'Ow Things Was
‘Ow Things Was’.
A view of the canals, the cargo’s and Characters, as seen through the eyes of a young lad growing up in the Black Country and descovering the Birmingham Canal Navigation’s during the last decade of commercial carrying on this industrial and individual network. Followed by a return four decades later.
The following chapters are dedicated to the memory of all those souls who scratched a living navigating the unique waterway systems of Britain.
Blossom....
Copyright M J Edge 2004
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER 1 ~
THE JOYS OF BONKING.
CHAPTER 2 ~
THE BIRTH OF BLOSSOM.
CHAPTER 3 ~
NICKING COAL---IT’S A BREEZE.
CHAPTER 4 ~
BOLLINDERS BEHAVING BADLY.
CHAPTER 5 ~
BEWARE OF THE RED-FACED MAN.
CHAPTER 6 ~ IN A STEW AT STEWPONY LOCK.
CHAPTER 7 ~
IT’S A SAFE LIFE ON THE CUT.
CHAPTER 8 ~
COMPANIES AND CARGO’S.
CHAPTER 9 ~
BUILDING BOATS BY THE MILE.
CHAPTER 10 ~
A BOAT OF MY OWN.
CHAPTER 11 ~
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DAY MAKES.
CHAPTER 12 ~
SURFING THE CANALS
Chapter One. The Joys Of Bonking!
Someone once said, "All actions are a direct re-action to other actions". Or if he didn’t, perhaps he should have done for as a result of several recent actions - one of moving house to a property with frontage on to the Trent and Mersey Canal in Rugeley, Staffordshire and a second the appointment of a new member of staff at work who resides on what he calls a traditional style 60ft narrowboat. Both these actions combined have now resulted in a further re-action - that of being asked to write ‘something’ of interest. "But what?" I asked "You’ll think of something Blossom" was the reply (more about Blossom later). But first a TEST--------------------------------
A test you must carry out, and one, which must be done under strict, Controlled Conditions. --- Look deeply into your partners eyes (for those of you working boats single handed look into a mirror) and say out loud:
BONK ------BONK BONK------ BONK
-------------------BONK----------------------
BONK BONK BONK----------- BONK
BONK BONK------------BONK BONK
BONK-------BONK BONK BONK
Now wait for a reaction, long pause, if the result is "It’s a bit early in the day, " or "what again?" or may be even "It’s not Saturday is it?"-------Then do not bother reading any further, however, if the response is OK, yes very good, sounds like a ‘Josher’ or could be a’ Clayton’s Tar boat’ then read on. For you may possibly make some sense of what follows, even find interest, pleasure or even get a taste of my weird sense of humor---
EARLY BEGINNINGS.
I presume that as you are reading on, then you have recognised my attempt to reproduce that uneven but rhythmic beat of a Bollinder ‘getting on ahead’.
As a child I was raised in a beautiful picturesque little hamlet at the heart of the Black Country called Tipton! Noted for being at the center of our canal network in fact nicknamed the ‘Venice of the midlands’. Locals claiming that it had more miles of canal than its Italian twin. I don’t know if this is true but what I do know was that even today it is impossible to get out of Tipton without going over or under a canal. Being surrounded as it is by the New and Old Main Lines and also the Gower Branch forming a square around Tipton, thus making it an island!
And so it was within this area that I first became absorbed into the world of canals Living a matter of only 200yards from the New Main Line and close to where a railway line looped round joining the LMS to the GWR. This created a long, amplifying bridge ‘ole known as the "Sounding Bridge" from where the sound of Bollinders were easily heard even before the boat came into view. And so referring back to the Philosopher’s view of ‘action and re-action’, it was only to be expected that it would not be long before canals had there effect or should I say re-action upon me...
‘DUG A DUG’.
By eighteen months of age my favorite ‘ game’ was playing with my favorite ‘toy’-- a dugadug- "what’s that?" I hear you ask. My mother used to occasionally get me a ‘dugadug’ from our local shop and weather permitting it would be positioned on our back yard, within earshot of the sounding bridge, and I would play for hours sitting in it mumbling"dugadug". The larger variety of ‘dugadug’ especially those advertising Omo soap powders or Craven A cigarettes were the best for creating my own ‘virtual reality world’.
If you now go back to the ‘BONK’ test but this time substituting the word DUGADUG without the gaps,
DUGADUGADUGADUG
DUGADUGADUGADUG.
you might find a pretty good’ National’ or’ Russel Newbury ‘ twin cylinder and so to early beginnings. From this age to about eleven years of age contact with the canals was very limited apart from the occasional standing on turnover bridges with other young lads shouting "Gizza lift mate." Why we bothered I don’t know, for the ‘bargees’ would not reply, not even raise their view to acknowledge our existence, just maintaining their ‘ALL EYES AHEAD AND TRUST IN THE LORD’ approach to ‘driving the barge’.
There was another regular contact with the canal barges, or should I say the ‘boat ossiz’, for days would be spent armed with galvanized bucket and coal shovel collecting ‘ something for the rhubarb’. For even at this late stage (early sixties) there was still lots of short haul traffic, mainly from the still thriving coal industry whose main motive power was still horses supplying the Power Generating Industry, with local power stations at Walsall, Ocker Hill and Wolverhampton, known in the boating world as ‘Ampton Light’ which, when I first heard it refereed to, I thought they were talking about a lighthouse in Wolverhampton for warning unwary boaters of hazards on the canal!!!. It was interesting that most boaters preferred horses for this type of work on the lock-strewn sections of the BCN, as unlike with tugs there was no need to double work the locks.
Eleven years of age was a very important stage in my life, things were to happen which would have a deep long term effect upon the rest of my life. I passed my eleven plus exam which meant I would be going to Tipton County Grammar School to further my education in such noble subjects as History, Geography and Latin? - This was the high point in my parents life, I screamed for days and pleaded with them not to send me for what seemed to me two very justifiable reasons.......
1... A Grammar school ‘wimp’ from Tipton was a target for every bullyboy to give you a good hiding for no reason
2... Every single friend I had was going to Park Lane the’tough guys’ Secondary Modern-----so woe was me!!
In the first year at this school a field trip was arranged to assist students in their study of local history and geography. The trip was voluntary, paid for by parents and extra curriculum (which I found out meant in my own time!) and it consisted of a trip through Dudley Tunnel - reluctantly I went along mumbling something like "OH THIS IS GOING TO BE REALLY EXCITING I D’ONT THINK!" How wrong I was---I cannot even begin to describe the sheer thrill, excitement, interest, fear, and pure adrenaline rush. The experience left me a scarred man for even now, forty years later; I can still smell the dark damp tunnel air. Still hear the fading echo’s of voices singing "We’re going through the tunnel, push boys push" and still feel the ache in my calf muscles from ‘LEGGING’. For the next decade it was to be a two way trip every Saturday, a two way trip every Sunday and at least a one way trip of a weekday evening (as well as an empty return trip in the week to bring the boat back to Tipton.
Something else that happened, (action -- reaction) was that I recognised the lad steering the’barge’ along the Tunnel approach canal. He was a fifth former (16 years of age) from school by the name of Dave Apps. He not only had the ‘all eyes ahead’ look but also the style of dress I had seen many times before worn by the men working on the motorised ‘barges’ which were towing other ‘barges’. Which up until now I had presumed that no doubt their engines had broken down and were having to be towed! ----
The style of dress consisted of boots, bib and brace overalls, a wide leather belt decorated with brasses, and a ‘lock key’ tucked in the front. On his head was what I can only describe as a black peaked hat with the chin strap pulled tightly over the top of the hat pulling the sides down similar to those worn by German officers as seen in all the war films I had grown up on. It was several days later at school when I saw this lad and was able to question him about why he was there? what he was doing?, and how could I get to have a go. He went on to explain about the Dudley Canal Tunnel Preservation Society (DCTPS) and their attempts to save the tunnel and canal from closure. The conversation ended with him saying "just turn up any Saturday morning and tell them you want to join and help crew the boat" and that was exactly what I did the very next Saturday. On arrival at Batson’s wharf, the tunnel trip boat was tied up against the towpath and several bodies were busying themselves lighting tilley lamps and scooping water out of the hold with buckets. Upon asking who to see, I was directed to a large gent stood on the rear end of the barge. I later found out he was a rugby player and the ‘canal manager’ a fellow by the name of Derek Gittings. With introductions over, I was soon on the end of a long towline along with half a dozen others, pulling the barge up to the New Road bridge where we tied up ready for the trip party to turn up.
And so it started, I couldn’t get enough of it --I scoured the local and school libraries looking for anything to do with canals---’Idle Women’, ‘Hold on a Minute’, Narrow Boat’, ‘Rolt’, ‘Hadfield’, etc, etc. Spent all my spare time either as ‘crew’ for DCTPS or exploring the BCN by bicycle especially at those points where Boats were working, loading or unloading, etc. I soon became such a common site at ‘Factory Three’, ‘Brades’, ‘The Graysey Ate’, etc., that several of the local boatmen (not bargees!) began speaking "ow do" and no more, or even sometimes letting me open or close gates or help bowhaul loaded ‘Joey’ boats through.
My school days now had purpose, for my journey to school consisted of a half-hour bike ride along the towpath. Gradually as I began to know more and more of the local boaters I spent less and less time actually in school, for it got that as I cycled along if I met a boater that I knew then it meant no school that day! For I would cycle to the next bridge where the bike would be thrown on board and a days boating would be the order of the day. So as a result of those chance actions and reactions I was given the unique opportunity to sample just a taste of proper boating in the last twilight decade of trade on the BCN.
Perhaps in the following chapters I may react further and tell you some more of the Boats, Boaters, Company’s, Cargos and ‘Cockups’ but till then
"DON’T BANG ‘EM ABOUT"
BLOSSOM.
Chapter Two --The Birth of Blossom .
Oh so you decided to read on! That must mean either you have a warped sense of humor or you are interested in canals. I did say that I would write more to explain about a colleague at work calling me ‘Blossom’ but before I can, I will have to explain a little background information on boating techniques which will need description as they play a major role in my christening. ---
Most things that working boatmen did were a result of two hundred years of practice and were designed to speed up the process of boating by working smarter not harder! Many techniques utilised the force of water or the energy of the boat’s movement and they were based on split second timing and not speed at all. A few of these techniques and traditions I now think of myself as being lucky enough to have been taught properly by some very hard task masters, who’s methods of correction was a cuff round the ear or at least a few strong words. Nowadays I sometimes think to myself ‘it’s a pity that some of these traditions are not adopted by some of the ‘boaters’ I see passing the bottom of my garden’. Disappearing under the bridgehole, absolutely flat out and totally oblivious to the havoc they leave in their wake to not only other users, but also to moored craft, anglers, wild life and bank erosion let alone the water skier that they have obviously lost off the back! What has happened to those quiet, slow, peaceful boating holidays that were once all the rage???
But anyway, back to my christening which took place one day when I was lock wheeling a motor boat working up Black Delph flight of locks on the Stourbridge canal hence the need to explain a little about the methods that I was taught and used for working locks.
WORKING UPHILL TWO HANDED.
1.Lock wheeler goes ahead on bicycle to pre-set lock (if needed)
2. Lock wheeler stands with his windlass on the ground paddle, on the opposite side at the head of the lock.
3. Lock wheeler signals to steerer (if needed) if the water level in the lock is level showing difference with hands.
4. Steerer gently nudges bottom gates open with bows and enters lock chamber on tickover in ‘ahead’ (forward)
5. Lock wheeler, (at the exact moment that the bows reach the point where the paddle hole enters the lock chamber, which is about three-quarter way in) then rapidly raises a full paddle.
6. Lock wheeler removes windlass and strolls across top gate (no rushing remember I st rule of boating never run!)
7. If timed correctly the surge of water entering the lock will stop the boat, still in ahead and on tickover, just in time for it to nudge the top cill.
8. As the bows nudge the top cill the steerer reaches into the recesses of the bottom gates and pulls the gates open about eight-ten inches....... water does the rest.
9. At this point the lock wheeler raises the other ground and gate paddle, gets on their bike and goes on up the flight to set the next lock.
10. The boat, still in ahead and on tickover, rises with the water still nudging the top gate. As the water levels then the boat starts to push the top gate open. As the boat leaves the lock on tickover the steerer steps off to drop the paddles. Unless the gates were very leaky they were usually left open, as it was a 50/50 chance that the next boat would be going downhill. -------Simplicity itself!!!
The system worked perfectly calling for very little effort and certainly no rushing about or crossing back and forth across the lock. Utilising the boat to open the gates and the water pressure to close them.
The only problem with this system was if your timing was out. Open the paddle too soon and the surge of water not only stops the boat, but will in fact build up in front of the boat and like a piston, push you back out of the lock.(irrespective of how hard you rev the engine) Or open the paddle too late and the water surges under the boat, lifts it up and crashes the boat into the top cill at full speed.
Proof of the effectiveness of this technique, at the age of 13 years I would regularly lockwheel ‘single motors’ two handed up the 21 Wolverhampton locks in just over an hour
----back to the christening of Blossom. -----------
The background to the christening, If you put a 12-year-old boy on the canal then add to the equation a definite dislike of soap and water, the net result is a dirty face! One local boat owner said that I looked like one of the ‘blossoms.’ Apparently a comedy radio programme about a black American family, although I can not say I’d heard of it, but at this point it did not stick as it was not until several weeks later that events took place which sealed my fate for life.
On the day in question I was lock wheeling ‘Bellatrix’, a small Northwich motorboat up the Delph nine on the Stourbridge canal. An attractive young woman with two children, the eldest of which was a similar age to myself, was standing watching the boat enter the lock. In my enthusiasm to impress, I wacked the paddle up far too soon and the boat started to be pushed out of the lock. At this point ‘Tatty’ Sherwood on the back end, who could not see this woman or kids, opened up the ‘Russel Newbury’ to try and compensate. The chamber filled with black smoke and he screamed at the top of his voice "DROP ‘EM BLOSSOM" meaning for me to drop the paddle. This woman must have thought that he had aimed it at her and so snatched up the two children and raced off down the towpath cursing "Vulgar Bargee" I fell about laughing to the bewilderment of the steerer as the boat rose in the lock.
When once I explained the unseen woman and pointed her out to him still racing down the flight he collapsed with laughter and I’m afraid that was it, my fate was sealed for within a few weeks the tale had been told over and over and so the name stuck to the point that nobody on the cut ever knew my real name and just referred to me as BLOSSOM!!!!!!!
Unfortunately now at nearly 50 years of age it does tend to raise a few eyebrows when someone calls me Blossom, especially if its another man!
And so it was in this environment that my ‘apprenticeship’ into boating began and so to other techniques.
WORKING DOWNHILL TWO HANDED
1.Lock wheeler going on ahead to set the lock and open the top gate then stand and wait with windlass ready on the bottom paddles.
2.Steerer brings boat into lock mouth on tickover.
3.Takes ‘Strapping Line’ off cabin top (which consists of a 10 foot length of hemp rope about an inch and a half in diameter and a loop spliced on one end) and places it over the rear stud on the towpath side of the counter.
4. Holding the other end of the rope and with the boat still in ‘ahead’ and on tickover, the steerer steps off the boats counter onto the towpath. At this point the lockwheeler opens the bottom paddles then rides off to set the next lock. As the back end of the boat enters the lock and the stud lines up with the strapping post of the gate (Yes that was what they were for!) a single turn is put onto the strapping post and a foot is braced onto the post. As the strap tightens it is allowed to slip a little, it slows the boat down and shuts the top gate at the same time. The rest follows naturally.
A PROPER BLACK COUNTRY MON ---ON YER BIKE.
On one occasion I recall, whilst out boat spotting with Phillip Ritchy a big friend of mine from school (also a canalcohollic) we came across Ernie Thomas’ 70 ft trip boat being skippered by a young man that we both knew from Wednesbury. This guy had previously pretended to be a rail worker from the days of steam. At this time he liked to pretend that he was a proper ‘Black Country Boatman’ (incidentally some years later on a visit to the Black Country Museum I spotted him pretending to be a proper ‘Black Country Crystal Glass Cutter’working in the glass works!!!) The best of it is that he came from a really posh family whose parents would scold him if they heard him speaking in slang! Back to the plot-----The boat was full of about forty passengers enjoying a pleasant boat trip to Walsall. We offered our services to help work him through Ryders Green locks. He jumped at the opportunity to have someone assist, as working locks single-handed is hard work. (Well the way he was doing it was) and so he allowed us on.
