As a result of yesterday’s posting, I
thought it apt to post the following which is an account of a trip down to
Wendover to bring boats back. I had posted
this before elsewhere but I just thought it worth re-posting here.
With the start of the collapse of the
Braunston based Willow Wren Canal Carrying Company in 1966 many of the craft,
which they had had on hire from British Waterways, were repossessed by BWB for
after many years of hard work, some were in a very poor condition. At this point they were taken into Braunston
reservoir for storage and to await disposal.
During their stay here their condition further deteriorated by having
almost anything that was loose --doors, hatches, planks, stands, masts etc., etc.
removed by third parties. Until such
time as BWB made a decision to have all the boats removed and transferred to
the Wendover arm at Tring near Watford to be sold off by tender.
The successful purchase of three of these
craft by friends of mine-- Battersea, a large Woolwich motor boat, (with half a Petter engine) Hyades, a small
Woolwich butty and Carina, a small Northwich butty, resulted in me spending
nearly a month of my school holidays on the Grand Union Canal. Traveling down to Tring on a single motor,
staying aboard alone on the Wendover arm for the two weeks prior to removal, so
as to ensure nothing else was removed, in fact also to purloin anything else
that happened to be lying around!
The purchase of these boats brought about
other new experiences for me ‘deep water’ ‘wide locks.’ In fact most of the ‘day boating’ techniques
I had so far mastered now no longer applied for I was now in places I had only
read about such as ‘Cow Roast’ and ‘the dreaded steps to heaven‘ Hatton 21, all
of which soon became ‘every day’ for as have already mentioned, I was keen to
learn and I was boating with ‘hard taskmasters’ who insisted on things being
done ‘to the book’ except there wasn’t a book!.
JOURNEY DOWN THE SOUTH.
I had arranged to meet for the trip down to
Tring by Fishers Bridge in Oldbury and so by 4.00pm on the Friday all was
ready. So we set off three handed (well
two adults and me a 9 stone wimp) on a single motor for the 150 mile
journey. In fact according to Bradshaw’s
151miles and 152 locks all to be completed that weekend for both Cliff and
Clive had to be back at work by Monday.
I often smile to myself now when I read of cruising guides which talk of
‘out and back’ trips or ‘such and such rings giving time scales in WEEKS--and
complete it we did, arriving at Tring by tea time on the Sunday--now that’s
boating!
In the main the trip down went off without
any ‘major events’, apart from taking great delight in stopping the traffic to
open the many swing and lift bridges south of Kings Norton. It was in the middle of the night and pitch
black when we arrived at the top of Hatton and a decision was made to stop long
enough to have something to eat and drink. We tied up and stopped the engine, silence
descended and I walked 100 yards down to the top lock to take a look at the
view in the half light. I sat for a moment on the end of the balance beam and
soon fell fast asleep. “Blossom --tea”
The call woke me and I returned to the warmth of the back cabin to swill down
the cheese and onion crusty cobs with a huge mug of strong sweet tea----proper
food!
No sooner had the three of us finished our
food and drinks we felt the boat start to move from the forward swill of an oncoming
boat. Cliff arose from his perch on the cabin step and standing on the coal
box, poked his head out of the hatches. In the distance could be seen the feint
glow of a boats headlight and in the silence could be heard the engine
‘hammering on ahead’. As the boat got nearer we could see it was another single
motor so the engine was fired up in readiness. When the boat finally pulled
into the now open lock friendly greetings were exchanged as it was ‘Brummagem
motor boat’ the Otley, a large Northwich motor operated by its owners, Doug and
Jane Greaves along with their Woolwich butty ‘Bodmin.’ They were also on their way down to Tring to
fetch motor boats ‘Beaulieu’ and the ‘Aquarius’ back for Glynn and Rose
Phillips.--
This chance encounter with Otley made the
work down Hatton a lot easier with six of us to work the breasted motors
through. In the last lock the boats were
un breasted in preparation for singling out and as the water levels equalled,
with both Doug and this other guy pushing on their gate they opened their side
first. As soon as it was open Jane
opened up the motor and filled the chamber with smoke and rattled off at a
‘right old pace’ while I was still struggling with my gate. As he jumped onto
the rapidly disappearing motor Doug turned and with a wry smile shouted “see ya
down there “ One thing I learnt over the years was that Doug hammered
everywhere and always had to be in front.
