A BIG FISH IN A BIGGER POOL
A rather devious title for just another boating holiday story - but its significance
may become clear later.
This was to be my second, and also my last bit of watery fun on board the
Dutch barge DORCHESTER, based on the River Thames. In a moment of weakness
I had held onto the last share of this vessel because I had fallen in love
with her. But I soon realised that such a move wasn’t really workable for
a number of reasons - not least that I probably wouldn’t get enough time
off to justify it. So earlier this year I sold my share, although not before
taking a final week on board last April. This was intended to be a boating
holiday with a difference by virtue of the fact that I would be taking DORCHESTER
onto the canal system - and it certainly was, but not in the way that I had
expected!
The plan was to pick her up from Windsor, and drop her back there again a
week later, courtesy of her owners, having meandered up the Grand Union as
far as Bulls Bridge (or West Drayton for the less romantic) turning onto
the Paddington Arm into London and then through the centre of the city on
the Regents canal, re-emerging onto the Thames from Limehouse dock, and back
through the Pool of London, past the Houses of Parliament, and upstream again.
The “London Ring”, as it is known, was one of my favourite jaunts in the
early eighties on my own narrow boat, and so this holiday was to be nostalgic
as well as exciting. The hardy crew was first mate Deborah, plus baby Sam
and minder Pam. Just to make it interesting we had arranged to meet Deborah’s
mother and sister at Little Venice in West London on Monday morning for a
day’s outing. Neither had been boating before and I hoped that they would
be suitably impressed all round.
And the trip started well. I had worked out the timing to coincide with the
tides and it was worth the effort. We had about two hours after the tidal
lock at Brentford opened before I estimated that we would not be able to
pass under Brentford High Street bridge, and we arrived in the first half
hour of that time window. I gave myself a pat on the back. If we had got
that wrong then the “in laws” would have been seriously inconvenienced. The
British Waterways lock keeper at Brentford couldn’t have been more helpful,
particularly since I didn’t have DORCHESTER’s Boat Safety Certificate with
me when he asked to see it (not that he doubted her waterworthiness, it just
said on his instructions that he ought to ask). One of the perks of my position
was that I was able to recount how the local regional BW manager (his boss)
had given my voyage his blessing in a recent conversation - genuinely - and
so all was then well......... until my new found friend received a telephone
call. It was to tell him that a narrow boat had just sunk near the top of
the Hanwell flight of locks that I was about to ascend, and seeing as how
this was Sunday morning, he feared that I might not get through for at least
24 hours. Now as it happens, my first mate had disappeared into Brentford
High Street while we were locking, so I wasn’t going anywhere for an hour
or so anyway, and during that hour I worked out plan B. We would simply go
back out onto the tidal Thames and do the ring in reverse. Fine - except
that I had momentarily forgotten about THE BRIDGE. By the time she returned
plan B was impossible. The water was now too high for us to go back, and
we couldn’t go forwards. So we stopped engines. Actually we moored for the
night near the bottom of the Hanwell flight (At “The Fox” pub). No problem,
I assured myself, we’re on holiday! We telephoned the in-laws and made the
rendezvous for Tuesday morning instead.
The next morning (Monday) arrived with good news. According to the towpath
telegraph, the sunken boat had been refloated at first light and we would
now be able to get through. A breeze, I thought. We were only about six hours
from Little Venice and a whole day to do it in. There was just the matter
of the weather...... the heavens had opened over breakfast and were still
discharging now that we had to lower the wheelhouse to get under all the
bridges. And I always thought that these Dutch barges were about home comforts.
Ah well! First mate went off with windlass and waterproof while I stood dripping
at the helm - for the next two and a half hours - and she doesn’t really
enjoy lockworking.......... or rain.......! Never mind, our consolation was
a healthy lunch at the top of the flight, and then off again, passing BW’s
Norwood yard on the way to Bulls Bridge. Loads of time to spare AND the rain
had stopped - and then so did DORCHESTER - very suddenly. Whatever it was
that we had just caught round the propeller had actually stalled the engine
- and we were in the middle of the canal - and she refused to move sideways!
A dive into the weedhatch revealed not just a mattress but the bed to go
with it! We were definitely stuck. There was nothing for it but to call OwnerShips!
I didn’t quite catch what Philip in the office said when his boss called
for help, but he was, indeed, very helpful. He contacted British Waterways
themselves at Norwood. Well, the furniture around my propeller had been in
their canal and they are supposed to maintain it..........
About half an hour later two beefy individuals arrived and managed to get
to us via a long plank. When they saw the magnitude of the problem they immediately
announced that we would have to lift the barge out of the water. I asked
how they thought we might manage that under the circumstances, and then we
all had another look down the weedhatch! Give them their due. They spent
three hours fighting with the soggy submerged monster, and they told me all
about it as they were working!! The quote of the day was when one said to
the other “Isn’t that the mattress that we saw floating by earlier?!!” Finally,
the main man clambered back up to the wheelhouse pouring with sweat but very
pleased with himself as he confessed that he hadn’t expected to succeed at
all. And we were on our way again - albeit now in the early evening. At Bulls
Bridge the pull of the Tesco superstore was too much for mate and minder,
and we therefore had another stop - and then ate some supper. And so it was
that we eventually set off again for Little Venice at around 8.30pm, in the
dark and, yes, pouring rain again with the wheelhouse down. I’m sure this
was meant to be a holiday! By the time we approached our destination at about
11.30pm I was so cold and wet I that I was dancing around like a madman to
keep the circulation going. Heaven knows what must have been going through
the minds of any West London residents who saw us pass! We moored at midnight
and fell into bed.
