Tuesday November 7th 2006

An early start to disgorge the throbmangel and pump up the volume. Accompanied for several miles by that mechanical beast the railway; it will never replace the canal mark my words. And then, of all things, the damned motorway and all those horseless carriages, a passing fad I am sure of it. Presently we came to the power station where poor Mary, her rod in hand, tried her arm at fly fishing, fry fishing it soon became all too apparent was her game. We stopped a while amidst the humming voltage and said a few words.

Our next stop was the magnificent Hawkesbury Junction with the old steam hose and the 7 inch lock. We had a spot of bother turning the old barge, she got stuck in the galley with a tray full of piping hot tea. That done, she ably looked on as the lads, avoiding the conventional, turned the boat 360 degrees in an almost vain attempt to avoid being sent to Coventry! Job complete we continued our voyage, with Pollard land lubbing a while. Passing many off-shoots of long gone industrial giants we mourned for the days of heavy industry. Imagine our delight when we rounded a corner and there it was, rearing its dishevelled face from the confines of Charity Wharf; all manner of boilers, pumps and even a mini metro propped precariously over the murky shallows. Soon the scene became more domestic with a velour purple armchair bobbing leisurely in our path, the silly Cnute! Marston junction came next and we squeezed ourselves through the narrow entrance.

Things fell silent and a sense of wonderful gloom and sereneness descended. We had breached the Ashby Canal, the canal that never made it to Ashby. However, it did make our day, the local Atherstone sandstone bridges a reminder that in some distant past not everything came over the sea from China, but local people made local bridges from local aggregates. The highlight of the day, apart from remembering poor Mary of course, was the spotting of a glorious iridescent Kingfisher. It made its appearance some 75 yards ahead of Edna Marie with a flash of vertical, brilliant blue and then flitted from bough to bough as we approached. Larry was in raptures, its been 30 years since he last saw a Kingfisher dance like that!

It was with a heavy heart that we approached Hinckley - mainly because it was Hinckley, but also because it signalled the halfway point of our journey. To go on would have meant crossing the Rubicon, a little known side shoot of the Ashby, and we didn't have time to do that. We turned, somewhat more successfully than at Hawkesbury it must be said, and started on the return leg. Joanne read to us of Brindley and his canals, of Telford and his bridges, of the boat people and their barges and of the time-travelling slut in the book she is reading - strangely no mention of the canal scene, but she certainly had her panels windlassed by the saucy Laird! Refreshed and educated in equal parts, we finally came to a stop at Burton Hastings. There Larry left us for London and the pussy close to his heart. Thanks Larry, for everything, except the death rattle snoring at four in the morning. We'll be sipping a glass or two of the ginger wine in your honour. Tomorrow to Rugby and beyond.....

[Post written by Ample Seaman Dave Buck]