Lower Heyford

Tuesday 26th May 2015 

Janis needed to return to Newark this week so I am looking after the boats once more and making the best of my time while she is away. When she is here I always feel awkward that, when quite happily she goes off for a walk on her own, leaving me to my writing, I feel guilty that I should be exercising too and that really I’m using this blog as nothing more than an excuse for idleness. But while she is away in some other town or city I feel okay; for neither she nor anyone else knows how I’m spending my time anyway; and the writing is important too.

 

Leaving Allens Lock at Upper Heyford

 

Grazing sheep near the 15th Century barn at Upper Heyford

 

It is beautiful here, deep in the Cherwell Valley, though this is not quite the right representation, since its lush green hills slope up too quietly and gently on both sides of us to qualify for this. Rather ….. because of the shallowness of the land otherwise implied in the explanation …. ‘buried’ is a more suitable notation to use I think. This verb is better than ‘submerged’, which I was tempted to use, but it suggests that we might be sunk in the canal, which we are most definitely not. However I’m seeking an appropriate meaning somewhere in between to indicate that we are warm and well loved, engulfed here on the South Oxford Canal that runs along the middle of the low valley, safe in the arms of Mother Nature.

 

The Meadow Buttercup

 

Seeds away!

 

The Sunshine is beautiful, the warm air fragrant with the bouquet of wild flowers all around and the wildlife happily resume their Springtime family duties, while I sit here quietly watching and listening in rapturous wonderment at it all. In the simple repetition each year nothing is ever forgotten or is missed and Evolution carries on despite the frantic and so important comings and goings of Mankind to ensure his own separate and selfish, shallow existence and happiness.

 

A contented family of Mallards

 

Lower Heyford nestling in the trees in the shallow valley

 

Watering sheep (or praying maybe?)

 

Later

After that small piece of philosophical meandering and perhaps guilt has overcome me after all, I needed to take a walk so I put the computer into hibernation and set off to make the most of the weather ….. just in case.

Running parallel to the canal here is a railway line and conveniently situated, adjacent to the towpath is Heyford Railway Station; ideal as one method for getting either way into Oxford or Banbury. Over the other side of the station is a busy country road that runs up the hill for about a mile till it reaches the A423 main road that runs parallel to the valley. At this junction I had been told there was a bus stop which could also be used for both destinations. I decided to investigate.

 

The Swan’s Nest

 

Rousham Park

 

I have just returned. It was good exercise but otherwise the journey was completely fruitless since there was no sign of any bus stop in the near vicinity of the cross roads. An enquiry at the petrol station there and also at the ‘Hopcroft’s Holt’ Hotel were both ineffectual since the attendants were both foreign immigrants and unfamiliar with the area.

 

Cornflower

 

So I have returned happy with the walk if nothing else and full of self righteousness at having done the two miles and can now happily resume my writing.

Yesterday I took the fifteen minute ride on the train to Banbury to do some shopping and whilst there I met my friend Ann, who lives in town, for lunch at a delightful restaurant called ‘Pinto’s Bar’, where we were able to enjoy a good main course and a glass of Pinot white wine. Afterwards we returned to her flat for a cup of tea before I walked along the tow path to Morrison’s for well needed victuals. Then, prior to catching the train back to Heyford, I decided to live extravagantly and had my hair cut at the barber’s on the bridge for a fiver.

What another good day it all was.

Here at Lower Heyford we are tied up at the fourteen day moorings so when Janis returns aboard on Wednesday next we shall be well within our mooring limits before we move off on our adventure southwards. 

Wednesday 27th May 2015

I am having trouble posting this blog.

Early in our stay here I discovered that there is very little phone and no internet connection whatsoever along the towpath and up in the village the situation is no better. I tried at the ‘Bell’ thinking I would probably find a good Wi-Fi connection there and though they did have one, I was unable to get on line. So this morning I went into ‘Kizzies’, the Bistro at the narrow boat hirers for coffee and actually managed to connect to the internet to receive my emails. However I was still unable to transmit the blog.

So we’ll continue to wait patiently and try Oxford tomorrow when I go there on the train. I should be able to get it away then I think.

