Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 years of marriage. This is number 24 of a series about our lives and travels. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts you'll find below are a previous series about later travels.
I didn't realize how much Sherrill wanted to take a canal boat trip in England until she dropped the stack of magazines and newspaper articles, as well as several books, in front of me. Canal Cruising, Discovering Canals in Britain, Guide to Waterways South, Guide to Waterways Central, English County Cruises. Obviously, she'd been thinking about this for a while. Although England was crisscrossed with canals—all of them built centuries ago to move animals and goods—she had chosen the one we'd cruise along and where we'd rent the narrow boat and join the canal.
"It'll be fun." She pushed the stack my direction.
And it was.
"It'll be fun." She pushed the stack my direction.
And it was.
Simone & Sherrill at a quiet spot in the canal Sherrill had chosen the most picturesque canal for us to explore: the Llangollen Canal into Wales from a village near Chester in western England. Taking the boat across aqueducts and through locks to Llangollen and back might be a challenge for two of us alone, but if Simone and Paul went along we'd manage fine—and it would be more fun. As usual, she'd thought it all out.
As we moved around the London of 1986 before going on to Chester, we noticed that it had changed here and there since our previous visit on our way to France and Italy in 1978—replaced or remodeled buildings, new restaurants, construction work in progress—however, the city felt the same. During our nearly five decades of visiting London, from 1968 to 2015, Sherrill and I watched it evolve from lingering war-blackened buildings and empty lots with broken foundations to the glamour of the twenty-first century "Shard" and "Gherkin" towers, and from deserted East End warehouses to the Docklands light railway and Canary Wharf's glitzy financial towers. To us, however, it remained the comfortable, semi-shabby collection of neighborhoods that we grew fond of when we were in our twenties.
As we moved around the London of 1986 before going on to Chester, we noticed that it had changed here and there since our previous visit on our way to France and Italy in 1978—replaced or remodeled buildings, new restaurants, construction work in progress—however, the city felt the same. During our nearly five decades of visiting London, from 1968 to 2015, Sherrill and I watched it evolve from lingering war-blackened buildings and empty lots with broken foundations to the glamour of the twenty-first century "Shard" and "Gherkin" towers, and from deserted East End warehouses to the Docklands light railway and Canary Wharf's glitzy financial towers. To us, however, it remained the comfortable, semi-shabby collection of neighborhoods that we grew fond of when we were in our twenties.
Paul on the canal boat roof The walled city of Chester, one of the oldest in England, going back to Roman times and filled with black and white half-timbered medieval buildings, seemed an appropriate start for our new adventure. The canal, itself, opened in 1805, carried commercial traffic until the nineteen-thirties. After the war years, the old canals were rediscovered for pleasure cruising and the old towpaths that ran beside them soon were used for hiking and biking. For a while, Sherrill and I dreamed of cruising on all 3,000 miles of canals, but became sidetracked by the rest of the world.
We'd been sent a booklet with maps showing every twist of the canal, every road, bridge, towpath, lock, fuel and supply stop, village, and pub. Sherrill had annotated these maps from her reading and had calculated when we should get to certain points and where and when we should moor for the night. Everything was perfect except that when we picked up the boat it was raining and rained all the first day.
"Will the whole trip be like this?" we wondered mournfully, but by mid-morning on day two the sky was clear.
We'd been sent a booklet with maps showing every twist of the canal, every road, bridge, towpath, lock, fuel and supply stop, village, and pub. Sherrill had annotated these maps from her reading and had calculated when we should get to certain points and where and when we should moor for the night. Everything was perfect except that when we picked up the boat it was raining and rained all the first day.
"Will the whole trip be like this?" we wondered mournfully, but by mid-morning on day two the sky was clear.
Our boat, the Goldeneye (named after a local bird), could have accommodated six adults, so the four of us were comfortable in two little bedrooms with a kitchenette and dining area. Magically, it seemed, Sherrill had brought us to an earlier, simpler era in which traffic moved no faster than a horse pulling a load could walk. Since the boats were limited to four or five miles an hour, most of the time ours didn't seem difficult to operate, except when we had to maneuver it through the locks. (Was this why the brochure recommended that ladies wear trousers?) We quickly learned that there was more to canal cruising than watching scenery go by while keeping one hand on the tiller, but whatever problems we encountered could be forgotten at the end of the day in one of the old pubs built to service the boatmen of old and now catering to tourists.
Simone & Sherrill & a pair of curious cows
Sherrill on the Goldeneye Occasionally, we stopped to buy homemade baked goods and jams from cheery local women who had set up shop on planks next to the canal.
"I made that loaf myself, love. Cake, too. Don't forget the jam to go with it."
How could we resist?
Sometimes, we tied up and ventured into one of the canal-side pubs for a meal and a half pint. The walls were thick and the windows small to keep out the weather, the furnishings ancient and comfortably worn and welcoming, everything in shades of brown—whatever color they may have started out. We experimented with pasties, toad-in-the hole, Scotch eggs, fish and chips, and Yorkshire pudding—even bangers and mash—plus varieties of ale and brew. We passed on blood pudding, though.
