Category Archives: Music

Homeward Bound

Retracing our steps towards Hurlestone Junction, the weather was till hot and sunny. It was a busy Sunday when we went down to Chester, and was much quieter mid-week, so we actually managed to get moored up for lunch at The Shady Oak, near Tarporley.

Seemed a much more sensible approach to refreshment than flogging ourselves all the way up to Beeston Castle for an ice cream.

The head cook was rather taken with the cottage for sale immediately opposite, but the Captain’s enthusiasm was muted: it was several feet below the canal water level.

Negotiating the Bunbury staircase locks later that afternoon without any need for shuffling, we gave in to the sunshine not much further on.

Thursday morning saw us passing Barbridge Junction again, before joining the queue for the Llangollen Canal at Hurlestone Junction/Bottom Lock. With a stream of boats coming down, saving us the need to empty anything, we were soon up the four locks, and bedding Song & Dance down in her new home for a few week.

And so Friday saw us sad to be leaving the water, but happily anticipating Sidmouth Folk Week, as we began the complicated process of moving the Captain’s entourage temporarily back to winter quarters while catching up on laundry, appointments and onward travel arrangements. The FO caught a train from Crewe, then drove back in a suitable charabanc to collect the Captain, Cook and luggage. Unfortunately, due to communication difficulties and a minor fiasco regarding logistics, eventually departing the winter quarters for Cheshire at 16:00 on a Friday during the August school holidays proved as bad as feared. Despite the multi-hour delays on the M40 and M6, by hook, crook, sat-nav and going off-piste, Swanley Bridge Marina was finally reached just in time to grab a late dinner at the estimable The Thatch pub nearby.

On Saturday morning the traffic heading back home en famille wasn’t so bad, and by lunchtime, we were back, surveying the mound of laundry, post and things to do.

Vera Lynn, Béla Bartók and Bob Dylan

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The Captain had promised us a day off from boating, and we’d had a vague plan to visit the Severn Valley Railway, which runs from Kidderminster to Bridgenorth. The brochures/timetables littering the Tourist Information places said there was a special event/timetable this weekend. Wandering up to Kidderminster Station on Saturday afternoon to investigate proved slightly surreal: it was some kind of WW2 weekend festival. It was wall-to-wall Vera Lynn, ladies in nice frocks and strange hair-dos, and men in uniforms. The place was mobbed, and it wasn’t clear whether the wedding services halfway down the line on Sunday were re-enactments or for real. We decided that we would save our visit for a more “normal” day!

Just opposite the station was an emporium entitled “CB Radio and Gun Shop” which we found vaguely disturbing. The traffic on the motorways is bad enough without coordinated convoys of gun toting HGVs creating havoc.

The local symphony orchestra was having their summer Saturday night concert in the Town Hall, and the chief cook decided she would like some culture. The programme included Bartók, Vaughan Williams, and Mendelssohn; the band were a lot better than the FO had feared (from past experience), and the newly decorated hall was a splendid venue. The young lady fiddle soloist on Lark Ascending was pretty good too, although the head to neck tattoos and Doc Martens seemed rather unusual in the classical music environment.

A rather late start on Sunday morning saw us at Wolverley Lock around lunchtime, a pleasant spot with a pub right on the lock, a tea bar/ice cream shop on the other side, and a large car park. It was a rare warm and sunny day, and the place was predictably mobbed.

We wandered down about 7pm to see if the Sunday Lunch brigade had dispersed and we could get something to eat, but even though the crowds had diminished, the pub was still forecasting an hour or more’s wait for food, so we went back and ate on the boat.

We knew – from a previous visit years ago – that there had been a folk club at the pub, and finding it was still running on Monday nights, decided to stop over, have dinner in the pub, and go out for yet more music. Rather short on numbers, it turned out to be one of the more unusual clubs we’ve been to, but a pleasant evening ensued; the organiser said he wanted Song & Dance’s musical director to come and sing at his 70th birthday party (date unspecified), and demanded a mobile number. Ho hum.

One of the regulars, who spent the entire evening poring through a large collection of song books and folders, stood up and sung an unaccompanied Blowin’ In The Wind – one of those oh so famous songs like Streets of London, Last Thing on my Mind or The Wild Rover that were so overdone at the time that no one sings them any more. He did a fine rendition, and sadly, the words are still just as appropriate as they were in the sixties.

Another lesson learned on the way back along the towpath: if you forget to take a torch, and use the Torch app on your mobile to light your way home, it’s a good idea to turn it off when you get there. Or the phone battery will resemble a very flat pancake…

Up To Upton

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With Suffolk Girl getting home late on Thursday evening, and both the Severn and Avon behaving themselves, we got up early on Friday morning, packed up the cat and the car, and set off back to Tewkesbury at the crack of 11:00. Arriving back at the boat just after lunch, and anxious to resume boating, it was decided that the transport manager would return the car home straight away (summer Friday traffic – lovely) and if feasible get a train back Friday evening. If not, Saturday morning would have to do.

Unfortunately, it proved feasible, and getting back via train and taxi to the boat for the second time that day at about 20:00, we headed out for dinner. Completely knackered, the transport manager decided he was getting too old for that sort of lark.