Ah! You cannot imagine the troubles of a narrowboatman.

Somerton Meadow

Monday 18th May 2015

As I write this the weather has changed and it is raining hard though yesterday was a glorious day.

Oxford Canal, just south of Banbury

 

Having arrived on the previous afternoon bathed in bright Sunshine we decided that the mooring was adjacent to countryside far too stunning to continue our journey after only an overnight stay and we resolved to remain here a further day so that we could explore the area in more depth, planning to move off today towards the next villages south, the Heyfords.

But like many of our previous well laid plans, as we were awakened this morning by the clatter of heavy rain on the roof beneath a dark and heavily overcast sky and with it forecast for the rest of the day, we decided to postpone our departure till tomorrow.

 

Cattle enjoying the Sun

 

So we’re here for another day and night and while the elements do their worst outside it does give me time to write something down.

 

Summer Flowers at Somerton Deep Lock

 

‘Futurest’ at Somerton Meadow

 

After a month’s happy stay in Banbury I am now the proud possessor of an NHS hearing aid and though the device was a little strange when I first tried it, I am now quickly getting used to it.

Though it has been specifically designed to suit my hearing pattern, it does amplify every little noise, which was a little disconcerting at first and the plastic plug, moulded exclusively for my left ear, has up until now made me well aware that it is there. But I’ve discovered that it feels better every day as the technician told me it would, so I must persevere and keep it in. I have heard of so many people that have had aids fitted but now don’t wear them through a lack of patience while becoming accustomed to them. I must stick with it.

My little travelling companion, who up until now has patiently borne the brunt of me saying ‘Pardon’ continuously, has been thrilled at the improvement in my hearing, so we are both looking forward to having the second aid fitted in my right ear when we return to the area in early October.

So we sailed on Saturday from Banbury in the glorious weather aforementioned and had a great cruise down past Kings’ Sutton and Aynho and through the unusual octagonal shaped lock at the Weir, which enabled our two fifty seven footers to lock down together, thus saving a lock full of water, albeit however small.

The length of the canal at Somerton Meadow is a favourite for anglers too and as we passed beneath Somerton Bridge we noticed that many of their cars were parked nearby. It seemed everybody was making good use of the weather and the quiet early Summer solitude. A dense carpet of bright golden buttercups spread across the large meadow between the canal and the meandering stream that is the River Cherwell, as it wends its willow fronded way slowly to join the Thames just south of Oxford. On either side of us, about half a mile apart on the flood plain, the gently lifting slopes of the valley sides climb upwards for about another hundred feet or so to their respective villages of North Aston to the west and Upper Heyford to the east. The Buttercups and Dandelions, now displaying their grey seeded gossamer heads, were wafted in the gentle breeze and in the distance large crows ‘cawed’ loudly as they chased off a pair of larger Buzzards and an unusual inhabitant of this area, a single Red Kite; normally it is found further south, nearer to the Chiltern Hills. It was a marvellous afternoon.

 

Buttercups at Somerton Meadow

 

The River Cherwell close to the canal

 

As we moored against the towpath we were met by Pip, a friend of Janis’s, who was passing through and consequently was invited to stay the night. A memorable time was had by all in the usual reminiscing way.

Yesterday we three set off at around eleven in the morning and walked the two miles along the towpath enjoying the continuing Sunshine, towards the ‘Barley Mow’ pub at Upper Heyford and after suitable refreshment which revived us, we walked back and later Pip left Janis and I to continue his journey.

It is surprising the number of different people one meets along the waterways. On our way north last year at Claydon Locks I met the actors Timothy West and his wife Prunella Scales on their narrow boat travelling south. I met the lady at the paddles and I found her easily recognisable even though she wore a wide brimmed straw hat. I wished her a jaunty ‘Howdya do’ and she replied with a pleasant smile and we continued our winding.

This time, again at one of the locks on the way south to Somerton, a lady approached me at the paddles and said that she had read ‘Futurest’s blog and enjoyed it so much that she and her husband decided to travel all the way from Australia to try the boating for themselves. Many thanks Maggie for ‘reading all abaht it’. I wish you both luck and happiness on the Oxford Canal and I hope I haven’t misled you.