Next morning the Royal party arrived and were suitably impressed as we set
off in bright sunshine under lots more low bridges - and Maida Hill tunnel
(two way for narrow boats - one way for wide beams if you nip through fast
enough!). And then the clouds came again and I found myself alone and dripping
once more at the helm. Funny - I used to think it was so poetic passing through
the back streets of London by canal, now it just seemed.............well,
wet. And so it was that we reached the western portal of Islington tunnel.
Half a mile long and another dash for a wide beam if we were to get through
unhindered. We didn’t. About 100 yards in I saw a distant light in the east!
As I reversed back out, disaster struck again. This time it was just a large
plastic bag. But as I tried to manoeuvre for the final 10 yards out into
daylight again, DORCHESTER veered to one side and the rudder caught on something
hard. And then there was no steering! My visitors were now so impressed that
they took a taxi home - and so was Philip when I phoned OwnerShips again,
this time to ask if he could procure a replacement for the rudder linkage
component that had just snapped!! He did, and arranged for it to be
couriered down from the Midlands somewhere - tomorrow. This was NOT a good
place to stop for the night. So the next part of my exciting holiday was
spent bow hauling (or rather stern hauling) DORCHESTER back through Islington
in search of somewhere a bit more friendly. And she’s not a lightweight barge!
We eventually moored outside pub adjacent to Battlebridge basin (can’t remember
the name) on the non-towpath side. (We swam her across!!).
Next morning (Wednesday) a man with a spanner arrived and fitted the new
part, and we set off yet again with everything crossed. And yes, we got through
Islington tunnel. And yes the weather was now being kind. And yes there was
a possibility that we might still manage to get back to Windsor without delaying
the next party. And yes there was a little cafe attached to The Rugged School
Museum at Mile End that would be great for lunch. It was so little that I
didn’t see it until we had almost passed and so I spun the barge around in
mid stream. This was a mistake! In the first place they only sold crisps
and ice cream. In the second place I picked up another “passenger” around
the propeller. This time it was I who gave a running commentary on what was
going on inside the weedhatch for about an hour until a greatly distorted
plastic beer crate was eventually separated from the workings of the barge.
The reader may, at this stage, be feeling either sympathetic or bored! Whichever
it is, he or she might like to know that this was the point when I swore
that I wouldn’t do this trip again in a barge. In the first place, London
has always been renowned for the amount of rubbish lurking in its waterways,
and in the second place a large barge has a tendency to disturb parts of
the canal bed that others never reach. I wrote suitable advice in the log
book and persevered on!
And now, at last, we come to the reason behind the title of this piece. It
was with great delight that we finally left the canal system on Thursday
at lunchtime to catch the incoming River Thames tide through the pool of
London. The Limehouse lock-keeper - another very helpful soul - had instructed
me to contact “Woolwich Radio” as I emerged onto the giant waterway to gain
their permission to proceed through Charing Cross (where they were working
on the new Hungerford Bridge), and here we were suddenly no longer a big
fish in a small pool but more like a real boat in its proper environment
as we rocked and rolled at what seemed like an enormous speed. And there
were lots and LOTS of other real boats there too. And they were ALL bigger
than us - MUCH BIGGER! And they all seemed to think that they had right of
way - or perhaps it was just contempt? In any event, we bobbed our way under
Tower bridge, with all of our cameras rolling - including mine, which made
interesting viewing later as I kept swinging the viewfinder frantically around
to ward off oncoming oil tankers etc.! and then by afternoon we were in the
relatively peaceful tranquility of Barnes, then Kew, then Richmond, and then
back onto the non-tidal waters above Teddington. AND we made it to Windsor
an hour before the next party arrived on the following day. Phew!
So - what did I learn from this experience? Well, I think the main lesson
was that a barge is happier on the river than on the canal - at least through
London - where it is uncomfortably high and wide, and rather disturbs the
peace of the still life along the canal bed! I thought it would be fun -
but in retrospect I’ll probably keep the vow I made in Mile End and not repeat
the exercise. Nevertheless I would still enjoy it on a narrow boat - although
be warned that there is MUCH more traffic in the Pool of London now than
there used to be in my heyday, and I for one found that a little unnerving.
The final anecdote in this story is about my baby son. I had asked the people
at DORCHESTER’s base (Oxford Cruisers) to construct a platform over the bath
on which we could place the little one’s cot at night, thereby leaving both
bedrooms and the saloon free in the evening, and this they did, very obligingly.
I had made careful measurements of the cot base and it just fitted. What
I had failed to measure was the height of the sides. So, when the first night
arrived and we erected said cot in said bathroom we almost hit the roof -
literally. There was about 9 inches left to get baby into cot from above,
and this could only be achieved by balancing on a stool, with baby at head
height, and then....... well....... dropping him in! The process in the morning
was even more interesting when he had to be coaxed into a standing position
in order that I could reach him and sort of drag him upwards and outwards
by his nappy! Needless to say, he survived. But since then he seems to have
developed a certain indifference towards boats. I can’t think why! And there
was me thinking that he would take over OwnerShips one distant day. Ah well,
what is it that they say about all the best laid plans..............??
Allen Matthews
Founder/Director of OwnerShips
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