Category Archives: General

By Eckington

Leaving Pershore behind on the Monday morning, the Avon does a two giant loops around Pensham and Birlingham in an S shape, with Bredon Hill always beckoning from a constantly changing direction. We hadn’t planned to go far, but the few moorings were either full or unsuitable. Nafford Lock provided a reminder that this chunk of water is a river, and can bite… there was a narrowboat half over the weir, half under water, and held in place by the large floating objects that try to prevent even worse disasters. We were too busy trying to negotiate the difficult turn into the lock itself without going the same way to take photographs. Glad we’ve got very calm and docile water!

We eventually found a place suitable for the Captain at Eckington Wharf, where there’s a small car park for walkers, some picnic tables, and room to moor a couple of boats. And a very pretty and ancient bridge.

Eckington Wharffrom Eckington Wharf

It looked a bit gloomy when we moored up, but nothing came of it.

Eckington BridgeEckington Bridge

Despite it’s age, Eckington Bridge still carries heavy traffic to this day.

Eckington Bridge

With a nice sunset to round things off, someone discovered the ship’s camera could take panorama shots, so here’s a couple of experiments.

Eckington BridgeEckington Bridge

Ying Tong Diddle I Po…

Evesham on a Saturday morning seemed a bit down cast or down at heel compared to some of the towns we have passed through. It seemed pretty much that way on the Friday night too. We were also slightly intrigued by the restrictions where we were moored: fishing was only allowed if you were (a) handicapped or (b) under 16, and (c) had a permit from the council.

Might have had something to do with a conversation we’d had with a fisherman back on the Grand Union. On seeing him extract a largish fish from the canal, disentangle it and put it back, we gathered he’d found it increasingly difficult to catch anything, as angling is seemingly popular amongst the Eastern European/Polish immigrant community, and they apparently “fish for the pot” and don’t put anything back. Not sure I’d want to eat a fish that had been filtering grubby canal water all its life, but each to their own.

We’d certainly seen lots of Polish anglers everywhere we’d been, and have observed that they also feed the swans and ducks with industrial quantities of bread. Saw a chap at Evesham feeding a pair of swans with a whole white sliced loaf in one go. Perhaps this is the reason for the darkly muttered stories of them taking swans and Canada geese for the pot too. Who knows – bet the Daily Mail knows the truth!

Evesham Abbey Bell TowerEvesham Abbey locationEvesham parish church

Evesham Abbey is no more: the stones in the middle picture mark out its position, and if you click on the photo you can just about see Song & Dance down in the distance. The Abbey site is still interesting though, with the bell tower sitting neatly between two ancient parish churches – both still in use. One of them had some remarkably fine fan vault decorations.

NatWest Bank, Evesham

The centre of Evesham has some half-timbered establishments like the NatWest bank, but one way or another we didn’t feel a great urge to linger after we’d done the shopping.

Tiddle Widdle Island, Wyre Piddle

Heading on down to Pershore, one passes along the edge of the quaintly named village Wyre Piddle. On the opposite bank is an overgrown bit of land apparently called Tiddle Widdle Island, according to the Ordnance Survey. Paging Harry Secombe…

Ding Dong… Avon Calling

Couldn’t put it off any longer, we’d overstayed in the basin until the Thursday morning (as had the hotel boat), and we had to head down to that well known tautology the River Avon.

Just down a little you come to the first lock, hiding in the trees below Holy Trinity Church, where his Bill-ness was apparently buried.

Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon

This River Avon was restored to navigation by a trust, and all the locks are named after people or organisations who contributed in some way or another.

Colin P. Witter LockColin P. Witter Lock

The first lock, with it’s strange RSJ reinforcements is oddly intimidating: even Biggles didn’t know what to make of it. The Upper Avon lock gate balance beams are made of scaffolding poles, which bend and wobble slightly in a rather disconcerting manner; the paddle mechanisms are highly geared and fitted with counterweights, making it easy but tediously lengthy to raise or lower the paddles. All very different from  normal canal paddle gear. At the first lock, one of the paddles was counterweighted to excess, and wouldn’t stay down and shut, creating an interesting challenge when trying to fill the lock.

Anyway, a gentle pootle through a winding river and pleasantly wooded scenery brought us to Bidford-on-Avon for the night. And there’s another difference: you can’t just moor pretty-well anywhere you like, as you can on the canals – you have to use the approved moorings. There are usually some “overnight only” moorings at the locks, and sometimes some in a village or town.

