I just found this article lurking in the deep crevices of my computer. I think I wrote it for Waterways World but i don't think it ever got published. At the time Forget me Not had no engine so Southam was towing her as well as Lilith.
I miss the recycling trips, I think a lot of people do. Unfortunately they had to stop because of covid and it's not been possible to re-start them. Nowadays we are having to turn donations away at the door of the charity shop sometimes. i think this is because so many similar shops have closed for lack of volunteers.
beyond the canalside poplars was beginning to lighten from black to grey. I
parked at the end of the road against the steps leading to the footbridge over
the canal and unlocked the gates to the museum wharf. Celebrity canal cat
Captain Kit Crewbucket emerged from his nest aboard “Queen” and hopped
down onto the wharf, complaining bitterly about hunger and the drizzle.
I opened “Southam”s front doors and sorted out paper and kindling to start a
fire in her huge ex army range, wonderful cooking devices but pigs to light. As
it alternately roared and crackled, then belched smoke, then roared and
crackled again,I set about tidying the cabin, something of a work in progress
as it has been being re-fitted for the last few years, and checking that
everything we needed was in place. Adding a few more sticks to the fire, I
went out to check over “Forget me Not” and “Lilith” , wondering if any
volunteers would turn up on such a grim day. I checked “Queen”s pumps and
found that they had failed and the old boat was slowly filling up with water. I
brought 2 charged up batteries from the van and soon the pumps were
whirring again, saving the oldest surviving motor narrow boat from a watery
grave.
A bike rattled on to the wharf bearing with it young Aaron, always cheerful
and ready to laugh at everything you say, even if its not funny. I asked him to
fill “Southam”s firewood bunker from the bags of wood kept in “Lilith”. “OK” he
laughed.
Another early volunteer arrived, so he helped me to wind “Forget me Not” and
“Lilith” to get them pointing in the right direction. Using a long shaft to push
the stern ends round while I guided the bows with a line. The clouds parted
and a winter sun glinted on the wet boats. Thick wind blown smoke showed
that the range had decided to co-operate and begin to heat the kettles.
The allotted time for recycling trips is 9.30 AM. This came and went but there
were still only 3 of us. We need at least 8 to do a trip. A car arrived, full of
people. My 'phone rang. “I'm going to be about another 15 minutes” croaked
a familiar voice, “Is it OK if I bring me pipes”. “Hurry up and please do bring
your pipes” I replied.
“Southam”s fore end was now crammed with people. Someone had taken the
initiative to make tea for the masses. It was time to get people organised.
Sitting on “Southam”s roof I gave the obligatory safety talk, then selected
people to steer “Forget me Not” and “Lilith” (which were to be towed) and
work various lines as we set off. People moved to their action stations and I
went to “Southam”s engine room to fire up her huge old BMC Commodore.
I suddenly remembered the cat. Celebrity canal cat Captain Kit Crewbucket
had been following me around and trying to trip me up since I arrived. He
wanted his breakfast, but, had I fed him earlier he would have then gone to
sleep in one of the boats, only to wake up in a strange place, panic and
potentially disappear into the bushes. I picked out a sachet of catfood and
squeezed it out on to his dish, before giving last minute instructions to the
crews, untying “Southam” and putting her into forward gear.
The propeller stirred black mud and white carrier bags from the depths of the
arm as it pushed the boat forward then, as soon as she was into the main
canal, I engaged sterngear to avoid hitting the other bank. Moving the gear
lever to neutral position, I walked up the roof and used the shaft to swing the
bow to face in the right direction. “Southam” is very good at towing, having a
powerful engine, but, being a motorised butty, her manouverability is limited.
With the stern against “Forget me Not”s bow I take her line and shout “OK,
untie everything” to the boat crews before taking a turn on the T stud and,
with one hand holding the line and the other holding the tiller, I use my foot to
push the gear rod forward, a little grunt from the engine acknowledging that it
is properly engaged. As “Southam” moves forward I slip the towing line to
accellerate “Forget me Not” without a snatch. As she starts to move someone
walks back along her length with “Lilith”s line. As they hand it to the steerer I
move the gear rod to neutral and drift while they tie it on to the dollies. As the
steerer stands up and “Lilith”s line tautens I engage gear again and the boats
straighten into a line along the canal and past the new flats. The boats follow
dutifully as “Southam” swings round the first turn to enter the narrow confines
of Walk bridge.
