1980-1981

Summer 1980 The Cheshire Ring

October 1980 Lancaster Canal and terrible weather

Jake recalled this trip in Set'04. This 2 week trip began on 9 August - I know this by checking my old annual leave records, sad git that I am!). This was Ron's first time on the canals and we were also joined by Phil Knight and Iain who had made their debuts the previous autumn. Steve (now married to Sheila!), Pies and Big Al had dropped out from the year before.

We took the train to Crewe and then cabs to Nantwich. While Colin looked at estate agents (just in case) we supped Boddies in the Wickstead Arms before shopping and picking up the boat at the basin. Our route was then clockwise: Saturday night Audlem; Sunday lunch the Wharf at Shebdon; evening at the Hartley Arms Wheaton Aston; Monday lunch at Penkridge, evening at Stafford. This involved a long walk into town, much to Bill's displeasure. We certainly covered some distance on the boat in those days, even without dawn rises like the year before. Tuesday lunch was the Red Lion in Stone where John had a sneaky cuddle with Jenny while Frank was away; evening in Uncle Tom's Cabin, a Marstons pub close to the old Stoke City ground. Now, left to our own devices, Tom and I would have turned on to the Caldon canal the next day. Our colleagues, getting wind of this plan, protested as this would delay our arrival in Boddies country. So we pressed on north and had to wait 24 years to visit this beautiful and scenic waterway. Instead we went through Harecastle tunnel and turned off on to the Macclesfield canal. Lunch was at a Robinson pub called the Bleeding Wolf and in the evening we stopped at Congleton. Thursday lunchtime we hit Macclesfield and we piled into the canalside Puss in Boots for a skinful of Boddies. This was followed by the short run to Bollington for the evening. Friday lunchtime was spent in one of the several Robboes houses in Marple, followed by a journey down to the end of the Peak Forest canal. In Whaley Bridge we drank more Boddies in the Navigation Inn. Just before closing time the landlord came round to our table and asked if we were enjoying the beer. "Yes" replied Bill "and I wouldn't mind a few more!" No afters that night!

On Saturday morning we descended the long flight of locks at Marple, then fairly newly restored, across the aqueduct and stopped for lunch at another Navigation, this time a Robboes house. For the evening we stopped at Dukinfield Junction and found a Hyde's pub. Sunday morning saw us along the drab industrial Ashton canal heading for the centre of Manchester. We stopped at the Jolly Angler - another Hyde's pub - where the locals were very friendly and keen to know where we had left our boat. When we returned the padlock had been forced open and the boat ransacked. Despite all the cash and valuables lying around all that was taken was Phil's camera. As he was earning shedloads of cash in the Middle East at the time he wasn't too bothered. We then had to buy a license to travel the couple of miles of the privately owned Rochdale canal. The first lock took us underneath a high-rise office block - all this section is much improved now, but in those days was the typical urban desolation scenario.

That evening we were in the Bridge Inn at Sale (more bloody Boddies!), keeping a careful eye on our unlocked boat. The next lunchtime we stopped at Thelwall. This place is famous for the viaduct that carried the M6 over the Manchester Ship Canal and is the scene of many a traffic hold up. It also has a Boddies pub! In the evening we were in the Holly Bush at Little Leigh, a delightful rural pub. Beer was Greenalls, but somehow the general ambience of the place improved the taste of the beer. I vaguely recall there was a traction engine in the pub garden. By Tuesday lunch we'd passed the Anderton Lift and were in Middlewich. Across the Arm in the afternoon and for the evening we were just north of Barbridge Junction, possible in another Greenall house (getting the taste for it now!)

We were in Chester for most of Wednesday. No all day drinking back then so we had plenty of time to sample the cultural delights of this historic city. The next day we went to the northern extremity of the Shroppie. Ellesmere Port may be one of the most unattractive places on the inland waterways network, but it does boast the canal museum which was well worth visiting. On the way back we stopped at a Higson pub in a village named Stoak before returning to Chester for the evening. The final day saw a long haul back to Nantwich, stopping off at [I think] a free house that served Boddies. I guess that more of the same brew was consumed in Nantwich that evening to round off the trip.

It wasn't a good trip weather wise. The sun only shined for one day in a fortnight so when it did off came the clothes to pretend in was a great trip weather wise. The tops went straight back afterwards, as it wasn’t that warm.Our driver Bill above wasn't stupid and kept his top on.

Just when you thought it was safe to get out of the water along comes Ronnie with his Omen t-shirt and designer creased shorts.