Robert Aickman New LockRobert Aickman New LockRobert Aickman New Lock

The next morning the gentle meander continued, bringing us to Robert Aickman New Lock. Named for a founding father mover and shaker in Inland Waterways matters, it was a pleasant spot to moor up for lunch, but we were rather bemused by the almost-but-not-entirely-unlike a bridge contraption that straddles the lock. Looks like someone nicked some brick steps at each end. The lock is also very wide, and would clearly take three narrowboats alongside each other. All very odd.

Evesham Lock WierNo Fouling

And so to Evesham for a Friday night on the town. The approach to the lock is a bit scary, with the lock layby a pontoon at the top of the weir. Must be exciting when there’s “fresh” water in the river!

Just below Workman Bridge (named after Mr, Workman, it seems) there were plenty of moorings just a short walk from the centre of town – after two days of steady river cruising in variable weather, winding hither and thither, a pub dinner and early night beckoned: we’d hit the Evesham high spots properly on Saturday morning. Moored just up a little from us was another Piper narrowboat Nice Butt, who we’d seen last year somewhere – on the Thames we think. Could hardly forget a name like that…

Stratford-upon-Avon

Just before leaving the Excellence Afloat / Valley Cruisers wharf, we’d noticed a hotel boat and butty pass us, heading for Stratford. With two boats to descend the few remaining narrow locks, and the butty – being unpowered – needing to be manhandled through, we thought our chances of making the town centre by lunchtime were remote. But they fortuitously moored up for an early lunch themselves, just before the top lock; we were soon moored up in Bancroft Basing, with the delights of Stratford at our beck and call, even though the Captain kept jumping ship to check out the facilities.

Bancroft BasinBancroft Basin, Stratford-upon-Avon

Bill & FriendsBancroft Basin, Stratford-upon-AvonAlas, Poor Yorick...

The basin was busy but not full and during the day mobbed with tourists of all persuasions, but once the coach parties left and the traffic died down it’ became a nice quiet spot nestling between the river and the town centre. Loads of restaurants, proper shopping HIgh Street and the RSC Theatre all within 100 yards walk max. And with a large flower bed for Sir to hide in and amuse Himself within a few feet from the cat flap, even the Captain was impressed with our choice of a place to stay for a few days.

The hotel boat pair turned up soon after lunch, and we realised that we’d seen them before: they’d been tucked up for the winter like Song & Dance about half-a-dozen berths down from us at Cropredy Marina.

Stratford-upon-AvonClopton Bridge

RSC Theatre ComplexRSC Actors' Digs

Hand-Cranked Chain Ferry

There’s lots of photogenic stuff here (although the RSC Theatre complex is probably not included in that!) so restraint is needed.  But there’s a ceilidh dance called Clopton Bridge, and we were rather taken by the hand-cranked chain ferry down on the River Avon. We’d have gone across and walked back over the bridge but for the fact that he packed up for the day just as we arrived.

And after all that wandering, we decided to eat out at the nearest restaurant to Song & Dance, which proved to be one of Mr Carluccio’s establishments, who at 18:45 were still doing the very good value fixed-price lunch menu offer. Sometimes you just have to take the knocks…

A Most Excellent Balti Blow-Out

We’d had a loose arrangement to moor overnight with Excellence Afloat at Valley Cruisers’ wharf just on the outskirts of central Stratford (IYSWIM), but had failed to get back in touch with the chap who’d said it would be OK. So, with some trepidation, on Sunday morning we moved less than a mile down to their wharf, where the place looked closed, there were loads of seemingly permanently moored boats, a few unoccupied hire boats, and the only space seemingly available was on the public water point. We tied up, and deciding that if nothing else we’d take on water, even though diesel was a more pressing concern, let alone catching up on the laundry.

Wandering along the line of boats, a friendly chap with a paintbrush came up and said “Can I help?”, so we did the “David said we’d be able to moor here tonight with an electric hook-up – is he around? He’s not answering his mobile.” routine. “That’ll be because he knows I’m here…”

Seemed he was in Coventry, but our new friend said, “Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be alright… just wait a bit while I move that boat there, and that one down there, and that one into the covered dock… then you can slide in there and…” and after some considerable shuffling involving several other chaps who appeared, we were tied up, hooked up, the washing machine was running, and there was a promise of diesel in the morning, so all seemed well. Except that our friend, who’d run around sorting all the moorings out quickly so he could watch Lewis Hamilton in the Spanish Grand-Prix then spent the afternoon looking miserable because Hamilton took out Rosberg and himself on pretty much the first corner. So we’re told.

