Produced by Andrew Hodson




[Transcriber's Note: The spelling of Westmoreland has been modernized to
Westmorland, and employes (with an acute accent over the second e) has
been changed to employees. Variant spellings of macintoshes and
mackintoshes have been retained as printed.]




THROUGH CANAL-LAND IN A CANADIAN CANOE
BY VINCENT HUGHES.

The Boy's Own Paper.
OCTOBER 7, 14 & 21, 1899.

Bearing in mind that variety is the spice of existence, I determined that
I would temporarily desert the dear old Thames, with whose waters I had
become so familiar, and try fresh fields and pastures new during my
approaching holidays.

Accordingly, I took a friend (who had been my boon companion on many
a previous trip by land and water) into my confidence, and after due
deliberations, befitting an enterprise likely to be of a novel character,
we determined to explore the comparatively un-known canals that commence
from the Thames, at Brentford, and thread their way through England from
south to north, and end at Kendal in Westmorland.

One thing that largely influenced us in deciding upon this route was that
we had recently become possessed of a light and well-built Canadian canoe
that had been sent us by an English resident in France, where he had been
using it in exploring the picturesque portions of the Seine.

We fortunately had a friend connected with the Grand Junction Canal
Company, and through his kindly offices were enabled without much
difficulty to obtain passes allowing us to journey over the different
canals which we had mapped out as the waterway to follow.

This part of the undertaking having been successfully disposed of,
we turned to and overhauled our craft, and saw to the getting of the
outfit which we should require in order to make the trip a success.

By the time that all our arrangements were in a complete state, the day
fixed for the start arrived, and it found us brimming over with cheerful
anticipation of the good time in store for us during the next three weeks,
and in the best of health and spirits.

We were "up betimes in the morning," as quaint old Samuel Pepys has it,
and journeying down to the boat-house at Kew, where we had left our canoe
overnight, soon got afloat and on our way, without mishap or delay of any
kind.  What a glorious August day it was!  The sun shining brightly in a
cloudless blue sky overhead, the birds singing blithely in the trees upon
the banks, and the water sparkling and lapping beneath our bows; no wonder
we took it all as a good omen for the success of our trip.

Heading up-stream, we soon shot beneath the railway bridge at Kew, and pass
through dirty, straggling old Brentford, entered the Brent, where a short
paddle brought us to the first lock.  Getting through in our turn, after a
short delay caused by a string of canal barges coming through to catch the
morning tide, we entered upon the Grand Junction Canal, which extends form
here to Braunston, a distance of some hundred and six miles.

An enjoyable paddle through fairly pretty and diversified scenery brought
us to Hanwell, where we had to negotiate a cluster of five or six locks,
all grouped together within a short distance, for the purpose of carrying
the water over a sharp rise in the ground.  We had a brief chat here with
an old bargee, from whom we got some useful advice, not wholly free from
chaff, and proceeded upon our way, arriving about midday at West Drayton,
where an _al fresco_ lunch on the bar was much appreciated.  Resuming our
journey after refreshing the inner man, we passed Uxbridge and Harefield,
and so out of Middlesex into Hertfordshire.

The town of Rickmansworth being passed, Watford, about a mile from
the canal, was settled upon as our first stopping place; and evening
approaching, we went ashore to seek our well-earned repose for the night.

Early to bed and early to rise was the programme, so after a light supper
and a brief stroll around the outskirts of the town, we turned into bed and
were not long in seeking the sleep that is said to be the reward of an easy
conscience.

The sun shining through our window in the morning got us out of bed at an
early hour, and we were soon splashing about in the sunlit waters of the
canal.  A delightful dip ended, we returned to our quarters for breakfast,
and from the looks of genuine admiration expressed upon the countenance of
our landlady, I should judge that our appetites did us full credit.

Afloat once more, we paddled by easy stages past Cassiobury House,
surrounded by a glorious well-wooded park, and then reached King's Langley,
to which an interest attached as having been the birthplace of Edward III.

We found the scenery all along this portion of the canal typical of rural
England, the various inns by the wayside recalling the delightful types
made familiar by the brushes of Dendy Sadler and Yeend King.

