bag was removed by stopping and restarting the engine. Soon we reached the Ashton Packet Boat Co and tied to the rings opposite which have happily survived the tarmaccing of the towpath. Claire arrived, flushed from running to catch us up. She had been detained at the lock by a talkative person.
Carl went over Hanover St Bridge to meet his cousin and get a guided tour of the boatyard and its rail network. I cycled home.
In the morning our guests left for the drive back to Swansea. Aaron and I returned the boats to Portland Basin. I worked out a way of making the gearbox function correctly again.
Many thanks to Jason Wilson and Cheryl Louise Dinsdale for the excellent photos. The less excellent ones are mine.
Every year we plant a few trees to make up for the ones we use restoring boats. Mostly they are oaks. I collect acorns in the Autumn, plant them in a container, then keep repotting them until they're big enough for planting out. Last Autumn there weren't many acorns, but I did collect a few conkers and planted them. Here's a picture of the first one showing its head above the soil.
Some people may have read that I've been struggling with what Winston Churchill called The Black Dog recently. Nevertheless, I've been getting things done, though, perhaps, at less speed than usual. Last Saturday Aaron helped me to load scrap metal out of "Lilith" into our trailer for delivery on Monday to Mullaney's scrapyard up by Hartshead Pike. The metal has been in "Lilith" for a long time as we did our last recycling trip in February 2020. Prices have now recovered and we got £115 for this load.
After we'd loaded the trailer Aaron winded the 3 boats to put "Hazel on the inside to make things easier for Ryalwyn Garner, our gasman, to gain access for "Hazel"s annual gas safety check.
It's getting hard to find a Gas Safe registered engineer who is certified for LPG on boats with cookers and water heaters. A lot say that it's not worth all the extra training and fees for the amount of work available. Ryalwyn's main work nowadays is trading in parts for Messerschmitt bubble cars, which is far more lucrative. When he first told me he had a Messerschmitt I asked him if it could fly! He says he likes to keep his hand in with boat gas work as trading online he doesn't get to meet people.
Since I found I had prostate cancer in 2018, Nessie has taken over a lot of my day to day tasks. One of these was looking after the bilge pumps and their attendant batteries in our leakier vessels. These each have a float switch so that the pump switches on when the water reaches a certain level. For most of my adult life bilge pumps have been a major preoccupation. Almost every holiday has been marred by returning to a sunken boat as most people don't seem to be able to understand the simple physics of leaks, batteries, float switches and pumps.
Nessie has been improving things by installing lots of solar panels to keep the batteries charged. This saves a lot of lugging about of batteries. The latest panels are on the foredeck of "Elton".
Since the photo was taken he's angled them more to catch the midday sun, particularly important in winter.
it's nearly a fortnight now since we had a clearout of "Elton"s hold. It got to be a mess as it was used as a 'deal with that later' place for metal collected on recycling trips. It built up while we were busy restoring "Hazel", after which the society went into a decline that we're now recovering from.
Anyway, this is the second session of clearing, and we actually found the bottom of the boat. Daniel Stocks and Liz Stanford worked in the hold while I was on the bank identifying different metals and bagging them up.
The metal was weighed in and netted the charity nearly £70.
When we got our big trailer I knew it would need some work, like a new floor. Sorting it out has been delayed by key people having health problems. Luckily, Nessie keeps soldiering on in spite of everything that life throws at him. While the floor was missing I asked him to have a look at the brakes as they didn't seem to be very good. That's not surprising! They turned out to have almost no linings. A search for replacement shoes was fruitless so I took them to this company in Rochdale for relining.
It's going to be a bit lonely at the Heritage Boatyard for the next couple of weeks as Dave is having an eye operation and Kim is going on his holidays.
Here's Dave working on further security measures for the boatyard.
Here's Kim making new deck boards for "Forget me Not".
To celebrate the 50th anniversary of Ashtac, the Inland Waterways Association organised a working party to clean up part of the Ashton Canal on 21st/22nd March 2022. Ashtac was the codename for the huge 'big dig' on the Ashton canal in 1972, when over 1000 volunteers from around the country came to clear rubbish from the derelict waterway. They even laid an industrial monorail in the bed of the drained canal to transport the rubbish.
I think it's a great omission in Portland Basin Museum that there's nothing about this on display. It was a major event in getting the waterway restoration movement started.
The 2022 effort was rather less ambitious. It mostly consisted of litter picking and scrub bashing at Eli Whalley's, or Donkey Stone Wharf as it seems to be known nowadays.
In fact it's proper name is Ashton Old Wharf. It's the original terminus of the Ashton Canal. It ceased to be a terminus when the Huddersfield Narrow canal was built. It's role as Ashton's main wharf was later lost to Portland Basin.
The final industrial use of the wharf was as Eli Whalley's donkey stone works. Donkey stones were blocks of reconstituted stone that , were used for polishing the stone steps of houses. They were often distributed by rag and bone men in exchange for, well, rags and bones.
