We ran a 'Thank You' trip yesterday for some NHS workers. A new volunteer, Cheryl, came along and steered "Hazel" under Aaron's tutelage. She said she was a photographer. Well, I thought, everyone's a photographer nowadays. Then she sent me the excellent photos she took from "Hazel"s hatches.
I was on the motor boat which Mick Owen was steering.
A few pictures of a thank you trip returning through Dukinfield on 3rd November. "Forget me Not" steered by the wonderful Aaron Booth, "Hazel" steered by new volunteer Patricia under the tutelage of Geraldine Buckley.
When we were buying trailers to tow with the land rover, prices had gone stratospheric. I managed to locate a suitably sized box trailer at a reasonable price all the way down in Kent. It does the job but the chassis turned out to be both flimsily built and badly corroded. For the last few days Nessie has been busy reconstructing it. He's planning to finish it tomorrow morning ready for shop deliveries to commence at 10AM.
Over the weekend we were busy running "Hazel" trips for NHS workers and their families. It's the start of a pretty busy time, especially at weekends.
Emuna has just remarked that young people find it hard to credit that when we started school some of the older teachers had been born in the nineteenth century. It's true. When I was at Southam Junior Boys School the headmaster was Mr Dencer (yes, there were jokes about his name but not when he could hear). He retired in, I think, 1963, so, assuming he retired at 65, he'd have been born in 1899. I don't recall any members of Pink Floyd having attended the school but their "Wall" LP certainly resonated with me regarding schooldays.
I digress. I'm supposed to be writing about our need for a WCBS wood monitor. Firewood monitor would be better really. I call it that because in junior school they used to give a trusted boy (not me) the job of going round each day topping up the ink wells in all the desks. He was the ink monitor.
Through the winter our boat stoves get through a lot of firewood. This comes from various sources, but a major one is the firm of Cargo Packing Services, located near to Portland basin.
They make packing cases and produce handy sized offcuts all year round and are delighted to have people take them away.
The trouble is, too many people know about them. Perhaps I shouldn't be telling you! Anyway, in the winter, when firewood is needed, when you go there there's always somebody's just taken it all. In the summer, nobody wants it. The thing to do is to collect it in the summer and store it up. We have a bay in "Lilith"s hold reserved for this purpose.
For some reason, very few people seem to see the logic in this. Why fetch firewood when you've got plenty? They ask. It's an easy job that really helps the charity, but we struggle to find a volunteer who will reliably turn up a couple of days a week, take a wheelie bin over to CPS, fill it up, trundle it back, then bag up the wood, sorted into different sizes, and put it in "Lilith".
Following the tradition that if no-one else wants to do a job, I end up doing it, it's become one one of my regular tasks. I don't mind, it's just that there's lots of other jobs that I could be doing that somebody else probably wouldn't know how to do.
So, if you feel like volunteering, get in touch.
When the Dutton Drydock Company donated their Land Rover Discovery to the Wooden Canal Boat Society there were some prophets of doom who said we shouldn't accept it because the bottom would fall out of it. To be fair, at 24 it's a bit long in the tooth as motor vehicles go, but I was re-assured that the main structural component supporting the body had already been renewed. It was certainly a generous donation.
A little while ago I started to get concerned. Various items had dropped through a hole next to the back nearside wheel arch. I began to wonder if the doomsters had been right. The MOT is due soon.
I needn't have worried. The remarkable duo of Stephan and Nessie have been at work the last few days. There was a bit of a false start when I hired a mig welder from Marchstream in Denton. It didn't work. I'm not going there again! The bullet was bitten and I bought a new one from Machine Mart in Openshaw. Not much more expensive really.
The back end is now done, ready for shop collections and deliveries tomorrow (we still need a volunteer driver for doing this by the way) . Stephan has found more welding to do in the front end, then it will be ready for the scrutiny of the MOT person.
"Southam" is one of our younger boats, built by Walkers of Rickmansworth as a butty in 1936. She finished carrying work in 1962 and in 1965 was motorised and converted. She had a second life as a pleasure boat and residential craft until she sank on Braunston Puddle Banks in 1992. We bought her off British Waterways who had raised her and taken her to Hillmorton, where she sank again. After carrying out some repairs she housed a series of live in caretakers and did lots of work towing on recycling trips and on an epic trip to Lincoln to collect timber for "Hazel".