By lock three, and about 45 minutes later, ‘Richie’ and I had started taking the mickey out of his boating techniques. This consisted of stopping the boat at the head of the lock by using the engine. Next the bows would be tied up in the mouth of the lock. The lock was then made ready by opening one paddle at a time, then when the water in the lock was absolutely level and not a moment before the top gate would be opened. Once opened, the boat would be gently propelled into the lock chamber and stopped, again with the engine and without nudging the bottom gates. At this point the boat would be made secure with a slack line to the lock side. Etc. Etc.
It was not long before ‘Richie’ and I were saying "Why dow ya strap the bugger in, it’ll be a lot quicker and less werk"and "Dow ya know ‘ow to? This was maintained all down the remainder of the flight until sure enough by the last lock we had convinced him to strap the boat through. As the boat entered the lock both ‘Richie’ and myself opened bottom paddles. He stepped off the motors counter with an ordinary cabin string fixed to the stud and proceeded to throw about four or five turns on the strapping post. Unable to slip, the strap tightened and closed the gate. It then proceeded to take the full 10ton dead weight of the rapidly moving boat. Needless to say it snapped like cotton, the boat crashed into the bottom gates, forty passengers ended in a heap, cups plates etc could be heard crashing in the galley and we quickly left the scene of devastation. As we rode off on our bikes we shouted back our farewells almost unable to stay on our bikes due to our fits of laughter.
I should point out though, that I did later meet up with this same fellow on several occasions for a days boating when he went to work for Alfred Matty & Sons as a tug driver. This was when they secured the contract for the civil engineering works associated with the laying of natural gas pipeline along the BCN towpaths. He was then in charge of the ice boat tug ‘Tycho’ which was being used along with a fleet of mainly iron railway or iron Joey boats which had nearly all been acquired from the demise and sale of Stewarts & Lloyds fleet of boats from Coombswood Works. These were being used to move any of the materials around and as such were mainly loaded with sand, gravel, or spoil., as well as scaffold poles gas bottles, builders planks etc.
Chapter Three—
Nicking Coal, It’s a Breeze
Boatmen, Lock-keepers and good-looking women never bought coal on the BCN! As Sam Lomas (BWB lockeeper at cut end )always said, "If you worked in a snuff factory would you buy your own snuff!" and the BCN was a huge snuff factory for on every turrn could be seen evidence of it’s black heritage---COAL. The very water itself ran black with coal, most of it being pumped from the pits of the Cannock or Black Country mines. To give some idea I’m sure I remember reading somewhere that only a few years before their closure, that the Churchbridge locks saw one million tons of coal pass through them in one year alone! It was quite common, I remember, for young lads in the Tipton area to go swimming in the cut and diving for coal which had fallen from wharf or boat. Likewise boatmen would drop coal off for lengthsmen or lockeepers etc, such as half way up the ‘Greasey eight’ or the ‘Crow’ and also I have heard it said that pretty girls would exchange "coal fer ‘ole". As the coal trade diminished, due to the demise of coal fired power stations and factory boilers, plus the closure of pits as they worked out or became unprofitable, it became harder and harder for boaters to keep the slack boards full. So a certain group of boaters took to taking an annual "coal run", usually at night
On one occasion, I did hear say, several boaters got together and hatched a plot! (Some of the details have been changed to protect the guilty!)
There was a certain factory based on the loops around the Ickneild Port area of Birmingham who’s boilers burnt ‘weshed pays’. (washed peas--small clean pieces of coal about 12mm in diameter and as such, prized by boaters for it’s excellent burning properties on ‘bottle’ stoves and ranges) Access to the coal was from canal wharf only, so on a predetermined, moonless night the four met in the ‘Wagon & ‘Horses’ in Tipton for several pints of ale leaving at just before closing time (10.30pm in those days) and boating off to Birmingham. By about one a clock they had arrived and rigged the craft for ‘silent running’ (switched the engine off and shafted the boat the last 100 yds,) Tying up at the wharf they all got off armed with ‘muffled shovels’ and in an absolute drunken state in total darkness until one of them fell into a huge black mound next to the canal. "Here it is " he whispered loudly "Hold it " another said "this ay coal, it’s coke breeze" "Ay that no good then" said the first "Oh ar it’s even better" was the reply. and so the crew set about shoveling about 10 tons of small coke breeze into the boat. (Well 8ton in the boat the other2ton into the canal!) The task completed they then proceeded to shaft the boat the next 1000yards along the loop so as not to alert anyone, as if they hadn’t already made enough noise to wake the dead! Now at a safe distance the engine was started and their return journey begun. With military precision the exercise had been completed turned round and on the way back all within the hour!
Three hours later saw for very tired, dirty and still sozzled boaters all fall into one back cabin and collapse into a drunken sleep. As daylight broke and the birds began the dawn chorus one of the clan who was already up was hammering on the cabin side shouting "Gerr up, gerr up, come and see this" The remaining three hastily got up to see what all the fuss was about to be greeted by not 8 tons of coke breeze but instead 8 tons of clinker ash which had been scraped from the factory boilers!!!!
They do say that even today the stretch of canal between Dudley Tunnel Portal and The Black Country Museum has the best black ash towpath any where on the B.C.N.!
RANGES, BOTTLESTOVES AND FIRE CANS.
Coal, as already mentioned was King on the BCN and as far as boaters were concerned an essential necessity for out doors in the winter months when it would be burnt on the many forms of heating to be found, which fell into three main types.
First the ‘range’ as favored by the long distance and ‘live aboard’ boats providing heating, cooking and waste disposal. Secondly, the ‘bottlestove’ like a large cast iron bottle on three legs, which could be found on most of the BCN tugs and wooden ‘Joey’ boats fitted with cabins.
Finally the ‘fire can’ or ‘fire bucket’ which as the name implies consisted of either a large metal bucket or drum fitted with handles. Holes would be knocked into both it’s base and sides and then rag / paper / wood would be ignited in it’s base and then coal added. To give it a ‘good start’ when first lit, and before the handle got too hot, it would be picked up and swung round at arms length in a vertical circle thus drawing the air through it and firing it into life very quickly. This would then be positioned at the back end within arms reach, either in the well or on the cross stretcher. This form of heating was used exclusively on the many open, cabinless dayboats and railway boats, which were to be found in there plenty. Also ‘fire cans’ would also be used on ‘joey’ boats with cabins if they were being towed backwards. A very common practice due to both ends being equally pointed and having the facility to hang the ‘ellum’ (helm) or as day boaters always called it the ‘icky’ from either end. Many of the wooden boats heated this way bore the circular scars of fire buckets burnt into their stretchers and boat bottoms.
THERES SMOKE IN THE ‘OLE
Another boaters trick regularly practiced was that of storing coal dust, known locally as ‘slack’, for one of two purposes. Firstly an age tester---can you remember when sugar used to come in stiff, almost cardboard like bags which were, if I remember right, white on the outside and blue on the inside--- well these were kept and filled with slack then the tops were folded over back down. These would be put in the top of the range last thing at night. Eventually the bag burns through but not until the heat of the fire ‘cooks’ the coal slack into a solid lump which would last straight through until morning. The second use for slack typifies the warped sense of ‘fun’ of the canal folk of the BCN. Whether this was a local trick or whether it was more widespread, I don’t know but I do know that every time that I accompanied any boats through tunnels like Netherton, Wast Hill, Gorsty Hill etc, it was common practice to ‘bank up’ the fire with slack just before entering. This would result in clouds of thick acrid brown smoke filling the tunnel behind and so choking any following boats----unspoken humor!
But ‘what a difference a day makes’ or so it appeared for within a very short period of less than a decade my local canals, as far as coal was concerned, changed beyond belief. At the end of fifties/ start of the sixties a brief cycle ride around the area one would pass at least a dozen coal boats on the move by such carriers as Mitchard’s of Tipton and their tug ‘Jubilee’, T&S Elements horse boats or tug ‘Princess Ann’ from Whimsey Bridge Oldbury, Wooden motor boat ‘Albion’ from R.B.Tudors yard at Wednesbury Oak, ‘Bellatrix’ from The Wulfruna Coal Company, Wolverhampton, and of cause Ernie Thomas of Walsall and his famous tugs like ‘Dot’ and ‘Birchills’ and his ‘flyer’ ‘Enterprise’ which I had the pleasure of seeing on many occasions move off from a standstill , completely effortlessly, with six or seven deeply laden joey boats in tow probably about 200 to 250tons of coal on the move usually to Birchills or Ocker Hill power stations. So what a change it was the day I stood on Fishers Bridge, Tividale to hear the approach of ‘Caggy’ Steavens Bollinder aboard ‘Judith Ann.’ It was towing a single joey boat loaded down with very large ‘cobs’ of neatly stacked coal and being steered by a long time friend of mine, Jeff Bennet from Dudley Port. As he went under the bridgeole I called down to him only to be told that it was the last load from Anglesey, no longer would we see under the coal staithes boats being manhandled into position to receive their ‘black gold’ from the Cannock coal fields.
This, as far as I can remember, was in fact the last coal I ever saw move on the B.C.N --- truly a sad day indeed! For over the next couple of years the BCN saw the finish of all the coal movements and the disappearance of all the boats used in this trade. This amounted to hundreds of wooden Joey boats along with the canal’s special ‘wharf boats, or ‘Ampton boats which worked exclusively on the Wolverhampton level. These particular craft were built 80 feet in length and 8 feet in width and capable of carrying 50+tons of coal and designed to be used solely on the Wolverhampton level of 40 miles of lock free canal.
Chapter Four--- Bolinders Behaving Badly.
Living, as I do now, ‘on the bank’ next to bridge 64 on the Trent and Mersey canal, I am able to spend much of my time ‘boat spotting’. I would probably now be termed as a ‘Gongoozeler’ which as you all probably know is ‘An idle and inquisitive person who stands on bridges watching boats go by ‘ (incidentally not a canal term, but one invented by Rudolf De-Salis whilst editing the book ‘ Bradshaws Inland Waterways of Great Britain’. Anyway back to the boat spotting. I take great pleasure and amusement, (I know wicked isn’t it!) at watching the antics of passing craft as they try to negotiate the bridge. (Which incidentally is about 11 feet wide) Sometimes they hit the brickwork so hard that I hear the ‘BONG’ from in the house!
This got me thinking, how ever would some of these modern boaters have got on if marine diesels had not developed any further than the ever popular, always reliable, easy starting ‘Bollinder’.... These thoughts took me back to the sixties, the early days of pleasure boating, and some of the ‘close encounters of the first kind’, but before that I feel I may need to explain a few details of Bolinders remembering I am no expert and this only represents the limited understanding of a, then, 12 - 13 year old but here goes..
SIZE
The most common of these single cylinder engines was a 9hp often referred to as a ‘pup’. The engine had a 12-litre capacity, a piston nine inches in diameter, a stroke of about eighteen inches and piston rings you put in with a ‘lump hammer’. This was an engine favored by Claytons, both Thomas and Fellows/Morton and easily recognisable by its uneven beat (Refer to Bonk Test if unsure)
CONTROLS
The four controls were located just under the hatches fixed to the underside of the cabin roof.
1. CLUTCH (push/pull rod) --engaged and disengaged the blades--nothing to do with forward and reverse.
2. SPEEDWHEEL (turn) this makes the engine fire on nearly every stroke instead of missing a beat.
3. OIL ROD (turn) this increases / decreases the density of the fuel being sprayed into the cylinder head. --Heavy spray for heavy work, light spray for light work--fuel economy!
4. REVERSING ROD (push / pull rod) this control causes the engine to pre-inject fuel on the upstroke, pre-ignighting and sending the whole engine backwards, hopefully!
And the way it’s supposed to work is not much differently to modern diesels-- Fuel injected into cylinder, fires under compression and sends the crank round! ------
STARTING
In the top of the cylinder head is a ‘hot bulb’ like a large bolt, which passes through the cylinder wall into the bore. This is preheated (bright orange) with a blowlamp. The fuel pump (the lifter) is tickled to spray oil onto the cylinder then the engine is literally kicked into life by turning the flywheel with your foot on a retractable peg fitted in the flywheel, whilst holding on tightly to a grab handle on the exhaust expansion box. This was not a job for the weak, lightweight or feint hearted for enough energy had to be put into the kick to ensure that the cylinder went over otherwise the engine could fire before top dead centre sending the piston back down, the flywheel spinning backwards and the boatman’s leg would be thrown up and he would knee himself in the mouth! Enthusiastically displayed by Ike Wilson (senior) on Josher motor boat ‘LING’ BWB Staffs & Worcs, with his broken teeth and semi circular scar on his knee!
Another point worth mentioning is ‘always have the engine hole doors open when starting Bolinders for if they catch you right when starting, they will throw you like a rag doll (not Rosie & Jim) and a dip in the cut is a lot softer than crashing into closed metal doors! As aptly demonstrated one early morning by Jeff Bennett a friend of mine who worked for ‘Caggy’ Stevens as a tug driver-- (BCN boaters always referred to ‘steering’ a 70ft narrowboat but driving a tug)
One evening, I was in my bedroom, when I heard the beat of an oncoming Bolinder as it came under the sounding bridge at the end of our street. On hearing the beat of the Bolinder I grabbed my bike and windlass to investigate. I rode the short distance to the end of the street then up the banks onto the canal towpath. Where the Birmingham New Main Line passes over Ryland Aqueduct, a wooden tug, the ‘Judith Ann’ and three wooden Joey boats loaded with ‘washed peas’ were just being moored up for the night by their steerer Jeff Bennett. After a short conversation with Jeff I had arranged to catch him the next morning and help work the boats through to Bellis and Morcam on the Icknield Port loop, Birmingham. Next morning I was up with the lark and, suitably attired for a days boating, (my school uniform) and so I set off on my bike at the usual time expecting a cycle ride to catch up with the boats. I was surprised to see the boats still tied up at the end of the street. On approach the tugs engine room doors were open and I heard the longest string of swearwords without a breath I had ever heard "‘Ow do Jeff, what’s up?" I said as I poked my head into the slides. "Booger wow start." He pulled the peg out of the flywheel, trapped it with his foot, grabbed the handle on the exhaust then raised his whole weight and released it all with a great scream of effort. " Start ya bastard." And it did, I think in revenge of the venom cast against it. The huge engine, like an old cannon, gave a loud bang as it pre-fired and it threw Jeff unceremoniously out of the engine room and onto the towpath in a heap. This was much to the amusement of both myself and the thirty or so people standing on the platform of Dudley Port station opposite. "An’ you con f*****n shut up as well" he retorted as he stormed off onto the last of the three Joey’s to light his fire can. The rest of the trip passed without event, apart from the odd fit of giggles from me on the last of the three Joey’s and swearing from Jeff on the Judith Ann, I’m glad to say.
FIRING AND RUNNING.
At one end of the engine is a simple fuel pump and the ‘table.’ At each end of the table is a wedge shaped finger. The one on the right slides back and forth with the rotation of the engine and hits the left hand finger, each time the left hand finger is hit it pumps fuel into the cylinder through the nozzle and the engine fires and speeds up. This process continues until the r/h finger is moving so fast that it ‘jumps’ the other finger as therefor no fuel is injected thus the engine misses a beat. (BONK, BONK.!) When the speed-wheel is turned it increases the pressure on the spring on the finger making it harder for it to jump and miss. Simplicity itself!!!!. By turning the oil rod this screws the needle in and out of the nozzle making a stronger or weaker spray. For example when underway and moving, less effort is needed to move 25tons therefor less fuel needs to be used.
REVERSING.
By operating the reversing rod an offset cam ring causes the engine to prematurely inject and send the piston back down and the whole engine reverses. After the initial cycle on this cam the engine reverts back to its normal injection except it is now in reverse. This brings to light two of the Bolinders nasty habits!
1.The engine pre-injects, goes backwards then injects and goes back forwards then injects, goes backwards then injects and goes forwards and so on and so on firing each side of top dead centre the propeller acting like the impeller inside a top loading washing machine. (God I’m getting old!)
2.The engine ‘goes out’ (stalls and stops altogether.)
And now I’ve rambled full circle back to the early sixties and ‘Joshering’ on the Staffs & Worcs or Shroppie at such places as ‘Hanging Rock’turn, ‘Stourton junction’ ‘Cut End’ or the numerous narrow cuttings on the Shroppie where at the last minute a 20ft fiberglass ‘noddy’ boat would appear then—
* Suddenly sprout shafts and ropes
* His steering would fail to respond
* Crew would desperately cling onto towpath grass or
Overhanging trees
* Finally, the wind would broadside it across the bridge hole.
