Saxilby

My journey down to South Devon on Monday was long and though I had to change trains twice the bulk of the time was spent on one of those fast comfortable Cross Country trains so it seemed that in no time at all I was hailing a taxi at Newton Abbott station and we were speeding towards Bovey Tracey in the dappled sunshine of Dartmoor.

Harry and Trevor, the proprietors of the Copper Kettle Bed and Breakfast where I have always stayed on my previous visits, were very welcoming again and my usual room was most comfortable.

The service to Marjorie the following day at the Methodist Chapel was in fact a thanksgiving for her life rather than a funeral, so it turned out to be a very happy occasion. She was a well known and beloved lady in the neighbourhood and the tiny church was bulging with at least two hundred people I should think. Afterwards there were cups of tea served in the hall behind the chapel and somehow we all managed to fit in.

Marjorie had many friends but there were only one or two of them that I had ever met. Her carer Monika, though originally from Switzerland, had lived with her and looked after her devotedly for thirty five years. I knew her very well but was not able to have a long conversation with her since she was so busy greeting everybody else. After talking to those that I did know, I left and returned to my digs for the evening.

The following day, Wednesday, I returned to Newton Abbott for the long journey home where I arrived mid afternoon to ‘Futurest’ still moored where I had left her.

It was an anxious moment as I walked along towards the river, wondering whether she would still be there. I had been away for three days and during that time anything could have happened. My biggest anxiety was how I would find the batteries. The weather had been cloudy and showery and since I had left the fridge on, I wondered whether I would find them right down. I needn’t have worried though; the Sun had obviously been shining in Lincolnshire as they were fully charged up.

It was so strange coming back on board after the brief absence. Everything was exactly as I had left it, except the spiders had been hard at work. They had wasted no time in weaving their gossamer strands, which silkily caressed my face as I passed along the length of the ship.

It was good to be home!

Tootling About

The weather remains warm and tranquil and I am still quite happily cruising about on the Fossedyke awaiting the arrival of Monday when I shall travel down to Bovey Tracey.

I’m back at the well found little village of Saxilby, which has a fine Co-op, two pubs, a railway station, a tidy parish church of St Botolph (he seems to have been very much the local saint in this area!) and a fine heritage as a thriving seaport from antiquity up until 1900. My plan is to remain here overnight and then take ‘Futurest’ along to the visitor moorings at Lincoln tomorrow, where I can leave her till I return from Devon. The mooring there is neither obscured by trees or buildings enabling the solar panel to derive full benefit from the Sun; I shan’t then have any anxieties as to the state of the batteries while I’m away.

Yesterday we went along to Torksey to fill up with diesel and fresh water. Afterwards we turned around and stayed there the night at the visitor moorings. In the evening after spending a lazy afternoon in the Sun, I walked across to the ‘White Swan’ for haddock, peas and chips (and a pint of Kronnenburg) to celebrate our arrival, even though it was only temporarily, back at the junction with the River Trent. The pub was very busy, with people spilling outside as one would expect on such a beautiful evening with the Sun shining in a cloudless pale blue sky till after nine o’clock and with the most stunning of pink and yellow sunsets when it eventually set. As I returned to the ship around ten the Blackbird was still singing his heart out and obviously thrilled to be alive. I could understand just how he felt and was as jubilant as he was.

It took us an hour and a half to return here this morning and the weather is still beautiful though the easterly breeze is a little more brisk.

Marking Time

I spent the whole of last weekend in Lincoln, where I received the sad news that a dear friend Marjorie had died.

My wife and I first met Marjorie in Wales fifteen years ago, when we were on a holiday organised for the disabled and we had been firm friends since that time. She had suffered from a rare disorder called spinal muscular atrophy for most of her long life and for nearly all of that period she had had to use a wheelchair to get around. But she was always cheerful, full of positive wit and laughter and an inspiration to all those who met her, including Miranda and I. It is so sad now to learn that she is gone.