It is now afternoon and the rain has eased off. It allows me to walk back to Somerton Bridge without getting wet to meet my good friend Paul, his wife Tracy and their daughter Millie who are coming aboard for tea.

Then tomorrow morning, weather permitting of course, the two little ships will continue on their way towards Lower Heyford.

Watering at Banbury and Further Blessings

There are many benefits of being tied up here in Banbury, the closeness of the town and its splendid collection of shops and other facilities is one, as well as the closeness of access to the countryside which is what I enjoy as well. Both of these advantages I have made good use of while I’ve been here since early April. Banbury is the home of good friends too that I have collected over the years while I lived here and many of these I have managed to look up this time or have been lucky enough simply to meet by chance in town. The whole experience has been wonderful.

However there are disadvantages too. One is that I am not cruising in this glorious early summer weather which is what I’m ‘paid’ to do; this is my whole raison d’être for living aboard ‘Futurest’ after all. So though I am temporarily dismayed for this reason, I am fortunate enough to have a special dispensation to remain here at the moorings till the end of the week when I am able to collect a new hearing aid from the local hospital.

The mooring is very quiet and peaceful (just what I want!) and my solar panel has been sufficiently stimulated up till now to keep all the on board batteries fully charged without having to run the main engine.

 

The Mooring at Banbury

 

But staying at one mooring for any length of time does have quite a drawback in that after a while the freshwater tank runs dry, which has happened this time in my case. It means that I have to navigate astern about one hundred yards around a bend and under two bridges, past any moored boats that I may happen to come across on the way, in order to refill at the nearest water point below Banbury Lock. There is a second alternative of taking a twenty five litre polythene cask that I have aboard on numerous treks to the water point, there and back, which would take all day and thus be quite unsatisfactory. In my case I quickly ruled this out.

However if I was to choose the first alternative there would be a further challenge to the operation in that the Oxford Canal at Banbury is very busy and as soon as I moved ‘Futurest’ back to take water, there is a great chance that some other boat in the meantime would sneak in and nick my ideal mooring from me.

So a bit of deduction on my part decided me to perform the operation first thing in the morning, at a time when nobody normally is looking for a mooring and most folk are still abed anyway. Also it would be best to choose a morning when there are no boats moored astern of me to clunk into by chance at that ungodly hour. Worth thinking about too is that at that same chosen, unheavenly time when most folks are gathering together the last of their sleep, I cannot start the thumping great Russell Newbery without becoming thoroughly unpopular.

So after untethering ‘Futurest’ as it was just getting light, I hauled her astern manually and once I had her momentum going she behaved beautifully and came gently and silently back to the water point with no trouble at all. The water pressure was low in the tap so it took well over an hour to fill up with water before I was able to haul her back again to her same mooring, which conveniently was still there. Apart from the odd dog walker there had been nobody around to disturb my tranquil morning.

The operation had gone so well that the following day I repeated it, this time with ‘Roots and Wings’; Janis had previously told me that she was short of water too so it was a good opportunity to tick that job off the list as well.

Yesterday the good lady arrived back aboard, now the proud possessor of the RYA Day Skipper Certificate after completing her sailing course at Gibraltar.

 

One morning on the towpath

 

I’ve nearly finished now but before I leave this posting and while speaking of advantages, I must just mention that on arrival at the mooring after our dry docking last month, we were befriended by a pair of pure white farmyard ducks who not only would appear as if by magic when ‘Futurest’s back door was opened but would furthermore always appear very cheerful and chatty (ducks have a way of telling you these things). Furthermore Mrs Duck, one could imagine her almost with her frilly bonnet and colourful coat looking very like Beatrix Potter’s Jemima Puddleduck, was good enough to lay me a beautiful pale blue egg on the towpath verge near the boat on two consecutive mornings. They were not laid in a nest and therefore were very vulnerable to other predators in the position that they were. So because they were placed provocatively close to the boat this predator collected them and I had them for dinner one night as a rich double egg omelette with mushrooms, onions and bacon which was quite delicious. I was a little apprehensive when I guiltily cracked the first shell, hoping desperately that the eggs weren’t fertilised; I would have felt like some kind of murderer otherwise. But the yolks were quite clear, my conscience was appeased and I was able to enjoy Nature’s bounteous harvest with a clear conscience. Mr and Mrs Duck have now moved on, presumably to further grateful benefactors.