As you descend on it with 17tons of empty ‘Josher’ and a Bollinder that refuses to play and with now way out! Finally my last thoughts, in fact my very last contact, and a suitable parting with Bollinders happened when friends of mine were selling off their ‘Josher’ motor boat the PARROT. At this time about the only local place to sell ex-working boats was via Malcolm Brain’s yard at Norton Canes and so I was invited to join Clive and Pat Stevens on their last trip with this boat. (They later went on to buy and work a pair of big Woolwiches but more of that later.) As we turned into the dead straight Cannock Extention canal Clive turned to me and said "Do you want to take her in Blossom?" I didn’t need asking twice and stepped into the hatches, put a quarter turn on the speedwheel and the Bolinders beat picked up. As we approached 100yds from the dock people appeared from all over, Bollinders have that effect, I said to Clive "Here you are then " "No" he replied "carry on, show them how its done" then he disappeared down into the engine hole. As I got nearer I slowed the engine down to tickover, carefully positioned the boat in preparation. At this point my heart was pounding louder than the engine. Now at 30 yds I pushed the clutch to disengage the blades, 20 yds and I pulled the reversing rod to wait and pray and listen for that slight change in the engine’s beat as it pre fired BONK, BONK, BONK, BONK, BER-BONK! First time, out with the clutch, up with the speedwheel and I casually picked up the cabin line, put the eye over the towing dolly and held my breath as the Bolinder raced and the boat shuddered to a halt exactly along side and against the dock. I throttled down and knocked it out of gear and stepped off to effortlessly drop a turn around the stud then a boatman’s hitch around the dolly then tidy up the loose end.
Absolute perfection (A miracle of luck) the crowd stood in awe (little did they know I was absolutely crapping myself). On the way back to Tipton in the back of a friends Landrover, Clive leaned over to me in the back and said "Your a lucky little bugger you know, it never normally does that first time you know, thats why I let you take it in!"
Smug grin!!
So if ever you are boating and in a tight squeeze and desperately relying on reverse to avoid catastrophy, just think of those old timers and their BOLINDERS,
How pleasant it was this year to be in my garden and in the distance hear that unmistakable beat of a Bolinder which, five minutes later turned out to be Bill Clowes old tar boat SPEY. It was just a pity she wasn’t ‘low in the water’ with a liquid cargo heading back to Midland Tar Distilleries!
ChapterFive-Beware of the Red Faced Man!
As I have allready mentioned 1963 was a very momentous year for me with the discovery of canals. For every spare moment was spent exploring the local canal network by bicycle from ‘Cut End’ Wolverhampton, to south of Birmingham, from Walsall to Windmill End in fact anywhere I heard boats could be found.
It was in September of that year after one such excursion with a school friend, also into canals, that we went down to Camp Hill locks where we had been informed that we would see Birmingham Corporation Salvage Departments boats. See them we did, or should I say smell them! We returned, after we had seen enough, via Salford Junction and the Tame Valley canal back to it’s junction with the Walsall canal at Ocker Hill and I remember at the time how few boats we saw on the move.
At Ocker Hill my friend left and headed home to Leabrook, I however continued on up the Ryder’s Green locks Known to boaters as the ‘graysey ate’ (Greasy eight) where I would rejoin the New Main Line at Albion Junction and then back to Tipton.
ONE MAN AND HIS HORSE
As I came up from under the Great Bridge Road bridgehole and looked on up the rest of the flight I could see an empty wooden Joey boat being hauled into the tail of lock number five by a horse. I quickly sped up the flight to catch up and observe closely as the boat was effortlessly locked through the remainder of the locks.
As I drew near I at once recognised the young man who appeared to be doing most of the work opening gates, paddles etc. He was a lad four or five years older than me who lived ‘down the steps’ at the end of our street and came from a very large, well known Tipton family the ‘Bennetts’-- a family not to be messed with! Jeff Bennett, as I recall, was a very amicable young man, that is if you did everything he said, so when he recognised me and shouted "Goo on then, dow just stond theer, open the gaytes up." I jumped to it with out question. (I would have done anyway even if I had not wanted to) As my bike had been commissioned by Jeff so he could set the last of the locks, I was left to walk the rest of the flight which I didn’t really mind as it gave me an opportunity to watch the steerer and the horse work as one.
The second fellow who so far hadn’t moved off the back end of the boat was much older, quite round with a ruddy complexion. He wore a small trilby hat and strangely enough a light coloured trench style coat. At this point in my life I thought that all horses understood but two words ‘gee up’ to go and ‘woh’ to stop. This chap, it appeared’, could converse completely fluently in ‘Horse’ as the animal pulling the boat responded to his every command to start, stop, speedup, or slow down most of which I couldn’t understand apart from ‘gerron’ or ‘hold’.
As the boat entered the lock, paddles were drawn and the bottom gate slammed shut by moving water. I watched while the horse munched on the sparse yellow grass. The towrope was passed over the top balance beam as the bows nudged the top gate, then two turns were put around the step on the balance beam and a loop poked under them. This held the boat steady while the water rose. As the water levels equaled the steerer called out and the horse began to move forward until all the slack had been taken up, the slip knot freed itself off the step and the horse continued to walk forward until the towrope was taught between the towing mast and horse. At this point the horse stopped walking and just leant on the rope, the boat and gate moved until the horse was leaning well into the line then the steady clop, clop, clop, clop up the towpath in a slightly crablike fashion. I ran on up to the next lock in order to see everything. As the bows entered the tail of the lock the steerer shouted and waved his arm signaling "Gerrout the rowd"-- I didn’t know why but without question I moved away and stood clear. As the boat entered the lock the horse eased off and Jeff lifted the tow line and flicked it effortlessly over the open bottom gate and paddles, So as not to get tangled, and said "‘e cussed yow ‘cause yow was in the rowd, yow gorra keep out the way "
I felt guilty for not knowing. As the boat rose in the lock the steerer called me over and told me to get onboard "as yow'll be safer" I agreed and jumped aboard. Again he spoke "Dow ever get between the ‘oss an’ the cut, the line ul av yow in." we continued up the remaining four locks with me asking most of the questions and this fellow explaining his preference to horses. He also asked me how I knew Jeff so I told him that I lived near to him to which he replied "Oh ar see yow’m ‘nuther Tip’n chap then"
At the top of the flight my bike was handed back with a "I’ll borrow that again aer kid." And so I got off and bade my farewell to Jeff, then as the tow rope tightened and the boat lurched off at a right old rate the steerer turned back and said "See ya again ‘Tip’n and remember---Beware of the red faced mon." I was later to find out that this was the first of many meetings with Alan Stevens known locally as ‘caggy’.
A LOAD OF OLD RUBBISH
Caggy was a colourful character from Oldbury who, at this time, operated a lot of local haulage contracts. With his tugs ‘Judith Ann’ and ‘Caggy’, a mare called Jean and a vast collection of BCN day boats of all descriptions, a lot of which appeared a little worse for wear and which regularly sank. He ran coal to numerous places around the BCN, provided boats at many Birmingham companies for the collection of factory waste for disposal at Moxley tip, provided boats for various civil engineering projects and also a dredging facility. In fact if there was anything needed doing associated with boats and the canal where a little money could be made Caggy would get involved.
Of all the contracts that Caggy was involved in, the one I liked most to assist with was when he took a ‘rubbish’ boat from the bike factory in Birmingham. (I’m not sure whether it was BSA or Phillip’s) In amongst the general factory waste would always be the odd bike bits, a pedal, brake shoe or other bicycle parts, which Caggy would take great pleasure in giving them to local children. These rubbish boats would be taken to a land fill site on the Walsall canal at Moxley which had a small basin where they would be unloaded with a crane fitted with a grab then their contents spread over the site with a bulldozer.
One of the saddest jobs that ‘Caggy’ was contracted to carry out was, I think for British Waterways, which was to clear the whole of the BCN of Sunken boats in about 1966-67, which were pumped up, towed to Moxley Tip and pulled out with the bulldozer. These consisted of dozens of wooden Joey boats, mainly from the fleets supplying the local power stations, and alsoincluded a wooden tug hull and the hull of a wooden iceboat. All of which were unceremoniously broken up and bulldosed into the landfill!
One of the strangest loads I recall ‘Caggy’ carrying, I chanced to come across one evening after helping to work an empty Joey boat up the ‘Graysey ate’ when returning with him to bed his horse down for the night in T&S Element’s old stables at Whimsey Bridge, Oldbury. After doing so he went out onto the wharf and proceeded to lift the deck boards on the front of one of his tugs. He and a fellow worker then proceeded to fill a sack from a large square metal bin in the hold of the tug. As most inquisitive youngsters would, I stood at the edge of the wharf looking down into the tug. ‘Caggy’ looked up and said "It’s alright a'er kid, it’s only something for the ‘oss"---I said nothing but thought to myself--strange to feed horses on brass swarf! Presumably I had stumbled on an early version of ‘income support!’
I was very deeply saddened when I found out recently that ‘caggy’ had passed away a couple of years ago. For even years later when I was married and lived on an ex-Grand Union boat on the Ocker Hill branch in the seventies he would always shout"Ow do Blossom" and wave as he passed the bridgehole at the end of the arm on his way to Moxley with another load of rubbish . The BCN will never be the same... Still, of such are memories.
Chapter six--In a Stew at Stewpony Lock.
Early teens are always a very tricky times for young lads what with hormones, hair and pimples bursting out everywhere and I was no exception. At the time, although I was greatly attracted to girls, there was but only room for one love in my life (Well two if you count the crush I had for my English Teacher, Miss White, a curvy blonde student teacher) and that was canals. It was also the canals which to lead me to my second hormonal crush.
As mentioned earlier, at this time I was spending almost every Saturday and Sunday and nights in the week ‘legging’ wooden joey boats through Dudley Tunnel loaded with as many as seventy people at a time. This was in an effort to raise the money required to stop the infill and closure by British Rail of the northern Tipton portal. The ‘canal manager’ at the time was a huge rugby-playing photographer from Birmingham named Derrick Gittings whose knowledge of canals appeared vast, as he would relate to us of such places as Hawkesbury Stop or ‘Suttons’ and Willow Wrens at Braunston. After completing one such return trip from Park Head to Tipton, our passengers having left the boat at Tipton Road Bridge we began to bowhall the boat back to Batson’s wharf where the trip boats were kept. At this point our progress was halted by two motor boats reversing from ‘Callaghans’ scrap yard out towards the junction with the Old Main Line. They had stopped in the narrows to clear rubbish from round the blades with a ‘pigs tail’ actually a railway shunters pole used for un-hooking railway trucks in shunting yards. At this point the towpath conversation between Derrick and myself consisted of questions as to where he thought they might be going and what they were doing etc, etc. "I’ll ask " Derrick tramped off up the towpath and spoke to the two men on the boats (whom he knew very well) then returned stating "There going round to Park Head through Netherton- they said you can go with them if you want."
This was my first meeting, and the start of a friendship that I will always have with, Cliff Sherwood, better known as ‘Tatty’ Sherwood and Clive Stevens, better known as ‘Harry’ and more to the point of my second childhood crush, Clive’s wife Pat, or then girlfriend Patty Connop (more later )
TIME FOR A BATH.
Both myself and ‘Ritchy’, school mate and fellow canalcholic, were to ‘ride on the back end of the second boat with Cliff and so we set off towards ‘Factory Three’ where we were each given a specific job to carry out in working down onto the New Main Line. The journey along the dead straight section to the ‘cross bridges’ where the canal branches off to disappear under Netherton Tunnel, was broken only by a continuos stream of questions of Cliff and his boat etc, etc. A small ‘Northwich’ motor boat called "Bellatrix"(strange though every body else called it "Bag a tricks" much to Cliff’s annoyance) and the boat in front was a ‘Josher’ called "Parrot", fitted with a Bolinder engine.
We made the turn at Pudding Green Junction towards Netherton tunnel and on up to the Tividale aqueduct where the Old Main Line passes overhead. On the island in the middle of the canal below this aqueduct is a brick built room that used to house a generator. Water was dropped down from the higher level of canal above through a turbine to produce electric power used to light Netherton tunnel. At this point the canal goes through narrows each side of the central island, and there are two canal houses. The inhabitants of which would chase you off if they saw you trespassing on the towpath. Also on the outside wall of the one house there was a water tap where it was possible to fill a water can with water without stopping if you left the boat on tickover, jump off at the bows with a water can, there was just enough time to fill the water can and step back on the back end as the boat just as it leaves the long narrows. As we approached the narrows Clive, on the Parrot in front, did just that, jumping off the bows with a water can leaving his girlfriend, Pat, who had appeared in the hatches of the motor, to steer it into the narrows.
Timed almost to perfection, Clive ran along the narrows with the now full water can and jumped as Pat began to put the motor back into the channel as it was leaving the narrows. Normally he would have made it easily onto the now disappearing counter but, with about 40lbs of water in his right hand his forward movement was suddenly halted by this dead weight and he landed straight into the cut.
At this point I must mention two things--
1.The canal at this point was quite deep (in fact it was very deep.)
2. Clive can only swim about two strokes
Clive bobbed up gasping for air amid a threshing of arms. Pat turned and looked at him but said nothing, Clive disappeared again. As he appeared the for second time Pat disappeared into Parrot’s cabin then returned onto the counter clutching a large bar of soap! Just as Clive was about to go under for the third time Pat called to him saying "stop messing about, and while your in there, make a good job of it " and threw him the bar of soap. We all fell about laughing.
A BIT OF A CRUSH IN BREWIN’S TUNNEL
We spent the next hour or so in pitch blackness as we only had a single hurricane lamp on the bow to light the way through the thick brown choking smoke from Parrots ‘epping’ range and smokey old Bolinder. We emerged into bright afternoon sunlight at Windmill End and up through the trees could be seen the tall red brick chimney of the abandoned Cobb’s engine house. For quite some time the journey went on without mishap as we skirted Netherton church up on the hill as the canal loops round the base of the hill it’s strange the way that for about an hour, you don’t get any nearer to the church and it just remains on your right hand side as you go half circle! As we reached Netherton reservoir we passed BWB’s dredging fleet compiling of both full and empty boats these were, two iron Joey boats and a Yarwoods built station boat and two new style mud hoppers. None of the craft were tied up and they just sat at various angles across the canal,only to be nudged out of the way as we passed.
We were soon reaching Brewin’s Tunnel or should I say the remains of it for it’s top had been removed many years earlier leaving a rock cutting and a narrows,. It lies very close to Netherton reservoir, a favorite haunt for all the local yobs that took great pleasure in heaving anything and everything including the kitchen sink into the canal at this point.
(Incidentally, at this point on another trip along this section of canal some time later on ‘Parrot’, we came into the bridgehole before Brewin’s and became firmly stemmed up. After backing off with the boat we managed to pull out of the canal a 1930’s, shaft driven, hand gear change ‘Sunbeam’ motor bike in quite good condition, apart from being under a ‘Joshers’ bows.)
As ‘Parrot traveled through the narrows in front of us, her back end heaved up and over as she rode up onto something ‘big and hairy’ in the canal and forward movement ceased. She was well and truly stemmed up. Cliff, following with ‘Bellatrix’, threw her into reverse and held in onto the towpath. Cliff got off and walked up to see if he could help.
By this time Pat, who was then about 19, had stepped off the boat and was heaving, rocking pushing and shoving to try and ease her off as Clive raced the Bollinder in reverse then forward etc all to no avail. "Come on, help push " Cliff screamed to Ritchy, and me still stood on the back end of Bellatrix, but it was no use as my hormones had now kicked in. Forget Miss White the English teacher, here is a girl who is not only good looking, has an absolutely stunning figure, a crown of long golden hair, but knows all about boats! That was it --love at first sight--who’s bothered about six years difference in age (Come on I was only thirteen!) I was to spend the next few years ‘hanging’ around and boating with these three, especially Pat, for whom, even after the crush wore off, as they always do, I still had a soft spot for her. Later on I was to spend many journeys with her on the back end of their butty boats when they worked a pair of ‘big Woolwich’s’.
HANGING AROUND THE LOCKS.