We soon found to our cost that the tropical summer weather was responsible
for the presence of numerous wasps, whose attentions were rather too
pressing to be altogether pleasant.  While engaged in trying to allay the
burning pains of a bad sting upon Jacky's arm, we were advised by a rustic
on the bank (whose sympathetic grins upset my chum almost as much as the
wasps) to try some clay from the canal-side as a remedy.  We were sceptical
at first, but were subsequently astonished at the soothing effects of this
novel panacea for wasp-stings.  Here is a wrinkle for any of my readers
who should happen to get stung by the ferocious little pests.

At Boxmoor, where we next arrived, we observed, during a saunter around the
village, a curious stone erected to the memory of a highwayman rejoicing
in the most un-romantic name of Snooks, who was hanged here at the
beginning of the century for robbing the King's mail.

Paddling on farther, we passed Berkhampstead (a corruption of
Berg-ham-sted, the home on the hill), with its picturesque castle,
much in request by picnic parties, and duly arrived at Bulborn, near Tring,
and during a stroll around the latter town we observed a column erect to
commemorate the completion (in 1832) of the canal along which we were
journeying.

We stopped for the night at Bulborn, a typical bargee's village,
and after our usual morning dip proceeded on our way in good time.

As the day wore on, we got well into Buckinghamshire, and shortly after
came to Stony Stratford, remarkable in history as being the place where
the ill-fated young Edward V was seized by Richard Duke of Gloucester.

A paddle of some length brought us to the Stoke entrance of the well-known
Blisworth Tunnel, which is a mile and a-half in length, and forms the first
of a series along the route.

Seeing one of the curious little tug-boats about to proceed through the
tunnel, we obtained permission from one of the very grimy crew to place our
canoe aboard, and, this safely accomplished, the tug puffed and snorted up
to the entrance, hitched on to a string of barges, and with a deal of fuss
and smoke entered the tunnel.

The journey through this subterranean passage was a most novel one
to us who had never been through a tunnel of this description before.
The intense darkness, only illuminated by the light from the boiler fire,
was most uncanny, while the wonderful reverberations and echoes occurring
in the tunnel quite startled us until we became used to the situation.
The roof seemed so low that we instinctively stooped our heads to avoid
getting them removed from our shoulders, an action which caused immense
amusement to the skipper, who, in the manner of his kind, accentuated the
eerie feeling of the place by spinning all sorts of creepy yarns about
canal boatmen who had mysteriously gone overboard in the pitch dark,
and never been seen again.

We drew a long breath when we emerged into the welcome blinking daylight
at the other end of the tunnel, and soon after bade good-bye to our whilom
friend the skipper.

I can imagine no place more calculated to quickly shatter the nerves and
break the health of a human being than one of those foul, suffocating
tunnels under the hills.

On this occasion we stopped for the night at Blisworth and put up at a
wayside inn possessing the curious sign of the "Sun, Moon, and Seven Stars"
(the only one in England we were told), where we met with quite a
reception, the news of our approach having gone ahead of us, we afterwards
discovered.

Before proceeding next day, we had to clear the canoe of the dirt and
rubbish collected during the passage of the tunnel.  Upon this day we
passed through six locks in close succession, as well as another tunnel,
and skirted the village of Ansley, once the property of Lady Godiva,
of the uncomfortable ride fame, soon after which we left the waters of
the Grand Junction at Braunston (Warwickshire), and entered upon those
of the Oxford Canal.

A hard day's paddle, of no particular interest, brought us to Willoughby,
where we put up for the night.

We awoke next morning to find the weather damp and misty, so we dispensed,
for the first time, with our morning dip, and lingered somewhat over
breakfast to make up for it.

_A propose_ of eating, I should mention that all along the way we had come
fruit was in abundance, and as for apples--well, we fairly revelled in
them.

To my mind a good English apple, fresh picked from the tree, and with the
dew upon its sun-kissed cheeks, cannot be beaten the whole world over.

During a portion of this day we had to face a strong head-wind, which made
the travelling rather hard, and severely taxed the patience and skill of
the steerer.  Happening to chaff him once or twice when the wind got the
upper hand and nearly slewed the canoe round, he challenged me to try
my hand and do better.  Accepting the challenge, and in the rashness of
youthful confidence, I ventured to wager him that I could take the canoe,
single-handed and empty, up to a certain point and back again, during
which I should, of course, have to turn broadside on to the full force
of the wind.

The outcome of it was that we quickly landed and emptied the canoe of all
impedimenta in case of mishap, and then I started off--not so confidently,
though, I may add--on my uncertain way.