Some years ago British Waterways did some landscaping work on the wharf, including erecting three sculptures of flying geese. More recently I understand it has been let on a long lease to somebody and has become derelict. Latterly its been haunt for fly tippers, anglers, drinkers and the occasional homeless person's tent.
Our original plan was to take "Forget me Not" along but her gearbox problem prevented this. Instead we took "Lilith",towed on the outward trip by the Ashton Packet Boat Co's "Joel", another wooden boat. Our depleted volunteer reserves meant that there were only four participants from our group, me, Kim Tranter, Daniel Stocks and Nessie.
We laid "Lilith" alongside the foliage that was aggressively invading the canal from the wharf then, using implements provided by CRT, we proceeded to remove that foliage.
There were lots of young workers there from a scheme that was something to do with the Princes Trust and the Fire Service.
A good day was had by all. I still bear the bramble scars to prove it. Many people were involved in litter picking and I did my best to get the aluminium cans and bits of scrap iron loaded on to "Lilith" so that they could be recycled.
At the end of the day we winded "Lilith" and got a tow back to the basin with the trip boat "Still Waters".
On the Tuesday we left "Lilith" at the basin. I couldn't see much need for her as most of the recyclables had already been collected. People went on tree lopping and bramble bashing but, to be honest, I didn't really like what was being done. People like tidy and neat, but wildlife doesn't. We'd cleared the foliage that was obstructing the waters edge. To go further, I felt, was reducing the wildlife value of a piece of unused land.
CRT had supplied us with brand new bowsaws that were very hard to use as, though sharp, they had hardly any set on the teeth. I busied myself making these more usable, then went above the lock to deal with some overhanging vegetation at the entrance to Whitelands 'tunnel', one of 3 short tunnels in the area that was opened out over 100 years ago but is still known as a tunnel.
In the afternoon I had to head for home to organise paying for the gearbox parts that we are buying from Sweden.
I hope we'll have some WCBS working parties later in the year.
"Forget me Not"s gearbox developed a problem, so, we took it out and conveyed it to the wonderful Richard Powell in Kenilworth. Parts are on order from Sweden. Meanwhile, we had a wellbeing trip booked. I went in search of a willing tug. Luckily, I bumped into Kim Tranter who offered to do the towing with his boat "Aimee Lou".
"Aimee Lou" was originally a British Waterways work flat, rebuilt as a pleasure boat and fitted with a powerful engine. Though not short of horsepower, the relative lightness of the tug, combined with towing from an off centre dolly, made it hard for Kim to keep in the channel.
It's been a while since I posted anything. This is at least partly because the old long covid seems to have come back, making me feel knackered in the evenings. So, here's a bit of catching up.
A fortnight ago we were just setting off on a wellbeing trip with "Forget me Not" and "Hazel" when "Forget me Not"s engine stalled every time I put it into reverse gear. I took the top off the gearbox to have a look, but, was unable to work out what the problem was.
Via Facebook I contacted Richard and Sue Powell at Primrose Engineering in Kenilworth. If they can't fix it nobody can. They agreed to have a look., so, over the weekend I removed the gearbox then, after dealing with volunteers at Stalybridge on Monday morning, drove down to Kenilworth with it. It turned out that the epicyclic reverse gears had chewed themselves up through lack of lubrication. The problem seems to have stemmed from the oilway, that squirts oil through from the engine, which had got blocked. I'm currently in discussion with Stefan Strom who runs Albin Motor in Sweden about the replacement parts that are needed. Albin engines are no longer made but Stefan has virtually all the parts for them.
Unfortunately that trip had to be abandoned, but our guests spent the day on "Hazel" and seemed to enjoy being there.
Nessie has been busy finishing off the concreting of "Queen"s bottom and repairing her falling apart back cabin.
It was my birthday last Saturday so Em arranged a little holiday in Haworth, known to most as the home of the Bronte family ( Wuthering Heights etc) but known to me as the headquarters of the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway.
We stayed in a wonderfully quirky room at the Old Apothecary and went out for a meal at the White Lion (having rejected the Black Bull as a covid risk because it was so crowded).
In the morning I went for a walk up the nearby Penistone Hill, where old millstone grit quarries have been left to return to nature.
I walked up alongside the old quarries enjoying the views over the valley in the morning sunshine.
I turned back towards the town down a little lane with stone walls on each side.
A blackbird pair caught my eye, frolicking on the mossy top of the wall, probably looking for nesting materials. I watched them for a while until they separated. The female crossed the road and the male went into the field and started digging for worms. Carrying on down the hill, the lane became a path. I enjoyed the low bright sun dazzling the fields and trees.
Everywhere there were early morning dog walkers. Haworth seems to be home to a great many posh dogs. As I walked back down through the churchyard I met a woman with a fluffy brown spanielly thing. It started madly barking at me. "Oh" said the owner, indulgently, "she doesn't like men in hats.