Anyway, the boat had been fine under lockie Nic’s watchful eye, and the rivers were all just fine, so we were just about to set off when we overheard a boater who’d just arrived remark that there was a jazz festival at Upton over the weekend. Made some enquiries…

chances of getting onto the Upton visitor moorings other than three abreast – nil
going all the way to Worcester upstream in one hit leaving at lunchtime – unrealistic
other places to moor overnight between Tewkesbury and Worcester – none

There is absolutely no substitute for advanced planning.

As the Captain and the Chef really, really wanted to visit Upton, and – not trusting the river -we didn’t want to wait until Monday, a phone call to the Big Tupperware Yacht marina at Upton elicited two bits of information

someone had just left unexpectedly, and they would be able to accommodate us for the night
the cost, payable in advance, was completely extortionate, and made even Pyrford marina (near home, and part of the same chain) look positively a bargain.

And so, just before she packed up for her lunch, we waved farewell to Nic as she locked us down onto the Severn level, and we made a un-noteworthy transit upstream to Upton-on-Severn, moored up in the marina, and went walkabout.

It was a warm and pleasant afternoon to sit overlooking the river with a Guinness, but wandering around Upton was weird. Almost but not entirely unlike Sidmouth Folk Week or Chippenham Folk Festival, it was full of happy people, and bunting, and food stalls and stuff, and even the trad jazz or squeaky bonky noises spilling out from here and there didn’t seem out of place. But (a) there was no continual background “chink chink chink” from perambulating Morris dancers, and (b) we didn’t know anybody. Weird.

Some friends we’ve not seen for a while, and who have just sold their house, have a daughter and son-in-law who run a pub in Upton. Turned out they were staying at the pub while house-hunting, but had gone off to Southampton for the weekend. Ah well. There really is absolutely no substitute for advanced planning…

Gloucester Here We Come

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Saturday morning dawned bright and gloomy, and we set off, starting with locking down through Avon Lock onto the Avon link, then a left turn onto the River Severn proper. Very shortly we came to Upper Lode Lock, below which the river is sometimes tidal (at high Spring Tides), and hence bad news for little boats. There was to be a Spring Tide on the Sunday morning, so we really needed to get tucked up in Gloucester before then.

Upper Lode Lock is ENORMOUS. Safely descended, the far gates were opened, and Song & Dance was fully up to deep river cruising speed before we even reached them. And there’s also a wide pool at that end fully big enough to wind/turn a 58ft narrowboat round or moor a flotilla of sailing yachts.

Just down the Severn from Upper Lode, you come across the premises of the Avon Sailing Club, but that’s all right as the Severn Sailing Club is situated near Bredon, about 6 miles up the Avon from Tewkesbury. Must be something in the water.

Making good time we stopped at The Boat Inn at Ashleworth for lunch and a short wander. Although the village itself is a way off, just behind the pub is a fine collection of 15C buildings huddled together: a manor house, church and tithe barn.

This barn is still seemingly used for storing useful things like dead sinks, but at least there was little in the way of guano underfoot. More impressive were the giant “half doors”. Don’t know about lifting one off so you can clog dance – these are big enough to hold a small ceilidh on! An instant hernia at the mere thought.

The church had an unusual – but probably not 15C – stile, and their bell ropes matched the chief cook’s fancy mooring warps, so if we need some more we know where to come.

And just around the corner were some Gloucestershire Old Spots – an early inspiration for several other Morris sides and the Morris movement in general – one even looks suspiciously like Ken Langsbury…

During the pub lunch break, the Captain had braved the open weave pontoons for a good rummage around in the bankside weeds and woods. Needing to get going, and after watching him seemingly sitting quietly in a chunk of long grass for some while with no sign of wishing to go boating again, the navigator picked him up as per normal. Only to find him in mid wee. After a wash, and a clean shirt, we set off with a very grumpy Skipper muttering to himself.

We’d been warned about the approach into Gloucester Lock, which takes you up from the River Severn into Gloucester Docks: it was as interesting as promised, and we were glad of the detailed briefing; even gladder there wasn’t actually much flow on the Severn that afternoon, or it could have easily become exciting – something we try and avoid.

With us as the only occupants, the lockkeeper filled the large lock very slowly, and before we’d made it all the way up to the busy bedlam that is Gloucester Docks on a sunny weekend afternoon, our friends Moira, Graham and family were peering over the edge and forming a welcoming party. We’d seen them all several times in passing last weekend at Chippenham, but never got a chance to chat, so tea and buns at the narrowboat cafe rapidly ensued.

All in all, we’ve had worse days, even if the Captain was still sulking, and The Guv’nor was nowhere in sight.

Chippenham Ho…

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Chippenham Folk Festival passed very pleasantly, apart from the weather, which was warm and sunny, which meant that the streets were wall-to-wall with Morris Dancers. (Those of a nervous disposition should look away now). And apart from the weird The Pines hotel, run by some well meaning but clearly out of their depth young Greek Cypriot lads. The place is apparently known locally by an anagram. It was however very close to the centre of town.