Some years later I was with Pat and Clive helping them to take the ‘Parrot’ down the Staffs & Worcester canal and we arrived at the Stewpony Lock. Where incidentally Pat and Clive now live after Clive retired after working as a section inspector for ‘the company’ (BWB). At this time the canal here suffered terribly with Canadian pondweed, or as it was better known ‘Clagweed’. At the height of summer it would stretch from bank to bank and as you entered a lock it would all push up in front of you and at the sides of the boat, sometimes up to gunwale height. This trip was no exception, the boat was brought into the lock and top gate closed paddles raised and the engine ticking over nicely in forward with the bows nuzzling up against the bottom gates. Pat was where she always was, inside the cabin cleaning, cooking polishing brass or making tea. Clive and myself were sat on the ends of each of the short, cranked balance beams with our backs to the boat looking out onto the road, which passes right over the tail of the lock. Suddenly we heard Pat squealing and we both turned together to see why. To our horror, the boat’s bows had ‘caught up’ on something on the gate and as the water had continued to empty were now about 3-4 ft clear of the surface with the water starting to lap onto the counter. "Quick Blossom --shut the paddles" Clive shouted.
It was at this point that I had noticed a family, all hand in hand and standing on the edge of the lock side. Mom, dad and two kids, who had wandered down onto the lockside to watch the ‘Barge’ go through the lock and it was the father who was busily explaining how the lock worked to the children.
As we both lifted the pawls on the paddles, they both clattered shut immediately stopping any more water escaping from the chamber, unfortunately this caused a back surge of water within the lock chamber which in fact pulled ‘Parrot’ back with it causing it to dislodge off the bottom gate. The rest is just physics!
A seven foot wide boat weighting 17tons descending rapidly in a seven foot two inch lock chamber is a bit like a piston in a cylinder. It compresses then exhausts the contents of the cylinder--and so it did!. As the ‘Parrot’ hit the water (or should I say a foot thick layer of Clagweed) a one inch thick curtain of water and weed, the length of the lock, ejected vertically at great speed and to a height of several feet. After mushrooming out it seemed to hang momentarily in a cloud before descending over the assembled family still clutching each other’s hands. They were covered all over in green freckles---we didn’t hang about!
As I said earlier this was the start of a great friendship which still continues today, but my lasting memory of them will always be of their butty ‘Barnes’ loaded with 30tons of coal bound for ‘Croxley’ being towed 90foot behind the motor boat ‘Battersea’ with 25tons on board. Pat straining at the helm around one of the many tight turns, with her hair in a pony tail and, as always with her black wide brimmed trilby and that ‘devilment’ glint in her eye and singing along with the radio to a rock and roll number at the top of her voice.
Chapter seven --- It’s a Safe Life on the Cut.
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 a me a 9 stone wimp) on a single motor for the 150 mile journey. In fact according to Bradsaw’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 on coming 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 ‘Beauleigh’ and the ‘Aquarius’ back for Glynn and Rose Phillips.--who incidentally I saw only recently passing the bottom of my garden still on the Aquarius and had a typically short conversation as they passed.
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 unbreasted in preparation for singling out and as the water levels equaled, 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 bedhole 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 continuos, 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 Clives 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 compliment of running gear all three boats in my care had!!! (plus a few spares even.)
I had every thing 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 Beauleigh 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 brakes it brakes. 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 Clives 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 can not 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 himself 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 landrover, 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 fryup 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 Landrover 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 fulllength 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 can not 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 clears of the water onto the towpath to reveal it had no back. Within minutes it was loaded into the rear of the police Landrover 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 trop 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 finally, new ambitions like --I’d got to get a boat of my own! But that will take a couple of years yet and that’s another chapter!!!!
Chapter Eight------ Companies and Cargo’s.
The decade or so, from the start of the sixties to the mid seventies, saw a major and rapid change on the canals around me as contracts were being lost one on top of another and the cargo’s and companies disappeared. For in fact if you looked over almost any bridgehole in the sixties within a very short time you would probably see something on the move. Either a tug with a train of coal laden Joey boats, or a single horse drawn Joey delivering slack to the region’s power stations. Or one of Matty’s tugs and a railway boat on some civil engineering works or something similar. Whereas, by the late seventies you would probably stand there for weeks on end without so much as the rattle of a paddle.
THE BOYS FROM THE BLACK STUFF.
Old King Coal had lost his crown---- as collieries were worked out and companies no longer needed coal for their boilers etc, then some of the long established short haul work disappeared. This resulted in the loss of such hauliers as R.B.Tudor Ltd based on the Walsall canal above Ryders Green Locks, using ex- Grand Union wooden, small Ricky motor boat ‘Antaries’ renamed ‘Albion.’ This boat was often to be seen with a train of two or three Joey boats ‘hammering on’ along the Birmingham New Main Line under the power of her huge four cylinder, Lister Freedom range engine. This was capable of swamping the counter (and the back cabin if the back end doors were left open) when she was ‘chucked astern.’
I remember her being in quite a sorry state when she was finally sold and in need of extensive docking, having a huge groove from bow to stern and half the depth of the planks down her one side, where for years she had been turned in and out of the company’s basin, using the rubbing strake of the bridge to pivot the boat. A few years later I saw her at the ‘National’ in Birmingham after going down London and being fully converted. Somehow not the same boat to me! The two or three Joey boats they owned also had a happy ending, Stroud and Endeavor being sold off for further use. In particular, I seem to recall, the Endeavor was bought by a fellow named Alan Emus and it went for conversion as a residential boat and was kept for some time at Bumble Hole Arm, at Netherton. Also as I remember the new owner had some innovative ideas for docking/blacking the hull which I think some of the old BCN dock hands would have been proud of for he affixed huge vertical poles, looking like rugby posts, to each side half way along the hull. He then fixed a line to the top of one pole and by winching on this, it listed the boat over to such steep angle that the complete opposite side came out of the water enabling a thorough examination, repair and a generous coating of the traditional hull preparation pronounced ‘ossmacanta’ (made up of a mixture of ‘horse muck and tar’) I believe Alan now owns an old wooden icebreaker tug called the ‘Ice boat’ which I knew as the ‘Wilson’ when it was a British Waterways tug, which he keeps on the Staffs & Worcs.
Another ex-Grand Union motor boat used for hauling coal around the BCN was the composite small Northwich motor boat ‘Bellatrix’ owned by the Wulfruna Coal Company in Wolverhampton. This boat, know locally as the Wulfruna Tug, had a most strange cooling system. Instead of drawing water straight out of the canal like most boats, a large tank full of water was kept in the hold against the back of the engine room which was recirculated around the engine and then returned to the tank! Presumably the ink- black waters of the BCN did not suit the cooling system of the ‘Russell Newbury’.
Some other company’s disappeared as a result of either the closure of power stations at Wolverhampton (‘Ampton light) Walsall and Ocker Hill. This included many of the craft owned, operated or leased out by such companies as Ernie Thomas’ of Walsall, or Jim Yates’ of Norton Canes. Who’s ‘Three diamonds’ could be seen on vast numbers of day boats around the area whilst Ernie Thomas’ Tugs Birchills and Dot could be seen hauling huge coal trains around the area. Thee named tug of E Thomas’ fleet was in fact the ENTERPRISE. This tug was the result of a cut down from the Fellows Morton Clayton steamer Count and fitted with, if I remember right, a huge five cylinder Gardener engine. This tug was quite capable of ‘pulling the plug out of the canal at the ‘Bump’ at ‘Edgfud (the local boaters name for the terminal basin at Hednesford which was fed by the Cannock coal fields.) Generally to be seen towing trains of several deeply laden craft with a total payload of about 250tons which would take off at almost full speed without any effort at all, and from standing start. The coal in many cases was supplied by the many Central Electricity Authority’s fleet of wooden Joey boats that sported numbers rather than names carried to the power stations
Other hauliers falling by the wayside were T&S Element from Oldbury who at one time ran a huge fleet of boats including Harris built motor boat Ben, shortened ex Grand Union boat Plato re-named Princess Anne along with a vast array of horse drawn wooden Joey boats
Leonard Leigh’s grey and white livery tugs were also common in the area including Christopher James, James Loader and Helen
Then there were all the smaller coal yards in the area who either ran their own boats, or simply had the coal delivered by canal.
Like ‘Master’s’ yard at Toll End where I remember a man by the name of Mick Davies worked unloading boats by hand with a huge pan shovel. Talking of hands his were huge like great shovels themselves, and he was reputed to be able to unload thirty tons of coal from a Joey boat in one day! ‘Barkers’ at Factory Three, Turton’s of Wolverhampton who used ex grand union motor boat Bath renamed Benbow and wooden Joey boat Isabel, or ‘Mitchards’ at Owen street whose tug ‘Jubilee’ was always well turned out, unlike many of the ‘black boats’ of the BCN. This tug had been converted from ‘George’ a double ended tug with an engine in the middle and a propeller at each end and used to tow trains of boats through Gorsty Hill tunnel on the Dudley No 2 line. George was a sister boat to the ‘Dudley’ a similar craft used at the nearby Dudley Tunnel. In fact for many years the ‘Dudley’ lay sank inside a branch of the Dudley tunnel known as the ‘Cathedral Arch’ which led off to the Castle Hill limestone workings until it was pumped up and moved to John Pinders dock on the Worcester and Birmingham canal where it lay rotting away for the next decade or so until it was finally hauled out and broken up.
THE SMELL OF THE CUT.
One haulage company who were prominent through the sixties and into the seventies was Alfred Matty & Sons Ltd, based in Deepfields, Coseley. They operated a wide array of boats on a variety of contracts which included dredging, civil engineering projects such as the laying of the Natural Gas pipeline in the early seventies, and also a long standing contract to which the whole of the BCN owed a lot--------It’s smell!-- for Matty’s had a contract for the disposal of phosphorous waste in liquid suspension from Allbright and Wilson’s chemical plant in Oldbury to an open marlhole at Dudley Port.
As far as I can recall the company used three motor boats on this contract. ‘Maurine’ a wooden Ricky, whose bows were so rotten you could have put your fist through the holes in them, an ex-Fellows Morton and Clayton steamer said to be the ‘Monarch,’ and the large Northwich motorboat ‘Stratford.’ All three motorboats operated in pairs with a range of steel ‘railway’ type boats although the company preferred wooden craft for this work as the Phosphorous had a nasty habit of eating the metal craft away!
They used to run 3 to 4 trips a day, pumping the white liquid cargo in at the company’s private arm. Once loaded, the boats would make the short trip down the chemical arm and onto the old main line where they would turn left and head off for Brades Village junction and lock down Brades locks onto the Gower branch. The top two locks are a staircase and the ‘butty’ would be flushed through the pound to the bottom lock to be snatched round to the discharge point on the New Main Line. Here there was located a brick building which housed a huge pump which was right next to the towpath. It was from here that the cargo would be discharged into the open unfenced marlhole, which I vividly remember as a haven for young lads who used it as an adventure playground. Where the discharge pipe stuck out into the water filled marlhole, whose water was crystal clear and as blue as the sky. The white ‘sludge’ was only a matter of inches below the surface and it was this fact that made it such an attraction to young lads. For if you think back to the experiments that you probably carried out in the school science laboratory using Phosphorous for if you keep it under water it is quite stable, but if held in air it would self ignite and flare. Oh such fun it was to heave large bricks and rocks from the neibouring Rattlechain brick works, into this sludge and watch in delight, as the resulting splash would erupt into flames. The other favorite past time that was carried out with this volatile substance was ‘firesticks’. A length of wood, such as a wooden fencing pale of the type favored by local councils, would be dipped into this sludge after climbing down the very steep sides of the very unstable ground making up the sides of the pit. When once well coated, if removed, would burn vigorously in open air. This operation called for great skill for if you held the stick upright the sludge would run down towards your hand. When I look back now at the consequences of somebody falling into it, it is frightening especially when you think of the boatmen working with it every day and walking from stern to bows along planks!
As children we were told that this company made the smell for cheese and onion crisps and although I don’t think this was true it does give you some idea of the stink that the canal did suffer from. All around the area it could be detected in the air and water. I should think that more must have ‘accidentally’ gone into the canal than went down to the tip for disposal for at this time, after passing through this area and churning up the bottom with a motor boat the canal water would turn grey and the smell was horrendous. In fact if you journeyed through Oldbury after dark the canal to the rear of the boat would become illuminated with a violet/pink phosphorescent glow. (It was not far from here that as a child I learnt to swim, and go fishing, or should I say‘not catching.’ (as it should have been called) I often wonder now if the people who will buy the houses that the will probably build on the site now it’s filled in, will be told about it’s former use and exactly what lies at the bottom of the garden! And it’s not fairies.
Another activity that Matty’s were involved in was civil engineering projects, such as piling, pipe lines and dredging. The latter being mainly sub-contracted work for British Waterways and involved the use of both mechanical dredgers, one being made, I recall, from a big Woolwich motor boat with the bows cut off and replaced with a square ‘ punt’ type bow, (what a sin!) A second method of dredging called for the use of an ancient, hand operated ‘Spoon dredger’ which consisted of a large spoon shaped scoop suspended by a wooden crane which would be wound down to the bottom of the canal and mud scooped into the spoon which would then be winched up to be tipped into a mud boat alongside. I can clearly remember Matty’s dredging the Bradley arm using this craft some time in the sixties.
BOW THRUSTERS--WHO NEEDS THEM!
A vast fleet of steel day boats and railway boats mainly serviced the other civil engineering projects. A lot of which came from the fleet of Coombs wood Tube works at Gorsty Hill, Dudley. This was another strange factor about Matty’s---They always seemed to know who, when and how much boats were being sold for, as many people had tried unsuccessfully to purchase boats off the tube works. Another example was when BWB were selling off their southern fleet by strict tender, Matty’s managed to buy several motor boats that were ‘left over after the tender’ for the pricely sum of £150 each!!! --- Anyway most of these boats used on the various contracts were moved around by the company’s tugs‘Tycho’ or ‘Governor’ or ‘Atlantic’. It was on one such contracts that I was befriended by an ex-FMC captain Ernie Garret who was born, he told me, on the ‘Ostrich’ an FMC motorboat and worked with this company through to BWB’s days. He was now driving the tug ‘Atlantic’ and it was him who showed me the art of ‘stemming’. Stemming is a method similar to that used by Bantam Pusher tugs where the unpowered boat is pushed along instead of being towed. For this the tug drivers preferred chains to ropes and it consisted of, The bow of the tug and the stern of the day boat were positioned side by side so that the towing studs were level, then they were tightly lashed together. ‘Hey presto’ an articulated 120foot boat. Steering was great fun for like reversing an articulated lorry, everything was in reverse. I.e. if you wanted the leading boats bow to go to the left, then you steered to the right which was quite easy if you kept everything much in line needing only slight correction, but the further you went off line and over steered then the harder it became to correct it until you got in such a mess the only thing to do was to chuck it into reverse, let everything line itself back up again and then off you would go again---A bow thruster--now there’s a thought!!!!!!!
But if you really wanted to see boat handling at its best, there was but one place, one company and one method which was marvelous to watch. A loaded Clayton’s tar boat making the 290 degree right hand turn at the top of Spon Lane locks onto the main line using a rope. But that could be a story in itself!.
Chapter Nine--Building Boats by the Mile.
I have heard it said that at the height of boat building on the BCN that boat yards like Joe Worsey and Ken Keay built wooden boats by the mile and just cut them off to the required length!
Unfortunately for me, the building of commercial craft had all but finished and as yet the building of custom-built boats for leisure purposes had not yet started to any great degree. As a result I did not get much chance to observe the generations of boat building skills that had built up around the many Black Country boat yards. Apart from a couple of visits to Ken Keay’s dock at Birchills, Walsall , and later on visits to Walton’s boat yard at Deepfields, Coseley, there were no other BCN yards building working boats. At Ken Keay’s yard work mainly consisted of repair work to existing craft, while at Walton’s yard father and son boat builders had set up a business building wooden ‘cruiser’ style narrow boats built to Joey boat traditional building techniques using oak sides and elm bottoms
My only direct contact with traditional boat building /repairing came about in 1967, when I had the pleasure in assisting in the replacement of the elm bottoms and kelson on a 70foot motor boat on the dry-dock at Norbury.
It all started with myself and two of my school chums Phil Ritchie, better known as ‘Richy’ and Harold James Smith known to us all as either ‘H.J.’ or ‘Miffy.’ However not in front of his mother who we loved winding up by calling him Jim to which his mother would respond "His name is James." She did tend to be a bit posh, which resulted in Miffy bearing the brunt of much ridicule, made even worse by the fact that his parents owned a 25foot fiberglass ‘noddy boat’ kept at Ashwood Marina on the Staffs and Worcester, and he had a canvas canoe and a small fiberglass dingy and outboard engine. Quite often his mother would say to ‘James’ " why don’t you and your pals come out with us for a cruise on the boat" this would usually be followed by muffled sniggering from Ritchy and I, then as soon as his mom had her back to us the taunts would start. How he ever put up with us I don’t know but put up with us he did and our friendship lasted for many years until such things as work, marriage, house mortgage, babies etc, etc finally saw the three of us going our own ways.
