FIVE FELLOWS IN THE FENS
A journal by Roger Jacobson - Navigator 3rd Class
Saturday 7 September.
Colin had come with the idea of a week’s boating on the Fenland waterways – then decided he couldn’t make it. So we had to make do with Ken instead, who crammed into John’s car along with Ron, Roger and Steve. Progress was impeded by long tailbacks on the M11, which meant we reached our starting point of March (Cambridgeshire) some 90 minutes later than expected.First stop was the Rose & Crown, just outside the town centre, which offered a good selection of beers. Our stay was somewhat truncated because of the roadworks so we had to move on to the Tesco’s near the boatyard for essential supplies. Then to Fox’s Marina, a mile or so west of March. After the usual packing and rigmarole we were on our way, heading west. The boat itself was quite new and not badly appointed, although the toilet was rather primitive compared to what we’ve been accustomed to, and became more unsavoury by the day. We were bemused when we were told we had to be kitted with life jackets. Steve, having drawn the double bed, was appointed Engineer. He followed Tom’s lead in this role by sleeping all morning and taking two showers a day. A few words about these waterways: for one thing, they’re not canals. They’re either rivers or drains. The land is also very flat. This means there are very few locks (and most of these are manned) and hardly any towpaths. Mooring is also very restricted, as we would find out in no uncertain terms later. That evening we did encounter an unmanned lock. This needed a special windlass and some 50-odd turns per paddle, and was very slow filling. Once through here we were in Whittlesey, our stop for the night. Having missed the official moorings we tied up near two riverside pubs. Food was a prime objective (OK, we wanted a beer or two as well) but neither could oblige. The Hero of Aliwal (named after General Sir Harry Smith, the town’s most famous son, a national hero for his victory at Aliwal in the Sikh war) offered Bishop’s Farewell, JOC’s favourite, but the Boat, an Elgood house looked a better bet. We ended up in a Chinese chippy in the town centre to stuff our faces. The Boat was a fairly basic pub but was to surprise us, the locals were very friendly and Elgood’s Cambridge bitter (fetched straight from the barrel as the landlord hadn’t got round to clean his pipes) was a very pleasant session beer. A guitar and microphone stood at one end of the bar and the landlord Phil later came round to perform – a most agreeable alternative to MTV on the big screen. It was hardly surprising that the session carried on well past curtain-closing time and enjoyed by all.
Sunday.
The day dawned bright; not that we were up at dawn, you understand. In fact we had a fairly relaxed morning. We had an appointment at Stanground Lock, which is where the Middle Level waterways join the River Nene. We had to fill in a form to go through the lock and the elderly lock keeper insisted we had to be back by 2.45 for our return passage since he packed up at 3. This is not entirely petty, since the locks at each end of the Middle Level are crucial in maintaining water levels in the system. Once through the lock we were soon swinging onto the wide Nene in the middle of Peterborough. Large ocean-going vessels lined the waterfront and there was some attractive parkland coming down to the river. As it approached 11.15 we had the first sight of Steve who woke to say are we there yet. We tied up close to the town bridge and with plenty of time to spare, went off shopping again, as we had decided not to rely on pubs for solid sustenance. We convened for drinks in Charters Bar, which is in the lower deck of a converted Dutch barge built in 1907. It was sailed across the North Sea in 1992 and had to literally be sunk to get underneath the Town Bridge. It now offers a wide selection of handpumped beers, which we got stuck into with alacrity, given the truncated session. Live bands perform here regularly and it’s highly recommended. Having enjoyed the services of our friendly lock keeper again we returned to Whittlesey for the evening. We used the same unofficial mooring place again, which was not easily accessible – being against a high concrete bank. We all dithered about getting off the moving boat until Ron went for it – and missed, plummeting into the river. Ken was standing right behind him at the time but this must surely be a pure coincidence. It took three of us to haul Ron out of the water after two full immersions, but once he assured us he hadn’t lost the whip we got him on deck and sent him off to shower. John had cooked stuffed marrow for dinner – the marrow had been donated by Sue and was nice and crunchy. This set us up nicely for another night’s carousing in the Boat. This time one of the customers was performing and provided good entertainment for drinking beer to. Before he came on the big screen was showing that TV programme featuring loads of ‘celebrities’ in the Australian jungle, which reminded me why I don’t have a television. This was another highly convivial evening which most of us escaped from around midnight, leaving John and Ken to carry on for an hour or two more in one of the best canal pubs we have visited for years
