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.
I met Em on Ashton bus station in November 1988. We hit it off straight away but for years and years we lived in separate establishments. Hers a neat and tidy little house, mine a leaky old boat. Eventually, sometime after I became homeless because "Hazel" sank (this was before her restoration) she allowed my scruffiness to move into her house, and I learned to live with her regular cleaning frenzies. Neither of us were really that bothered about being married, being old hippies, and we certainly didn't want a wedding with all the fuss that it entails. The trouble is that we're both getting to the time of life where Google ads frequently send us links to funeral services. When one of us pops our clogs, unwed, the survivor would have an awful time dealing with the legalities of property, pensions etc. We're not going to follow the Hindu tradition of Suttee so, barring horrible accidents, one of us has to go first. We decided to quietly slip away to Cardiff and get a couple of friends to act as witnesses.
There was a fair bit of fuss really, I had to have a bath and wear posh clothes, Em dressed up and carried flowers from Victoria and Springy's allottment. It was a lovely little ceremony and we promised all kinds of difficult things then got a bilingual certificate to prove we'd done it. Thanks to Springy, Victoria, Joy and Ric for being witnesses. Afterwards we all went for a really nice meal in a pub near Taffs Well.
I hope nobody is too upset at missing out on the wedding of the year with carriages and top hats and the blushing bride done up like a meringue. Sorry, but both of us would have hated that.
I'd like to show you the wedding pictures but the only one of her that Em will allow is this one from our honeymoon.
"Hazel" was booked for a birthday trip on Saturday 1st October so we loaded up our guests at Portland Basin and towed her with "Forget me Not" to tie near Marple aqueduct. The weather was sunny and the water up to weir level so it was a really good trip with good company. Our guests really enjoyed it. We left them there as some of them were staying overnight, running back to Portland Basin with "Forget me Not" ready for the recycling trip on Sunday morning. Once again this was in wonderful autumn sunshine, we had a great bunch of volunteers and a good haul of saleable stuff to go to the charity shop.
After the trip me, Tony and Aaron took "Forget me Not" back up to Marple ready to bring "Hazel" back on Monday. For the return trip our only guest was Bridget, who was testing the boat for wheelchair friendliness. She's suggested a few modifications but thoroughly enjoyed the trip and I hope she'll be back as a volunteer. Here's a few pictures of the recycling trip and the Sunday evening trip up to Marple
While we were away at the Bollington Historic Boat Gathering I had to keep popping home to check on the boats as we had no volunteers able to look after the pumps. this involved various train journeys. I like trains, even modern ones. Here's a picture of a Cross Country Voyager set rushing through Adlington as I waited for the local train to Manchester on 16th September 2016.
On the morning of the 19th I got a train from Hyde North to rose Hill then cycled along the Middlewood way to Bollington. As I waited for the train a couple of nodding donkeys (class 142) arrived on a Manchester working.
Immediately out of the station they clatter over the pointwork to join the route from Hadfield (formerly the Great Central Woodhead route)
I was surprised by a class 66 with a train of stone empties heading for the Peak District, carrying on with the kind of work that the Peak forest canal was built for.
It was a hot sunny day and I was busy working on the boats at
Portland Basin when I noticed a wheelbarrow parked on the towpath
across the canal. As we have wheelbarrows on the boats for collecting
on recycling trips, I went over to see if someone had borrowed on of
ours. When I got there I could hear banging and slushing noises from
the other side of the stone wall. The ground drops steeply down about
20 feet of wooded rocky bank to the River Tame. I looked over and saw
three men sploshing about in the river and dragging out rusty bikes,
scaffold poles etc. One of them saw me looking and explained that
they had decided to clean up the river.
This public spirited explanation was slightly marred by the fact
that they only seemed to be removing metal objects, leaving behind
much, equally unsightly, but valueless, plastic.
They dragged their ochre encrusted booty up the bank, over the
wall and managed to load it into the sagging barrow ( which wasn't
one of ours). I imagine they must have had a van nearby because it's
over 2 miles to the nearest scrapyard that takes iron.
I think it's a good thing that people clear up and weigh in the
clutter that others have carelessly discarded, but I also see
desperation in the men's actions. I haven't seen this sort of
activity since the 1980s when long years of unemployment spurred the
picking up of beer cans, dragging ditches for scrap metal and other
forms of scavenging. Anything to make a few bob to try to make ends
meet. Are we now going to have another no hope generation like that
of the Thatcher years? Growing up with no understanding of the
concept of working for a living.