Two short toots on the hooter is code for “can somebody please come and
speak to the steerer”, conversation along the length of the boat being
impossible because of the engine noise. After sending this message, Aaron
appeared in the engine room bearing an unasked for cup of coffee. Thanking
him, I asked Aaron them to send Danny up. He laughed. When Danny
arrives I hand him the tiller so that he can get the hang of steering along the
next, relatively easy, stretch of canal.
Looking back I spot Liz pursuing us along the towpath, carrying the black bag
that contains her pipes. There is a narrows at Princess Dock, where once
boatloads of Peak Forest limestone were shovelled from boat to railway
wagon. This allows the boat to nudge the bank so that she can clamber
aboard.
On the right we pass mills, built in a line along the waterway so that boats
could deliver coal to feed the boilers of the great engines that powered their
ranks of cotton spinning and weaving machinery. Now, just one is involved in
textiles, the rest of the survivors being divided into smaller industrial units. On
the left are railway yards. Busy in past times with wagonloads of goods being
shunted, now the few remaining sidings form a depot for track maintenance
machines.
Danny did well, keeping in the channel and negotiating a narrow bridgehole. I
took over again for the turn into Guide Bridge. “Forget me Not”s steerer took
the correct line, keeping the bow tucked into the inside of “Southam”s stern.
“Lilith”s steerer allowed her to swing too wide and so got dragged round the
outside of the bend. I cut the power as “Southam”s engine room entered the
tunnel like structure, then gradually wound it back on again, stirring
mouldering leaves from the bottom. Strangely, cutting the power at the right
moment makes a boat slip through a bridgehole quicker and keeps the
towline taut.
Silently thanking the Canal & Rivers Trust for the recent dredging the train of
boats passed a former railway bridge, once notorious for being full of
scrap iron, and approached the moorings of the Ashton Packet Boat
Company. Once a grim spoil tip, this is now a pleasantly wooded area with a
steam powered slipway, a narrow gauge railway system and various vintage
cranes. The boatyard is bordered by a main line railway and once, superb
timing ensured that the recycling trip co-incided with the passing of a pair of
Black Fives hauling a steam special. This time we meet a boat under the
railway bridge and I move over close to the last boat on the moorings to give
it room to pass, glancing back to check that the other two boats are following.
A long dark motorway bridge follows as the canal burrows under the M60 on
a skew. Exiting this, “Southam” rocks and rolls over shopping trolleys, already
built up after the dredging. Soon the waterway opens out into a wide,
bordered by interesting new houses, one in a Bauhaus style, then I shout a
warning to everyone to keep their heads down as we approach the ultra low
Lumb Lane Bridge.
Danny takes over again and I retire to the fore end, sitting on the roof so that I
can keep a good eye on all three boats. A few more bridgeholes are
navigated safely and I go back to take over as we approach the final bridge,
successfully avoiding giving a nudge to the boat tied alongside the old
Droylsden wharf house.
Approaching Fairfield Junction I shout instructions to the crew on “Forget me
Not”, reminding them to use the back end line (attached to a rail on the
forward bulkhead of the engine room) to stop her. I then give the tug a burst
of sterngear to slacken the towline, untie it and throw it back. While “Forget
me Not” and “Lilith” are drifting in to stop on the towpath bollards I aim
“Southam”s bow towards the third bollard from the lock. As it rubs against the
copings, Aaron steps off with a line and takes a turn on the bollard. I push the
gear rod forward, put the tiller hard over and increase the engine revs. The
stern begins to swing out and the boat powers round until I am able to throw a
line to someone on the towpath to get the boat, now facing back towards
Ashton, secured.
The volunteers on “Forget me Not” and “Lilith” had made quite a good job of
breasting up and tying the boats. Those in the know now go to work
unbidden, unloading wheelbarrows and wheelie bins and distributing gloves.
