It was October 1974 when I arrived in Chester on a pair of floating chicken hutches.
My intention was to live aboard my humble craft for the next 3 years whilst attending the nearby Chester College with the aim of
becoming a teacher I soon discovered that I had innocently sailed into a conflict between posh boaters and ‘undesirables’. Because
of my ramshackle boats, I found myself classed in the latter category.
As one of the chief ‘undesirables’ decided to emigrate to Holland he had to dispose of his assets here. This gave
me the opportunity to buy a full length boat for £100. A simple BCN joey.
The boat carried a metal plate in each end with the number 9 painted on it, her Stewarts & Lloyds fleet
number. She had been part of the huge fleet that used to carry products from Coombeswood tubeworks. Her top
bends were painted yellow, denoting that she had later belonged to Alfred Matty, canal contractors.
I later discovered that one of the tricks of the seller was to tow away unattended boats, sell them to several
people, then disappear, leaving his victims arguing about who was now the rightful owner. Happily. I was never
challenged about the ownership of number 9.
At the time I was engaged to an R E teacher called Kathy. The romance of the canals had really got to me
and I envisaged a future living in a back cabin. She saw herself enjoying life in a nice semi detached suburban
house. We compromised on a full length conversion of our new old boat.
When she visited to view our future home, I pointed out that the boat needed a name. “Call it ‘Lilith’” she said,
explaining that it was Hebrew for a screech owl and that she’d solved someone’s final crossword clue that day by
knowing that fact.
It turned out to be rather more than that! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lilith
I found a mooring for “Lilith” on a farmer’s field at Croughton, halfway along the Wirral line of the Shroppie. It cost 50p a week!
It was clear that before beginning the conversion I would need to do some work on the hull.
Opposite my Chester mooring was Taylors boatyard.
(Photo by David Dixon)
Alan Parry was busy there rebuilding a classic Taylors cruiser,
“Barbara Joan”, which had been burned out by vandals. I asked him where I could get some oak. He advised that
I shouldn’t waste my money on oak but should just go to the local timber merchant and buy lengths of red
deal. “It’s just as good” he claimed. I was puzzled by this but took his advice as he was a proper boatbuilder.
Eventually it dawned on me that he was just being kind. He assumed that, like most wide eyed youngsters
that start doing up an old wooden boat, I would soon give up. He wanted to protect me from wasting too much money.
Work really started in the Easter break in 1975. I bought the longest piece of 2” X 8” red deal that they had at
the local builders merchant and somehow balanced it across the saddle and handlebars of my folding bike,
then carefully pushed the contraption the mile to my boats. I loaded it on to the roof of one of my tatty craft,
then set off to deliver it to “Lilith”.
I chipped out a plank, cut rough scarph joints on the ends of the new plank and bolted it into place. As I
removed one plank, those around it started to disintegrate, so I repeated the process on them.
Soon I got to planks that were curved and so the wood needed steaming. I had no equipment so I approached
Alan Parry again. He lent me a gas fired industrial wallpaper stripper to generate steam. David Jones, who
had taken over Taylors yard, let me use some space and the master boatbuilder, Arthur Howard, lent me some big G clamps.
I put the plank into a long plastic bag, scrounged from a carpet shop, then led steam from the wallpaper stripper
into it for a couple of hours. Whilst the plank was cooking I set up a crude former. I put a stout wooden
beam on to blocks so that it was off the ground, then put two more blocks on top of this at what looked like
the right distance apart. When the plank was ready I removed it from its bag and laid it on top of the blocks,
then used the clamps to bend the floppy plank down to touch the beam halfway between the blocks. I would then
lash the plank down so that the clamps could be removed and returned to Arthur. Next morning I would
release the plank, now hardened to its curve, load it up on to the boat roof and take it out to “Lilith” for fitting.
This method would not work on most boats. Luckily, joeys are of a simple shape with no complex curves or twists.
In the 1970s ex Stewarts & Lloyds joeys were everywhere as they gradually dispersed their fleet. Of all the wooden joeys that were in once in every corner of the network I’m only aware of 4 survivors. Birchills is in the Black Country Living Museum. Daisy now belongs to Forces Veterans Afloat and has been somehow re-bottomed in re steel. There may be another one called Flute. Someone kindly did some research and discovered that No9 was originally built in 1901, though how much original material survived is a moot point. As Lilith she is now celebrating her 125th year, though more than 50 years after her restoration began, she now needs lots of new planks again.
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
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.
https://www.tameside.gov.uk/blueplaque/eliwhalley
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.
I'm disappointed! I was promised something that would
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!
What's actually happening is that it's a bit breezy and it's raining on and off. A sort of normal
winter day in Ashton really.I actually postponed a trip because of the weather warnings.
This, it seems, is Storm Eunice. She was supposed to be far worse
than Storm Dudley. I was at the Knowl St boatyard with Cheryl Dinsdale when Dudley struck on
Thursday. He at least got us soaked and blew things about a bit. When I got back to Portland Basin
I found that "Lilith"s cloths had blown off. Nessie has since put them back on.