A FORTNIGHT IN WENDOVER.
When we finally arrived at Tring the motor
was winded at the junction and reversed up the arm to the start of the moored
craft. Cliff and Clive walked down to
Tring to catch the train back to the midlands, I, on the other hand collapsed
into the bed ’ole with exhaustion.
Next morning I awoke and after a cup of
tea, (I was still dressed from the previous day/s) emerged from the cabin to
start the chores I had been set. That was to get the three boats we had come to
collect down the arm ready for the return journey. This was going to prove harder than I first
thought as boats were moored from bank to bank as far as the eye could see. I had never seen so many proper boats in one
place before, except perhaps for the first time I went by boat to Coombs Wood
Tube Works on the Dudley No 2 canal where there were hundreds of open day boats
of all descriptions being used to move and store tubes about the works.
The first week at Wendover was spent
shuffling boats around trying to release the three I was after. It was a bit like playing a giant version of
that game where you have a board containing many moving squares on with a
picture on the face of the squares when you have them in the right order with
one empty space and all the other squares are juggled around! The next weekend
I met up with another chap who had come down to fetch boats back. He was a large, deep voiced, fiery red haired
captain with the Anderton Company called Georgy Page, who I had met about a
year earlier delivering piles to the BWB workshops at Norbury aboard the motor
boat ‘Grenville’ but more of that later.
During the second week he showed me how to ‘sort ‘em out’ armed with no
more than a cabin shaft.
As Tring reservoirs are pumped into the
canal at the end of the arm there is a continuous, quite fast current which
flows back to the main canal so “Those you don’t want just untie them and let
‘em go.” This I suppose was logical as
all the boats would eventually have to be taken back to the junction! And so it
was that between us, over the next few days both his and my boats were moved
down the line of boats in the arm and tied up together at the start of the
queue. From here I could keep an eye on
them and be ready for Cliff and Clive’s arrival on Friday to start the return
journey. I only left the boats once the whole time and that was one evening to
find a pub to get cigarettes for all the time I was there an almost continuous
stream of people arrived day by day removing what little was left of value, so
I hate to think what would have happened to the full complement of running gear
all three boats in my care had!!! (plus a few spares even.)
I had everything prepared for our departure
just as Cliff had told me with the two motors breasted first and the two
butties breasted up behind. That is
until the arrival of Glynn Phillips on the Friday morning. He took over the situation saying it would be
a good idea to get all the boats (including his of cause) down the arm to the
junction. Although I tried to say that
Cliff had given me exacting instructions as what to do it made no
difference. With Glynn being an adult I
had no say in the matter and he proceeded to start the motor up untie her and
reverse into the remaining boats and fix ropes to both Aquarius and Beaulieu
and extract them from the huddle. By
this time I had untied all three of our boats and fixed a line from Battersea’s
stern to the bows of the Hyades. I went and stood on the bows of the Battersea
as Glynn approached with the RN going ‘full chat.’ As the back end of Aquarius came past me I
dropped a turn over the rear stud and off we lurched. I immediately jumped down into the hold of
Battersea and ran the full length of her hold ducking under straining chains
and stretchers on the way, then climbed out at the back end. Round the cabin and onto the counter, from
where I jumped up onto the bows of the Hyades and repeated the monkey run all
the way to the back end of Hyades. All
this was performed at breakneck speed and without a safety net and with Glynn
now heading off at full belt resulting in me getting to the back end of Hyades
just as we were passing the back end of Carina.