Despite having to scrape a thick coating of ice off the van
windscreen I was surprised to find that the cut had frozen overnight
yet again. Fian had spent the night boatsitting and I was a little
concerned as she tends to feel the cold. Smoke was drifting from
"Forget me Not"s chimney, so she was obviously awake, but I
followed proper boating etiquette and avoided her cabin until she
emerged. She said she had had a wonderful night and actually enjoyed
being woken by squabbling geese at 3 AM!
After checking the bilges and feeding Captain Kit I carefully
climbed across the ice sugared boats and started "Southam"s
big engine to back her over to the towpath side for easy access by
volunteers. "Forget me Not" and "Lilith" made a
fine sight breasted up at the wharf. Soon people began to arrive and
I had a busy time allocating people jobs, giving out safe boating
information to first timers, of whom there were many and generally
checking that everything was ready, dealing with a closed damper on a
range that was causing people to be kippered etc.
As 10 AM approached I asked everyone to climb aboard and began
shafting "Forget me Not" and "Lilith" round to
face towards Droylsden. This was easier said than done as the ice,
though thin, was a great impediment.
With the two currently unpowered boats a little way past 90
degrees of their 180 degree turn I noticed that the person I had
asked to steer "Forget me Not" had taken it upon himself to
go and start "Southam". Despite my waving he untied the
boat and set off, but stopped again when my dancing, waving and
shouting was relayed to him.
I had a dilemma that often occurs when working with volunteers.
It's important for smooth running and safety that everyone follows
the skippers instructions, but if you're too severe in imposing your
authority you soon find yourself working alone.
I ran over to "Southam", which was now drifting in the
middle of the cut and could only be accessed by climbing down off the
footbridge. I found that the stern end mooring line was still tied to
the T stud, it had been simply lifted off the mooring pin and thrown
aboard instead of being untied and coiled ready for use as it should
be. Even worse, the mooring pins had been left in the towpath. I
climbed back on to the footbridge, retrieved the pins and re-gained
the boat, explaining, I hope tactfully, that I had good reasons for
my steering allocations and pointing out the shortcomings re lines
and pins.
Moving the boat forward I nudged her past the bows of the other
two boats and quickly explained that as I towed "Forget me Not"
forward the line from "Lilith"s stem should be taken back
and tied on to "Forget me Not"s stern. I took the strain of
"Forget me Not"s line on "Southam"s T stud and
pulled her forward, though she bounced off the knuckle of the Peak
Forest turn because "Southam"s premature move had resulted
in the turn being incomplete. My instructions must have been
misunderstood because "Lilith"s line had not been carried
to "Forget me Not"s stern and, as the two boats had
separated, had to be thrown some distance. At the third attempt the
line made its target, but almost too late. Boats do not have brakes
so, once "Forget me Not" was moving her 15 tons or so was
not going to stop. Seeing "Lilith" lurch into line I
engaged forward gear again, but a few minutes later waving and shouts
of Stop caused me to pull the lever back to nuetral again. "Lilith"s
line had not been properly secured and was slipping off. There was no
way I could actually stop the train of boats so had to let them drift
while the line was re-secured. "Southam" stemmed up un the
outside of the turn by the old Junction Mill chimney, now an icon of
Ashton. "Forget me Not" wedged in alongside and, once more,
the ice made things difficult as we tried to shaft the boats off the
rubbish. As I tried to back her out "Southam" picked up a
sturdy canvas bag on her blades, which had to be cut off, hanging
over the side with a knife while young Daniel Cocker held on to my
feet.
Eventually we got going again. Julie Edwards had rung up earlier
to say that she would be late and would catch us up. She was waiting
at Margaret St Bridge and hopped on to "Southam"s sterndeck
as we passed, sharing with me the noise and smoke for the rest of the
journey.
Despite my efforts with the knife, there was clearly stil some
rubbish on the blades. The engine was struggling and making black
smoke, the rudder was juddering and the water was boiling round the
stern rather than going back in a clear stream. I kept giving bursts
of sterngear to try to throw it off. This had some effect, but never
got the blade completely clean and it would always pick up some more.
As we passed the site of Robertsons Jam factory, now nearly
demolished, a grunt from the engine indicated more rubbish collected.