The cruising was fun, as Sherrill had promised, and the four of us were having a good time together, but as usual I worried about whatever was at hand to fuss about. Accidents and catastrophes could happen any time, from tripping and falling off the boat to earthquakes and floods. Well, maybe not an earthquake there, but something.... Traveling is dangerous, after all. Of course, these thoughts weren't rational. Sherrill refused to let me be gloomy.
"Don't worry!" she often told me, forefinger pressing against my nose. "Don't fuss!"
"I made that loaf myself, love. Cake, too. Don't forget the jam to go with it."
How could we resist?
Sometimes, we tied up and ventured into one of the canal-side pubs for a meal and a half pint. The walls were thick and the windows small to keep out the weather, the furnishings ancient and comfortably worn and welcoming, everything in shades of brown—whatever color they may have started out. We experimented with pasties, toad-in-the hole, Scotch eggs, fish and chips, and Yorkshire pudding—even bangers and mash—plus varieties of ale and brew. We passed on blood pudding, though.
The cruising was fun, as Sherrill had promised, and the four of us were having a good time together, but as usual I worried about whatever was at hand to fuss about. Accidents and catastrophes could happen any time, from tripping and falling off the boat to earthquakes and floods. Well, maybe not an earthquake there, but something.... Traveling is dangerous, after all. Of course, these thoughts weren't rational. Sherrill refused to let me be gloomy.
"Don't worry!" she often told me, forefinger pressing against my nose. "Don't fuss!"
The locks to take the boat up or down, depending on the direction, could be a challenge, however. We had a tool called a lock key to open the gates that held back the flow of water. After unlocking one side, we had to run across a narrow foot bridge to do the same on the other side of the canal. Usually, one of us unlocked each side, a third drove through, and then the first two closed and locked the gates after the Goldeneye had passed through and jumped onto the boat. We got the routine down fine, but after Paul and Simone left us for some adventures of their own, it became more challenging for two of us, turning into a comedy routine.
The Goldeneye in a lock Sherrill steered and I did the running back and forth, hurling myself up and down ladders, and unlocking and locking the lock gates. With all of that deadpan hopping around, it probably looked more like Buster Keaton than Charlie Chaplin—although in my heart I usually saw myself as Groucho Marx.
Sherrill & Bruce on the Aqueduct It all went smoothly until near the end, when the Goldeneye got caught in a whirlpool below a weir and Sherrill had to struggle to stop the boat from spinning in circles, while I stood helpless and stupid on the side of the lock, waving my arms around and making incoherent noises. Ignoring me, a determined expression on her face, she finally managed to liberate both herself and the Goldeneye.
"So," I asked her when we both stood exhausted on the deck, "now what?"
"Sew buttons your pants!" she came back at me.
One of the rejoinders that she'd picked up as a kid when she was living with her grandparents in Reno, useful in any situation when she wanted to get down to business without any more delay. She had a ready supply of them.
The highlight of our journey was the 1805 Pontcsylite Aqueduct, a skinny 19-arched brick structure that carried the canal 120 feet above the river Dee. A towpath with good railings protected us on one side, but only a few inches of cast iron on the other, which gave us the precarious sensation of floating through air. Some folks in other boats were lounging on their cabin roofs as they put-putted across, but that wasn't my idea of safe fun, despite the spectacular views. We survived the aqueduct and made our way into the town of Llangollen, where we moored and did some sightseeing, including a large half-timbered house surrounded by a handsome garden.
"So," I asked her when we both stood exhausted on the deck, "now what?"
"Sew buttons your pants!" she came back at me.
One of the rejoinders that she'd picked up as a kid when she was living with her grandparents in Reno, useful in any situation when she wanted to get down to business without any more delay. She had a ready supply of them.
The highlight of our journey was the 1805 Pontcsylite Aqueduct, a skinny 19-arched brick structure that carried the canal 120 feet above the river Dee. A towpath with good railings protected us on one side, but only a few inches of cast iron on the other, which gave us the precarious sensation of floating through air. Some folks in other boats were lounging on their cabin roofs as they put-putted across, but that wasn't my idea of safe fun, despite the spectacular views. We survived the aqueduct and made our way into the town of Llangollen, where we moored and did some sightseeing, including a large half-timbered house surrounded by a handsome garden.
Looking back at our expedition on the Goldeneye, I'm impressed by all the work Sherrill put in to learning about canal boating and then planning and putting together an adventure that we'd never forget. Catastrophes inevitably have come along since then, including losing Sherrill, but Simone, Paul, and I still thank her not only for these memories, but for all the memories she gave us--and for the humor that saw us through many a situation.
To be continued....
If you enjoy these posts, please share them with anyone else you think also will find them interesting. And why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels.
You also might enjoy reading the new bargain-priced e-edition of my North Beach novel, The Night Action. It has been called the last great novel of an era. Click on the title for link. The book is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
If you enjoy these posts, please share them with anyone else you think also will find them interesting. And why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels.
You also might enjoy reading the new bargain-priced e-edition of my North Beach novel, The Night Action. It has been called the last great novel of an era. Click on the title for link. The book is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
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