Meanwhile Biggles seemed quite happy, despite the fact that there were seven dogs running around the wharf, including a lurcher, a recently retired greyhound, a whippet and a bichon frise. Definitely time to practice his whippet baiting techniques. The sizeable mongrel that smelt his food, jumped aboard the front from another boat and rapidly emptied Sir’s food bowl got a shock when Sir, asleep on a chair near his food, woke up, stretched out and smacked the dog around the head with extreme prejudice.

A quick wander later on to get some milk found – less than ten minute’s walk away – a pleasant looking Balti House with a special offer: a starter, a main course, a rice dish and a nan all for £9.95. It seemed rude not to eat there! It was a different menu to the full a la carte one, but perfectly comprehensive; the food was excellent, we felt more than stuffed, and still had a Peshwari Nan left over to take home for tomorrow’s lunch. The Maître D admitted that the portions on the special were slightly smaller, for which we thought “Thank Heavens” before tottering off back to Song & Dance to sleep it off.

The next morning Mr & Mrs David turned up, along with some returning hire boats to turn round; it was all a bit chaotic but we were diesel-ed, pumped out, bought some new fenders, had managed to get most of the washing dry, and were ready for the long haul (1 mile and 2 little locks) into the middle of Stratford by lunchtime. Although his diesel was a bit expensive, it was only after we had left that we realised he didn’t seem to have charged us for the mooring and hook-up. Excellence Afloat indeed!

Aqueducts and Arden

Saturday morning, and as Anglo Welsh didn’t want to sell us any diesel, we left their basin via the Wooton Wawen aqueduct, which unusually has a lowered towpath, like a couple of others on the Stratford Canal. “Why don’t you go ahead and take some low-level pictures of Song & Dance crossing the aqueduct…” said the chief cook.

 Aqueduct, Wootton Wawen BasinAqueduct, Wootton Wawen BasinAqueduct, Wootton Wawen Basin

A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind something-or-other, but just as the money shot was coming up, a certain Captain of our acquaintance announced that he’d left his reading classes behind, and was going back to fetch them. So we had to reverse out and moor back up again while he sorted himself out. The moment had gone.

Edgestone AquaductEdgestone Aquaduct

A little later comes Edstone Aqueduct: a much more serious affair if not quite in the Pontcysyllte league. Edstone’s the longest aqueduct in England, and the helmsman stood firmly to port and bravely gritted her teeth avoiding looking at the vertiginous drop to starboard.

Edgestone AquaductEdgestone Aquaduct

Mooring up at Wilmcote, we headed into the village for provisions. Mary Arden’s Cottage on the way to the shop has always been firmly on the Shakespeare Heritage Trail, but it seems to have metamorphosed into “Mary Arden’s Working Tudor Farm” and become a small theme park in its own right. Not wishing to stump up the extortionate fee to wander round, we retired to The Masons Arms for a proper pub lunch.

Mary Arden's Farm, WilmcoteMary Arden's Farm, Wilmcote

The cottage itself still looks splendid from the road, for cheapskates like us.

Mary Arden's Cottage, WilmcoteMary Arden's Cottage, Wilmcote

Mary Arden's Cottage, Wilmcote

Suitably refreshed culturally and alcoholically, we re-joined the Captain and continued down the Wilmcote flight of locks, which end just outside Stratford-upon-Avon, and moored up at the bottom. We’re slowly getting better at guessing whether Sir likes a mooring spot or not (and it isn’t always obvious), and he seemed most content with this spot, despite being close to a major road.

Wootton Wawen Wander

Friday morning saw a gentle wander down to Wootton Wawen, where a farm shop, café, garden centre, out-of-town farmyard shopping centre and – more importantly – some diesel beckoned. Unfortunately Anglo Welsh had almost run out, only had enough for their hire fleet, and weren’t getting a delivery until Monday. Ah well. And the Captain moaned that there hadn’t been enough pictures of him, so for a quiet life, here’s one of him checking out the crew’s boat handling skills.

Biggles in Command

The café was fine, if busy, the farm shop a little limited, and we had no need of Bridal Ware, expensive horological items or French antiques, so we wandered into Wootton Wawen village itself in search of the local shop that “sold everything”. Except those items that SWMBO wanted: Waitrose or bust it would appear.

Wooton HallSaxon Sanctuary, Wooton Wawen

Wootton Hall looks quite fine, except that it’s the headquarters of a major park homes and caravan company, and the place is surrounded by an enormous and sprawling park/mobile home/caravan site. Next to it sits St. Peters, a rather fine Saxon church: the oldest in Warwickshire. Externally, the rather barn-like lady-chapel addition seems a bit out of character, but inside it’s a fascinating place to potter around.