Outside the Jolly Angler in Manchester a Hyde's pub - where some of the locals were very friendly and keen to know where we had left our boat - so they could break in

John gets a cuddle from Jenny Beach his friend and also the landlady of the Red Lion in Stone after our lunchtime visit

Ron and John outside the Navigation Hotel

Ron(with hair)and Bill going round the bend at Middlewich

Harecastle Tunnel, Ron, JOC and Big Al driving

Through factories -Bill, Colin, Al and JOC. Note Bill wearing his wet weather gear

Iain, Tom (?) JOC, Ron and Phil, when Boddingtons was a great beer

Water Tulip, the name has suffered since an earlier trip- Tom & JOC and Iain on the tiller. Above and right playing charades.

JOC, Tom and Phil and Ron driving!

Carnforth picking up the boats.
Al, Martin and Pete Day

Lancaster Basin where carefree Navigators are awaiting Sunday morning opening time blissfully unconcerned about the horrors the boats and the weather would visit on them.Pete Dat, nearest the camera, Jake a Dodge brother's head, Iain fishing being watched by the other Dodge brother

Lancaster again and already members of the fleet know which boat to be on, Commodore Bill's Narrowboat, complete with the only shower in the flotilla of course. Oz, Al Martin, Mick Ball, Admiral Bill, JOC, Jake, a Dodge brother and Jim McKay

Lancaster again with Tom on deck enjoying the winter sunshine. This was the last time the roofs were lowered on the plastic boats except when the 'cripple' lost theirs going under a bridge

The following notes are from Jake - well most of them before he turned nancy and went home early unable to take the appalling conditions October 18 1980 dawned fair and a 16-strong party travelled north in keen anticipation of an enjoyable week on the Lancaster Canal. With the promise of excellent scenery, fine pubs, and excellent beers from local breweries how could we go wrong? Well, for a start, only one of our four boats was a traditional steel narrow boat. The other three were fibre glass craft, which were soon found to be extremely prone to condensation. Also, it being late in the season, none of the boats were in prime condition. Things started well, with two good sessions on Baddies (in its great days) in Carnforth, where we picked up our boats, and a pleasant sunny Sunday morning cruise to Lancaster where we spent the day, mainly drinking Yates & Jackson ales. (one pub the guvnor gave us all Y & J tankards - has anyone still got theirs?) The weather turned more gloomy on Monday when we made our way down to Glasson Dock where the evening's drinking included SPBW Wantz branch's meeting in the Caribou Hotel. Returning up the Glasson arm to the main line, we lost one boat which failed to make it through a narrow bridge fully intact. The crew members went on to become regulars at the three pubs in Galgate. As the remaining boats headed south, flu began to spread among boaters, especially those who had bunks in the unheated rear cabins of the plastic boats. Those fortunate to be billeted in the fore cabins (which not only had the cooker, but also had a gas fire) were regretting not bringing more summer clothes. By Wednesday the rain had set in on a permanent basis and we reached Bilsborrow where the canal side White Bull offered shelter and Matthew Brown beers. If the weather to date had been poor, Thursday was positively nasty.The rain hammered down and the wind was so strong that pushing the boat from the canal bank was no easy matter. (Just as well there were no nancy boys like the Dude with us.) So immense was the deluge that at some points it was not easy to tell where the canal bank was and some of the boats were warned by the police that it was dangerous to continue. Nevertheless we all somehow made it to Garstang for a well earned drink. In the Royal Oak we supped our Robbos, eager to get as wet inside as we were outside, if that were possible. That evening we returned to Galgate to reunite with the fourth boat to swap stories about the boatyards mechanics who had all become close acquaintances by now after repeated visits to stricken boats. Back in Lancaster on Friday lunch time yours truly turned nancy boy by deciding to return home that afternoon, rather than face another night in the ice box of a cabin. Those who stayed on enjoyed a riotous night in Carnforth, supping B0ddies like it was going out of fashion (which it would later do), and indulging in all types of mayhem. We never returned to the Lancaster canal.

Greeted by a maniacal naked Tom, on a rare visit to the heated front cabin. The heat there was such that the inmates had to strip off to survive, even when it was near freezing outside. Notice the condensation pouring down the windows. Meanwhile in the cabin at the back of the boat conditions were the reverse with no heaters and poor sleeping bags, with the added luxury of dripping condensation due to no cavity insulation.

Pete looking backwards from the cockpit. Note the ventilator open to let in the heat from outside into the rear cabin and to dry out the condensation

JOC (no lying in your pit on that trip, it was warmer and dryer outside) with Jim McKay driving. Judging by the weather this must have been taken prior to Jim's bender when he lost a day through 'over indulgence'

Glasson on a typical day note the puddles

Cochise crossing the Lune Aqueduct, note the high water level

We're not sure where this was taken but the boat high up in the left hand corner of the picture might jog someone's memory

Al Martin, appropriately attired in wellies

Commodore Bill (no doubt just out of a hot shower) serenades us from the front of the Flag ship, Hiawatha, notice the alarming angle the boat is at in the lock, which is being operated by Jim McKay

Picture taken from the Cochise by Tom of Jake and Iain's plastic boat towing 'The Cripple' back to the boatyard.