I tried reverse again and the engine stalled. Restarting it, I tried
forward again. This unravelled the rubbish, but, looking down into
the water, I could see something trailing behind that would obviously
go back on to the blade if sterngear was engaged.
We tied up "Forget me Not" and "Lilith"
breasted at Fairfield Junction quite neatly and winded "Southam",
a manoeuvre slightly impeded by the crap on the blade, then everyone
unloaded themselves and started digging out barrows from "Forget
me Not"s hold. There were lots of new people and setting off on
the collection round was a little chaotic. Most people got the hang
of it quite quickly though and soon the two teams were busying
themselves collecting from the Moravian Fields estate.
With so many people the speed of collection made up for time lost
at the beginning of the trip. I became a little disappointed by the
quantities and began to wonder where half the volunteers were,
beginning to grumble that they were probably back at the boats having
a brew, only to find that they were actually all busy emptying a
garage full of stuff that had been donated.
When we had knocked on the last front door and barrowed the last
load back to the boats, Fiona started handing out dishes of the
excellent food that she had brought, with alternative options for
carnivores and herbivores. Time to relax and eat and chat.
After two plates of excellent grub, I picked up the cabin shaft
and started poking at the tangle of garbage on the propeller. This
turned out to be mainly carpet, which was wound tightly on and bound
with all manner of fibrous plasticky stuff. After much prodding and
pulling I managed to get it all off, building a great mound on the
sterndeck.
The next task was to wind "Forget me Not" and "Lilith".
This is carried out by pulling them forward alongside "Southam"
then, as their bows approach the tug's stern, pulling back on their
front lines whilst shafting the stern ends sideways. This usually
swings them round quite neatly and puts them in a good position for
setting off, which was achieved quite neatly this time.
With the train travelling quite nicely along the canal and Kevin
enjoying having a go at tug steering, I decided to walk alongside,
stopping at Lumb Lane bridge (one of the lowest on the canal system)
to try out the video function on my new camera
The early morning frost had given way to a really nice sunny day,
with refreshingly cold air. I enjoyed my walk, but kept my eye on the
boats to make sure that everything was OK. I jumped back on board
before the tricky turns through Guide Bridge, which were negotiated
neatly by the steerers. I took over at Margaret St bridge to deal
with the tricky arrival at Portland Basin. The procedure here is for
"Southam" to head straight for the wharf then swing round
to run parallel to it. "Forget me Not" follows and, if you
judge it right, she will run neatly alongside the wharf to be stopped
with her back end line (which is on the front of the engine room)
while "Lilith" neatly slides alongside her. "Southam",
once the towline is thrown off, then goes over to the towpath side of
the canal to make it easy for volunteers to get off. She is then
shafted back across to tie alongside "Lilith" (trying to do
this by engine power is a nightmare because of the impossiblity of
manouvering this boat in reverse gear).
Very quickly all the volunteers melted away in the afternoon sun
and I made my way home.
Friday morning at Portland Basin. The snow and ice had departed
overnight and so I was able at last to drive the van down the hill to
the wharf. I noticed Mr Woodcutter perched on the hatches of "Elton"
peering into the watery interior. I had been unable to keep the boat
afloat during the icy period. I think ice had prevented a bilge pump
from switching off, so it ran until the battery was exhausted, then
the boat filled up with water.
As I walked over to talk to the woodcutter my eye detected a
movement near the stern end of "Hazel". A flash of electric
blue whizzed out across the water as a kingfisher took flight. It is
years since I've seen a kingfisher at Portland Basin. I was
delighted. It seemed like an omen of good things to come in the
awakening year.
Mr Woodcutter came back across the boats and I set him up with
some waste wood to cut up for the boat ranges. He is the first
volunteer I have ever come across who never tires of cutting wood.
Consequently we have not had the usual Christmas firewood crisis this
year.
Mr Woodcutter is an excellent fellow, and yet would be despised as
a scrounger by many, which is why I call him Mr Woodcutter. He is a
simple man, not in the sense of being a simpleton, but of enjoying
the simple things in life. He enjoys walking and physical exercise,
which is why he comes and cuts our firewood. Most of all he enjoys a
skinful of good quality ale (none of your cheap lager thank you very
much). Unlike many who get the taste for alcohol, Mr Woodcutter seems
to be very much in control of the drink, rather than the drink being
in control of him.