BOTTOMS UP, AND OFF TO NORBURY.
Anyway as I said, it all started with the three of us being asked if we would like to go on the boat to Norbury and help replace the entire bottoms and kelson during our school holidays. I am sure there is no need for me to tell you the response! And so it was that most of the evenings in May, June and July were spent cross-legged in the hold of the boat getting the sides ready for docking. This consisted of spending hour upon hour using a chipping hammer to remove thirty odd years of rust and paint and corrosion, followed by a few more hours of wire brushing and finally two or three coats of red lead paint. (If it’s red lead paint, how come it’s bright orange! something that’s always puzzled me) And so it was, with clothing packed along with all other really important items like soap!, toothbrush!, pygamas! Now come on mom real boatmen surly didn’t wear striped pygamas? We were stowed and ready for off.
We left Tipton and headed off towards Cosely where we were going to pick up the timber from Walton’s boat yard to undertake the work. This consisted of pieces of elm seven foot long,three foot wide and three inches thick for the bottoms and fifteen foot lengths of oak twelve inches wide by six inches thick for the kelson. These were manhandled aboard up planks and stacked neatly in piles with spacers between them.
The next couple of hours boating saw us travelling the five or six miles to the top of the Twentyone locks. The last couple of miles being through the heart of Wolverhampton’s industrial center where the canal was flanked on both sides by foundry and forge. The very air was tainted with the smell of heavy engineering. This type of surrounding was, and still is, one of the reasons that I fell in love with the B.C.N. Passing open doorways or glassless windows where through the darkness, molten metal could be seen being poured or white hot billets of steel being pounded into shape. Where out of the darkness a person, who seemed to take his very appearance and colour from his surroundings would appear as the boat passed to herald a wave, nod or smile or perhaps a "How do" only to once again disappear into the gloom when once the boat had passed, a bit like the cookoo in a cookoo clock!
This part of the trip being nothing new as I had traveled to Wolverhampton and down the ‘21’ on several previous occasions but up until today had always either gone up or down the Staffs and Worsc canal. I had, along with my cousin from Wolverhampton, visited Autherley Junction many times on our bikes spending hours chatting to, or should I say listening to Sam Lomas as he talked about the canal in the ‘old days’ when towpaths were mowed, bridges painted white and boats were on the move. Today was no exception, for as we entered the six-inch stop lock, out came Sammy with his cheery greeting and a quick chat as the waters leveled. Soon we were off onto new territory, to me anyway the high embankments and narrow cuttings of the Shropshire Union. The Friday evening saw us tying up at Brewood where a gradual slope led up from the towpath up to three brick steps to the road bridge and a pub on the opposite side called ‘The Bridge’ I think, anyway it was in here that we spent the night until a few pints later and closing time, saw us making our way back in total darkness. I can remember taking the first three steps, but it was the fourth step that wasn’t there that did the damage for at this I went head over heels down the slope and straight into the canal, much to everyone’s amusement and only to end up crawling into my sleeping bag under the cratch still half dressed and soaking wet! And that’s how I woke up very early the next morning very cold and still very wet.
Later that day saw us arriving at Norbury junction and after a quick word over at the boat yard, we were soon making the ninety degree turn into the arm leading down to the dry-dock. The arm, in fact, was the start of the Shrewsbury and Newport Tub Boat Canal and the dry-dock had been built on the site of the first lock chamber. Below the dock was a short pound still in water then the rest of the canal had been severed by a fairly new cutting across the channel at right angles, in the bottom of which was a ditch which drained off water from farmers fields, which at the time were full of potatoes. (And that’s another story) At this time, 37 years ago, it was still possible to follow the muddy canal bed and channel for some miles and the towpath, although overgrown with grass and weeds, the bridges and other engineering features were all in very good condition. I’ve never been back and have often wondered what, if anything still survives of this canal apart from the isolated bridge in a farmers field alongside the A5/Shrewsbury bypass?
By the time the boat was in the dock the fellow from the boat yard had walked down to oversee the docking process. Stop planks were dropped into the stop plank grooves, left over from when it was a lock, and with the boat being held out in the middle of the dock with a rope on each corner, the water was released by the raising of a single paddle which sent the water crashing down into the pound below and over a small weir into the ditch. As the water level started to drop and the stop planks started to appear it was fairly obvious that they were leaking quite badly and that it would not be long before we were at a stalemate with water running in as fast as it was running out. This was where the skill of the dock hand came, for he now proceeded to use a large pan shovel to pile ashes into the canal just behind the stop planks and sure enough the leaks began to stop and within ten minutes the boat was sitting securely on the bostocks three foot above the bottom of the dock, the leaks were now no more than a few drips and everything was ready for the onslaught. The trick of using ashes to stop leaks would come in handy on many occasions in the near future but for now it was all hands to the pumps as we started on the task of removing the old bottoms, except for those where the boat sat on the bostocks, these would be removed later.
Firstly, all the bolts holding each section of wooden bottom to the bottom metal flange were removed by holding a cold chisel against the nuts with a long handled pair of tongs and a second person belting hell out of it with a sledge hammer until the bolt sheared and ricocheted down the length of the hold while everybody ducked. With these removed it just needed the spikes through the kelson removing this was done with a square punch tool used to drive the spike back through the washer riveted over on the top side of the kelson, as it became loose it was just left to fall to the dock floor to be removed later. After much sweating and swearing, especially when someone hit the tongs with the sledge instead of the chisel head, or someone was hit by a flying nut, all the available bottoms had been removed and we set about chipping, wire brushing and red leading the flanges.
By midweek we were starting to fit the new bottoms. Firstly a shallow tapered angle was planed onto both side edges of each bottom which, when paired up to the next one would form a wedge shaped groove into which oakum would later be forced to produce a watertight joint in a process called caulking. Next the section would be held up to the underside of the bottom flange with the caulking groove outwards and be held tightly up against the previous bottom while the position of the holes in the flange were marked through with a pencil. With this done the bottom was again removed to the dock floor where the holes were drilled and counterbored using a brace and bit then finally they were lifted back into position and bolted up sandwiching a freshly tarred hemp strip between flange and bottom. This process was repeated until all missing bottoms had been replaced then, as stated earlier, oakum (tarred hemp fibers rolled into a loose cord) was forced into the groove using a caulking chisel and mallet to seal the joints that is except those between the new and the existing bottoms these were left with quite large unsealed gaps. Next the Kelson was laid down the whole length, centralised, joined with scarf joints then drilled about every six inches straight through the bottoms as well, then square, large headed spikes were driven through from underneath back up to stick up through the top of the kelson. Over the top of these spikes were put washers then the spikes chiseled off just proud of the washers then riveted down onto the washers.
Now for the tricky bit, Moving the boat forward on the bostocks to allow the remaining old bottoms to be replaced. As I said the joints between old and new were large and open and to move the boat it meant flooding the dock, moving the boat forward then sitting it back down before it sank. As the water spilled into the dock from the now removed top stop plank it gradually rose up to the point that the boat should have started to float, but it didn’t. It just sat stubbornly where it was in the dock. In fact it wasn’t until the boat was itself about a third full of water that it started to move. By this time there were one or two worried looks, especially when the boat took on an alarming list as all the water ran to one side but with much heaving and straining on ropes and with shafts the boat was finally repositioned and that familiar cry went up "Blossom, paddles". Paddle open, water falling and boat now settling back down in the right position enabling the rest of the work to be completed so that towards the end of the second week we were finished and ready for the return trip, this time being towed back for whilst at Norbury advantage was taken of the crane on the wharf to remove the engine to enable a complete rebuild.
They say ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ and so far I have only mentioned the ‘work’ elements of this trip and none of the funnier moments, of which there were quite a few.
WHEN A FACE AT THE WINDOW APPEARED.
At the top of the arm by the basin there was a pub called ‘The Junction.’ As I have already said the year was 1967 and I was 15 but every night and even some of the dinner times were spent in the bar drinking best bitter with the rest of our motley crew. On one such dinner time session we were all sat round one of the window tables in the bar and I just happened to be sitting with my back to a window, which looked out onto the towpath. Just as I was finishing off my pint, which had about an inch of beer left in it, Cliff sitting opposite said "Blossom your dads there! "Yeah sure" was my response not wishing to appear alarmed and not believing him anyway"No, he is honest" at that there was a sharp rap on the window. I turned round to see the bloodred face of my father glaring through the window at me not 12 inches away! My brain went into overdrive; he’s going to go ballistic I thought to myself. At that he appeared in the doorway, walked over to the table and snarled at me "What’s that you’re drinking" obviously a little upset and inquiring as to why I was in a pub drinking, My response was automatic and without thought and even to this day I still cannot think why I said it, the words just came out "Oh, it’s bitter, thankyou" This must have stunned him as much as it did me, for my father was quite a strict disciplinarian, but as the words left my mouth and I prepared for a hefty swipe, he instead just picked up my glass and went to the bar and got me another pint! Every time I think of it now I still can’t believe I said what I did, and I hear the line from Stanley Holloways poem ‘The return of Albert’just as the insurance man from the ‘Pru’s about to pay pa Ramsbottom out for the lion eating Albert and ‘when a face at the window appeared’ which just about described my fathers face!
Over the two weeks we became regulars and as such were treated so by the gaffer that is except for one dinnertime when me and Miffy went up to the outdoor to fetch some cigarettes. We walked in and rang the bell on the servery, when the landlord came across I called for twenty Park Drive. He looked us both up and down and said "are you sure your old enough" before I could answer Miffy blurted out "Yes mate we’re both sixteen!" and so he served us. As we came out Miffy stated what a strange question to ask as he had been serving us with beer all week, I gave him a good dig in the ribs with my elbow saying "Yes, and now you’ve told him were only sixteen. That night when we walked in the bar I half expected the gaffer to throw us out but he never even flinched, he just had a smirk on his face each time either of us went to the bar to fetch beer.
On another lunchtime ‘pint and a cob’ the weather was nice and so we decided to sit outside on tables overlooking the basin. Opposite us against British Waterways wharf was the Anderton Canal Carrying Company’s dustbin boat the Granville captained by Georgy Page. It was moored up and loaded with piles for towpath repair, which he had brought from ‘down the north’and with whom we had spent some of our nights in the pub talking canals. As we sat there he appeared under the bridgehole with a fifteen-foot length of electrical cable as thick as your arm it’s one end over his shoulder and the rest dragging on the ground. We watched with interest as he continued to drag it across to his boat where he threw it into the hold between the neatly stacked cargo then disappeared into the cabin only to reappear with a large carving knife which he jumped down into the hold with and disappeared for long enough for us to forget he was there. Suddenly, this length of cable, now stripped of it’s outer sheathing took to the air and landed with an almighty splash into the basin serenaded by a string of oaths which could be plainly heard all around the basin and continued even as he once again returned to his back cabin where the back end doors and slide were banged shut. That evening in the pub, when questioned, the only response we could get was "bastard steel cable."
POTATOES GET ME INTO HOT WATER.
I will always remember the astonished look on the gaffer’s face when on the last night at Norbury we walked into the bar with two water cans and said "fill ‘em up." This was because it had been decided that to celebrate finishing off fitting the new bottoms and to get rid of all the boats old bottoms we would have a bonfire and a bit of a party. And so with a total of about a dozen people, including other friends who came down just for the heck of it, some of the timbers were piled up on the bank and a grand fire was lit. The rest of the evening was taken up with talking, singing, telling tales etc oh and a little drinking until, at about ten o’clock. By this time the fire had burnt down enough for us all to gather and squat around it was made up of a huge pile of glowing embers someone said "It’s a pity we hadn’t got some potatoes, we could have baked them in there" pointing to the fire and explaining that the fire was now at a perfect stage for baking potatoes. My response to this was "Leave that to me". And so, armed with a cardboard box I slipped off into the night, well more like stumbled about in the darkness as I tried to find my way down the side of the dock and on to the surrounding field which was full of potatoes as far as the eye could have seen, had it been light. I stepped carefully over the rows of plants until I was someway into the field and then went about plunging my hands into the soft earth feeling for potatoes. Within a short time the box was half full and I returned to a great cheer and applause, how much better things taste when you ‘win them’ like apples scrumped from a neighbors trees or potatoes straight out of the ground and into the fires embers to then be smothered in butter, food for a king.
Early the next morning as we were cleaning up ready to leave, I was in the bottom of the dock sweeping all the rubbish to one end when above me, on the edge of the dock chamber, stood a huge irate farmer who boomed across the dock. "Who’s been in my field." my red face must have given me away as he looked down at me and said "I know it was you, you little swine, your all the same, bloody gypsies, nothing safe, if you see something you want you just take it. Well I’m telling you if I see you on my land again I will bloody shoot you ya bugger!" As he disappeared off down the side of the dock everyone fell about laughing. That is except for me, I was absolutely crapping myself, and could not wait to complete the final few tasks and start our journey back to Tipton.
THE BREAKFAST RUN.
While on the subject of food and the feeding of the clan we had two main sources of nourishment. One I have already mentioned the consumption, over the two-week period, of great quantities of cheese and onion cobs from the ‘junction’ the other was that of a proper fried breakfast, which we took in turns to provide. As there was no provision aboard to keep bacon or sausage fresh for long it meant that we had to make regular trips every other day or so to the local store for fresh provisions. The only problem with that was the fact that the local store was in Gnosall, the next village along the canal three or four miles away. As our only means of transport was Miffy’s canoe it meant one of us making the eight mile trip, which took about four hours for the round trip and meant starting off at about six a clock in the morning to enable us to get back in time for breakfast.
It just happened on the day in question, that it had come round to my turn to make the ‘breakfast trip’to Gnosall and so with shopping bag and money stowed inside the bow of the canoe I set off on the arm aching journey. Eight o’clock saw me paddling under the
bridge at Gnosall and after getting out I pulled the canoe out onto the towpath and retrieved the bag and money from it’s hiding place and walked under the bridge, and up the steps which led to the road. Tied against the entrance to the bridghole was a small cruiser from which two faces had been watching my unsteady attempts to get out of this most ungainly craft. As I walked past a mans head appeared out of the cabin "Good morning young man, your about bright and early" I simply returned the usual canal reply "‘Ow do " and carried on up the bridges steps across to the shop and up to the counter to make my order 3 bread, 4 milk, a dozen eggs, 2lb of sausage, 2lb of bacon beans and tomatoes. At first I hadn’t noticed the man and woman off the cruiser enter the shop behind me but as I waited for the shopkeeper to load the side of bacon onto the bacon slicer and set the cutter to the required width in order to cut my bacon, the woman, who was now behind me spoke asking me where I had come from as they had seen me paddle to the bridge from as far away as they could see. I responded by saying that "I had started out from Norbury two hours ago, and went on to explain that we had a boat on dry-dock. I continued to say that we took it in turn to fetch the supplies as this was the nearest shop from which to fetch this food for our breakfasts" she looked very supprised both in the fact that I had paddled all the way from Norbury and that I had done it on an empty stomach! Having paid for my items I left and walked back to start the long treck back. I stowed the now full shopping bag back inside the bows of the canoe and launched it ready to get back in as the couple came back to their boat. "Would you like us to tow you back to Norbury because we’re just leaving now" I didn’t even have to think "Oh yes please, if it’s no trouble" "No trouble at all just tie your canoe to the back and come aboard." With this completed I climbed aboard and was offered a seat on the back and asked if I would like a cup of tea, to which I jumped at the chance. Two minutes later she appeared out of the cabin with a steaming mug of tea and asked, "We were just about to have breakfast, would you like to join us" of cause I said no! And so I settled back to enjoy the scenery and join in merry banter with the ‘captain’ who was really interested in what we were doing to the boat on the dock. Soon the smell of bacon and sausage was wafting up from the cabin then as I was just finishing off my mug of tea her head popped up from the hatch and she said "I’m afraid we’ve only got cornflakes or shredded wheat, which would you like" skinflint, I said to myself, as I thought I would be getting a cooked breakfast the same as them, still beggars can’t be choosers it’s better than paddling the canoe! "Oh I’ll have shreddies please" "O.k, how many would you like" right I thought I’ll make up for not getting a cooked breakfast "Could I have two please" She disappeared again to return moments later and call me into the cabin where I sat around a small table and was presented with my bowl of cereal and told to help myself to milk and sugar. I scoffed it down along with a second mug of tea. As I finished she turned from cooking their breakfasts and asked "How do you like your eggs" "Pardon," my startled reply "your eggs, on your breakfast how would you like them" I’d got her all wrong this had only been the starter. Soon I was sat tucking into a mighty breakfast at the end of which I was fit to burst.
