Mid-summer peregrinations.

Mid-summer??? Well; it's almost the ides of August and, 'though it has been quite a rainy few weeks since we returned from the USA, the weather hasn't prevented us from cruising along. When it gets unconscionable, we find a salubrious spot to moor-up, and declare ‘the bar is open!’

As I write, we’re taking a break in Newark-on-Trent; the last large community in the next few score of miles; thus providing a boatyard/marina in which we may securely leave Moonstone, whilst we pop down to Bath (for the grandson’s parachute jump, which is his 18th. birthday gift from us) and Grove (for the FINAL White Horse Folk Festival).






When last you heard from us, we were heading for some of the lesser-travelled backwaters of the Birmingham Canal Navigations. This involved almost a week on the ‘Curly Whyrley’ (the Wyrley & Essington Canal); nicknamed for its wandering – but mostly lock-free – route, around the North-Eastern environs of Birmingham. During our meanderings thereon, we saw only two other moving boats, and hardly any boats moored along the cut! We did, however, find a large duvet – plus its cover – which; having wrapped itself around our propeller – took almost two hours to cut free. I spent so long, pulling so energetically, that the next few days had me enduring some painful muscles around my ribs! No damage to the boat, however. Sadly; probably due to lack of use; this is one of the canals which is infested with copious amounts of household garbage ... with the plethora of plastic bags mandating an almost hourly (occasionally, even more frequent) stop to clear the propeller. Thankfully, the joyous moments far outnumber the depressing ones; delightful interactions with folks on the towpath, inspiring post-industrial views, and tranquil evenings supping ale or wine, and doing crosswords.

Each day we ensure that we get some physical exercise. If we’re not working the boat through locks, we find an agreeable route for a walk, or we unfold our bicycles and ride a few miles for groceries, a newspaper, whatever. Occasionally; when passing an interesting pub; we drop in and sample the wares. Since returning the U.K., my philosophy for choosing an ale is to try something which has not, previously, passed my lips. There are now so many independent breweries around, that few are the hostelries in which I cannot find a novel brew to sample.



With my engagement at the Warwick Folk Festival in view, we booked some mooring space at Fazely Mill Marina. Getting there entailed a journey through the heart of Birmingham, and the famous Gas Street Basin, now a tourist attraction and a social recreational facility right in the center of major city. Some of the original (200 - 300 years vintage) architecture has been maintained, and much of the rebuilding involves painstaking recreations, from old photographs; amidst plenty of modern structural design. The best patronised establishments, though, are in older buildings, with a character reminiscent of yesteryear. In order to get to our next, intermediate, destination; we had a couple of flights of locks in prospect: the Famers Bridge (13 locks) and Aston (13 lock) flights. The weather forecast predicted a window of several hours, so off we set.

Just completing the first thirteen we were pleasantly astonished to find our friends: Margaret and Angus; aboard their narrowboat BETTY D; approaching the lock we had only momentarily vacated. Finding some handy bollards, we tied up, grabbed our windlass handles, and set-to in assisting them up to Gas Street; eventually ensconcing them in the very mooring we, ourselves, had vacated less than two hours previously! Once they had walked their pair of greyhounds, we repaired to the Tap and Spile (hard by the boat you see here) for a late lunch and a few pints of ale. Our duty done, we returned to Moonstone and negotiated the Aston locks in fine style!

Before departing Birmingham proper, the canal winds under Spaghetti Junction; a confluence of a small river, four railway lines, two roads, multifarious motorway ramps and two canals. At times, the traffic above us was thundering along at seventy plus miles per hour. Within seconds - so it seemed - motorway traffic was stopped in gridlock. Trains hurried by and desultory groups of youths lurked aimlessly. We; in our own insulated world; continued without fuss, but inexorably, on our way ... until the heavens opened ... calling an end to the day.

Despite frequent deluges, Warwick was the world-class event we've come to revere.

A few days later; moored overnight at Fradley, on the junction of the Coventry Canal and the Trent & Mersey Canal, we dropped in to the White Swan for a glass ... and found a great music and song session happening in the cellar ... 


We even reconnected with some musical/narrowboat friends we have last seen ten years ago. Such serendipity!

Next day ... onward ... onto the Trent and Mersey Canal - travelled just over twenty months ago - we came to Nottingham, (see Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem - above)

with the statue of Robin Hood so unlike Errol Flynn ... or even Kevin Costner!

By dint of delicate manoeuvring we can access the ripest blackberries; unavailable to non-floating pickers; and Lyn has inherited her Mother's wonderful facility for pastry-making. The pie was so delicious, I neglected to take a photograph ... sorry!

Which brings us, here, to Newark on Trent ... a much underrated town. It has a great history around the English Civil War (1642 - 1646). Newark proved to have chosen to support the losing (Royalist) side but; following the reintroduction of the monarchy; survives with its architecture barely disturbed since that time. A real 'market square' with a daily market; and numerous small alleyways and winding side-streets provide much to engage visitors. Tomorrow we'll browse the National Civil War Centre. For now, we're tied-up - as we have previously been - right under (what remains of) the walls of Newark Castle.

Apologies for such long-windedness. Next time, I'll try to practice brevity

Cheers, Tom.