Banbury

My home town.

I was born and brought up here and until recently, when I decided to move aboard ‘Futurest’ to travel the country, I have lived in this place all my life, even though I have been absent for much of that time, through being away at school for some years at first and then travelling throughout the World in the Merchant Navy for the next twenty years.

 

Banbury’s 500 year old Wisteria in White Lion Walk

 

It was one day during that latter period on a brief and hurried weekend’s leave from my ship that purely by chance I was invited to a party in town by a total stranger that I had met in a pub that evening and at the address to which he took me I met a girl for the first time which was to change my life forever.

It took only a few minutes after we had met for me to decide that this particular lady was somebody exciting but special and in spite of the fact that every other day of my life I was meeting exciting people from all over the rest of the World and the chances were that I would eventually settle and live elsewhere, later during a longer leave we two were married at a local church and last week on my birthday, had she survived, we would have been together for fifty years.

My surname too belongs to an old Banbury family who I have been able to trace back seven generations before me in the town. But my children on attaining adulthood, very quickly moved away to make their lives elsewhere, quite rightly so too in this modern age, and because I had no near cousins and, so far as I can ascertain now, no distant relatives living in the area either, to keep the name going, you can imagine that being at the tail end of a steady three hundred and fifty year history associated with Banbury and with no male grandchildren at the moment to carry the name on, I feel a certain guilt at being the last of the line.

However I am not about to suffer any mental breakdown as a result of these musings since who really gives a damn anyway. So long as my genes have been passed on, my duties in this life towards Nature have all been fulfilled no matter what names they are labelled with. Nonetheless for whatever reason, I do now feel somewhat attached to Banbury.

Probably the most important aspect of my relationship with the town today is that I have friends still living here and these associations go back a long way, making it important that I do not sever myself completely from the town. Many of these people I have managed to meet during this visit and it’s been lovely to see them again. It always is and I need to continue to return to Banbury for this if nothing else.

The character of the old historic town of Banbury has been changed enormously during my lifetime with the modern addition of a noisy motorway passing close by and a large shopping mall, as well as the boundaries of the town being stretched due to multi house building programmes over the years, which necessarily have gobbled up many of the small surrounding villages. Banbury is now so similar to many other towns in the Midlands and Southern England that it has lost much of its old charm.

However the countryside around remains quite outstanding and though it may lack the breathtakingly stupendous impact of the country that I was privileged to view in the Southern Hemisphere last Winter, its low rolling aspect of multi-coloured fields and lush green trees and hedgerows where cattle and sheep contentedly graze and wildlife happily abound beside babbling brooks and sparkling streams, is always well worth returning to.

The warm spell of sunshiny weather that we had here during April encouraged me to get out into this countryside a couple of weeks ago and thus persuaded me that I needed to walk to the house of my friends John and Maggie in the old village of Bloxham; they had invited me to stay the night with them. It’s only three miles by road but walking the footpaths and bridleways via the village of Milton I managed to stretch the enjoyable distance to six miles.

 

Bridleway on my walk to Bloxham

 

Upper Grove Mill near Bloxham

 

Crossing the mill stream

 

A ford across the Sor Brook near Milton

 

Cattle watering hole

 

Bloxham Church, the tallest spire in Oxfordshire

 

As I passed along hedgerows of white blossoming Blackthorn with yellow Dandelion at their feet, feeling quite at ease with the warmth of the Sun on my face and listening to the vigorous courting songs of the Robin, Thrush and Blackbird, I was assailed with a heady mixed fragrance of wild flowers and farmyards, while in the rolling distance fields of vibrantly green wheat and bright yellow rape coloured the patchwork of my view. I was happy that I had taken the exercise and afterwards I thoroughly enjoyed spending the night with my friends. They are great hosts and always make me feel most welcome.

Our two little ships were dry docked at Tooley’s Yard in the town in early April but our planned passage south has been delayed, while I await the delivery of a hearing aid from the local Horton Hospital on 15^th May. We have made a special arrangement with C & RT (the Canal & River Trust) to remain a little longer for this purpose. I am very grateful that the necessary delay has happened at Banbury.