After finishing my meal I again joined the husband, who had remained still steering the boat. I sat on the bench seat across the rear of the boat and was soon joined by the woman and the next hour or so was spent undertaking one of my favorite pastimes that of giving them both the answers they were looking for and not always the truth.
For example when asked if I lived on the boats I told them "Yes, My dad, me and my two brothers" lived in the back cabin of our motor boat and that we carried cargo’s all over the canal system etc, ete, etc----the little fibs flowed so easily.
Soon we were getting near to Norbury so I suggested that at the next bridghole I would get off and get back into the canoe so that as we went past the junction they could just untie me and I could paddle off without them having to stop. They agreed and so I again got into the canoe for the last part of the journey. As we approached the bridgehole over the arm to the dock the line on the bow of the canoe was untied and making my farewells and thanks for the lift/food I paddled off down the arm at full speed, which was my first mistake. My second was to think that I would get away with a second breakfast without getting found out. Unknown to me the couple had decided to stop in the basin and have their breakfast, and so about half an hour later, just as we were about to sit down on the dockside and start breakfast I heard a familiar voice. "Hello again, we thought we would come and have a look at the boat you and your family lived on, and the new bottom that you are putting in."-------"Who’s that Blossom, and what’s this boat your family live on?" I had no answers to give but just hoped that I was not found out. After talking to this couple for some time, Cliff came over to me as they left and said "I thought it was strange the way you flew back down this arm in the canoe still full of energy, I should have known there was something up but to have told them all that bullshit about working the boats and living in the back cabin with me and your two brothers well----mind you, you must have sounded convincing because they had swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I have to say though, I reckon that for not telling us you had already eaten one breakfast then today’s trip does not count and you’ll have to go again next time. And I did, but this time I was not so lucky!
OLD COWS UNDER BRIDGEHOLES
And so to the trip from Norbury back to Tipton. Arrangements had been made for us to be towed back by ‘Parrot’ but she was not due to be here for another two days.
I just wanted to get as far away from the farmer as possible and as quick as possible so I was all in favor of the suggestion to start to bowhauling the boat back until we met up with our tow. And so by teatime, with everything ready the boat was shafted back down the arm into the basin where a ‘one horse’ cotton line was fixed to the mast and away we went. One of the things about bowhauling a boat, when once it’s moving it’s ever so easy to keep going for by just leaning into the rope it’s just a case of just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Also with four of us we were taking it in turns to steer by swapping over at every bridge irrespective of how near or far apart they were you were either lucky or not. It did not take very long before it was dark and we were steering the boat by looking up at the gap between the treetops over the center of the canal as in front of you was just pitch blackness as some of you will know the Shroppie is well known for it’s deep, wooded cuttings and it was in one of these inkblack cuttings whilst I was at the front of the rope when in front of us I thought I heard something on the towpath, don’t ask me what just something. I was well aware of the many boatman’s tales of ‘haunted cuttings’ and the like so I just froze. The rest of them behind me on the towrope walked into me cursing me saying "what’s the matter, what have you stopped for" "There’s something there, on the towpath" straining into the darkness you can see what ever you want or not. "There’s nothing there, come on carry on, it’s probably only the ghost of some dead boater!" not being able to see anything or hear any thing I started walking again only to stop again a few yards further on after hearing something ‘trot’ off along the towpath. "Stop, stop, listen" but of cause by the time they had stopped and quieted what ever it was had stopped. This went on for some time with us walking on and ‘the thing’ moving until someone else heard it. The response was "Probably the headless rider" but at that point we had come to a turnover bridge and ‘the headless beast’s it had now become, found itself trapped. Not knowing how to get over the bridge the beast just made a run for it-------straight at us, a huge twenty seven foot tall, fire breathing----- black cow!!!!!
Again relief and laughter.
A DAYS NODDY BOATING WITH THE ADMIRAL
The night progressed and by around midnight we were passing through Little Onn or High Onn I’m not sure which but where there’s a small boatyard and quite a few boats tied. We’d all had enough by now and a decision was made to moor up for the night and press on tomorrow. With no mooring rings available we quietly tried to knock in mooring spikes and secure the boat for the night, needless to say we failed for on one of the moored craft a light appeared as cabin doors were opened and some one came out to investigate. Soon a three million luminaries torch was being pointed across the canal in sweeping motions picking us out pausing for a moment on each figure, then swiftly moving on to the next figure until all four of us had been spotlighted then it was gone and all was again total blackness but now made even worse from the recent blinding. The next thing we knew this guy was over the canal and on the towpath with us. The six trillion luminaries torch had now been re programmed to produce a gentle downward glow just sufficient to light up the ground enough to see where you’re walking. "You should get one of these torches for nighttime cruising, you know there very good" and he proceeded to give us a demonstration of all ‘forty seven functions’and their uses. I looked at Richy and I think we both thought the same ‘NODDY BOATER’ After giving the reasons why, where, who etc he offered his services saying he was going that way tomorrow himself and would only be to pleased to give us a tow.
Daylight broke and we were up and about when across the canal we heard the four-cylinder fire up. It was one of the Waltons ‘Cruiser’ style joey boat built fifty footers named ‘JODOR’ I would imagine owned by a JOSEPH and DOREEN but certainly owned by at least an admiral of the fleet going from the gold braid on his white topped sailors hat, the navy blue sweater with the elbow patches and shoulder straps and the powerful binoculars hanging around his neck and not forgetting the blue and white deck shoes. Again I looked at Richy and we both said in exact unison "NODDY". The trip from here back to cut end was an education, both for us and for any oncoming boats as ‘the admiral’scanned the canal ahead ready to signal to other craft to "move over" as he stuck to the center of the canal. Some of them completely ignored his gesticulations, signaling back for him to move out of the channel, being unable to see us in tow behind ‘Jodor’ that is until we would move just slightly off line for them to see the huge bow and cratch of the unpowered motor in tow at which most of them would adopt the usual ‘man the lifeboats’ type response. I am sure, in these early days of canal cruising; some of the pleasure boaters you met on the move would have quite willingly lifted their boats out onto the towpath to let you pass, if they could have!
At cut end, the tow was released and we tied up against the towpath in front of Wolverhampton Boat Clubhouse to await the ‘Parrot’ while ‘Jodor’ went through the stop lock and winded in the junction ready to head back up the Shroppie and back to their mooring. It was not long before the sound of Parrot’s bollinder could be heard forging ahead along the pound and soon we were in tow again this time behind Parrot on cross-straps for the four hour trip back up the ‘21’ and on to Tipton.
Chapter Ten---A Boat of my own.
From first getting seriously interested in canals at around twelve years of age, I had held but one burning ambition and that was to work on the canals. To the point that by the time I was getting ready to leave school, officially that was, I had already secured myself a job working for Caggy Stevens. This was not to be though for when, nearer school leaving date, I told my father of my plans, his response was "Oh no you’re not you can get yourself an apprenticeship and learn a proper trade first, then you can bugger about on the cut!" And so it was that my fate was sealed as by the time I had left school I had managed to get an engineering apprenticeship at a large local heavy engineering company. Incidentally, the firm that I had secured employment at had had a long association with the canal system being responsible for the provision of most of the cast iron bridges on the B.C.N. The Company was called Horseley Bridge and Thomas Piggot Limited and so for the next five years I acquired such skills as welding and fabrication of such items as bridges, boilers, pipe work, pressure vessels etc, etc while during this same period (1968 to 1973)trade virtually disappeared from the network so that by the time I had ‘learnt a trade’ it was almost too late! As a result of this I turned my attention to my second ambition ---that of owning, living and working my own pair of boats.
The opportunity presented itself in 1970 when British Waterways disposed of the remainder of its inherited trading fleet. A lot of the craft were those that they had pulled back from lease to the Willow Wren Canal Carrying Company and so it was that armed with tender papers I traveled down to Tring by train, just as I had back in 1968 with B.W.B. first sell off to see what was available. Once again the end of the Wendover arm was filled from bank to bank with boats in all conditions including such craft as big and small Northwich and Woolwich motors and butties.
WHO KNOWS WHAT I’D BOUGHT
One of the most annoying things about the way in which British Waterways disposed of their boats was the fact that when you made an offer for a boat on tender, you did not know what sort of offers other people were making and if your offer was accepted then you were expected to pay. So given the restrictions of my budget (remembering I was only 19 and an apprentice) I could only make an offers on a few of the boats. A few weeks later a letter arrived from BWB, I opened it half expecting it to say ‘sorry but none of your offers have been accepted however I jumped for joy as I read the words ‘your offer for craft BINGLEY has been accepted’ As the elation subsided I realised that I couldn’t even remember which boat this was, in fact I couldn’t even recall seeing a boat called Bingley or if it was a motor or a butty! I got out the notepad that I had taken with me when I went to inspect the boats and read through the notes that I had made with references to conditions of hulls, engines, cabins etc, etc but no reference to a boat called Bingley. I Could remember making an offer for motors Nuneaton and Badsey, and for butties Alperton and Satelite. The next weekend I arranged to go down to Tring on the train and so after a very quick journey from Birmingham New Street by train, I walked the half mile or so across what I think was a landfill tip to pick the canal up at Tringford Pumping house and start the walk along the towpath to find my own boat! I walked past the line of boats which included motors Nuneaton, Badsey, Coleshill, Alton, Tarporley, Sudbury and Halsall and butties Baildon Alperton, Belfast, Toucan and Satellite, which as I said were in a variety of conditions, until I came to the end of the line of boats. No sign of Bingley that is to say no boats with that name on their side and the only boat I couldn’t be sure of was an un-named big Woolwich butty which was secured very tightly by two lengths of chain bolted to very heavy mooring spikes which, when I later removed them, were about four foot long! The other strange thing about this boat was the fact that it was listing at quite an angle with about eighteen inches of water in her hold. This, however did not unduly worry me as most of the boats had about the same amount of water in them having lain up this arm, unattended for quite some time and through some summer storms. After a quick look over, some notes in my notepad and some measurements of doors, hatch, crossbed etc, in fact anything that could be screwed off had been, I made the walk back to the station for my return journey which was taken up with making additional notes on the things I would need to do or bring with me for bringing ‘my boat’ back.
I arranged, with my very good friends Pat and Clive Steavens, to take their motor boat Battersea down and bring me back to the Midlands. As I was working, we would have to wait until the main industrial fortnight shutdown, before we could fetch her back so the next five weeks were spent making temporary fittings (doors etc) and any other preparatory jobs like getting hold of a butties helm. After a quick visit and chat with Ken Keay at his Walsall boatyard I managed to borrow a suitable butty helm which we fetched in the back of Clive’s landrover and put in the hold of the motor boat ready for the trip down which incidentally went off without anything going wrong. I should have known that this situation would not last.
On arrival at Tring Clive winded the motor while I headed off up the Wendover canal armed with plastic bucket and cabin shaft, having remembered Georgy Page’s advice "just untie it and let it go " the shaft being used just to keep the boat in the channel. When I got towards the end of the arm there was but one boat left, mine which as I approached seemed to be listing at an even more alarming angle. All was about to become clear. As the boat was ‘chained up’ and bolted the only way I could remove her was by pulling up spikes and all and throwing them into the hold to be removed later. With this done I then set about trying to push the boat out into the channel for the current to do the rest but to no avail for there must have been further rain storms in the last month as there was now more water in the hold and the boat was now well and truly sitting comfortable on the bed of the canal, hence the alarming angle. Or so I thought! Easy to fix though, just bail some of the water out until she floats, push her out into the channel and while she floats back to the junction I could carry on bailing out.
IT WAS LIKE AN AQUARIUM
At this point I must mention the fact that up until now I hadn’t paid any attention to the water in the hold or in fact I should say it’s inhabitants, for as I started to bucket the water out I noticed the odd flicker of movement. I stopped to examine closer and sure enough the hold was full of sticklebacks and green moss but still the penny hadn’t dropped. In fact, it wasn’t until later when Clive, who by now had winded the motor, reversed her under the bridgehole at the entrance of the arm and walked up to the boat to help fetch her down, that it finally struck. "Bloody hell Blossom there’s some water it there isn’t there, I should just get her off the bottom and back to the junction and we’ll pump the rest out with the motor boat" Clive’s Petter engine was fitted with an auxiliary pump which would make light of this. My response to Clives comment about the amount of water in the hold was "Are an’ it’s full of fish as well" "What do you mean" so I swept up another bucket of water along with it’s resident shoal of ‘backs and passed it onto the towpath " here look" Clive peered into the bucket "Well bugger me" said Clive with surprise " there is as well, mind you what I’d like to know is how they got there?" "What do you mean " as the words came out the penny finally dropped. The reason that it had been so securely moored up, and the reason the boat was so full of water, and why it resembled an aquarium was ----------there must have been a hole in the hull and the fish had swam in and it was secured to stop it sinking in the channel. My heart sank (along with the boat) what on earth have I bought?
Between us we soon got the boat into the channel and drifting down the arm back to the junction where the motor boats engine was started and the pumps pipe dropped into the hold. As the water subsided and the pump started sucking air, the butty was listed over by the three of us standing on the one gunwhale to enable the pump to remove as much water as possible. As the boat tilted and all the water rushed over to one side my worst fears were realised. A one foot high water fountain could be seen gushing from a point half way along the hold and where the sides met the bottoms. Closer examination revealed that in fact it was a split about three inches long and a quarter of an inch wide. A piece of wood was found and sharpened to a chisel point and, like a wedge, driven into the split. This stopped most of the leak, a large handful of puddle clay secured from the canal’s edge was daubed around the wedge on the inside of the hold. Next a handful of ash from the motors cabin range was thrown into the canal by the side of the boat next to the leak. The fine ash was drawn into the leak by the incoming water and soon saw the leak very quickly dry up completely.
The next job was to set about fitting and fixing the cabin to make it watertight and habitable for the return journey. Firstly the helm was thrown over the side from the motors hold into the canal and towed along to the butty’s back end. From here a rope was secured and it was lifted into the brackets at back end of the butty.
Now with the butty floating, dry and able to be steered no time was lost and the cross straps were fitted and away we went out onto the main Grand Union and off back down the north. When once we had completed our way back down ‘Maffas,’ and in between the locks whilst singled out there is very little, if any need to steer a butty being towed on cross straps and so I busied myself fitting the temporary plywood hatch and doors to the back end of the cabin that I had made. In between these jobs I kept checking the hull ‘repair’ to make sure it was still holding. I should not have bothered though for it held for a further twelve months until such time as I took the boat onto the dry dock at Tardibigge on the Birmingham and Worcester canal. A length of side cloths purloined from within the hold was nailed over the back door and some pollythene sheeting I had brought with me was fixed over the holes left after the portholes, bulls eye and mushroom ventilator had been removed while the boat lay awaiting disposal. Inside the cabin a cross bed was made from boards removed from what remained of some of the boats bottom false floor.
The return journey went off without any mishaps and once again I was in my element on the butty with little need to steer. As a result I had all the time in the world to enjoy our passage through such well-known places as Soulbury, Fenny, Thrupp, Stoke Bruerne, Buckby, Napton, Itchington, and finally Hatton. I still can not understand why people don’t like flights like Hatton as I always think of places like this as proper boating! The only thing really worth noting about this trip was the fact that working boats were noted by their absence compared to only a couple of years earlier.
The next two years were spent stripping off then replacing all timberworks including cabin, gunwales, stretchers, stands, planks etc, etc until by 1972 she was ready to move onto and to get a motor boat so I could put stage two of the master plan into operation. Getting her back to work.
For the first two years I had been keeping Bingley at a wharf on the Dudley canal close to the site of the Black Country Museum that was leased by friends, from a local family run scrap business.
They used the old wharf as a scrap yard which became quite a useful scavenge site at night when closed. Other ex-working boats also used the moorings. These included quite a mix over the two years we were there:- Battersea & Barnes, Bellatrix & Carina, , Parrot & Ipswich, Prince, Aquarius, Lynx, Albion, Lynn, a steam dredger, an iron ice boat canal.
As this was mooring was only ever intended as a temporary measure, I approached the Midlands Electricity Board in Tipton for permission to moor Bingley against the off side on the Ocker Hill Branch which leads up to Ocker Hill Tunnel where the branch canal skirts their land.