Various repairs have been carried out over the years. She's the best of our unrestored boats. In 2019 we replaced most of one side. 2020 was supposed to be the year when we sorted out the falling apart cabin, but because of that nasty virus, 2020 didn't really happen.
The engine fitted in 1965, a 3.8 litre BMC Commodore, was pretty much worn out, but a similar engine, hardly used. was donated by Tameside College. Stephan, our engineer has rebuilt it and transferred the marinising parts.
Now work has slowly restarted on the boat. Nessie has been armour plating the stern end ready to receive the engine.
Nessie has been busy clothing up "Queen"s cratch.
For the last 25 years or so I've been passing this lovely big beech tree at Guide Bridge. Often I would remark "one day there's going to be a big rumble and a splash and all that lot will come down". The beech was in the grounds of a catholic church, converted from a cinema. For most of that time the church has been out of use. Clearly there were once terraced gardens on the steep bank down to the canal. For all the time I've known it the gardens have been overgrown. I imagine the volunteer gardener died and nobody else wanted to be bothered. Parts of the bank are gradually subsiding towards the water.
Last night it was a bit windy. It's been much much windier and the tree stood, but perhaps last nights wind was in a particular direction that didn't suit the tree.
n 2010 Chris Leah and his friends Bex and Garry took the wooden narrow boats “Southam” (1936) and “Lilith” (1901) on a trip to Liverpool to collect surplus timber beams to use in the restoration of “Hazel” (1913). “Southam” has an engine and so towed “Lilith” which is a butty (unpowered narrow boat). This is the tale of their arrival in Liverpool. In the 1980s Chris worked on grain barges travelling in and out of Liverpool docks and it was Tony, his mate on the barges, who set up the timber deal.
With the boats tied up, rubbish bins and toilets emptied etc, I unloaded my bike and set off through Litherland along a road that didn’t seem to have changed much in the last 50 years. The shops had a decidedly 1960 look, but at least they were mostly still open. So many old shopping streets are now 50% or more boarded up or in non retail use. As I approached Bootle the surroundings took on more of a defensive atmosphere. Shops and other buildings dared not show a glazed facade to the outside world. Their windows were firmly blocked to intruders with hard brick or steel. I passed the New Strand shopping centre, a 1960s pile of square concrete, and crossed the canal. Soon I turned right and, over the canal again, freewheeled downhill to turn left on to the Dock Road.
This thoroughfare runs from Seaforth, the most active docks today at the very Northern end of the system, past the Pier Head and along the length of the obsolete South docks to Brunswick, now a marina. At one time it was paralleled by the Liverpool Overhead Railway, known locally as the “Dockers Umbrella”. When I worked with Tony on the grain barges I sometimes caught the Number 1 bus from Dingle, the length of the Dock Road to join the Parbella early in the morning. Usually I was the only passenger and the driver offered a reduced fare if I wasn’t bothered about having a ticket.
The road had changed surprisingly little in the past 25 years. As I pedalled along I passed a cavalcade of run down industrial buildings to my left, whilst on my right ran a high wall, and behind it glimpses of grain silos, cranes, mountains of scrap metal and of course, the new feature, huge wind turbines. There were even one or two ships to be seen.
I turned my bike into a wide unguarded gateway and turned along the end of an empty dock to inspect our beams. I was disturbed to see that 3 of them had been newly marked for cutting. As I was looking, one of the beam’s owners walked over from his office. He explained that they had decided that they needed to keep back some shorter pieces of the beams for another job but that we could still buy the offcuts. I told him that the whole point of this timber for us was its length, so I wasn’t interested in pieces only 10 feet long. Luckily, the longest one was not to be cut up, and we went on to discuss the logistics of moving the two remaining beams and loading them on to the boat. This would involve a huge man called ‘Tiny’, various large vehicles and a tub of palm grease.
With these arrangements put in train I rode on to the next gate. This one had a security guard, but a wave and a smile were enough to satisfy him that my business was above board. I found the workers at the engineering works, who were somehow involved in the deal, on their teabreak. I sat at a long old table with them in their dingey brick brew hut, dark with nicotine stains as this building is somehow exempt from anti smoking legislation. I explained the arrangements for moving the timber to the best of my ability, then listened to advice on horseracing that would probably be very useful if I were a gambler. My hosts returned to work, handing me a packet of cakes and leaving me to finish my coffee.