All went well until I attempted to turn, and then the full force of the
wind catching me suddenly, over I went, after a vain attempt to steady the
canoe, souse into the canal.  Coming to the surface, I called out (when I
had emptied my mouth of as much canal-water as I could) to Jacky that I
was all right, and then, amid his uproarious mirth, I struck out for shore,
pushing the canoe in front of me.

A brisk rub down and a change of flannels (we were in a secluded spot,
fortunately) soon mended matters, and by the time Jacky had emptied the
canoe of water and stowed away our belongings, I was ready to start again,
thoroughly cured for the time being of over-confidence in my canoeing
powers.

After a stiff paddle through charming woodland scenery, and passing
_en route_ Bedworth, the most active part of the Warwickshire coal-fields,
we reached Nuneaton, where we went ashore and engaged a room for the night
under the hospitable roof of the White Horse.

A stroll around Nuneaton before bedtime afforded us much delight, as the
old town is full of antiquity, and is also known to fame as the birthplace
of George Eliot.

In the morning we took mine host's little son and daughter with us in
the canoe as far as Atherston, where we sent them safely back by train,
thoroughly delighted with their novel experience, ours being the only craft
of the kind that they had ever seen in those parts.

When we arrived at Caldecote we went ashore to explore the place,
and noticed with much interest a monument erected to the memory of one
George Abbott, who in days gone by defended Caldecote Hall against a
Royalist attack led by Prince Rupert.  So stubborn was the defence that
the defenders melted down the pewter dishes and plate to cast bullets.

We noted with pleasure that the lives of those gallant Roundheads were
spared when the garrison finally had to surrender.

We proceeded on through the Birmingham Canal, passing close by Coventry,
and arrived at Fradley, where we obtained a charming view of Lichfleld
Cathedral in the distance.  We rested for the night at Fradley (our bill
for an excellent supper, bed, and breakfast coming to the modest sum of
3_s_. 6_d_. for the two of us), and early next morning got afloat.

We were now on the North Staffordshire Canal, having covered about 160
miles since the commencement of our journey.

We shortly after began to get in the heart of the Pottery District, and
the scenery for some distance assumed the aspect peculiar to manufacturing
centres.

Past Armitage, Rugeley, Colwich, and several other towns and villages we
paddled, until we reached Little Heyward, where we stopped about midday
for lunch.

Re-starting after a rest, we were overtaken by a monkey-barge, the skipper
of which kindly gave us a tow for some miles, until we arrived, in the
afternoon, at Stone, where we went ashore for tea and a look round the
town.  On several occasions we took advantage of the good-nature of the
bargees and their wives, and obtained a tow behind their barges when we
wanted a rest.  On the whole, we found them a most interesting and sociable
lot of people, and on more than one occasion we were invited on board,
as honoured guests, to partake of tea with the skipper and his family.

Life on board one of these slow-moving canal barges appeared to me to
possess many charms.  The barge people seem to pass a sort of amphibious
existence, belonging neither to the land nor to the water, but having a
human interest in each.  The women and children almost wholly live aboard
their floating homes, often never stepping ashore from one day to the other
and going about their domestic duties, as well as those connected with
their calling, with all the precision and cheerfulness in the world,
as if there were nothing strange or out-of-the-way in their surroundings.

Then the scenery through which they pass.  To anyone who is capable of
appreciating the beauties of Nature in the slightest degree, there must
be something soothing and elevating in constantly being brought face to
face with Nature in all her varying charms.  Now gliding calmly past a
water-side village, with the children running out to give you a greeting;
then through a waving, poppy-starred cornfield, or past low-lying meadows,
with the meditative cattle standing knee-deep in the sweet pasturage, and
anon a bend in the canal carries you past wood-lands where the trees meet
overhead and form a cool canopy through which the rays of the sun can only
penetrate here and there in slanting beams.

When my thoughts wander in this groove, I often marvel at people electing
to live in stuffy, smoky towns, when the charms of the country are at
their bidding.

Proceeding on our journey after tea, we eventually arrived at
Stoke-on-Trent, and went ashore to seek shelter for the night at a
wayside cottage.

We got afloat in the morning after our swim and a hearty breakfast,
and proceeded past the outskirts of the town, which we were not sorry
to leave behind.

It came on to rain soon after we left Stoke-on-Treat; but as we were
well prepared with macintoshes to face the elements, we proceeded
cheerily on our way.