She lived at Bovey Tracey in South Devon so I’m travelling down there on Monday for the thanksgiving Service on Tuesday afternoon, returning to the ship on Wednesday.

Lincoln is probably the best place to leave ‘Futurest’ for three days and also there is a good railway station there within easy reach of the moorings. I enquired at the local marina for a temporary berth but there was nothing available, so I’ve decided to leave the ship on the visitor moorings, where she should be okay on her own for three days.

But so as not to outstay my welcome at the moorings where I was, I decided to leave the city altogether for a while and return there next Sunday afternoon. With this plan in mind I departed yesterday morning and tootled up here to Saxilby, in the direction of Torksey, where I have spent the night.

After a few days of cloudy to overcast conditions and frequent heavy showers it was a pleasure yesterday to see plenty of blue sky again and to feel the Sun warming everything up. Today has turned out to be the same. Long may it last!

I noted that the year was progressing swiftly and that the seasons had moved on. Gone were the masses of golden Daffodil, which we had all been looking forward to with such anticipation during those long winter months. They had stood so briefly with heads defiant against the stiff cold spring winds and now were looking a brown worn out mess. So too the Lilac blossoms that had hung for just a week so proudly like wet purple sponges in the frequent rain showers, have departed sadly for another year. As we progressed quietly along I could see that now the banks of the Fossedyke were becoming clothed with tall thick Nettles and masses of even loftier Hogweed with their large white plate-like umbellules attracting all the insects. While at their base Water-lily buds are just appearing on their individual green saucers and green spears of yellow Iris cluster closely together.

Back at Lincoln

Early this afternoon we arrived back in this splendid city and in spite of thick squally rain showers all around, its worthy crown, the magnificent cathedral on top of its steep hill could be seen all the way from Bardney.... A most wonderful sight!

Towards the end of a shower.

The black at the top left is my umbrella

We tied up right in the city just a hundred yards before the Glory Hole Bridge, at the old trip boat mooring under a willow whose green fronds weep right down into the river. I was able to nip ashore to the Post Office to collect my mail, before feeling our way out into the wide Brayford Pool and on to the visitor moorings beyond the road bridge.

The heavy but abrupt showers continue as I write, clattering on the roof and deafening against the cratch cover!

The sculpture of a Cow....

....and the real thing!

The Glory Hole, Lincoln



No Signal

The one drawback with mooring at Bardney is the complete loss of signal for the phone and internet connection. Consequently the following though written on Tuesday, I’ve only managed to transmit today on arrival at Lincoln. I hope you don’t get too muddled whilst trying to sort out the chronology of it all!

Tuesday 24^th May

Boston to Bardney

We finally left the quiet and pleasant Boston moorings yesterday morning. The Sun was shining beautifully in an almost cloudless sky as we got underway and there was just the very softest of breezes blowing from the west in little flurries.

However this idyllic situation was not to last, for within the hour the sky had covered over with large cotton wool cumulus cloud, misleadingly white on the top but looking black beneath and the wind increased rapidly from the west to gale force. Relatively speaking ‘Futurest’, with her small draft, no keel and high windage was at its mercy and for most of yesterday we were heading at about forty five degrees towards the west bank of the river in order to compensate and maintain our course down the centre.

One had to concentrate at the helm all the time though, as one could never rely on the fickle breeze remaining constant. At one minute the gale would be screaming across the river at force 8 but within seconds it would drop to nothing meaning that the course was then over-compensated by forty five degrees. So if one’s attentiveness had wavered at that particular moment one could rapidly find oneself within seconds crashing heavily into the west bank as a result.

I had to keep alert until we reached Tattershall Bridge moorings, where at about two o’clock, I was happy to call it a day.

Though there is nothing here except a modern steel and concrete road bridge that replaces its more beautiful arched red brick predecessor, which still stands nearby but is no longer used, it was very quiet, except for the whistling of the wind around the ship, the groan of the floating pontoon as it worked against its pylons and the creak of the mooring lines as they strained to hold ‘Futurest’ snugly alongside.