This was approved by the MEB, so long as I got permission off British Waterways and so a letter was sent and the responding reply was duly received. I don’t know why I kept this but I still have, it’s content makes me smile now for it says that they had no objections but goes on to say. "The engineers have also asked me to point out that we cannot undertake any work such as dredging or bank protection, (some things have never changed) to make a suitable mooring at this point. Also for some unknown reason this arm seems to suffer from a rather bad odour under certain weather conditions. For this reason he is of the opinion that it is not the best of places to moor a boat.’ Strange how this exact same spot is now host to BWB’s official residential moorings!!!!!
Unfortunately for me, by now canals had also been discovered for pleasure boating and as such ex-working boats had became very sought after. Mainly for shortening, converting, motorising etc for as yet there wasn’t the boatyards offering the type of purpose built craft that are available now, and as with any supply and demand situation the price goes up and up. And so it did and to give you some idea in 1968 a motor boat hull could be bought for as little as £150. But by 1972-3 I remember going to Malcolm Braine’s yard at Norton Canes where a large Woolwich motor boat hull was for sale at £4,500. This represented about four years wages for me at the time and a price that just completely blew me out of any chance whatsoever of ever owning a motor boat.
And so it was that as fast as I was saving money, the price of boats was rapidly going up, until by the mid seventies motor boats were fetching ten to fifteen thousand pounds. So early in 1974 Bingley now restored to working condition was reluctantly put up for sale. Mainly because my then partner wanted the security of bricks and mortar around her. Even now I can vividly remember bow hauling Bingley to the top of Ryders green locks to meet her new owners and after handing her over, walking off back down the flight of locks unable to even turn round and look back and in fact openly crying most of the way. But at least one consolation was that they had bought her to pair up with their big Northwich motor boat Towcester for work and not cutting up or conversion and it was so nice to read an article in a waterways magazine in October of that year of them doing just that and selling coal over the side on the Trent and Mersey Canal.
And that’s that, for from that day to this year (2000) I have not been anywhere near the canal until as I explained right at the beginning ---actions and reactions, early in the year I looked out of the back window to see a boater jump off his boat onto my garden and proceed to knock mooring spikes in. I was off like a robbers dog, out the back door and down the garden to tell him where to stick his mooring spikes. It turned out to be the colleague I mentioned earlier from work and this resulted in an hours boating up through Rugeley. As soon as we had set off he turned to me and said "Come on then here you take her" It was like I’d never been away! All the old memories came flooding back and, it seems some of the old hankerings for a boat again but that would be another story.
Chapter Eleven-----What a Difference a Day Makes.
Or should this chapter really say what a difference twenty-five years makes. It all started with some really strange questions from my ‘new’ wife who as a result of her opening up her own business three years ago, she had not been able to close and have a holiday during this period. "You know those boats you used to live on-----what were they like? how big were they?, did they have toilets and baths?, etc, etc. My response, after explaining the finer points of working boats was, "Why do you want to know?" Oh no reason, I just wondered." A strange question I thought, little did I know. A few days later came a second bombardment of questions like "You know these canals, where do they go to and where can you get to?" At the time we were standing in our back garden next to the Trent and Mersey Canal so my response was simple and two fold. "That way and the River Trent, that way and the River Mersey! But in fact they will take you anywhere you want to go! Why?" "Oh no reason I just wondered" A strange coincidence, quizzed twice in one week from someone who doesn’t like boats/canals due to her fear of water and heights (bridges and locksides)
A couple of days later came the third onslaught of questions, which was just all too much so that was it. "Why all these questions?" And so Dawn gave in telling me that she had decided to close the salon and have a weeks holiday on the canal. She had been on the internet and also through some of my Waterway World magazines and sent for some details from a couple of hire companies. I dreaded to think what type of ‘hire boat’ she had sent for and my immediate response to this was that of total refusal and denial stating that I would not be seen dead on a ‘noddy boat’ of the type that generally pass the bottom of the garden.
A few days later in the post we received the various glossy’s that had been requested. Uurghhhhhh! Horror of horrors, all as I had expected. Huge ridiculous upswept bows and cabins which fell several feet short of the counter giving an area on the back end big enough to hold a dance, party or bar-b-que. (as a lot of the hirers going past my garden seem to do.) Where given the reliable British weather, a ‘naval commodore’ equipped with white captains hat and binoculars, could really enjoy his holiday working down Wolverhampton 21 whilst the rain comes down like stair rods and squelches out of his blue and white deck pumps. " No.no.no.I’m sorry love but if, and at the moment I am only saying if, I do go back on the cut it has got to be on something that at least looks like a boat " and so the search began.
After visiting many boat yards and reading many brochures we finally came across a boat that at least outwardly appeared to have most of the right bits in the right place. Don’t get me wrong, we saw some very nice boats along the way like Anglo Welsh at Haywood or the immaculately turned out boats from Teddesley’s but what finally caught my eye was a privately owned two boat company called ‘Tiger narrowboats’ whose 50 ft BCN tug style bow and proper counter with portholes in the cabin sides instead of bus windows did it for me and I finally gave in. And so the booking was made and necessary moneys sent etc. Stage one was now complete.
Stage two consisted of deciding where we would go and this was left to me. I simply set about making a list of all my old haunts from thirty years earlier and drew up a route that I thought we could comfortably complete in a week, but more of that later as stage three was pressing. What to take with us, and so Dawn set off on one of her a shopping sprees (Bless her!) deck shoes, trainers, cycling shorts, tailored shorts, blouses, tee shirts, etc, etc, etc, sun tops, bikinis, trousers, etc, etc. (Bless her again!) For me it was much simpler----
Bib and brace overalls, boots, leather belt, donkey jacket and somewhere I’ve got an old black trilby---------
"And you needn’t think your taking those on holiday" was Dawns response to my choice in designer wear, "Well if they don’t go, I don’t go" and so that was it, me sorted out, that is apart from the crate of Guinness.
And so to the holiday, which was full of surprises, some pleasant and some not so pleasant, full of different places, some pleasant some not so pleasant and finally the people some pleasant some not so pleasant and some who were absolutely obnoxious. Probably the most obnoxious person I met all holiday was near to Netherton. On the offside of the canal I approached an ex-working boat breasted up to a partially finished converted ‘dustbin boat’ tied up against a small boat yard. At about 100 yards from the moored boats I knocked the engine down onto tickover as I had always been taught to by proper boaters so as not to ‘bang ‘em about.’ As I drew nearer, the head of a long haired hippie lookalike appeared in the hatches and screamed "SLOW DOWN" ---already being on tickover I couldn’t and so just ignored his stupidity. Then a second time he screamed "SLOW DOWN" By this time I was within earshot of him so I asked him what his problem was to which he responded with "That’s all we need YOUR sort on the canal" by which I don’t know what he meant but returned a very polite "bollocks" and he disappeared back into the cabin of his boat which to be honest I hadn’t seen in such a sorry state not even back in it’s days with Willow Wren or British Waterways!
As I pulled past, I looked back and saw the limp mooring lines move and eventually tighten as the boat moved through the waters swill. At this I thought to myself, if it had been tied up correctly in the first place’ but then again this would not have allowed this odious ‘pretend boater’ to display his importance over all other users using his stretch of canal. As I became more distant to him, I again turned this time to see an ‘Alvechurch’ hire boat approaching him and watched as again his head appeared from within as they passed and confirmed, to myself at least that this was obviously his main pastime and wondered what some of the old timers would have made of him as the forward swill of their deeply loaded boats would have moved him on his ropes especially some of the hard faced buggers who, in my childhood tugged day boats about the B.C.N. But anyway he was but one of the different people we met during our trip. And so to the holiday itself!
DAY 1----FRADLEY TO FAZELEY.
We arrived at Swan Cruisers at Fradley Junction, who were the boatyard that was looking after the Tiger Narrowboats, at 2.00pm to pick up the boat. After an excellent ‘hand over’ induction by the engineer from Swan Cruisers to the more modern facilities, shower, flush toilets etc, we were off and underway by 3.00 p.m. I slipped the mooring ropes from Hobbes’ bows and moved the gear into ahead and away we went. The first hundred yards of our holiday contained a 90-degree junction, a narrows and a self operated swing bridge. All these directly in front of ‘The Swan’ public house whose outside tables in front of the pub are always full of spectators this time of the year. But sorry no entertainment was forthcoming from us as we swept round the junction and disappeared off down the Coventry canal. This was all new territory for me as the highest that I had previously been on this canal was to Fazeley many years earlier. Three hours later saw us approaching towards Fazeley and a proper green ‘thunder storm’ sky. Donkey jacket collar up and trilby brim down, with the back end doors shut behind me and the hatch pulled close to my belly I was ready for whatever the elements threw at me and soon we were passing through a mother of a storm. The first of a few that were to follow. Just as the rain started to ease just a little we approached and passed a hire boat of the ‘ cruiser’ style that I had mentioned earlier. On the long, open, rear deck was a solitary person wearing trainers and shorts and sporting a vivid golfing umbrella. This was all to no avail as he was soaked to the skin and as we passed I nodded a "How do " and smiled to myself and thought ‘Something to be said for 200 years of narrow boat design!’ By 7.00 we were tied up at Fazeley Junction and preparing for a night in the bar of the Three Tuns.
After a couple of pints in a bar that appeared very quiet for a Saturday night, the peace was broken by the entry of about 15 gents who were on a stag night. They were all regulars of this pub, which explained why it had been so quiet. Also they were in the middle of a drunken pub-crawl and from the sound of them some of them were a little worse for wear. The rest of the evening went off with great sport watching and listening to the antics of this group, which although loud, were quite clean and harmless. That is apart from the groom who, from the moment they had entered the pub they had been pushing whisky down him like there was no tomorrow. By about half past ten he was just sat in a chair unconscious, that is until one of the party noticed he was beginning to show signs of being sick. "Get him out now" the landlady yelled, so two of the lads picked him up and took him outside. Unfortunately for Dawn and me he proceeded to throw up all down the outside of the large window that we were sat up against!
DAY 2-- FAZELEY TO FACTORY JUNCTION
As we were on holiday, I decided to have a lie in and didn’t leave Fazeley until 7.00 am and it was not long before we were climbing the scenic B’ham and Fazeley into Birmingham. As it was so early I had left Dawn in bed and so started the steady climb into Birmingham single-handed. Dawn appeared on the towpath about half way up the Curdworth flight and from this point upwards she started her apprenticeship by helping me with the operation of the rest of this flight. By the time we had reached Minworth I was simply steering the boat. She was now on her own and so she worked up Aston and Farmers Bridge locks then at the end of the day Factory Three a total of fourtyone locks.-----Quite a days introduction to boating for Dawn, who as I said earlier does not like water or heights but still managed to work all the locks so that by the end of the day she had undergone a baptism of fire and was quite an expert by the time we tied up at the top of Factory locks at 7.00pm in time for a night in the ‘Old Bush’ now called the ‘Barge and Barrel and now also a winebar! Still the Guinness was cold and wet. The only points worth mentioning from today’s boating were---
- 1. What a difference has been made on the canal around the top of Farmers Bridge and round to Gas Street on towpath and buildings which surround the canal definitely money well spent, well done B.W.B. and B’ham city council, but oh dear me what about the actual canal itself. Still as black as a bag and full of scrap and rubbish not to mention oil slicks and absolutely tons of floating rubbish. Surely some of the improvement money could have been spent on the actual navigation and not just the appearance of the canals for the visiting tourists and anyway if any of these tourists should happen to amble along the towpath as far as Livery Street and Snow Hill tunnel I’m sure they would not be impressed by what the arches in Snow Hill tunnel are used for by the look of the lock pounds here are full of the evidence and I do mean full as we shared one lock with at least 50 condoms!
- 2. The second issue being some hire companies complete lack of information to hirers.
As we proceeded along the New Main Line we came across a hire boat right across the canal just past Smethwick Junction and I slowed down to gently nudge them aside and pass when they called across for assistance. The boat was being crewed by a Newzealand family of mother, father, and two attractive teenage daughters (which incidentally had no bearing at all on the assistance I offered...of cause!) Who shouted across "Could you help us were lost. We want the Stourport Ring" I told them to follow us up to Factory locks and I would tell them where to go from there. When we got to the top, made the turn onto the Old Main Line and tied up opposite the Malthouse Stables. We then walked back down the locks to tell them which way to go. We got to the bottom lock and the family were just standing there looking at the lock chamber. "Could you help us again please, as we don’t know what to do!" As we helped them through I soon learnt that they had started from Tardibigge a couple of days earlier and that this was their first lock but the thing that I was absolutely amazed at was the fact that the boatyard had sent them off on a two weeks cruise and not even told them how to operate a lock!
DAY 3 --- FACTORY JUNCTION TO STEWPONY (VIA NETHERTON TUNNEL)
Again a late start leaving Factory at 7.00am and heading off round the Old Main Line to the Gower Branch and the first of today’s 32 locks (I’ll make a boater of her yet!) It was nice to hit Netherton tunnel and deep water and able to wind her up a bit. Going through Netherton on Hobbes reminded me of the dozens and dozens times spent on various boats over the years. But this was now luxury with electric headlights it was almost like daylight. Unlike the numerous trips with Caggy on his tug Judith Anne which had a huge 15 hp single Bollinder. This would be wound up full blast, the tiller would be tied over on cabin strings so that the bows rubbed against the right hand guard rail and he would sit in the cabin with a mug of tea, absolutely deafened until daylight was once again reached.
It also took me back to the 1950’s and school holidays. Each year a crowd of us kids would dare each other to walk through the Tunnel. Eventually we would all agree and embark on a great adventure and walk through the tunnel. With perhaps a single bicycle lamp between us or even a solitary candle, to eventually break out into sunlight at the other end where we would sit and eat our jam sandwiches and bottle of water before the return walk back through.
Eventually we reached daylight again and stated the sweeping turn around Netherton church on the hill till and the reservoir below. We passed Brewins Tunnel and eventually arrived at Blowers Green where we turned left down Blowers Green Deep lock and headed off towards the new section of canal built through the Merry Hill shopping complex. As we reached the top of the Black Delph locks, known locally as the Delph Nine , although there are only eight locks, a strange man appeared wearing an old suit, a collar and tie, with a high visibility bright yellow vest of the type worn by motorway workers over the top. He was carrying a modern double-headed windlass but no security key so he couldn’t have been a waterways employee but all the same he proceeded to tell us how to operate the locks!
When Dawn asked me who he was I told her to ignore him and he would probably go away for I suspect he was undertaking the ancient art of ‘Hobbling.’ Something that was common at Wolverhampton locks I seem to remember, right up to the demise of the Clayton’s tar boats going to the gas works half way down the flight. Hobblers would hang around the top lock and on the approach of a boat would ask if they needed help to work the flight for a very small fee, I suspect from the outward appearance of those hobblers that I met, the moneys would be spent on cheap booze. I even remember on one occasion whilst racing down the flight on my bicycle lock wheeling in the dark of a winters evening, riding straight over one of these hobblers asleep on the towpath under Lock Street bridge needless to say I didn’t stop to see if he was allright!
As the top lock filled and we began our descent, the first few plops of another of the weeks ‘showers’ began and like the one at Fazeley it soon turned into stair rods. (‘Day 3’ ‘Storm 2’) The fellow in the yellow vest also disappeared. By the time we had reached the top of Stourbridge 16 Dawn was again in full swing and made easy work of locking down to Stewpony and a night in the pub of the same name. Points to be raised today,
- 1. The bottom pound between Stourbridge and Stourton is still as full now (with mud not water) as it was just before full restoration of the ‘16’ in the late sixties! ---
- 2. I was horrified today to be pushed down the sixteen by an ‘Alvechurch’ hireboat crewed by about four adults and about six or eight children (in fact one for every paddle and gate) who were obviously not first timers but were using methods similar to those used by generations of boatmen to work locks by using water to close gates etc, however the main difference being when done properly, timing being extremely important, paddles would be lifted at exactly the right time to assist a gate to close. Not, as I could hear behind me a pound away, gates crashing shut by the opening of both paddles full before even moving down to the gates---I explained to Dawn the in’s and out’s of the skills that they were trying to copy very badly and also the likelihood of them turning the bottom mitered gates inside out.
We were obviously holding them up, as one woman crew member who was lock wheeling for them asked us, if. "We would like some of their children to help us work through the locks and speed us up." I of cause declined the generous offer stating that I thought that locking should not be ‘work’ this was then followed by (I know what your thinking and I agree) a demonstration of how it’s supposed to be done. By working downhill strapping the boat in on paddles and closing bottom paddles and gates using the cabin shaft just as the boat leaves the lock chamber---etc, etc.--- This saw us tied up at Stewpony a good 15 mins before they got there and also a smug feeling inside knowing that I hadn’t forgotten everything that I had been taught 30 years ago!