Someone gets busy with a spade clearing the towpath verges of doggie
droppings. Soon two collecting teams are organised and two convoys of bins
and barrows set off, to knock on about 350 doors, asking for clothes, bric a
brac etc . A couple of people are left back at the boats to keep the fire going
and load goods into “Lilith”.
This recycling collection has been run every month since 1996, calling at the
same houses every time. Intuitively you would think that the yield would
steadily diminish, but the reality is quite the opposite. Because our volunteers
are regular, reliable and they know the faces of the regulars, people save
their unwanted goods for us.
There is a pleasure in collecting other peoples tat that is I think akin to the
pleasure that some people derive from shopping, but with the great
advantages that it costs nothing and you don't have to find room in your home
for what you collect. The prehistoric joy of being on a gathering party survives
into the silicon age alongside hunting, fishing and tribal warfare, this last
surviving in a non lethal stylised form as team sports.
The collecting teams tend to spontaneously arrange themselves into
knockers and barrowers, the latter being mostly those who are shy about the
constant, and mostly pleasant, doorstep encounters that produce the goods.
Mostly our doorknocking volunteers are greeted with a smile from the
householder, often accompanied by bin bags stuffed with goodies.
Back at the boats, “Lilith”s hold steadily gets piled up with bags, boxes, bikes
and small items of furniture as barrowers from both teams deliver the goods.
Glenys is in charge of the big range on board “Southam” , keeping the fire
going, the kettles simmering and a big pan of stew that someone brought
happily bubbling.
Eventually the two teams link up to complete the last couple of streets en
masse, then the procession of bins and barrows heads back to the boats for a
well earned brew. Glenys cheerfully hands out mugs of tea and coffee and
butty bags are broken open. Nick, who kindly provided the stew, asks who
would like some, and soon dishes of this tasty concoction are being handed
round.
“Will anybody mind” Liz asks, “if I play me pipes”? There are no objections, so
she begins marching up and down the towpath playing a medley of Scottish
and not so Scottish tunes on her bagpipes.
Dinner done with, it's soon time to start the return journey. First of all “Forget
me Not” and “Lilith” have to be winded. The breasted up boats are shafted
round as a pair to end up lying three abreast on the outside of “Southam”. I
explain once more the procedure for getting the boats safely and smoothly
under way, then go and start the engine. With forward gear engaged,
“Southam” slips out from the inside of the stack of boats. As I pass “Lilith”s
fore end “Forget me Not”s line is passed to me and I take the strain on the T
stud. The sun is now shining strongly and several people have chosen to sit
on the temporary deck that covers “Forget me Not”s hold for the return
journey. The boats are soon all moving and heading for the Fairfield Road
bridgehole.
The trip back was fairly uneventful, save for somone putting some wet wood on the fire,
resulting in a smoke screen to make the steerer's task more challenging. At the last
bridgehole Matthew, Glenys's son, got off and ran ahead. As we approached Portland
Basin I put the engine into neutral to allow the boats to drift almost to a standstill, then,
using short bursts of power with the tiller hard over, used the tug to steer Forget me Not
over to the wharf. As she drew close I threw back the towing line and her back end line
was thrown to Matthew who was ready and waiting. I moved “Southam” over to the
towpath, where people could get off easily. Looking back I could see that “Lilith”s steerer
had successfully brought her alongside “Forget me Not”.
Mooring pins were quickly banged into the towpath and, with “Southam” tied
there I sprinted over the bridge to move the van on to the wharf and organise
the unloading before everyone headed for home. Soon the van was
being emptied again at the charity shop, another lot of goods saved from landfill
and ready to be sold to raise funds to keep the old boats going.
When everyone had left, celebrity canal cat Captain Kit Crewbucket made a thorough
inspection of his boats before settling down in his nest aboard “Queen”.
Canal speak.
Wind (as in moving air) or winding=turning round
Breast, breasted, breasting = boats tied alongside each other.
Shaft= bargepole
Sterngear = reverse
Lines= ropes
T stud, dolly= points where you can tie lines on a narrow boat