Bill raises his hands in supplication to the great Lancaster rain god outside the Plough Inn

driving into the sunset, shame we didn't see it rise

Summer 1981 Cruising on the Thames

The 1981 trip was intended to be a combined canal and river grand circular route. Unfortunately the closure of Braunston Tunnel (due to damage caused by speeding boaters) ruled out the proposed excursion and we had to settle for the varying delights of the Thames for most of the of time. The party who assembled at the Dove Inn at Reading on 13 June were: JO'C, Jake, Ron, Pies, lain, Phil Knight, Bill and John Flanagan. Colin, keen to be as far from the scene of the crime as possible, had fled to New Orleans. Our boat, by the way, was called Reading Navigator! We headed towards London to start with and looked forward to Sunday lunchtime in Henley, sampling the excellent local brews. Arriving through Henley Bridge we saw plenty of mooring spaces and JO'C, our man on the tiller, turned the boat for the bank. There were two problems. First, despite our dubious skills in handling a narrow boat on canals, negotiating against the current on a wide river is a rather different matter. Second, we had arrived a few days before the start of the Regatta and various structures had been erected in the river accordingly. John's somewhat involuntary route took him straight into the would-be finishing post, and he was suitably bawled out by an apoplectic be-blazered old tosser on the bank. Once moored we hit the town to give the Brakspears a good caning. This was John Flanagan's first time on the waterways and he was naturally keen to take his turn on the tiller. Now, we had all had our problems steering on the canals, especially through narrow bridges. On most of the Thames, however, the bridges are very wide and negotiating these is the least of the driver's worries. Sadly, the prospect of Chertsey bridge was too much for John F. In his best Agitated of Acocks Green mode he faced the dilemma of which of the wide spans to go through and, unable to make a decision, he crashed straight into the bridge. Down below Jake was making coffee and was somewhat dismayed to notice that the cataclysmic crash caused the table to collapse along with eight glass mugs, all of which were smashed. After that we needed a drink and we tied up for the night at the Swan, Walton on Thames, a riverside Young’s house of repute. Pies immediately changed into his finest gear and posed around on deck while he waited for the rest of us. Noticing a boat full of females approaching the bank he suavely offered his assistance. In his haste to help he slipped off the side of the boat and plunged inexorably into the water below. There was sudden massed consternation on the boat as seven would be David Baileys scrambled to locate their cameras to capture the sight of the haplessly immersed and bedraggled Pies. The next day we passed through Teddington Lock on to the tidal river which we cruised as far as Brentford where we turned on to the Grand Union. Over numerous pints of Fullers that evening we debated our future route. There was a lobby for following the Grand Union and Regents canals through London, which was strongly opposed by those who felt that they went on holiday to get away from the capital. In the end we continued north on the canal the following morning until we reached the first lock -which was padlocked. This more or less settled things and we decided to return to the river. This necessitated another session at the Beehive in Brentford. After a couple of pints Tom and Pies got up to leave, reminded the others that we had to get back onto the Thames while the tide was high. Needless to say the response was to order another round of London Pride. Thus it was that seventy five per cent of the crew eventually strolled down to Brentford lock to find no trace of Reading Navigator. Roundly cursing Blogg and Pies unto the third generation, the castaways returned to the pub. Eventually we took the bus to Teddington where, above the lock, we found our boat and the unrepentant hijackers. We were due to have a change of crew for the second week with Cat substituting for Brummie John. We arranged to meet Cat at the excellent Clayton Arms at Marlow on the Friday evening. Having been delayed on the river that afternoon we arrived at the pub later than expected, however there was no sign of Cat and enquiries behind the bar met with an incredulous response: "Never seen no one like that in this pub, sir." So we got stuck into the Brakspears and waited. About nine o'clock the door of the bar was flung open and there stood a bizarre apparition. The pub went silent as the regulars gaped in astonishment at the tall, long-haired, bearded, behatted figure in a purple cord jacket that filled the doorway. Cat, for it was he, apologised for his late arrival, having been inadvertently detained in the Westminster Arms for several pints. Inevitably, when we finally left the pub and returned to the boat, Cat was well refreshed and none too co-ordinated. To rejoin the boat entailed a careful descent of the riverbank, but Cat decided to save time by plummeting feet first into the river. He then got into bed still wearing his muddy boots. Welcome aboard, Cat! The next day we bade farewell to Flanagan who was no doubt grateful to return to the normal world. Meanwhile we carried on up river. Sunday afternoon was nice and sunny with plenty of boats around. There was also a pleasant breeze which was strong enough to pluck Cat's fedora from his head and into the river. Tom was driving and he merely shrugged as shoulders at the sight of the flying millinery and pressed on. Cat quite rightly demanded that we should rescue his errant headgear and we spent a jolly half hour dodging sailing boats in pursuit of said item which was finally hauled aboard. It was agreed by all that the upper reaches of the river were the best part of the Thames, with 'proper' locks and fewer snobby types around. The river was also comparatively bendy and with a quite strong current. The combination of these factors with Ron at the helm were to have devastating consequences. The boat slammed into bank after bank, destroying all flora and fauna that got in the way and leaving much of its paintwork behind. This meant that we had to virtually repaint the boat, as well as replace much of the crockery at least once. But let us not condemn Ron's driving outright. These far flung reaches of Old Father Thames were to witness his finest ever achievement. The scene was Newbridge -actually more bridge than new, this being a 13th century stone structure boasting a Morland pub on either side. The bridge has five arches, none of them particularly wide or high, but the central one looking to provide the most likely navigational route. Not for Ron though. Wishing to make the perfect approach to the towpath outside the Maybush Inn he swept the boat through the narrow arch nearest the bank without touching the ancient masonry. Of course he had to partake of a pint by way of celebration and the landlord expressed his admiration, nay his amazement, no boat ever having passed through that arch in living memory. All in all, a jolly two weeks with mucho Morlands, Morrells, Brakspears and others consumed. But you can't beat the canals -no currents to worry about.