I just about made the jump across to Carina with only a cabin string in
my hand, between the rapidly separating butties. I knew that if I just threw
turns around the dolly the string would snap like cotton so, at full speed I
tried to let a single turn slip and gradually take up the strain. Unfortunately for me I was unable to stop the
rope slipping and instead of letting go I held on and my hand went round the
stud causing severe pain as well as abrasions. As I ran out of rope I finished
off by dropping the spliced end loop over the stud and thinking ‘F**k it’ if it
breaks it breaks. And so our train of
six boats headed off closely strapped together down the arm with the last butty
on about a 20 foot line and me nursing a very sore hand. All went well until we came to the 90-degree
turn in front of the flourmill. All boats played following my leader in the
footsteps of the previous tow, that is except the last butty which I was
on. As she hit the turn, the 20 foot tow
line meant she just carried on in a straight line towards the blue brick edging
of the canal while the rest of the tow headed off at right angles and the pull
was now sideward. Carina heeled over
then there was an almighty snap as the tow gave way. Completely out of control and unable to do
anything, I just held on ready for the bang as we hit the mill wall directly in
front of us. It was at this point that
I realised that the mains electrical supply for this flourmill ran along the
outside of the walls on the edge of the building and canal in cables as thick
as my leg. As Carina’s stern post hit
the wall it trapped one of these cables I remember hearing a bang and seeing a
bright flash. This was followed by all
the lights inside the buildings going out and the sound of heavy machinery
winding down. Obviously we had blown the
lot and I for one was not going to hang about to face the consequences. And so I ran to the bows of the butty, which
were now against the towpath side, and jumped ship. Running the 100 yards to the next bridge I
jumped onto the back end of the last butty thinking “I’ll go back for it after
when it’s drifted down the arm a bit further!
On arrival at the junction with the boats,
Cliff and Clive who had just walked up from Tring station greeted us with
cheery smiles as they came round the corner from the main line. Cliff smiles soon disappeared as he took
stock of the scene. He was absolutely
livid and his anger was directed at me when he saw that Carina was not
there. I tried to explain the events and
how I had tried to tell Glynn but all to no avail as now he had become volcanic
as he realised that he would have to reverse the motor all the way back up the
arm to fetch Carina. By the time Cliff
returned, Doug had arrived from Bulbourne yard with Otley and their two boats
had gone which made matters even worse as it meant we now had to follow their
‘bad road’ all the way back.
BACK DOWN THE NORTH.
The return trip back to the Midlands was
more of a leisurely affair with six of us working the two pairs back over the
next fortnight. In fact with Clive’s
wife Pat ensuring that we all ate properly (and washed!) things could not have
been better. Mind you it was hard going when we got to locks where we had to
bow haul the two butties through. One
thing of interest worth noting as well which we found out when working the two
motors breasted towing the two butties I think around the Stockton area. As we
passed the Blue Lias pub we found out that you cannot get two empty Grand Union
bows through the bridge whilst breasted up. We tried, and there was such a
clatter as the boats bashed into the brickwork of the bridge, only to be bashed
moments later by the following butties.
All this in the dark too for it was about 10.00pm at the time. In fact, it caused such a clatter that the
landlord of the pub came out to see what was up. By this time we had decided to call it a day
and were set about mooring up outside the pub.
A quick scrub up and we were all in the pub enjoying a pint and a trusty
cheese and onion crusty cob. One thing
of note about the pub that I remember was the landlord had what I can only
describe as a Biggles type RAF moustache and smoked cigarettes in a short
bamboo cigarette holder and spoke just like on the old films. The room we sat in had walls that were adorned
with pictures of old bi-planes and flying ‘things’ and just before closing time
the gaffer came over and asked “would any of you gentlemen require further
liquid refreshment before I close up”.
So a final round of drinks were ordered, after which he came over and
asked if we should be requiring any bread, milk, eggs etc. in the morning
before we left. But we explained we
would be off very early in the morning.
For most of the return journey, Pat all but
mothered me all the way back as I ‘was onny a babby’ and the men used to pick
on me ‘making me work too hard’. A lot
of the time on the way back was spent in the well of the butty Hyades gas
bagging with Pat. I had all the time in
the world to observe the goings on at various points of our journey which up
until now I had only read about, passing pairs running coal to the ‘Jam ‘ole’
for Blue Line. The ‘Bray’s, on Roger and
Raymond I remember thinking how big Ma’ Bray appeared in the hatches of the
butty as we passed, the immaculate Ian and Lucy in the charge of the Whitlocks,
even their cloths were scrubbed almost white!
We laced our way through the remainder of the Willow Wren fleet tied up
at Braunston with pairs lining both sides of the canal. We stopped here for the night as I remember
for the next morning Keith Steel sneaked onto one of the hire boats that was
awaiting new customers for the week and had him a shower and a shave.
Eventually we finally finished tied up at Worcester bar lock on the Saturday
dinnertime. From here everybody left,
Keith Christie, who had left his car at Farmers Bridge, ran Pat and Clive back
down to Wendover where they had left their land rover, while Keith Steel went
off to New Street to catch a train back.