My next destination was a waste transfer centre located about a quarter mile away. The main business of the owner of the wharf that we intended to use was skip hire and rubbish disposal. I found the man in an armour plated office in the middle of the yard. He was a large avuncular fellow, who turned out to have an interest in transport history, and especially old boats. He took the leaflets that I proffered with interest. His long term aim is to turn the wharf into a marina, but for the time being it is used for storing lorry trailers. He asked me to let him know when the timber was on its way and he would send someone round to unlock the gates.
With all the arrangements made, I pointed my bike back towards Litherland and, on arrival, reported back on my journey to my fellow boaters, Bex and Garry. I suggested that we walk down to Seaforth and I would show them round the Docks. We made our way to the very Northern end of the Dock Road, but I found that I recognised nothing. We perambulated along a very secure fence but found no way in. Eventually we gave up and headed back through brick terraced streets. Later I found out that access to Seaforth docks is now by pass only, and the holes in the fence that were once used by ladies of the night to reach visiting ships were now firmly closed.
On our way back to the boats Garry entertained us with tales of extreme mischief from his schooldays. Clearly, Dennis the Menace had nothing on the young Garry!
We were expecting at least one more person to join us that evening, but it was not until I was about to go to bed that a carful of people arrived. They turned out to be someone who I shall call “Speed King”, his friend “Spanielface” and his 5 year old son “Whizz”. Whizz suffers from ADHD, or, to be more precise, those charged with his care and safety suffer from his ADHD. Mrs Speed King had driven them over from Manchester, and, by the time the potential difficulties of the situation had sunk in, she was speeding back home with the prospect of a quiet few days.
Whizz was soon charging about inside Southam and we began discussing sleeping arrangements. Bex and Garry were very keen that the new arrivals should sleep in Lilith’s back cabin. Having introduced them to their quarters, I climbed into the forecabin and went to sleep.
The new arrivals had brought no food, but they had thought to provide a vast stache of strong canned lager. Between them they began to consume this, steadily subsiding into semi delirium as Bex did her best to keep Whizz occupied. Eventually the situation got too much for Bex, so she took the toxic liquid into her custody and chased the new arrivals over to Lilith .
I arose at dawn and set off with the boats breasted up while everyone else slumbered. In Bootle the canal briefly turns west as it runs past the New Strand centre. Straight ahead loomed one of the slowly spinning wind turbines, its blades glinting in the morning sun as the old wooden boats chugged towards it. A yellow and silver electric train whirred and rattled across the scene as it set off from New Strand Station.
We passed the wharf and carried on to the junction with the Stanley Dock branch which ran off down a flight of locks to the right. Ahead, the canal ran to a dead end in a modern housing estate, the original terminal basins having been long ago filled in. I started to wind the boats in the wide entrance to the branch canal. I noticed Tony on the towpath. Once facing back the other way I brought the boats over to chat with Tony. He asked why I had come down so far. I explained that there are no other winding holes, but he pointed out that the whole canal was more than 70 feet wide. It had never occurred to me that you could wind anywhere on this canal, but I wanted to go as far as possible anyway.
I set off again with the breasted up boats, and before long we had arrived at the wharf and tied up with Lilith on the inside.
People began to emerge and soon breakfast was in production, Bex, as usual, providing platefuls of bacon and egg. When this was all eaten we set to work taking down Lilith’s cloths, mast and stands etc, for the first time in many years. We cleared the bags of firewood that the boat had been carrying out of the way and laid down some lengths of 3”X3” timber for the beams to sit on.
Whizz was now awake and needing entertainment. We had discovered a football in Lilith’s hold, so this was put to use to keep the little boy occupied and out of harm’s way. Every now and then a lorry would arrive to leave or collect a trailer, so Whizz had to be kept firmly in check as it manoeuvred. Lilith’s top planks were used to form a barricade and Whizz was ordered to stay on the safe side of it. I made ‘phone calls every now and then to check on progress. I was promised that I would get a call as soon as they were ready to bring the wood. This would be necessary to get the gate unlocked as each lorry driver had diligently locked the gate again behind him.