Anyway, we’re always giving Morris Dancers some stick, so to redress the balance…

First up, instead of Cotswold, Clog, Border or Molly dancing we have Churchwarden Morris (dunno which church they borrowed the sticks from), and Twizzle Stick Morris. The former made us wonder whether we should form a Boathook Morris side – there’s bound to be a tradition somewhere.

And then there’s Simon Pipe doing very odd things with a broom stick.

To echo Banbury Folk Festival last year, here’s a pic of our old friend Hector Gilchrist, and one of Louise Jordan, who was kind enough to lend the navigator a thumb-pick when Hector dragged him up to sing and play.

The final weird experience of the weekend – on being asked to stand in and MC a concert instead of Keith Donnelly because he was double-booked – was finding Keith in the audience, heckling as ever. Ah well…

An Evening Twixt Avon and Severn

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Having agreed that we could go to Chippenham Folk Festival for the Bank Holiday weekend, while he deigned to visit home and be spoilt by our neighbour, the Skipper was anxious to be off and resume hostilities with Otto, the new kid in town, who had taken up residence next door. But by the time we’d sorted out everything, it was too late to get a train and fetch a car, so the evening was spent on a quick exploratory look around Tewkesbury.

A first glance made it clear that sitting at the junction of the rivers Avon and Severn, and being prone to flooding recently, there was some heavyweight water manipulation stuff all around.

Tewkesbury is apparently renowned for its myriad little alleys off the High Street: here are a couple (including one especially for some reneging crew members). Not sure if it’s renowned for strangely named Estate Agents, but it’s got one of those too.

There were plenty of interesting looking buildings, too…

… as well as the famous Abbey at the other end of town, so we determined to spend a day or so exploring on our return, and soon spotted some decent visitor moorings outside the marina, right by the bridge and the lock down onto the Severn.

The bridge lies between two famous old pubs: The White Bear and The Black Bear. They have build a new block of flats between the two pubs, and the access road into them shows that some councils have a sense of humour.

And so, having travelled home by train and returned avec voiture on the Tuesday, an early start to the chauffeur’s birthday on Wednesday saw us driving Sir home, then going out for a splendid steak dinner, while looking forward to resuming the exploration of Tewkesbury after the Chippenham festivities.

Tilting at Windmills

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She Who Must etc. decreed that we really ought to take in something at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre as it was so close. So in addition to a wander around the new(ish) viewing tower they’ve built, we booked ourselves into the smaller Swan Theatre to see Don Quixote. The main theatre was putting on Cymbeline, which is (a) very long, (b) rarely performed – possibly for a good reason, and (c) they’d modernised it by changing the gender of the lead character and all that sort of trendy stuff. All in all Don Quixote seemed a better bet.

From the top of the theatre tower, there are fine views over the surrounding countryside and town: in the Top-Right picture you can just see the tail end of Song & Dance between the two trees.

In the foyer, there was a display of costumes from various plays. There was even one for someone playing the part of an ancient morris dancer. Deciding which is which in the picture above is left as an exercise for the reader…

And, as it turned out, Don Quixote did prove most enjoyable: a slightly bizarre melange of serious theatre in the round, a musical, a mummers play and improv comedy, it kept everyone thoroughly entertained from start to finish.

However – even though there were always spare pontoon moorings – we’d overstayed our welcome at the basin, and needed to be moving on from the delights of Stratford. The River Avon and Tewkesbury beckon.

A Portative Organ and a Duck on the Wall

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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).

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

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

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.

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

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!

Led Zep, Rolf Harris and the other “Big One”

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Narrowboat wanderers will speak of the Tardebigge Flight and the Caen Hill Flight of locks in hushed terms, as places to sort out the chaps for the lesser chaps. Hatton Locks is perhaps less well known, but its 21 broad locks climbing nearly 150 feet in 2 miles place them firmly in the same category. The old commercial bargees used to call them “The Stairway to Heaven”, but unfortunately we didn’t have either Led Zeppelin or Rolf Harris’ version to play while we worked. Actually, having been descending steadily since Napton, the chief navigator was initially rather thrown to find that the Hatton Flight went all the way back up again.

The weather stayed pleasant warm and sunny, and so teaming up with another boat (thank heavens) we got stuck in, and apart from a brief lunch stop in a handy longer pound, there wasn’t time to take photos; even Sir behaved by staying on board all the way rather than disappearing off into the greenery.

Finally passing through the top lock in the late afternoon sunlight, the welcoming committee showed us to some suitable moorings at the top of the flight.

Later, a pleasant walk back down a few locks brought us to the CaRT Maintenance Yard, a large metal damselfly, and – more importantly – a splendid dinner at The Hatton Arms to round off a rewarding if tiring day.

Warwick as Well

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As if lunch in Leamington wasn’t enough, Kate Boats was so close to the centre of Warwick that it seemed churlish not to avail ourselves of a wander and dinner. We know Warwick reasonably well from past folk festivals, so the camera was left on the boat. But for those suffering from Warwick Withdrawal Symptoms, here’s a few that were prepared earlier (circa 2012 if memory serves).

Jackstraws processing: dinner this trip was taken in the half-timbered establishment at top-right, if anyone’s remotely interested.