With a car in Stoke-on-Trent, and a funeral to attend down in Dorset, it was time for some rationalisation… parking up in Alvecote Marina for a few days Fran stayed put looking after Sir, while Bob caught a train from Tamworth to Stoke to rescue the car, drove home, then to Poole and back, then caught a train back to Tamworth. A frenetic couple of days: it was good to get back to the the boat! All the trains ran to time: a pleasant surprise.
It had already become clear on this journey that Biggles was living up to the old adage that any cat in unfamiliar territory immediately forms a one-feline escape committee – that’s why they’re into every room, cupboard, drawer, whatever: always looking for a way out.
Heading down the Trent & Mersey through familiar territory towards Fradley Junction on a hot sunny day, as we approached Wood End Lock (soon, it was to appear, to be christened Wits End Lock), it was clear there was a queue of boats in front of us so we decided to stop for an early lunch while it cleared.
The first mate came up and said that the Captain was throwing a wobbly and not at all happy. On descending into the saloon to investigate, Sir fought his way through the locked cat flap into the well deck – didn’t think that was possible. Then he burrowed under the bottom edge of the securely fastened cratch cover – didn’t think that was possible either. Finally, with the feline equivalent of a cry “Geronimo” he leapt three feet across the water to the towpath while we were still travelling, and disappeared into the thick hedgerow.
It was impossible to moor where he’d gone overboard, so we backed up to the nearest place and started searching and calling. After lunch – with no sign – and in need of provisions, SWMBO went on a long trip down the towpath to Fradley Junction, while I continued calling and searching up and down the hedgerows for some distance either side of where we were moored (which was some distance from where he jumped overboard).
At about 19:00 he strolled in through the front deck area completely unconcerned – butter wouldn’t melt – and started eating his dinner.
As he now seemed to be well settled, we left him with his usual access outside overnight so he could do his business. Vaguely aware that he went out at zero:dark early, there was no sign of him at breakfast. Or lunch. This time he came back, again completely unconcerned, about tea time.
A 28 hour snack lunch must be some kind of record.
Locking him in, we steamed through Fradley Junction on to the Coventry canal without stopping for a beer at The Swan (sacrilege) and ended up moored at Whittington, a nice little village with a decent pub for dinner.
A sunny Saturday spent hooked up to electricity and water in Great Haywood Marina catching up on the washing and drying, while someone visited the large Canal Side Farm shop adjacent, and someone else supervised the engine maintenance requirements (oil and filter change now it’s run in a bit). Guess who did what.
The quiet night weather-wise saw a large hot-air balloon drifting very slowly over the marina in the evening, and another coming into land just across the railway line at 08:30 Sunday morning: there’s an outfit based at nearby Shugborough Hall, and it was pretty much perfect weather for it. Don’t see nearly so many balloons these days, I guess the foot and mouth restrictions some years back made it all too difficult for many operators.
Wandering further down the Trent & Mersey Canal on Sunday afternoon, after passing the delights of Rugeley power station and the Armitage Shanks toilet factory (bidets are clearly in at the moment) and getting near Kings Bromley, we both saw a weasel-y animal rearing up out of the canal-side greenery before bolting across the towpath into the woods. First time ever we’ve seen anything like that on a canal (though I guess there’s no reason why we shouldn’t). Eschewing the old joke, Google suggests the black-tip on the tail means it was a stoat. Definitely a first.
Normally reluctant to leave the boat during broad daylight, and not entirely happy in a busy marina with people traipsing through the boat fixing things, Sir expressed his approval of our quiet, remote and sunny moorings near Kings Bromley by diving off immediately into the bushes and returning two minutes later with a small rodent which he ceremoniously discombobulated on our newly cleaned floor. Good job he didn’t find a stoat…
Escaping from the Stoke-on-Trent megalopolis, just down the Trent & Mersey canal lies the market town of Stone, which is a favourite place to stop overnight. Moorings right in the middle of town, the Co-Op delivers to the boat, or Morrisons is a short walk, plenty of decent restaurants, and of course the Star Inn, at which a glass of Guinness is mandatory…
Then on down to Great Heywood in the rain, with a short diversion and stay on Tixall Wide (an odd place) then a night in Great Heywood Marina to catch up on chores and get the first engine oil change done.