 

‘Futurest’ being ‘blacked’ at Tooley’s, Banbury

 

Janis, making good use of the time, is away for the week in Gibraltar doing her RYA Day Skipper Practical sailing course so I am busy with my usual boat sitting duties till she returns.

Dry Docking at Tooley’s, Banbury

Since leaving Warwick early last month our two little ships have very slowly meandered their way along the Grand Union Canal to Wigram’s Turn and then south down the Oxford Canal in order to keep a special date with the dry dock at Tooley's Boatyard in Banbury. The weather was extraordinarily fine all the time, which made the passage even more enjoyable.

 

A beautiful day at Claydon Locks

 

We arrived on the Tuesday before Easter ready for ‘Roots and Wings’ to enter the dock on Maundy Thursday to have her bottom blacked. Subsequently she remained there for seven days because of the holiday weekend and ‘Futurest’ went in the following Thursday for the same treatment coming out five days later on Monday last.

 

My wife’s grave

 

In her six years as my special companion ‘Futurest’ has always been ‘blacked at Tooley’s. Because Banbury used to be my home town this yard was my natural first choice and because I have always had such good service there I am so glad I didn’t take ‘Futurest’ anywhere else instead.

 

Primroses

 

…..and Tulips

 

As well as the blacking I have always received from the company afterwards, at no extra cost, a printed report complete with photographs informing me of the condition of the hull, rudder, propeller, anodes and weed box. This is very useful on later dockings to note whether there has been any deterioration in the meantime and indicates too whether any remedial action is required this time. It’s not quite a full blown hull survey but my goodness I have found it so helpful. The dry dock is also classed as an Ancient Monument having been built in 1790 so this too has made it all the more special for me to use;  by being blacked here I feel I am helping to keep this piece of ancient heritage alive.

 

Small Tortoiseshell Butterfly

 

However when it was first built the dock was designed to service the wooden shallow draft horse drawn narrow boats of the time and not hulking great steel ones with a heavy Russell Newbery Engine aboard like ‘Futurest’ drawing two feet nine inches at the stern. But I had never realised before quite how shallow the dock was as I had never encountered any trouble getting the little ship in or out.  Purely by chance on previous occasions I had very little fuel aboard in the after tank when I docked her, but this time on our way south, without applying much thought to the consequences, I had refuelled at Wigram’s Turn Marina thereby increasing the draft considerably.

So imagine my surprise when last Thursday, after I had carefully lined ‘Futurest’ up and began entering, only two thirds of her length had entered the dock before she stopped dead and no matter how much I increased the revs she didn’t budge an inch. With Matt, the director of the firm and employees Graham, Linda and also Janis who had come along to help too perched precariously as far forward as possible, ‘Futurest’ still wouldn’t move. In the end they had to drag the old girl forward with a winch till her rudder was just clear inside the dock doors.

On Monday with a sparkling black hull and with the propeller rotating astern bringing extra water into the filled dock, I thought there would be a distinct possibility that ‘Futurest’ would float out with little difficulty. But no chance. She had to be winched out again to float clear into the canal.

She really stuck her claws in this dry docking, bless her and I must remember in future to have just a small amount of fuel in the tank when having her dry docked.

I have added a few photos of Spring to the page, which though not at all relevant to dry docking in any way, may help to brighten things up a bit.

Hi Futurest here!

The Boss having left me all winter on my own has now left me again, on my own, in the dry dock at Tooley’s at Banbury for a few days and swanned off to stay aboard ‘Roots and Wings’ with Janis no doubt.

Honestly! It’s as if he doesn't like me anymore.

‘Roots and Wings’ went in just before me and even though she’d been left all over the winter on her own as well, she went in and out the dock ever so easily…. just like the meek and mild little thing she is. But I wasn’t going to do the same for my Old Man…. no way! I wanted him to know how I felt about the selfish way he’d left me for all that time.

Yes you’re right. I did need to have my bottom cleaned off but it was going to be on my terms rather than his, I’d make sure of that. Later on in the year perhaps would have been a better time for it.