Monday
It started out very dull - and that was the best weather of the day! It turned out to be one of the wettest boating days we could remember - relentless driving rain. It was raining so much the rain was raining. A great time to find out your waterproofs don't work any more! Having stopped for water (!) at a deserted marina we moved on to the Forty Foot Drain in search of a lunchtime pub. Our aim was the George at Ramsey Forty Foot. We found the pub no problem, what was not so easy was finding a place to moor. The banks rose up steeply some twenty feet and were mostly overgrown at the water's edge. We found a small clear spot and then spent about an hour trying to manoeuvre into it - the strong wind didn't help either. Eventually we got the boat tied up and ourselves on to the bank. Ron decided he loved the water so much he slid back into it, only knee high this time. Eventually we all crawled into the pub looking like five drowned rats and were made most welcome. We were presented with the boaters visitor's book to sign and John made some heart felt comments about the lack of mooring facilities. Pleasant pub, although a blazing log fire to help dry out our wet gear might have helped. In the afternoon we continued along the Drain, which was dead straight with high banks. Our mooring spot for the evening was a slight improvement but not much. Meanwhile Joe was driving up to meet us and stay the night. Having given him directions to where we were he asked me the name of our boat - I carefully pointed out that ours was the only boat for miles. Our night spot was Chatteris, about a mile south of the Drain. Joe offered us a lift but Steve and I decided to walk, since the rain had stopped. Unfortunately it soon started again so we got yet another drenching. Amazingly our chosen pub was the first one we came to, although we had to wait 5 minutes until it opened. The pub is called Walk the Dog despite which such creatures are banned. Decent enough pub with friendly (ex-London) guvnor and missus. Nethergate Suffolk bitter went down nicely. We met Dave 'Boy' Green, ex-boxing champion whose local this is. Ken told him he looked like a wimp, but he saw the funny side. The rain had relented for the walk back but getting on the boat still involved skill and bravery. I decided to test the strength of the gangplank by slipping over onto it but avoided Ron's regular fate.
Tuesday
Woke up to find…blue skies and bright sunshine. Out comes all the wet gear to dry. Off we go, turning north onto the Sixteen Foot Drain (we never did find out what these names mean) which was even longer and straighter than the Forty Foot. Having dropped off Joe and bike Ken was giving it plenty on the tiller when the engine failed. Steve got up and had a look in the weed hatch and assured us that all was clear so we called out a real engineer from the boatyard - which happened to be no more than two miles away. Tying up the boat was delayed when Steve smacked John round the skull with a mallet. Luckily he saw the funny side and a few stars. Our man Gerald from the boatyard soon made two discoveries. First, Steve had missed a rope wrapped around the prop. Second, after failing to spot said rope he'd omitted to screw down the weed hatch properly, meaning that the boat was getting flooded in fairly deep water. We all rushed for our life jackets but before we sank, Gerald did what he could to fix the engine. We said goodbye to him and continued on our way. During all this excitement Ron stayed out of the water but Ken assaulted his ankle with the boathook just to make up for it. By now our plans for the week had changed, not only because of the engine failure, but because a call to Denver Sluice to find out when the lock was passable meant that our timings were changed. With a big loop in the waterways before our next stop we decided to stop the boat and walk it to save time. We stopped at a convenient bridge on the strangely named Popham's Eau - which still involved a hair raising walk along a steep bank - and set off for Upwell. This is reckoned to be the longest village in England and none of us were arguing. It was some relief to finally reach the Globe Inn, another Elgood house, a matter of yards from the river with its own landing stage. Joe was already at the bar having a final half before driving home. We were all well into our first pints before poor old Ron came plod plod plodding along. There was obviously no way he was going to walk back with his weary and damaged limbs but the friendly relief manager said he'd be happy to stay open all afternoon. He was rewarded by Ken giving some useful advice on how to look after his beer. After a cheap and cheerful pub lunch, Ken was left to look after Ron (or vice versa) while the rest of us returned to the boat, stopping off at the local farm shop for provisions. Once we were back on the river it was a much more pleasant scene and we had a rare lock to go through before winding our way back to the village to tie up outside the Globe. Once again the manager's missus rustled up some impromptu food for us to wash down the excellent beer in what, for Ron and Ken, had been a nine hour session.