- 3. The Stewpony Hotel is big enough and with enough bars to accommodate thousands of patrons (no exaggeration) don’t ever go there on a Monday night, total customers ‘six’ including Dawn and myself!
- 4. If you ever decide to make surprise visits on old canal friends and retired boaters don’t be surprised when they are not there. Harry Steavens and his wife Patty Connop left their pair Battersea and Barnes in the mid seventies to work for ‘the company’ (BWB) as a section inspector I think until retirement. Residing then as now at the lock keepers cottage at Stewpony and obviously enjoying his retirement with a trip to a caravan in Wales as I found off one of their sons when I knocked their door! So much for my surprises.
DAY 4-- STEWPONY TO KIDDERMINSTER AND BACK
After being reliably informed by their son that they would " be back from the caravan tomorrow" we decided, instead of heading back towards Wolverhampton, we would add an extra ‘lazy day’ to our holiday and carry on down the Staffs and Worcester. The plan was to have dinner in ‘The Lock’ pub at Wolverley then wind at Kidderminster and have a lazy day back. So with this in mind we started off quite late and I stood watching the lock until the first sight of a boat coming uphill at which point I very slowly eased our way to the head of the lock to be confronted by a ‘Viking’ invasion of central Britain.’ As three groups of friends aboard three ‘Vikings
Afloat’ cruisers proceeded to lock up one after the other, refusing to allow downhill locking in between saying that "we want to be together " despite protestations from myself and other crews who had by now assembled. To make matters even worse the first invaders craft had decided to breast up and tie up on the water tap while they waited for the third member of their armada.
With this invasion force passed we soon made our way down to Wolverley and tied up for lunch. Not to be though, for outside the pub was a sign which read ‘Pub closed due to power cut’ and so on the recommendation of another couple just getting back into their car, we walked into Wolverley village and had lunch at the Queens Head. The rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful except for the Kiddy’ pound which was in dire need of dredging and the removal of dozens of shopping trolleys! By the evening we were back at Stourton and decided to stay there for the night. (My friends had still not returned)
The only thing worth mentioning from today was the shopping trolleys. Surely it’s about time that British Waterways started being a little more aggressive towards traceable rubbish in the canal. At Kidderminster it’s quite obvious where the trolleys have come from and who owns them as the supermarket is right on the canal and ever offers moorings for boaters to shop, Surely it’s possible for BWB to say to these supermarkets that they either remove the trolleys themselves, pay contractors to remove them or for BWB to charge them for their removal! If their response to this is that they have no control over children/teenagers throwing them into the canal then they should take a leaf out of Asda’s example set at their massive store in Great Bridge, Tipton where the Walsall canal goes right through the middle of the shopping complex. For you will not find a single trolley in the canal here. Why----Because Tipton youths are so well disciplined and well behaved----of cause
not, it’s because there’s a £1.00 returnable deposit lock on system on every trolley! Simplicity itself…..
DAY 5 STEWPONY TO FACTORY JUNCTION
Up with the herons for an early start and we left Stourton behind us for a pleasant couple of hours of quiet boating alone. When we came to Greensforge lock , and as the boat started to rise in the lock, I looked up to see a face that I hadn’t seen for many years. Although he had not changed that much I must have done as he had no idea who I was until I reminded him of that black faced kid all those years ago. You could see the penny drop as he stated the obvious. "God Blossom you’ve got old and fat!" The next half an hour was spent reminiscing with this BWB foreman, Mr. Cliff Sherwood or should I say ‘Tatty’ Sherwood, as he was better known and his wife Barbara. The result of this meeting saw us swapping phone numbers and arranging to meet at a rally of boats being held at Park Head later in the year, and who knows what action/reaction that might bring about.
The next five or six hours saw us gradually climbing through some of the prettiest canal on the whole of the network. Through such places as Hinksford, Wombourn, Dimmingsdale and Wightwick, but to me the best was yet to come for one of my own personal favorite sections of canal lay just ahead. And so it was that by early afternoon we were starting the climb up to the B.C.N.
As we made the turn off the Staffs and Worsc ready to enter into the bottom lock a boat was just coming out of it and as I eased past them I asked them if they had passed any other boats on the flight. Their answer was received with joy for as they hadn’t it meant that all locks were in our favor and this saw us reaching the top lock in just over two hours. I said I’d make a boater of her and she’s certainly got the hang of locking.
The Wolverhampton ‘21’ and the following few miles of canal back to Factory Junction were always my favorite, as it was on the particular stretch that, as I recall, the canal was flanked for most of that length on both sides by factories, foundries, steelworks, etc. All opening onto the canal from where men would appear out of darkened workshops to stand, watch and wave or shout a cheery greeting as the boats went past and where as a youngster, traveling past by boat I was always fascinated by the sights and smells of metal bashing for which this area was famous. Also the canal here was always populated by many boats of varied pedigrees from ‘hot holers’ and railway boats to ‘Bantocks’ and wooden joey’s mostly lying at odd angles all across the canal entailing nudging and persuading them out of the way. Occasionally tugs were to be seen on the move, and there was always the chance of meeting Thos Clayton Oil boats.
I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams what lay before me. For the last thirty years had taken it’s toll, even recognising most of the journey round Horseley Fields, Monmore Green, Catcham’s Corner and Millfields was difficult for there wasn’t even any remaining signs of what used to be. For now the canal was either, desolate and bare or where old factories had been replaced by modern units, they have simply turned their backs on the canal as if to disown it. By the time we were round to Factory Junction I was feeling pretty down knowing that all that was left was my memories. A night down at Mad O’roukes Pie Factory faced with a ‘cow pie’, several pints of Guinness all washed down by a couple of hours of live Irish folk music had me feeling a lot better, that is until the next morning, oh boy what a hangover..
DAY 6. FACTORY JUNCTION TO PENKRIDGE.
The only reason that we had detoured off the Staffs and Worsc was because Dawn’s father had shown a keen interest in joining us at some point of our holiday to sample boating. And so we had phoned him up to say that he could meet us at Factory junction at 7.30am and we would take him on a bit of a round trip he could meet us at Factory junction at 7.30am and we would take him on a bit of a round trip along the Old Main Line to Brades locks and then back to Tipton via the main line. It was just turned six o’clock when there was a sharp rap on the cabin side; it was Dawn’s dad ready for his trip and so by half past we were ready and while I set off for Brades, Dawn started breakfast. It just happened that they sat down to eat theirs as we reached Brades Village, so I worked the boat down the three locks alone and then had my meal on the cabin hatches whilst on the move which, to be honest, is how I prefer my breakfast. Within an hour and a half we had completed the round trip and were again approaching the bottom of Factory three. I gave Mike a windlass and told Dawn to show him what to do, she was a natural, and I laughed to myself as I watched. She told him which paddle to draw and when, just as if she’d been at it all her life! At the top we said our good-byes and Mike left to catch his bus home while we carried on back the way we had come the previous evening.
As we came under Broad Street Tunnel, a boat that had been tied up just below the bridge suddenly had its engine started and lines cast off as they saw our approach. This gave rise to a hard start to the days locking for Dawn as every lock was now against us and it meant double locking all the way down as we never met another boat on the flight. The fact that half the bottom gates weren’t closed also didn’t help matters, especially as Dawn would not jump across bottom gates but preferred to walk round. Even so I was soon turning the bows out of the bottom lock and back onto the Staffs & Worsc for a leisurely trip to Penkridge which to be honest was quite un-eventful that is except for the third rain storm of the week which started just as we were approaching ‘The Cross Keys’ where we would be participating in one of their famous meat puddings of various types and of cause a few pints of the usual.
DAY 7. PENKRIDGE TO ARMITAGE
Daybreak saw the dawning of a brilliant sunny day on a very pretty stretch of canal where the locks are just how Dawn likes them, spread out and a distance apart instead of all together. And so we set about the normal daily routine of lock, coffee, lock, breakfast, lock, coffee, and so on that is until the rhythm was broken by clouds of black smoke from the exhaust and the engine dying as something big and hairy had festooned our propeller. Gradually the boat ground to a halt on the near side shallows and I was able to lift the weedhatch to investigate. On plunging my hands into the water and feeling around I discovered the trouble, a whole weeks laundry had secured itself around the blades finished off with about thirty yards of heavy electrical cable over the top of the lot! Luckily in the engine room there was a pair of powerful pliers and a hacksaw and so after much winding, unwinding, cutting and pulling the cabin top was decorated with an assortment of clothing including a bikini bottom, a fleecy sweatshirt and a sock along with plastic bags of every colour and size that is as well as the cable, which was now cut up into short pieces. On collecting it all up it completely filled a large carrier bag now destined for the next bin at Gailey Lock.
With engine started we were once again off into our rhythm of lock, drink etc when just as we had passed through Acton Trussel, a beautiful place miles from anywhere, as we were to find out, the engines beat again started to fail and finally fade completely. This time on a stretch of canal miles from any access and overshadowed by a high speed rail line towering above on blue brick pillars. Again the boat was steered into the bank and the weed hatch raised but this time on feeling into the water there was nothing there, strange perhaps whatever it was had come off just as the engine died! Ignition key turned, starter button pressed, but no response the engine just turned and turned. "You’ll have to phone the boat yard and call them out" Dawn said "But call them out to where, I haven’t a clue where we are " was my only retort and I jumped off the boat to find out where we were. A walk along the towpath revealed that we were somewhere between bridges 103 and 104 and so I phoned the boatyard and informed them of our plight. To which the guy from the boatyard responded "Give me your number and I’ll phone you back when I’ve looked at the map to see where you are." Sure enough about ten minutes later my mobile rang and it was the dock hand again "You couldn’t have picked a worse place to break down. Your at least two miles from the nearest road access but not to worry just sit tight and I’ll get to you as quick as I can. Before I leave just try a couple of things for me would you, switch the ignition switch on and press the stop button and tell me if you can hear the solenoid clicking" I did what he asked and told him yes it was clicking "umm, it’s not the electric’s then, right dip the diesel tank for me then " and so with a mooring spike I dipped the tank and told him that there was about two inches registering on the end of the spike "That’s it " he said "Somebody has had your fuel away while you’ve been tied up. Hang on there and I’ll get some out to you, it should take an hour at the most"
I sat back and had another cuppa while we waited and sure to his word within the hour I spotted him and a young lad struggling along the towpath with about forty gallons of diesel in two plastic fuel drums. Whilst the fuel was transferred to our tanks I chatted to him asking him if this was a very common occurrence, to which he answered "well you see, what they do is watch you go into the pub walk in a little later and obviously if you are sat there having a meal or a pint they know you’re going to be some time so they then tie up alongside you and with a small 12 volt pump a length of hose in your tank the other in theirs and within a matter of minutes there full and your empty, simple" I didn’t say anything but I had my own idea where the fuel had gone!
With the tanks replenished and the engine started we were once again off on our way. Soon we had made the turn at Great Haywood and with only one more lock at Colwich were soon pulling up at the bottom of Dawn’s sisters garden to give her and her husband a lift to the pub with us for a meal and perhaps a few pints. Half hour further and we were tied up at Armitage and off to the Old Peculiar for a steak. We had an absolute scream in this pub as it happened to be someone’s hen night and the pub filled with a crowd of nutcases in fancy dress, and a good night was had by all.
FINAL DAY ARMITAGE BACK TO FRADLEY
As the boat had got to be back for 10.00am we made an early start even though we were only an hour away. This gave us time to give the boat a really good clean down and pack everything ready and so by 9.30am we were tied up out side the Swan at Fradley and while Dawn finished packing the things away I went into the shop to get someone to take me to fetch my car from the secure parking that they provided some distance away.
After fetching my car, I drove up alongside the boat and I could see the fitter who had come out to us to bring us fuel talking to Dawn on the back end of the boat. As I approached them the fitter was saying "Did you have no more trouble then after I’d been out to you" "Oh no "replied Dawn "We had no more trouble at all " "So tell me where did you get to in the end?" The thoughts that I had before returned as Dawn started to tell him "Oh we went to Fuzzily, then up to Birmingham, then through Netherton and down to Kidderminster" he responded with a "Oh you have been a good way " Dawn carried on with "Then we went back up to Wolverhampton and up onto the Birmingham canal to Oldbury and Tipton" as Dawn started to tell him that we then went back down the twenty one and up to Penkridge etc I could see the look of realisation as he turned to me and said "Bloody hell no wonder you ran out of fuel you used it all up! I thought to myself well it did say in the paperwork when we booked it that there was plenty enough fuel for one weeks cruising but if you hired the boat for two weeks then it was advisable to top up on the second week and get a receipt and anyway if that’s the case why don’t they fit a fuel gauge!!! Or perhaps they are just not used to proper boating
And so that was about it, my revisit to a changed world, all I can say is that some of the changes were for the better and some were for the worse but so life goes on and who knows the next time I write it may even be from the back cabin of my own motor boat.
Chapter Twelve----Surfing the Canals
Talk about ‘ow things change’ just the other day I was surfing the net for canal related sites etc. (Yes me on a computer) when I came across a site owned by the Narrow Boat Trust. (NBT) A charity whose aims and objectives are to retain a little of the rich history associated with canals and narrow boats. They strive to achieve this by maintaining a pair of former Grand Union boats. These boats are used, by various means, to both keep trade going on the canals, and to bring to the attention of the general public the life, times and methods used for the last two hundred years.
Just up my street I thought and so without delay I filled in the necessary membership form and sent it off, along with my donation to await inclusion into the ‘events’ ‘calendar’ etc, etc. And it wasn’t long before I spotted on the Calendar that they were going to be in my neck of the woods. One of the members of the trust, had a station boat hull that he was going to move on the Trent & Mersey. On the Saturday the boat was to be moored in Rugeley. This was an opportunity that I was not going to miss. And so on the Saturday morning I extracted my bike from the garden shed and proceeded to pump up the tyres (it has been a while since I have cycled anywhere!) and proceeded to cycle along the towpath until I found them.
As I set off I was trying to think what I was going to say if I found them for I had only been a member for a week and as such knew none of them. It did not take too long for as I approached Great Haywood junction I looked up the cut and saw another ex-Grand Union boat approaching. I stood under the bridgehole and
awaited its arrival. As it entered the bridgehole I could see it was the big Woolwich motor Gainsborough, and as it’s back end passed I asked the steerer if he had passed the Nuneaton. His response was "yes, she is only a couple of miles further on." With my farewell and thanks said I started off again along the towpath. Sure enough it did not take much longer for I as I approached Aston Lock, just north of Great Haywood Junction, I met up with the boat waiting below to enter the lock.
I stopped at the tail of the lock, opposite the back end of Nuneaton and gave the steerer the usual "How do" followed by a "At last, it’s took some time to find you." As the boat rose in the lock chamber, I struck up a conversation with the steerer and explained my reasons for looking for them to which I was invited aboard for a days boating. God this took me back for my bike was thrown into the hold and I joined both Jason and Tony at the back end for a leisurely trip.
A DIFFERENT APPROACH TO FOW HUNTING
Just round a couple of bends and our attention was drawn to something happening in the field next to the towpath, which to be honest, if I had not have seen it for myself, I would not have believed it.
In this field was a herd of about 20 Friesian cows, 19 of which were minding their own business doing what cows do best. Turning grass into fertilizer! One cow however, was busying itself by chasing a Fox! Yes that’s what I said a Fox. The cow had its head down and was trotting after the fox, which was simply trotting off at approximately the same speed. If the cow got any nearer the fox would just speed up slightly and change direction to which the cow would respond by following on and also speeding up. Eventually another cow became interested in the events that were unfolding in front of us and so also joined in the pursuit. This continued for the next ten minutes or so until all the rest of the herd had joined in the game. I suspect by this time the fox had become bored with this game and decided to make a hasty retreat through the hedgerow leaving the cows bewildered and simply running round the field by them selves.
I still don’t know who was having the most fun though. The cows, the fox or us watching. Still pity one of us hadn’t got a camera with us as it would have been worth £250 on ‘Who’s been framed’ but isn’t that always the case in situations like this.
I stayed with the boat for a further few miles helping them to work up through the Stone and Meaford flight of locks from where I said my farewells and cycled back to home.
Well folks that’s about it. I have no more to say for the moment but until next time,
Don’t bang ‘em about
BLOSSOM
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