Without warning a crane appeared outside the gate, hooting. I rang our friend at the skip lorry yard, and very soon the gates were opened and a mobile crane set itself up on the wharf. A huge tractor and trailer parked alongside it and, after a little discussion of positioning in the boat, the first beam was lifted and swung into Lilith’s hold. The second, shorter, beam followed. Initially the trim was not quite right, so I got the crane driver to move it a few inches so that it balanced the longer one. Once I was satisfied with the trim, the crane and tractor quickly left and we went to work re-assembling the stands etc in the hold.
With everything reassembled I started Southam’s engine and we set off. I let Speed King steer as he seemed to be quite a natural at it. We took the boats singled this time, with Garry steering the butty, and I explained the need to take greater care when setting off as there was now a lot more weight hanging on the back of the towline. I showed him how to slip the line round the T stud and use the friction to start the butty moving gently rather than snatching it.
The following indicates why you should never be fooled into believing that nothing can go wrong. Speed King settled down to a speed that I felt was uncomfortably fast. However, we were making no wash and the canal was wide and free of traffic or moored boats. I couldn’t see what could go wrong, so I moved to the fore end away from the engine noise and started catching up on ‘phone calls that I had missed while we were loading the timber.
In the middle of a conversation with a woman who had spent all her savings on a wooden boat and was now beginning to have cold (and damp) feet, I looked ahead. A large dog was swimming confidently across our path on its way to rejoin its master on the towpath. I gestured to Speed King to slow down, but, instead, he steered towards the towpath to try to head it off. The timing was all wrong for this maneouvre. The dog got to the towpath first, having just missed Southam’s speeding stempost, but was struggling to climb out as 20 tons of historic boat threatened to crush it. When the boat got within leaping distance of the copings I jumped off, grabbed the dog’s collar and heaved it out just in time. The boat ground against the stonework where, moments before, the dog’s back paws had been clawing for a grip.
I looked up to see the inebriated dog owner laughing to see such fun, oblivious to the fact that he very nearly had an ex dog to carry home.
Looking back at the boats I saw that Southam had stemmed up (canal speak for run aground) and Lilith was rushing ahead on the outside of her. When a motor boat stems up and the butty runs alongside some quick action is required by the motor steerer in releasing the tow line. Trainee steerers tend to forget that they have a butty, until it hits them. On this occasion Speed King was too pre-occupied with trying to get moving again to think about the hurtling butty. I ran over, but too late to help. The line snatched tight as the butty overtook the motor. Feeling his boat start to move again, Speed King wound on full power and Southam shot forward like Lewis Hamilton was driving. I shouted to slow down and Speed King Knocked off a few revs, but not enough to avoid another horrible snatch on the line.
The boats hurtled on along the canal and I was stranded on the towpath. Only pausing to briefly berate Mr Drunken Dogwalker, I set off in pursuit at a trot. Whilst this was undoubtedly good exercise, ameliorating the effects of the daily fried breakfasts, I was concerned lest something else might go wrong while I was divorced from the boat. I got Speed King to slow down and move near enough to the towpath for me to leap aboard. On regaining the sterndeck I noticed that the 4” thick plinth that supports Southam’s back T stud now had a huge split right down the middle.
Note for steerers. If you do even the slightest bit of damage to the boat, I will notice. The best strategy is to own up, apologise and look humble. The worst strategy is a combination of excuses and denials. These make your error far more likely to become public knowledge.
Soon we were at Litherland again and I took charge to breast up and tie. A good bit of the afternoon still remained. I rang the Link Lads to find out when we would be able to arrange the leaving of Liverpool. They told me to ring them when we set out the following morning and they’d meet us at the first swing bridge.
Whizz was getting restless, so most of the afternoon was occupied with an impromptu game of football, All Adults v Whizz. There were no goals as such, but Whizz seemed to be doing his best to get the ball in the water, while the adults did their best to keep it out. The game ended at teatime and, after eating an excellent meal, I decided to go out to the Liverpool Subud house as there was a latihan that evening. I cycled to Seaforth and Litherland station and caught an electric train into the city centre. Emerging from the underground lines at Lime St Station I discovered that I had just missed a train to my destination, Mossley Hill, and there wasn’t another for an hour. I took to my bike and had a nostalgic ride through the city centre then through Toxteth and across Princes and Sefton Parks and on to Mossley Hill, where I met up with friends old and new for a very pleasant evening.