Mr Woodcutter's dislikes include employment, which is why some
people would have little time for him. Personally I feel that the
idle rich, who live by renting out their inherited assets, are more
of a brake on the well being of the populace than the few who choose
to take the pittance that the dole offers in return for a less
stressed life. Post triumph of capitalism that is an unpopular view!
Mr Woodcutter is an expert at staying one step ahead of the
system, and good for him. He is fascinated by the Loch Ness Monster
and often stays near Inverness, which he considers to be the best
place on Earth, in order to catch a glimpse of the fabulous beast. So
far he has been unsuccessful.
I lit fires in "Forget me Not" and "Southam"
to dry the cabins out, then started the petrol powered pump to raise
"Elton". As the water gushed from "Elton I started
sorting out the bilge pumps that had failed during the icy period.
Soon the boat was floating again and the woodcutter had run out of
work for his bowsaw. We picked up saw horse, bowsaw and firewood
sacks and walked the quarter mile to the bit of woodland that I look
after. Mr Woodcutter was happy to get to work cutting up the
sycamores that I felled a week or so previously.
Returning to the boats I put some pies in "Southam"s
oven and carried on sorting out pumps. Mr Woodcutter niether eats nor
drinks during the day so I enjoyed my meal alone. He cut loads of
wood, which I collected in the van later. By the end of the day,
which is about 3PM at this time of year, things seemed to be getting
back to normal after the disruption caused by wintry weather.
Friday morning I arrived at Portland basin to get the usual
working party on the boats started. As I looked through the gates I
immediately knew something was different, but it took me a few
seconds to realise that "Elton" had sunk. "Elton"
has always been the Cinderella of our little fleet. She is currently
mainly used for sorting out recyclable metals. She really needs a
Prince Charming to come along and start tidying her up. To some
extent that has started, as Andy Smethurst and Terry James have made
a good job of painting her back cabin in Grand Union colours.
For a while I'd been concerned about her increasingly sieve like
qualities, but kept putting off the unpleasant task of moving all the
useful items in her hold to search for porous bits of the bottom. My
failure to make a stitch in time had led to the current situation.
Soon I had the 2" pump set up and gushing water from "Elton"s
bow. As she gradually rose up in the water I went about my normal
tasks, helping volunteers to get their jobs done. Ken was busy
repairing "Forget me Not"s shutts and Gary busied himself
cutting firewood to see us through the winter. Arfa kept "Forget
me Not"s range going and showed visitors round the cabin.
Eventually the revving and slurping of the pump told me that
"Elton" was nearly empty. I set up an electric pump to
remove the dregs of the water and hoped for the best as it was fast
approaching time for the afternoon's jaunt.
Some months ago we acquired a Bolinder semi diesel engine that had
formerly powered a Grand canal barge in Ireland. When first motorised
"Forget me Not" was fitted with a bolinder, sadly scrapped
in 1959. It has always been our intention to re-fit one, but soaring
prices had made it look unlikely that we would ever succeed. Happily,
this one was affordable, though of a slightly different, earlier,
design to most.
I had arranged for our engineering department to have a look at a
functioning Bolinder in the FMC motor "Rudd", moored at
Bedford Basin in Leigh. So it was that Ike Isherwood, Chris Duxbury
and me climbed into the society's old Transit van for the trip to
Leigh.
When we eventually found Bedford Basin I was surprised to see my
old boat, Bridgewater packet "Parbella", tied up and
looking a bit neglected. I recognised her by a dent in the bow. For
two years in the 1980s I steered "Parbella" between
Liverpool and Frodsham carrying grain.
Round in the basin we found "Rudd" and Tim Young, her
owner, welcomed us aboard. Lester was already there. We all climbed
into the engine room and admired the gleaming engine. Tim explained
the principles on which the Bolinder operates. It is largely steam
engine technology applied to internal combustion. He explained all
the dreadful things that can go wrong. Lester looked increasingly
worried.
The discussion turned to reversing. Bolinders reverse by injecting
fuel at the wrong time and so reversing the rotation of the engine.
this doesn't always work and sometimes the engine stops. You always
need to have a strategy for dealing with this if it happens.