I haven't taken any photos for a while, so, here's a nice picture of
"Lilith" on a sunny day. Photo by Jay Jengba.
"Lilith" was my first wooden narrow boat. I bought her for £100 in 1974, then replaced all but one of her planks over the next 9 years. Some research be Dave McDougal at the Black Country Museum showed that she was gauged on 2nd December 1901.
After we set up the Wooden Canal Craft Trust (as it was then called) I donated her. Since 1996 she's worked on recycling trips, as well as doing useful jobs like carrying timber for "Hazel"s restoration. Now, after more than 40 years, she needs her stern end rebuilding again.
Sadly, she's unemployed at the moment, except for storing firewood and scrap iron. The recycling trips are suspended until the covid infection rate drops considerably.
Here's a photo of "Lilith" tied alongside Boatmans Walk.
No, I'm not just harvesting likes. About a month ago we found that a feral cat had given birth aboard "Lilith". We couldn't take them with us on the recycling trip so I moved the kittens on to "Elton". Mother cat then moved them into "Queen", well hidden. Several people have been feeding the mother, who was rather skinny. She's now looking a lot better.
Today I saw the kittens out gamboling in "Queen"s fore end. They're lovely. We already have homes offered for some of them but I think some help is needed in catching them. We need to catch the mother too and get her speyed, otherwise a boatload of kittens will become a regular thing.
The trip started a bit late because we found some Kittens aboard "Lilith" and had to move them. Good turnout and a lot to collect. Tameside Radio came along and did some interviews. Here's some pictures.
A really enjoyable trip. Here's some pictures.
A winter's night on “Hazel”.
It's the time of year when we don't get much sunlight and so “Hazel”s batteries need to be topped up from the mains every now and then. She has a huge bank of batteries that need a special charger and can't all be charged at once. Someone, normally me, has to stay to switch from one set of batteries to the other sometime in the night. I don't mind as I get to stay in “Hazel”s wonderful back cabin.
To charge up I have to shaft the boat the short distance across the aqueduct to Dukinfield and tie up beside the premises of Dixon & Smith, Motor Engineers. Pat and John are kind enough to let us plug in whenever we need power. Tying up is easier said than done because of all the rubbish in the canal. To get the bow close enough to get on and off the boat, the stern has to be pretty much in the middle of the cut as there is something big that catches the middle of the boat and causes her to pivot. There was nothing to tie the stern end to as the boat lies along the end wall of a factory. Between the factory and the water there is a small bank of rubble so, some time ago, I drove a pin into this and attached an old ratchet strap to it. In order to tie up I have to hook the ratchet strap with the cabin shaft and pull it to me. I then pass the stern line of the boat through the ratchet strap and tie the line to the timberhead. At the fore end there is a chain with a hook on the end secured to a post on the bank. All I have to do is put the fore end line into the hook and tie back to the T stud.
When tied like this, the back cabin is facing the railway bridge and I enjoy hearing Trans Pennine Expresses growling by, interspersed with the occasional freight. If I open the doors I can watch them and wonder if the passengers notice my cabin light below them on the canal.
For ages the weather has been rainy. I've been fed up of the rain, especially as I'm trying to work on “Forget me Not” on dock. Now, all of a sudden the wind has turned to the North and we're getting those cold clear winters nights that I love. Tonight the mopstick was frozen to crunchiness by 8PM.
I've been writing all evening, or rather talking to my computer, my friend Jackie will type up what I've recorded. Now it's bed time. The cabin is so warm I keep falling asleep. I tried opening the doors to let the heat out, with the range roaring away it gets extremely toasty in here.
Whilst writing the above paragraph I fell asleep. I woke again in a cooling cabin a couple of hours later, so I turned out the light and snuggled into my sleeping bag. In the morning it was cold. I had a flask to make coffee so I decided not to light the range. All I had to do was to shaft the boat back over the aqueduct to Portland Basin. I quickly dressed and put on all the gloves I could find, then climbed out into the crisp cold still dark morning. After disconnecting the charging cables I untied the lines, stiff with frost, and threw the ratchet strap back on to the bank. I then grasped the icy shaft with my gloved hands and, taking care not to slip on the frosty roof, pushed the fore end out into the channel, cat ice chinkling as the boat pushed it aside.
The stern end was stuck on something and, as I couldn't exert as much effort as usual because I was standing on a slippery surface, it took a while to get it free. By this time my hands were becoming very painful in spite of the 3 pairs of gloves that I was wearing. I decided that I would have to go inside to warm up. I went into the main cabin and lit a fire, enjoying its heat while I drank a cup of coffee.
When I had thawed sufficiently I climbed back on to the roof in the now bright and shiny but still cold morning, and started to move the boat towards the aqueduct, jumping down on to the towpath to give her a good tug with the fore end line before climbing back aboard to swing her round with the shaft and tie up abreast of “Lilith”. With everything secure I headed for home to get ready for another day working on “Forget me Not”.