Next morning we had a fairly slow start, setting off at about 10 AM. I took charge of the motor boat, keeping a careful eye on the T stud every time it took some strain, and Garry steered the butty.
After a while we came to the narrows where on the way into Liverpool I had spotted some huge stainless steel stars dumped among other rubbish at the back of some unkempt gardens. I carefully slowed down and allowed Lilith to nudge alongside the motor’s stern as I brought them to a halt. I thought they would look great in our charity shop. I went over to the stars and tried to lift one. It wouldn’t budge. I tried another, with the same result. I looked, puzzled. The stars were bolted down. Suddenly it dawned on me that the stars weren’t dumped, they were a sculpture that had been allowed to become overgrown and covered in garbage. Laughing at my mistake I returned to the boat and set off.
I chuckled to myself at the situation as we travelled along. As we Mancunians had approached Liverpool there had been a series of jokes passed around based on the alleged tendency towards dishonesty of Liverpudlians ( a persistent but most inaccurate stereotype) and yet we had tried to steal their sculpture!
Soon we reached the first swing bridge and saw that the smiling link lads were waiting for us. I eased back as they searched for a break in the road traffic to allow them to start the swinging procedure. As soon as the bridge began to move I wound on the power again and the boats surged ahead.
Soon we were passing Aintree racecourse where preparations were in hand for the forthcoming Grand National meeting. Bex emerged from the cabin with tea and butties to share around. She had some prepared for Garry but, with no bridgehole in sight, there was no easy way to pass them over to him. I decided to break my usual rule and pull in to the side to hand over Garry’s vittles. This was achieved without stemming up or completely stopping. Round the next turn we saw the next swing bridge Our friends were already there, but the traffic was so heavy that I thought that we were going to have to stop and wait. With this in mind I moved over towards the towpath. Suddenly Southam’s fore end lurched upwards and sheared away to the right. I heard a splash, but when I looked I could seen nothing in the canal. Back on the butty, Garry was shouting and gesticulating, but with the noise of the engine and at a distance of about 90 feet I could understand nothing.
The bridge started to swing and, with the boat still rocking from her underwater encounter, I increased the revs and moved forward into the bridge. Waving goodbye to the BW men, the two boats moved on towards Maghull. Speed King came out to ask what was going on. He had been sitting on the toilet when the boat ran over the obstruction.
Bex came out on to the sterndeck and took over steering while I stood nearby to give her guidance. Speed King and Spanielface were on bridge swinging duty for the day. The engine revs suddenly started hunt, a sure sign that the gearbox is slipping. I pulled it out of gear and pushed it back in again, which solved the problem.
With the swing bridges of Maghull behind us we moved out into the fertile coastal plains of Lancashire. I rang our friend Cookie from Burscough to let her know that we intended to tie there for the night. Slowly the miles slid by. Every now and then the gearbox slipped again and I had to have a play with the gear lever to encourage it to bite once more.
Scarisbrick Marina is a huge square lake full of pontoon moorings, some of which have boats attached to them. I imagine that cost has something to do with the amount of vacant pontoons. The entrance to the marina is a new bridge, not far from the main Ormskirk to Southport road. As we approached this entrance the engine started to hunt again. I performed my usual gyrations with the gearstick, but this time, to no avail. It simply would not resume its grip. I cut the engine and pulled Lilith alongside, then looked for the long shaft to use to guide the boats to the bank. “That’s what I was trying to tell you back at the swing bridge” said Garry, “It fell in”.
Using the surviving, shorter, shaft, I moved the boats over to tie up next to the marina entrance. As soon as we were secure I took the top off the gearbox to see if I could see anything wrong. I was totally mystified about how the thing worked. I ran the engine and put it into gear with the top off. I got sprayed with oil for my trouble, but was none the wiser. I concluded that there was nothing that I could do to fix it. I would have to consult Frank the engineer, and probably remove the box.
Everyone was milling about in the cabin wondering what to do with themselves. Bex cooked a meal and then nagged Speed King, who had been very reluctant to deal with domestic matters, into washing up. I saw no point in everyone staying another night as it was obvious that the journey would not continue for some time. I had seen regular buses passing on the main road, so I insisted that most people should avail themselves of one of these to get into Southport and catch a train home. Bex and I stayed behind to clean, tidy and make secure the boats. We headed home the next day.