Cruising in Middle England

 

We finished our journey on the Trent and Mersey canal at Middlewich where we turned into the Shropshire Union Canal Middlewich Branch - got to get the name right you know, these canals are complicated. It was a tricky manoeuvre as I had to wait for a boat coming out of the lock right at the start of our latest conquest. It was big hire boat and the poor chap helming it didn't have much of an idea how to execute a ninety degree turn and went too fast expecting the 70 odd feet of steel to turn on a sixpence. In narrowboat terms he careered into the bank and ran aground.  Fortunately I had decided to come past the turn rather than wait further back for him to come past me so I was able to avoid being caught up in his predicament. 

He should have taken the RYA course - remember you're listening to a qualified inland helm here - and I've got the certificate to prove it.

The first section of the Shropshire only had four locks in the first eleven miles making for very relaxing cruising. Passing through beautiful rolling open countryside it was perhaps the most rural of all the canals we had travelled so far passing through rich pasture land filled with dairy and beef cattle. This was after all prime Cheshire dairy country.

And how we smiled when we stopped at a canal side farm where the owners and set up reminded us so much of farmer friends from Bedfordshire thirty years ago when we first met them. A large dairy farm with a new house extension added to the old farmhouse to accommodate son and daughter-in-law, horses, dogs, and a young wife trying to run a business this time a craft and farmhouse food shop. As a purveyor of Yankee Candles, a brand of scented candles I learnt my wife loves, I was a little shocked when I saw the bill - what the hell was wrong with IKEA candles I wondered.

We joined the Shropshire Union Main Line at Bridge Junction and passed the turn into the Llangollen Canal where we saw our seven times narrowboating Americans heading up to see the famous Ponyscillit aqueduct (already done by us 25 years ago so not included in the spreadsheet) - and yes, they oohed again over Phoebe. I swear spending so much time outside is bleaching her coat as she is now several shades lighter than when we set out. But it can't be the Mediterranean weather we've been enjoying.....

 

 

We stopped at Nantwich for provisions and were pleasantly impressed with the town. Plenty of interesting housing stock from Elizabethan to Georgian and a pedestrianised, tree lined town square where we sat and enjoyed a delicious pork pie picnic listening to a first rate busker, no more than 16, riffing like Clapton.  He attracted quite a crowd and deserved the attention. 

 

 

South of Nantwich we stopped to visit the Hack Green Secret Nuclear Bunker.  Not your standard historical visit, this bunker would have become home to a select few from government in the event of a nuclear strike.  Even though it was still operational up to 1989 and had £38m spent on upgrades in 1986, it still felt very Heath Robinson and not at all like the hidden bunkers you see in Hollywood movies.  More Dads Army than Independence Day. Extraordinarily, when deigned as surplus to requirements, the government had just shut the doors and left just about everything in place equipping the Trust that subsequently purchased it with a treasure trove of paraphernalia that vividly brought the experience to life. But boy was it a sobering visit. It was quite sinister to see how depressing and basically futile it was to create a place supposed to survive a nuclear holocaust.  The documentary films were extremely depressing spelling out in no uncertain terms the scale and horror of an attack on the UK.  We left in sombre mood.

Needing cheering up it was fortuitous we were to collect our next visitor just a mile or so down the canal. Popping over the border from Wales, one of my oldest mates and best man at our wedding, Des, had walked down the towpath from Audlem and was waving a naked calf at Ros the helm to flag down a lift.  Perfect timing too as he could man the windlass as we climbed the four locks into Audlem where we were to moor for the night.

 

 

As Des is a vegetarian, we decided eat on board that night and not risk the limited options any British pub has to offer such strange folk and treat him to one of Ros' veggie creations. He was properly impressed. That didn't mean forgoing a trip to the pub for a drink however and we settled comfortably in the Shoppie Fly in front of a roaring wood fire - yes, it was that cold that a fire was necessary. Summer? What summer? 

Another happy camper enjoying the luxury of the dinette double bed to himself we struggled to awaken our guest - something to do with the amount of wine consumed the night before reminiscing perhaps - we set off in warm sunshine to complete the last eleven locks in the flight out of Audlem.  More and more boats were appearing , evidence perhaps of the summer holidays approaching but most were owner occupied and many were sparkling giving the captain pause for concern that our brass needed a further polish. We even passed a boat called Rest and Be Thankful owned by an ex-pat Fifeman with fond memories of our local highland pass. Our experienced assistant (he takes 11 business trainees on a narrow boat each year for adventure training - talk about mad...) made quick work of the locks and with regret Des took my bike back to Audlem to collect his car and returned in no time with said bike and bid us farewell. 

 

 

And so we gently cruised through beautiful countryside to Market Drayton (OK but nothing much of note) and on to Norbury Junction.

Await the next exciting update.