I passed the church and carried on down the cobbled main street where I met another doglady, this time with a little white poodley thing. It started yapping wildly and straining at the lead. I smiled at its owner and said "Ooh, I'm scared" to which she replied "she doesn't like men in boots". Clearly it's wise to go hatless and bootless for a morning walk in Haworth.
I like mongrels.
Back at the Apothecary Em was up and we went for breakfast, then on downhill to the station for my birthday treat, a ride on the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway.
The locomotive rostered for the day was the Ivatt class 2 tank number 41241. When I was a kid this was the station pilot at Leamington Spa, my nearest main station. I have a memory of cabbing what was probably its sister, 41231 at the station, watching trains with my mum aged 6 or 7. The engine was coupled to mail vans in a bay platform, waiting for mainline trains to clear so that it could resume shunting. I asked to go on the footplate and the enginemen agreed. The fireman showed me the fire and I watched in awe as he opened valves in the complicated pipework in front of me. He was probably turning on the injectors to put extra water in the boiler. The driver and fireman joked between themselves. I just stood there, gobsmacked, in my element.
The stationmaster at Haworth is a very smartly dressed young man who is properly into character, and highly informative about the workings of the railway. An enthusiast to the core, his day job is working for the London & North Eastern Railway on more up to date trains.
Soon 41241 arrived, bunker first, from Oxenhope. Not wanting to risk mingling with others, we got into a non corridor compartment coach at the back of the train and enjoyed trundling down the valley to Keighley, where the steam railway shares a station with Network Rail.
Em was curious about Keighley and wanted a cup of tea, so, we exited the station. I don't think I'd ever left the station here either. Em's remark was "it's just like being in Salford". She quickly abandoned the idea of seeking tea and we returned to the platform where 41241 was getting ready to depart.
We got into a compartment again, this time close to the engine. The loco now had to work hard to raise its heavy train up the valley. The gradient was against it. I hung out of the window, enjoying the engine's crisp barks as it hauled us away from each station. Em dozed in the corner.
At Damems loop we passed the diesel working, a little railbus.
These lightweight vehicles were built in the 1950s to try to improve the economics of rural railways. Though much cheaper to run than steam trains they still mostly served stations that were fully staffed for just a handful of daily passengers. Rather than make further economies, the routes that they were used on were chopped off by the Beeching axe. The nearly new railbuses were disposed of.
With single line tablets exchanged, we carried on. Em got off at Haworth. The shiny shoed stationmaster was on the platform playing his part with enthusiasm.
I stayed on the train for the last mile or so to Oxenhope.
My original plan had been to wait around Oxenhope for an hour or so and catch the following train back to Haworth. I changed my mind because I had noticed that there was a good footpath following the line and, as my dodgy ankle was not hurting, I thought I'd enjoy the walk.
After a look round the silent engines in the museum I set off. Soon I came to a little stone bridge over a rushing stream. I leaned on the parapet and stared down into the roaring water. All of a sudden there was a blur of electric blue as a supersonic kingfisher flew under the bridge.
Mostly the footpath followed the stream, but, at one point it climbed the steep valley side. The high path overlooked a field with a couple of horses in it. One of them suddenly let out a prolonged neigh before cantering up the hillside to pose stock still nearby.
The little railbus purred up the railway.
The horse moved nearer to the wall. I imagine it was hoping to be fed, but I had nothing and, besides, horse owners are usually not keen on strangers feeding their horses. Fatalities have occurred as a result of inappropriate feeding.
I entered Haworth through a new estate of rather predictable modern flats faced in imitation stone. the exit from this estate was through the arched entrance to a former mill, now offices, which brought me out close to the engine sheds, formerly Haworth goods yard. One of my favourite engines was in view. Smoke was drifting from it's chimney and I imagine it was being tested ready for service.
In gleaming black paint the engine was the former Lancashire & Yorkshire railway goods engine, dating from the 1890s.
Attempts to contact Em by 'phone had been fruitless, so I went and stood on the long bridge that spans both river and rail. Soon the railbus, a remarkably quiet vehicle, crept up on me. Outside the engine shed stood the famous "Royal Scot", waiting for a steam gala the following weekend.
Thinking that the steam train would soon be arriving I looked for a good spot to photograph it. I didn't find one but I made this little video.
Telephonic communication was resumed and I headed uphill to the Apothecary to join Em. She said it was time for afternoon tea, so we went down the main street looking for a cafe. The one that we found served us with expensive coffee and some brownies that were more remarkable for presentation than flavour.
That evening neither of us were hungry, so we ate butties left over from our journey. Em watched a zombie film on her laptop and I read a book. Exciting times!
On the way home we visited a friend who lives in a flat in an old stone farmhouse in the hills above Hebden Bridge. While I enjoyed the amazing view and hippie atmosphere the two women caught up on years of life's experiences, with occasional interjections from me.
A wonderful little break. Perhaps the accursed virus will disperse so that we can enjoy more little holidays safely.