Inevitably the stormy shower came in the end and for ten minutes we were bombarded with the sound of heavy rain battering the steel roof and sides of the ship. However the noise of the downpour on the vinyl cratch cover I found quite soothing as well as thrilling, especially when no rain got inside at all.

Afterwards the sky cleared of all cloud and the wind died to nothing, presenting to us a very beautiful evening. Such a contrast to the day.

By the moorings there are one or two houses and a pub that was open but not very busy. I couldn’t see anybody inside at all but the doors were open and the lights were on. There was a shop that sells fishing tackle only, an old red post box of G VI R vintage and a sign outside another house saying ‘Fresh Eggs for sale’. I bought a dozen of these this morning before I left and plan to try a couple of them tonight.

The Calm after the Storm at Tattershall Bridge

Tattershall Bridges to Bardney

This morning having bought my eggs, which look beautiful, we were underway at ten and the weather followed a similar pattern to yesterday; there were few clouds and no wind as we left the moorings, but within the hour it was blowing a gale. However the going wasn’t quite so bad since the changed direction of the river meant that today we were heading more directly into the wind. We made good progress and arrived here at the Bardney Pontoons at two o’clock. Since that time, the wind has died completely once more and the Sun shines contentedly from a white, blue and shades of pink mottled sky. A few minute ago I took some photos of the sunset.

The elegant Dog Rose

Two nice surprises today! One was the sighting of an Arctic Tern. They are not usually found inland but we are not that far from the North Sea here so he wasn’t so out of place. With his black capped head I thought at first he was a Little Gull, which I’ve seen plenty of on this river. Their size and markings are similar but in this case there was no mistaking the long tail streamers of the Arctic Tern as he soared with little apparent effort in the wind. It was a wonderful display!

The second surprise was the sighting of a single Whooper Swan on the bank. Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera ready since he looked just like a Mute Swan as we approached; about the same size and with the familiar long slim neck. It wasn’t till we were abeam of him that I noticed his bill was very different to that of his cousin. There was no indentation at the top where there is usually a black bulge on the Mute Swan; the predominantly yellow bill presented a straight profile from the top of his pure white head to the end of his bill, which was tipped with a contrasting black. It could have been a Bewick Swan which has a similar bill in shape and colour, but this I am told is a much smaller bird with a shorter neck. However by the time I had my camera ready for shooting he was way astern of us and with his back to us looked just like a Mute Swan again.

This is a problem with the ordinary digital camera; it is never ready for use whenever one needs it. If one leaves it on, after a while it switches itself off to conserve battery power and in one’s haste to take the next picture this isn’t noticed. But even if it is still on when it is picked up, it takes so long, after the trigger has been pushed, to get focussed and set up that nearly always the photographic opportunity has been lost forever. Nonetheless they are good! The benefit is that so many pictures can be taken that by the law of averages, one or perhaps even two, might turn out to be real gems.

Sunset at Bardney Moorings

Boston

The Skipper’s feeling sorry for himself at the moment.... Has been all over the weekend.

Whilst coming in to moor alongside ‘Medos’ at Chapel Hill, he put his left foot out to try to fend off from the other boat, but somehow got it caught ... the silly fool!.... and his heel was  grazed. It was a daft thing to do and he should have known better. He knows quite well how to handle me and should have done it right in the first place, as he normally does and it then wouldn’t have happened.

He was able to ‘first aid’ it and dress it okay and it seemed fine until we arrived here. Then he walked for miles on it when he went shopping on the first day and the heel of his trainer rubbed the spot and made it more painful. So he decided on Friday to find a doctor to look at it to make certain that everything was alright.

This time he’d managed to dig out his old leather clogs, without a back piece so his wound stayed clear. I could have told him to do that in the first place, before he’d done any walking... It would have been a much more sensible idea! Then he traipsed for miles around the town again, trying to find a surgery who would look at the heel.