This left just Cliff and me and we went up Gas Street, over Broad Street
to the ‘Tow Rope’ cafe for a ‘Truckers’ style all day fry up then back to the
boats for the night.
IT WAS ALL GOING WELL UNTIL.
By 10.00 am on the Sunday we were up and
off ready for the four-hour trip back to Tipton along the New Main Line. With the boats all close towed on cross
straps and the canal as straight as a die for most of the way, there was no
need for a steerer so I stayed on the backend of the motor boat with
Cliff. Half an hour into our morning
trip, as we approached Rotten Park Road, we were greeted by a group of ‘ boys
in blue’ on the towpath one of whom, on
seeing us approach, raced along the towpath towards us shouting. Unable to hear anything above the engine
exhaust, Cliff cupped a hand around his ear, pointed to the exhaust and shook
his head. The copper, in response to
this gesture, stood almost to attention, raised one hand vertically with palm
towards us and yelled “Stop”--Now Obviously not a sea faring fellow and not
being informed that narrow boats are not fitted with breaks in fact a motor
boat towing three others has virtually no ‘breaks or steering’ for that
matter. Straight away Cliff chucked the
engine astern and the ‘caravan’ of boats zigzagged wildly across the width of
the canal pushing us a further 100yards to finally halt just short of the main
group of ‘Brummagem Bobbies’. Boats secured, we both wandered up to find
out what was going down.
What appeared to be going on was a police Land
rover had been backed up to the towpath, the rear of which was loaded with all
sorts of oddments of rope, about half a dozen coppers were hurling a grappling
hook, big enough to anchor the Titanic, three parts of the way across the cut,
then retrieving it very slowly only to remove all sorts of scrap iron and
rubbish. “What have you lost?” Cliff
asked of one of the officers who looked in charge. ”It’s all right” was the
reply “It’s nothing to worry about” again Cliff asked “Is it a body?” “No sir, it’s really nothing to worry about,
we’ll try not to hold you up too long. If you’d like to go back to your barge”
So we did, made a cup of tea and sat on the cabin top watching the carry on and
discussing the possibilities of a body being spiked on one of the ‘prongs’ of
this huge grapple!
After about an hour of further furtling and
dredging, one of the ‘dredgers’ came over to us and enquired “excuse me sir,
have you got a barge pole we could borrow?” “No” Cliff replied “but I do have a
narrow boat shaft!” Cliff disappeared
into the hold and returned with a long shaft and asked again “what’s it for “ “Oh, we are just trying to find something
that’s been thrown into the canal. We
followed him back to the group assembled on the towpath as they proceeded to
furtle about in the channel at the full length
of the long shaft away, about 20foot away.
Again Cliff asked “If you told me what it was I might have some idea of
how to get it out.” The copper with all
the ‘pips’ on his shoulders who appeared to be in charge came over, looked all
round to ensure nobody was about to hear him, and whispered into Cliffs ear “Actually
sir it’s a safe.” Several thoughts
sprang to mind:-
No 1 -- Safes are usually made of metal
No 2 --Metal safes are heavy.
No 3 --Heavy metal safes cannot be easily
projected 25foot across to the middle of the canal
No 4 --Safes are usually dumped straight
off the edge of the towpath from the back of van or lorry.
A quick prod about by the edge of the canal
resulted in a metallic ‘clunk’.
“Blossom, go and get a keb” Returning with the ‘made for the job’ rake,
Cliff soon managed to get a grip on one corner and move the safe. Immediately a curtain of bubbles popped on
the canals surface followed by a flotilla of invoices, cheques and other paper
work (but no money Bah!) which were eagerly fished out by the ‘dredging crew’
and laid out on the copings to dry.
Eventually a rope was secured around the safe and with a combination of
shaft, keb and rope the safe was hoisted clear of the water onto the towpath to
reveal it had no back. Within minutes it was loaded into the rear of the police
Land rover and the happy bunch of Bobbies ready to depart. Finally, the police
chief turned to Cliff and said “Thank you very much for your assistance and I
hope this will cover your delay” He had handed Cliff a fiver which within
2hours had been converted to liquid in the ‘Old Bush’ at the top of Factory
Three. All in all a very rewarding trip
over the last month what with all the new skills like --thumb lining, breasting
up, double locks, and new friends like
--Georgy Page, new territory like --The Grand Union and it’s double locks and lots of opportunities to:
bang 'em about
Blossom.