So when the Boss took me down yesterday morning at eight o’clock I behaved as good as gold till he had lined me all up to go in and then I put my foot, or rather my bottom down, and just refused to go any further. 

With an irritated look on his face the Skipper increased my revs (he can be such a spoiled child when he wants to be you know) but no, I wasn’t going to change my mind and I stayed firmly stuck in the entrance to the dock.

Next, Matt, and Graham came aboard and perched on my bow, hoping to lift my stern a bit higher while the Skipper, looking even more annoyed, kept the revs up. But I was made of sterner stuff than that and the next thing they did was call Linda, Graham’s lady, from the office to come and stand on the bow as well.

And they did look so silly all of them perched in front of my cratch cover all hanging on so precariously on top of my forepeak locker lid. They didn’t look very happy and I’m sure none of them felt safe either.

Because that wasn’t working, next the Skipper shut off the revs and hopped ashore with a stern rope hoping to lift my stern and with him pulling on the rope and the other three pushing on the overhead beams, I still didn’t move…… I intended them to work a lot harder than that to persuade me.

Next the Skipper went down and stood on the bow as well hoping that his extra heavy weight might make me lift my stern….. And they all pushed till their little faces went bright red, but I wasn’t going to move.

In the end though they got the electric winch out and I knew I would have to give in then otherwise my bow would have been pulled off or something. But I had made my feelings known and still I was not prepared to give in lightly.

But slowly, inch by inch, my bulk was hauled in until the lock boards could just be slid into place behind me and they would be able then to let the water out of the dock. I hoped by then though that the Skipper knew how I felt.

I have decided to start using the Skipper’s web page again to say what I want. The other site that I began using was too difficult for me to work and it’s so much easier using this one. I’ll just have to continue choosing the right moment, when he’s not around, to write.

Now I’ve managed to make my point (I hope), I must say it is nice to have him back home from abroad. He’s a job to put up with at times but I miss him when he goes away and I was ever so touched by his letters to me from New Zealand and Australia.

Shows he cares a bit, doesn’t it?

The Freshness of Cropredy

Though the air temperature is up to nine or ten degrees today the thick grey cloud overhead, leaning heavily on the dark roofs of the village houses opposite us on the tow-path, has so far not encouraged the Sun to show his face.

But in spite of strong blustery squalls of rain hammering on ‘Futurest’s roof and cratch-cover as they pass swiftly across at regular intervals, the bells of the small but ancient Cropredy Parish Church ring out defiantly as I write, calling the faithful to Sunday Worship, as they will have done for centuries.

Furthermore notwithstanding this particularly bombastic phase of the weather, Spring continues to strengthen, and the flowers are plentiful and flourishing. The abundant Primrose smiles gratefully at the bounteous supply of rain while the bright yellow Daffodil happily dances and ducks his way defiantly through the vicious mêlée completely unvexed at the petulant climatic behaviour.

 

Young Lambs

Since arriving home after our Winter tour we have had plenty of time now to re-accustom ourselves to our old relaxed way of life. The warm temperatures and exotic fauna and flora of the Southern Hemisphere now seem dreamlike almost and certainly far away. I repeat myself I know by saying that I thought it was all amazing and I still feel most privileged to have been able to experience the marvellous event. My life has been enriched. But it’s surprising how soon one becomes comfortable and appreciative of one’s current surroundings. Since we have moored here Janis and I have walked many miles along the numerous local footpaths and bridleways. There is so much to see and appreciate along these marvellous thoroughfares. New life is beginning again all around us and while recently born Lambs play excitedly and with such apparent confidence before doubt creeps in again and they have to dash back for the definite certainty of mother’s teat, the hedgerows and trees offer their bursting buds ready at any moment to bounce forth into the luxurious Summer colours we know so well.

 

Janis in contemplation of Primroses at Great Bourton

 

On Monday we leave this happy place and travel the short and familiar length of the Oxford Canal into busy Banbury where the following week the two little ships have an appointment with Tooley’s Dry Dock for their regular clean up beneath the waterline. After that we press on southwards towards Oxford and Reading for the Kennett and Avon Canal. The English Summer once more has everything to offer.