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Her grandpa, as a boy, was a coal miner in the late 1800-early 1900’s and she felt surprised that a National Forest has been planted on land that holds no hint of its mining past. Conkers did not make sense but thanks to an O/S map for sale at the shop there they were able to peep inside to note Cycle Route 63. This cycleway took them home by the canal restoration to Donisthorpe along the disused railway and out at Measham Library. This was a lovely cycle ride. On another trip into Measham she bought pickled herring and Tchibo coffee from a Polish shop there.
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The clocks went back and nights got colder and if you ever come across MucBoots treat yourself to a pair. They are warm, close fitting wellies with little tread so they stay on in mud but don’t gather the stuff.
Then the Christmas cactus dropped its flowers, what did that mean?
In the past she had lit the first fire of autumn with the lid on the chimney. Autumn 2007 she lit it with the grate in upside down. The ash was difficult to riddle and the fire drew poorly because the riddled bits bigger than ash had jammed the slots in the grate.
She loved the scent of smoke that stayed in her clothes and she prized the burns she got in her snood and fleece from bonfire sparks of the second Terminus work party. The top of a felled silver birch sapling fitted exactly into her well-deck clothes line bracket and became an out door Christmas tree once decorated with red and gold cone shaped baubles.
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They went scrumping for delicious cooking apples near the pump house railings and noted how sweet the water was from the Terminus and Market Bosworth water points.
As she sat on the deck head to decant Pure Heat piece by piece from a bag into a small metal bin she was told by a passing walker that the racket had so distracted a hare, his ancient Scottie dog had almost caught it!
Shackerstone station glowed with fires at Christmas time. They were in the booking hall, the Museum, the Tea Rooms and in Sir Goman the steam engine. A decorated tree stood near the fire in the booking hall and there was a chair nearby to sit and gaze at the flames in the hearth which was behind a sturdy metal fire-guard. In the Fund Raising Carriage there were goodies to buy that included two lace plates. The Santa Special steamed out of the Station filled with people of all ages who wore smiles and silly hats.
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Shackerstone Station.
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As the sun flickered through the leafless trees she walked to post Christmas cards in Shackerstone and the sun set fell as copper on the station buildings. Card writing sessions were powered on with Cuppa Soups tasted at the work parties.
It got colder. The canal froze and stayed frozen. She found out that there would be Plum Pudding Races at Mallory Park on Boxing Day and they planned to cycle there once re-moored at Shenton. To return there the first boat chinked and split the ice ahead and the second followed in its wake. The sun hung behind mist, like a huge silver coin and a school cross country run jumped the coil of the hose pipe as her boat took on water at Market Bosworth. The run was an end of term celebration and the children carried with them a lovely happiness on their rosy faces and were very polite. Someone at Bosworth Water, a lake site, just up the road agreed to deliver a bottle of gas to her boat, which was a huge help.
At Shenton, the birds must have been waiting for them to bring their feeder back as they arrived in minutes of it being hung in the hedge again. The next day dawned on a beautiful hoar frost and as it was too icy to cycle they walked into Market Bosworth. They tip toed through a silent countryside beneath frosted trees that sparkled. By the time they walked home the thaw had set in and water dripped loudly from the branches.
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The Santa Specials, from Shackerstone Station, were now framed in the galley window as they steamed along the Battlefield Line to Shenton. Friends delivered the Christmas mail and there is no more magical delivery than that as it contains so many revisited memories of friendships over the years.
On Christmas day they met a calf, eating ivy near the tow path and helped to get it back on its farm. On Boxing Day they cycled to the Plum Pudding Races at Mallory Park to watch cars and motor bikes race, but the winter day length meant they had to leave early so as not to be out in the cold and dark of evening. The sun was at such an angle that it cast the shadows of homing crows into the boat.
The moorings at Bridge 23, on the Ashby, held the scent of manure, the sound of car horns and the bark of dogs from both a farm and kennels across the canal. Sound awful doesn’t it? But on a calm, mild, day and as the days got longer with tiny hints of blue in the sky a flock of red wing fed in the field opposite the boats as they got ready to leave for Scandanavia.
Dadlington village.
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A few days later sleet from a brown sky swept across this field. Of course the sun returned this time with rainbows. The sun encouraged them to walk to Dadlington where they rested on a bench surrounded by strands of shimmering gossamer stretched across the grass. That evening the sun appeared to leach the colour from the red brick kennels to fill the air with pink and she caught sight of the silhouette of a Giant Schnauzer, as, behind her, a sheep coughed and another seemed to sneeze.
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-8 C brought ice to the inside of the boat windows and owls shrieked at Orion high in the sky made bright by a full moon. Then, almost over night, it was +8 C and the boat hand rail was hot. It must be possible to set up a water heating system in a hand rail. Though they had had occasional sightings of water vole at Shackerstone, it was on most walks along the tow path to Tomlinson’s Farm Shop or Ashby Boats that they heard the plop of them or saw them and a friend had watched and photographed one busy with nesting material.
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One night ducks appeared to be feeding along the boats waterline but the sound became much more like a stampede along the canal and the boat trembled dramatically as the stampede went by. No ducks this, but an earthquake of 5.2 on the Richter scale, somewhere in the east of England according to Radio 4’s Today news the next morning.
Leaving Bridge 23 without a tiller was not a first! She was sad to be leaving the sweet scent of farm manure and watched as a big black Schnauzer gambolled in the field by the canal. The pussy willow was beginning to bloom and was just like she had seen stuck in bottles to welcome spring on the Tran Siberian Express. A territorial swan approached her boat’s stern with rather too much gusto for her liking so she stood inside the engine room. When she ventured out it went for her a second time!
The canal at Burton Hastings. |
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She passed by cattle that steamed as they warmed in the sunshine. Beyond them weeping willow was beginning to come into in leaf and catkins hung on alder. Far away a big bonfire was being fed with hedge cuttings. Mole hills bounced through the fields and a breeze made her eyes run behind her sunglasses. Teasel, with their seed heads, stood tall, as did the shaggy heads of reed mace. At their Bridge 13 moorings she used some of the ash logs cut at the Terminus.
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On the next leg of their journey, strong wind stuck her boat to the piling on the right angle bend at Burton Hastings. Though the tow path was wide, it was not wide enough for pole, her and hedge. If she did shift the bow out, by the time she got back on the boat, the bow was also back on the piling, but, in a lull, she had one more attempt and the boat was on its way.
Police helicopters often flew above their railway bridge (3a) mooring. When they heard that it was common for cable to be stolen for the copper and that electrocution was avoided by the use of wooden handled axes they understood the surveillance. Strong winds droned through the pylon cables above with the sound of an approaching underground train. The boaters knew the pylons strode towards Hawkesbury and that soon they would be there too. As both boats steered through Bridge 1, and left the Ashby, for the Coventry Canal, colts’ foot and gorse were in flower. What a journey. What a canal, the Ashby! |
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