Extract from Navigator Vol 3 “Canal Babylon”
What would you do if your boat was hijacked? This fate befell a party who were enjoying a quiet lunch time drink in Brentford. The hijackers were believed to be notorious international terrorists operating a cocaine cartel. One of these, Thomas Schwarzblogg, is a master of disguises who still infests the canals to this day, often making early morning getaways from pubs where he has plied his evil trade.

Navigators were men in those days no nancy towpath walking. Pies and Iain demonstrate how it used to be. Bill makes the statement that there’s nowt wrong with a cloth cap. Ignoring water-born diseases John makes do without calling for extra assistance. Navigators today have it all too easy.

Pies in all his finery takes an unexpected swim in the process of helping another boat

A drunken Cat after retrieving his hat which blew off whilst surrounded by loads of sailing boats. The mayhem that ensued whilst trying to get had to be seen to be believed

Spot the dummy with Ron and John Flanagan

Jake up to his old tricks with the swans

Tom, Pies, Phil and Iain after we have moored for the evening abord the Reading Navigator.

Things don't change, Pies and Tom show their confidence in Ron's driving. Left, Ron’s greatest driving effort, Newbridge before and after his momentous passage

Tom turns his head away in shame after seeing the damage he caused to the lock entrance after a particularly brutal attack. We suspected that Ronnie had inspired him.

Iain, Bill (with Phil behind), Pies, Jake and JOC

Leckdale -Jake marches away from the Father Thames statue

1981 Autumn trip's memories from Jake
Memories of this week seem to have got lost in the mists of time. But I do recall we started from Shardlow had two narrow boats, Portia and Patrica. John and Pies joined us on Monday lunchtime and left Friday due to their work rota.I got lumbered with a crew of Wantz branch people, most of whom were a pain in the neck. I think I can also safely say this was Geoff Moore's first and only time on the canals (Crystal Palace must have reverted to their normal crap status by this time). Our route took us the short distance down the Trent & Mersey, then up and down the Erewash, then down the Soar navigation to Loughborough and back. The only pub that sticks in my mind is the Cap & Stocking at Kegworth where the beer (Bass?) was brought up from the cellar in pewter jugs. It had become a tradition on these autumn trip to have a bonfire one evening post-pub. Ossie Tillett and co filled the front cockpit of our boat with branches, fence-posts and other potentially flammable timber for this great event. Tough if you wanted to get out of the front door. Of course the weather was unsuitable for late night outdoor frolics and I chucked the lot back on the bank before the end of the week. On the Saturday we finished West Ham were away to Notts County (old division 1) so I got someone to take my stuff home and got a bus to Nottingham. This left me with a few hours to kill so, just for a change, I had a few pints. The game finished 1 -1 (Sir Trevor Brooking scored for WHU), which was an improvement on the next time I went to watch them on the Saturday after a canal trip.This was the last multi-boat trip till 1999.

Cat get's stuck into the food after a pub session. Obviously this wasn't the night that he fell 12 feet into the boat Ron get stuck into the Cheese and biscuits behind.

A tense Bill, Jake and Ron in the stern awaiting opening time

Pies, Iain and Tom wrap up for a typical English summer's day

The top of the boat was more used in those days, was it because of the sunshine or Navigators diodn't mind falling into a River?

This picture was taken in the first week as John Flanagan is with Ron and JOC

Ron and Phil contemplate what horrors Tom is going to serve up for dinner. John later (in 2002 met David Potter, the landlord of the pub this photo was taken in.