… or in this case, the arrival of the King of Song & Dance.
A quick trip home to collect the important things: cat (1 off) and guitar (1 off). So far the boat remains a morris kit-free zone.
Biggles immediately checks out the sleeping accommodation doing his “prince(ss) and the pea” imitation, while I try and work out where I am going to stow the musical instrument. Fortunately a hidey hole was found in the end.
Canals and railways often run close to each other for sound technical reasons. In the case of the Churnet Valley Railway, one might even say “too close” – another challenge for the steerer along the Froghall Branch of the Caldon Canal.
The Black Lion is a splendid pub previously only accessible by rail or canal, but a recent road doesn’t seem to have done it too much harm. A splendid lunch spot, with hens running amok in the garden, ducks ignoring the railway signage, more lime kilns across the canal, and the place from which this blog’s header picture was taken.
Then it’s back down through the Stoke potteries, a quick overnight stop next to “the man” (James Brindley) at Etruria junction, then into the Festival Park marina for a for a few days while we catch up on cats, repairs, washing and boring stuff like that.
Perhaps deciding to stay close to Biddulph on the Caldon Canal was – with hindsight – a mistake… it’s very narrow and shallow, the bridge holes are even narrower and overgrown. With a boat that swims beautifully through the water and doesn’t want to slow down, and the engine idle/tick-over set a tadge high, it was certainly a challenge, particularly on some corners where on a couple of occasions the boat just went where IT wanted to go, rather than where the steerer wanted. Greenery? What greenery?
Froghall terminus and basin, with its nice buildings and lime kilns across the road is delightful. The final few hundred yards are preceded by a very low tunnel, so – discretion being the better part of valour – we didn’t attempt it. Spoke to some live-aboard boaters that had spent all day removing everything off the roof (top boxes, the work) so the could get through and moor up for a week, and the said the height gauges were very conservative. They said some people even put sacrificial wooden protectors on the top and “drive” their boat through.
Perhaps next time we might fill all the tanks and have a go – very gingerly. Would be a lovely spot to moor up for a day or two and listen to Andy Irvine records.
Second day on our own saw us mooring up just along the Leek branch of the Caldon Canal, just beyond Hazlehurst locks, which gave us our first indication that a strimmer or hedge cutter might be a vital part of the inventory.
A lovely stroll down Hazlehurst Locks and under the Hazlehurst Viaduct that carries the Leek Branch over the Froghall Branch took us to the busy watering hole The Hollybush Inn for dinner. (Seen here two days later at lunchtime, after we’d stopped over in Leek for provisions before turning round and heading for Froghall).
And somewhere along the line we became aware the water on the bathroom floor seemed to be leaking from the loo rather from wet bodies exiting the shower. Ho hum…
First day’s cruising on our own: we’d decided to stay close to Biddulph and the Piper factory in case of any problems, and revisit the delightful Caldon Canal, which we had done on our last hire-boat trip. Pointing north but wanting to head south we wound (winded?) at the winding hole just by the entrance to the Harecastle Tunnel.
Then back down to Etruria and the first challenge: the staircase locks. Not quite as daunting as they look, but a challenge for Song & Dance’s first lock.
Then it’s through the not quite so interesting pottery areas, (restraining SWMBO from visiting the Emma Bridgewater factory shop), and past Stoke-on-Trent College, with its educational priorities 
proudly displayed for all to see, before emerging into the sunshine and country where we moored for the night 
by a field with several Gypsy Cob ponies including a foal. Look just like miniature Clydesdales!
Piper’s chaps left us moored up at Westport Lake: an artificial pleasure lake that has become a nature reserve pretty much in the middle of Stoke-on-Trent. Not a bad place to spend one’s first night and day.
Biggles Goes Boating 