Wednesday
Another fine day as we puttered east into Norfolk. We now had an excellent view of the surrounding countryside – as it was dead flat you could see a fair distance. We crossed the Sixteen Foot Drain on the Mullicourt Aqueduct as we headed for Salter’s Lode lock. This marks the east end of the Middle Level and on the far side is the tidal River Ouse. We had quite a long wait here waiting for the tide to ebb sufficiently to allow boats to pass through. Steve took the tiller for the tidal stretch and tried to kid us that the lock keeper had been impressed with his navigation. Well, he didn’t actually capsize the boat, get swept into the wash or run aground…..We then went through the lock at Denver Sluice with its enormous guillotine gates and a few yards upstream was the Jenyns Arms. Ron managed to stagger the 10 yards or so from the boat to the bar and we were soon eagerly imbibing some fine Woodforde Wherry. The pub itself is extremely remote and somewhat upmarket and foody, but we were happy to spend an hour or so there.From the pub we navigated to the nearby water point where we also had a do-it-yourself pump out. This was a fairly painless exercise although it did little to improve the ambience of the khazi.We now had a 17 mile straight run up the River Ouse to Ely, where we were to meet Doc who was travelling up from London that evening. The cathedral stood out impressively on the skyline as we approached, even though it had become slightly misty. The riverfront in Ely was very attractive and we found a decent mooring spot. After feasting on John's bacon ‘n’ mash delicacy we took a stroll through the city to enjoy the sights and top up wallets from cash points. Eventually we found the Fountain, close by the cathedral, where we settled for the duration. Getting the mundane details out of the way, the pub was basic but smart with Adnams, Fullers and Everards beers on tap. There was also an abundance of nubile totty. John’s mobile rang and it was Doc who had turned his own off despite not knowing where he was meeting us. Despite John’s bizarre directions James found us and dumped his car in a back street. With West Ham playing at home and a big local derby – well, Fulham v Spurs – I’d taken my walkman to listen out for scores. 2 – 0 to Tottenham at half time got Steve yapping and saying Fulham were Spurs’ bunnies, but John’s boys pulled back level as full time approached. Then the commentator announced a last minute goal…but I’d lost interest in football by now and so did Steve
Thursday
In the morning John and I took an early stroll to look inside the cathedral and get some food and newspapers. Returning to the boat looking to make a quick getaway we learned that good old Ken had also gone off to buy papers – it was a good time to be a newsagent in Ely. The plan was to top up with water and enjoy a pint or three in the Jenyns Arms before going through the lock. Well we managed the water and John had a sneaky couple of pints – but he also spoke to the lock keeper who wanted boats through right away. John took over the tidal section this time with his weird theory of how to tackle the current. He got us into the lock just about and was feeling pleased with himself when the lock keeper came over and said “what you did wrong was….”, before awarding him 2 out of 10 for performance. By now we were out of reach of the Jenyns Arms and time was getting on. We reached the next village, Nordelph, to find the pub only opened in the evening. So we had no option to carry on to Outwell, our evening destination, where both pubs were closed. And so Ron missed a lunchtime session for the first time since he was in the Malaysian jungle. With neither pub looking like opening as the afternoon progressed we were able to relax and enjoy the hot sunshine, Monday’s deluge a distant memory. We enjoyed more of John’s mash and bacon and still the pubs refused to open. We stood hopefully outside the Red Lion (Elgoods) until it finally it opened just before 7. And of course it turned out to be the one Elgood pub not selling real beer. So plan F came into action, two cabs to Wisbech, 5 miles up the road. The town centre has been turned into a faceless shopping precinct since my last visit, but we found our way to the Angel. The Elgoods was as good as ever, which you would expect seeing that the brewery is barely a quarter of a mile away across the river. The bar we went into was deserted apart from Wisbech’s champion pub bore who proceeded to tell Steve his life story and other useless facts until we drank up and fled. Oh and we had to listen to the crap that Ken put on the juke box first. We walked across the bridge and down to the Rose Tavern. This is the nearest pub to the brewery, but is a free house with Landlord, London Pride and Charles Wells IPA on offer. Needless to say we soon saw off the Landlord. The landlord, on the other hand, was a jocular and friendly chap who kindly poured our left overs into a carry out when we had to make a sudden rush for our cabs. John and I finished these off as we sat under the stars while James cried out alternatively for his old girlfriend and friend. Unfortunately Ruth was nowhere around nor was Hughie.
Friday
Since we had only the shortest of runs in the morning – about one mile back to the Globe – Steve was not the only one relishing a lie in. We ate our scrambled eggs and bacon al fresco in the sunshine before taking a leisurely cruise. The real landlord in the Globe had returned from his holiday and regaled us with some lurid tales about local events which convinced us that this apparently sleepy village was in fact a hot bed of violent crime. We managed to escape in one piece to make our way back to March. We tied up in the official moorings near the town bridge and looked in horror as Doc took a leak in full view of the neighbouring boat. Food was our first requirement and we found a Chinese restaurant where we enjoyed a splendid feast washed down by Tsing Tao beer. Then it was on the Rose & Crown where we had started seven days earlier. The week’s imbibing had taken its toll and when the last orders bell went there was not the slightest flicker of interest from our crew. Steve and dieting Dude appalled us by going for a takeaway on the way back to the boat.
Saturday
Doc left to get a train to Ely to collect his car and go on to visit friends in Cambridge (but not his ‘first lady’ as exposed in the Navigator). We made the final journey back to the boatyard and then it was home, John. So it was a worthwhile venture although, to be honest, not one we’ll be looking to repeat in a hurry – the canals are much more interesting and Tom a much better engineer. |