Our engine has no reversing mechanism. In Ireland they didn't
bother with reverse, stopping the boat by running into something. For
operation with a butty we need reverse, so the discussion moved to
means of achieving this. One way would be to discreetly fit a gearbox
under the cabin floor. The other way, which seems to be favourite at
the moment, would be to assemble a reversing mechanism from spare
parts and specially made parts.
The plan now is to arrange a viewing of our engine, which has an
extra esoteric feature of water injection, by various Bolinder
experts.
On return to portland Basin I was pleased to see that "Elton"
was still floating. Closer inspection showed a problem though. The
electric pump had been running continuously while I was away but the
water level in the boat was higher than when I left. This meant that
the water was leaking in faster than the pump could shift it out
again. I rigged up a bigger pump but this just flattened the battery
in no time. Evening was drawing on and I was fighting a losing
battle. I decided to let her sink again and have another go in the
morning.
Saturday Morning I met Anthony Benson on the wharf and started the
2" pump again. We rigged up a big electric pump in the stern
end, connected directly to a generator. Overnight I had charged up a
stack of batteries, so I was confident about using the big electric
pump in the bow too. Soon the boat was afloat and the two of us got
stuck in to moving things around until we had traced the source of
the influx. In fact, there were two, Tony found one and I found the
other, almost simultaneously. With the aid of that wonderful boat
bodging material - expanding foam, both were soon plugged. With
automatic pumps rigged up I could then retire for a much needed wash.
"Forget me Not"s Bolinder now masquerades under the name "Henry Grantham" on Facebook. He needs friends who can help to get him up and running again.
We do two recycling trips each month, normally on the first Sunday
and the first Monday of each month. The Sunday one currently involves
"Southam" towing "Forget me Not" and "Lilith"
in an impressive 210 foot train along the canal. This is because
"Forget me Not" is currently unpowered pending fitting of
her 80 year old Bolinder engine. There are usually a fair number of
volunteers and we collect from about 350 homes near Fairfield
Junction, Droylsden.
The Monday trip is usually a more relaxed affair. A few volunteers
meet at Portland Basin at 6 PM and take a single boat for a trip to
collect from one street, Gorseyfields. In the winter the trip is
entirely in the dark.
For a picture of "Southam" see
- She's
the blue and red one in the bottom right hand corner.
This month the trips took place on 4th and 5th October. The Sunday
one was straightforward and very enjoyable. The Monday one was a bit
difficult.
We met as usual at 6 PM. Only 3 turned up, myself, Mike Greenwood
and Bex (Rebecca Morgan). That's Ok, We've done the trip with only
two. We set off on "Southam" and all was going fine until
the engine stalled at Guide Bridge. As it's a 3.8 Litre BMC Commodore
it takes some stalling. A little poking around with the cabin shaft
revealed an enormous tangle of wire on the blades. It turned out to
be telephone wire, but tangled up in it were sticks, clothes, wire
mesh fencing and part of a motorbike engine ( there used to be a
motorbike workshop in the adjacent mill and they tended to throw
unwanted components in the cut).
By the time this lot was stacked under the sterndeck it was dark
and we were running late. Luckily "Southam" swims like a
fish so we wound some power out of her huge engine and were soon at
Fairfield. We winded and tied up at Fairfield Road bridge. Just as we
were preparing to start collecting, a posse of hooded youths crossed
the bridge and started pelting us with stones from the cover of a
stone wall. This was not the first time that this has happened. I
chased them off and we rang the police.
It was necessary to leave Mike and Bex guarding the boat. As
expected, the miscreants made another attack up the towpath before
retreating to cause mayhem elsewhere. I went collecting as I was the
only one who knew the route.
Eventually I got the collection done, there wasn't too much, I
think partly because it was getting too late for some people to
answer their doors. The police still hadn't showed up so we started
the engine and headed back towards Ashton. We'd only gone two bridges
lengths when the engine stalled again. This time the problem was a
huge cluster of stainless steel swarf jammed on the blade. The cabin
shaft turned out to be insufficient to remove this, so I had to put
some thick gloves on ( it's vicious stuff) support myself with one
hand on the cavitation plate while I reached down to the propeller
and pulled off handfuls of curly metal with the other.
While I was head down and soaking wet my 'phone rang. It was the
police, wondering where we were. They had been delayed by a call to
another incident which they thought was probably caused by the same
group of toe rags.