None could fit him in at such short noticed so in the end he took a taxi to A&E at the local Pilgrim Hospital and they saw him, though he had to wait for about three hours.

The doctor who inspected the heel did have it x-rayed and then, since there was nothing broken, put him on a course of a week’s antibiotics to avoid the threat of infection.

So whereas we were going to leave here on Friday morning originally, the ‘Old Man’ has decided to stay for the weekend just to make sure the antibiotics are working.

So here am I, stuck like a lemon against a wooden, weed encrusted pontoon again..... Before this we seemed to be doing so well too..... I could spit!

In a way though I’m quite glad he’s preoccupied as it means that I can get a word in edgeways on this computer... I haven’t been able to do that for ages.

The trouble is, the Skipper’s too soft for his own good. He was quite happy to walk for miles around the town looking for a surgery and every one of them put him off. If it’d been me I would’ve demanded at the first one that somebody sees me and not move until they did! He’s far too happy to see everyone else’s point of view as well as his own for my liking.

It was the same on the Trent when he tried to rescue that other boat. I’d have just gone straight past, knowing that the tide was ebbing and the rash skipper should have known better than to try to cut corners anyway at that state of the tide. He was quite safe and would just have to wait patiently until the flood tide refloated him.

But not our guy... He had to go in to help if he could and we finished up going aground ourselves. It was alright for him... While waiting to refloat he was able to have a cup of tea and a nice friendly chat to the other party. Never thought for one minute I expect of me stuck in the mud... possibly damaged mortally for all he knew. Huh!

Ah well!  Hopefully we shall move tomorrow.

 

The ‘Boston Stump’ in the afternoon sunlight

Sunset at Boston



The 'Boston Stump'

‘Futurest’ and I arrived in Boston early yesterday afternoon and are tied up quietly to a floating pontoon that is the British Waterways’ Visitor moorings.

We are right at the edge of the town. Ahead of us is the tall tower of St Botolph’s Parish Church known affectionately as the ‘Boston Stump’, which was visible for miles along the straight course of the river as we approached yesterday, while behind us is the lush green, flat and fertile wilderness of the Fenlands.

Along the right hand side of the river opposite to where we are moored is a mature tree lined road with Victorian built detached houses, indicating the heritage of an old prosperous town, while the river itself, though there is no longer any sign of commercial vessels on it that helped produce this affluence, is filled now with large white leisure cruisers and the odd narrowboat such as ourselves indicating to some degree that the town is still flourishing.

The Moorings at Boston with the ‘Stump’ in the Background

The River Witham at low tide below the ‘Grand Sluice’ Lock

On the passage yesterday from Chapel Hill to Boston the most memorable part is that it was composed of three long lock-less stretches of wide river as straight as they could possibly be with the end of the longest, of about five miles, all but disappearing over the horizon. Perspective certainly made the end of the reach too small to see with the naked eye. It was a different boating experience entirely to that which I am used to on my own small and meandering South Oxford Canal.

But it was quiet and peaceful and apart from the wildlife we never saw another soul to disturb our reveries. The Sun was shining mostly in a fluffy white and blue sky while the cold north westerly breeze that we have been experiencing for days now, decided to veer into the infinitely warmer south western sector.

Life all around seemed pretty good!

Evening twilight on the Witham from Boston



I have just been reminded this morning that I possess a first class guide of this area. My good friend Robin, who now lives in Queensland Australia, has just emailed me. Robin and I go back a long way but this morning he has been telling me of his boyhood days living in this area of Lincolnshire. He and I were in the Merchant Navy together and the last time we met was fifty one years ago on a ship called the ‘Gladstone Star’. We sailed together then and the voyage was quite memorable. In about a month’s time Robin and his wife Jan are coming to the UK for a holiday so I hope we shall be able to meet up sometime/somewhere before they have to return to Oz.

It will be delightful to see you again Robin!