Saxon Sanctuary, Wooton WawenSaxon Sanctuary, Wooton WawenSaxon Sanctuary, Wooton Wawen

The original Saxon sanctuary is rather fine, and we can’t recall seeing buttresses quite like this before.

Ancestor?Multiracial Britain

In the graveyard, a gravestone commemorating someone who probably isn’t an old relative, and back at the boat, a reminder that we really are becoming a multi-racial society…

A Brief Diversion

Sometimes on the canals one needs to make a detour in order to stock up on essentials. Lapworth/Kingswood Junction is a lovely spot, but a bit bereft of serious shops. For logistical reasons (one crew member was nipping home for a couple of nights to sort out matters medical and dental) we needed to be moored close to Lapworth station on the Saturday night in order to catch one of the few Sunday afternoon trains. With serious lock flights in both directions on the Stratford Canal, the best option looked to be to head up to the bottom of the Knowle flight of locks on the GUC where there was room to turn the boat round, then walk up the locks into Knowle, rumoured to be a proper-job shopping town. That was the “plan”.

KIng's Arms BridgeSetting off on Saturday morning, we idly wondered at the carefully half-painted King’s Arms bridge, and soon reached Knowle bottom lock.

And it was there that Plan A foundered. Yes there was room to wind the boat round, but there were no moorings apart from a long line of fully occupied permanent ones: not a visitor mooring in sight. We’d have to head back down a mile or more to find anywhere suitable, which didn’t bode well for substantial shopping trip.

It was only noon, and the Knowle flight of 5 wide locks were all close together, so we thought “****er it” and went for Plan B. After all, how long would it take us experienced crew to nip up the flight. An hour? Well, it took about an hour and half, and sure enough, there weren’t any useable moorings at the top, so we continued on around Knowle town to the other side where we eventually found somewhere. It was 15:00 before we got to the shops, 16:15 before we got back to the boat and discovered the nearest winding hole wasn’t big enough for us to turn…

Continuing up the GUC, under the M42, we eventually managed to turn round somewhere near Birmingham Airport, got back to the top of the Knowle flight about 18:15, and – needing to be at the very least below them by Sunday morning – finally moored up at about 19:30.

There’s nothing like a quick shopping expedition to cheer one up. And that was nothing like a quick shopping expedition.

A Portative Organ and a Duck on the Wall

Kingswood Junction is close to Baddesley Clinton, a moated manor house occupied by the same family for over 500 years before the National Trust took it over. Staunch Catholics, the house boasts three priest-holes (although one may be a sacrificial dummy).

Baddesley SheepBaddesley Clinton

The Captain gave the crew the afternoon off, so a walk across the fields ensued.

Baddesley ClintonBaddesley Clinton: EntranceBaddesley Clinton

With bits added and altered over the centuries the place is a fascinating hotch-potch of architectural styles, nooks and crannies.

DSCF3901Baddesley ClintonBaddesley Clinton

There’s a room with a barrel vaulted ceiling that looks just large enough to hold some splendid house concerts… now there’s an idea! Barrel vaulted lockkeepers cottages are a feature of the nearby Stratford Canal too.

Baddesley ClintonBaddesley Clinton

Surprisingly the geology is such that although surrounded by a substantial and full moat, the place doesn’t suffer from rising damp.

Duck on a wallBaddesley Clinton ChurchDSCF3925

Like all good manor houses, it has a south-facing wall in the garden (this one replete with resident perching duck), and a fine (if seemingly rather thin) local church. There’s a rather fine organ in there – couldn’t help noticing it was on casters. Paging Dolly Collins!

Goldcrest & Pump-Out

After the hard work of Hatton Locks, the short and lock free cruise to Kingswood Junction/ Lapworth (where the Grand Union and Stratford Canal meet up) came as a pleasant change.

Entrance to ShrewleyTunnel

A brief stop in Shrewley for provisions (the village is on top of a long-ish tunnel, and completely invisible from the canal. The canal and the village wouldn’t even know the other existed if it wasn’t for the canal navigation guides.

Goldcrest & Pumpout

We diverted into Kingswood Basin on the Stratford Canal to pick up some water (there’s a prime candidate for “slowest water tap on the system” if ever there was such a competition), and watched entranced as a Goldcrest tried to make out with his own reflection in the shiny steel case of the pump-out machine control box. Spent about 15 minutes before getting (even more) frustrated and going elsewhere.

Then back onto the GUC for 200 yards or so to moor up right immediately opposite The Navigation at Lapworth, a well known canal-side watering hole – the fish pie comes highly recommended…

Meanwhile, the next boat up had an unleashed whippet, giving the Captain an excellent opportunity to practice his whippet-baiting skills. It’s a hard life.