With the blade clean (ish) again we got moving. At Guide Bridge
the engine grunted and coughed as we passed the site of the telephone
wire. An appeal to the gods of the cut and a quick blast of sterngear
cleared the blade again and we carried on, chuntering into Portland
Basin some time after 11 PM.
It was Mike's first recycling trip. Despite the problems he says
he'll come again. Well, it would be boring if it all went smoothly
every time wouldn't it?
On the Sunday trip we generally take a train of 3 boats with
"Southam" towing "Forget me Not" and "Lilith"
It had been a long day, made less comfortable by a vicious wind
that whipped up the sawdust into a desert storm. As I inserted the
resharpened saw into the groove for the final cut, an Anderton Marina
hireboat emerged from the Peak Forest Canal and started to turn into
the wind towards Manchester.
The lady of the boat, a solidly built cheerful scotswoman, walked
by on the towpath with a big collie dog. We exchanged smiles and she
carried on, then backtracked to ask about a safe mooring for the
night. Her husband was now frantically backing up to avoid the boat
hitting the newly repainted "Community Spirit" on the
outside of the turn. The wind caught the flat cabin side like a sail
and took the boat sideways.
I suggested that they back up and tie on the outside alongside the
flats, the site of the prophet John Wroe's magnificent but long
disapeared house. This was good advice from the point of view of
having an undisturbed night, but would involve some manoevring that
beginners would find challenging even on a still day.
As we spoke the boat reversed into the shallow water on the far
side of the bridge and the rudder crunched into the stone copings.
The bonny lady hurried over the bridge to help push it off and pass
on my advice to her partner. He engaged forward gear and attempted to
get the stern away from the bank, but an ominous underwater
clattering indicated that the blade had picked up something that was
battering the bottom of the counter as it rotated.
Its ability to manouvre further inhibited by rubbish on the prop,
the boat moved slowly forwards, still in the grip of the wind. I
could see that he wasn't going to get the boat to its destination
without hitting one of our boats, but I wouldn't have minded if he
simply scraped his bow along the side of "Southam". The
sensible thing to do would have been to forget about engine power and
use the shaft, which lay idle on the cabin roof, to get control of
the errant fore end. I have always, however, found a great reluctance
among trainee, and sometimes experienced, boaters to use the shaft.
The strategy employed to control the boat was a surprising one. As
the bow headed into the arm where the boats awaiting restoration
float in shallow water I expected to see a flush of sterngear from
the still clattering prop. Instead the boat carried on until it
impacted "Elton"s stern. She gave a lurch, then resigned
herself to being used as a fulcrum as, still in forward gear, the man
put his tiller over to lever the boat round. As soon as he backed up
the wind caught the bow and he lost control again. He repeated the
manouvre, but this time, the hireboat's bow having moved a few feet
Eastwards, it was "Queen"s turn to suffer the indignity of
a ramming.
I stood watching, open mouthed and dumbstruck. I knew that both
boats were tough enough to withstand these blows, but I was amazed at
the sheer disregard for other peoples craft.
The boat backed up again. The next boat in line for a blow from
its bow was "Hazel", our most fragile boat. Somehow he
managed to miss her, but, as anticipated, scraped his bow along the
side of "Southam" instead. As his stern end approached the
footbridge he threw a line up to his wife, who sensibly led the boat
back to the overnight mooring that I had suggested.
I started the saw and quickly completed the last cut, by which
time my anger had subsided a little. I shafted "Lilith"
back across the basin to tie up abreast of "Southam", then
went to dig out some leaflets from "Forget me Not"s cabin.
I walked over to the moored hireboat and tapped on the roof. The
woman emerged and reddened when she saw me. I sought to defuse her
embarrasment with a smile, it wasn't her who had been steering, and
handed her the leaflets. I said "Here's some information about
the historic boats you just rammed". She was full of apologies,
but she didn't call her husband out to face me. I diverted the
conversation away from the incident as she was clearly uncomfortable,
but it was her partner that I wanted to feel that discomfort. He had
not once looked in my direction as he carried out his cavalier
careering around the basin.
I went off to get some food. Early in the morning the boat left to
work down the locks to Manchester. I wonder what sort of night the
arrogant man had. It would be no surprise to me if the ghost of Jack
Monk ( "Queen" was his first motor boat and remained his
favourite) had visited him in the night and given him terrifying
dreams of boatmans justice.
She's
the blue and red one in the bottom right hand corner.