After paddling for about four miles we came to the entrance of another
long tunnel, which we entered, after taking the precaution to provide
ourselves with candles.  We had a nasty experience in navigating through
this tunnel, which I should not much care to encounter again.

After proceeding cautiously for some distance, during which we had to avoid
a ducking, and possibly a swamping, from the numerous "weep-holes" that let
showers of land water descend from the roof, our candle suddenly went out
and left us in total darkness.  To make matters worse, a lot of land-water
was coming through the tunnel, which, together with the backwash of a tug
some little way ahead of us, tried us considerably, and finally wedged our
canoe between the two walls of the tunnel.

We did not relish the situation at all, I can assure you, especially as we
could not take stock of our whereabouts; but after a deal of rocking and
shoving (during which we had a narrow escape from capsizing), we managed
to get the canoe clear of the walls, and worked our way backwards,
hand-over-hand, to the mouth of the tunnel.

After this experience we were strangely unanimous as to the desirability of
going through in some less risky manner (we accused each other of "funking"
afterwards), and accordingly sought the aid of a man, a boy, and a
wheelbarrow, and in this unconventional manner conveyed our goods and
chattels overland to the other end of the tunnel.

In the course of our journey along the canals we passed through a number
of these tunnels, including the one that starts close to Chatterby Station,
and goes under Yield and Golden Hills.  The passage of barges through some
of these tunnels is performed in a very curious manner, as owing to the
roofs being too low to admit of tugs passing through, the heavily laden
canal barges have to be "footed" along by men and boys lying on their
backs and pushing against the roof or walls of the tunnel.

As may be imagined, but slow progress is made in this manner, the passage
of some of the tunnels occupying upwards of an hour.  In some cases,
however, the tunnels are provided with a narrow tow-path running through
them, which, of course, greatly facilitates the passage, as when once
momentum is obtained, a man and a boy can tow a barge through without
much difficulty.

We next reached Harecastle, in Cheshire, where we landed for lunch.
Re-starting, after doing justice to a good feed, we soon encountered a
cluster of thirty-five locks (think of it) all grouped together within a
distance of six miles.  Finding the negotiating of two or three a weariness
of the flesh, we cast around for help, and fortunately came across a
"locked-out" coal-miner, who for two shillings cheerfully trotted on ahead,
and opened each of the remaining locks ready for us by the time we arrived,
thus giving us a welcome rest after a spell of hard work.

After getting through the locks we had a straight-away paddle of some nine
miles, which was a pleasant change after the slow and tedious progress we
had lately been making, and passing by Alleyfield and Sandbach Station,
brought our day's journey to an end at Middlewich, where we are glad
to leave the canoe at the lock-house, and make preparations for passing
the night.

Proceeding next morning, with the sun shining and everything looking fresh
and lovely after the rain of the previous day, we got into the picturesque,
country peculiar to the salt district.

Some distance out of the town we obtained a pleasant tow of a few
miles behind a barge going in our direction, and from an old lady in a
picturesque sun-bonnet; who came out of the cabin to chat with us, we got
the welcome information that we should pass through a wonderful nut-grove
on the banks of the canal, where she prophesied that we should have a real
royal time.  And she was about right!

Such a profusion of filberts I never have seen before.  The trees literally
were interlaced across the canal, and being in a perfectly out-of-the-way
spot, where scarcely anyone but the canal-boat people passed, the branches
were simply weighed down with the toothsome nuts.

We were told by our informant that the filberts were anybody's property; so
when we came to where the trees were heaviest laden we paddled beneath the
bough and soon had picked enough to fill the bows of the canoe.  You may
be sure we never wanted for filberts upon the rest of the day's journey.

I pictured with what delight the average schoolboy would have hailed that
nut-grove, especially as the gathering of the nuts from the bank would have
entailed torn clothes, many tumbles, and unlimited scratches.

After passing through lovely country, we arrived at Preston Brook, where
we joined the Duke of Bridgewater Canal (now the property of the Manchester
Ship Canal Company).

Here we decided to stop for tea, after which we once more proceeded on our
way, and after an uneventful paddle, brought our day's journey to a close
at Grappenhall, where we obtained comfortable quarters for the night at a
cottage on the canal side.

Up at six-thirty next morning, and after cleaning out the canoe and
indulging in our morning swim, sat down to a good breakfast, to which
we did ample justice.

Once more afloat, we made good progress towards Manchester, but after about
an hour's paddle it came on to rain in torrents, and continued so until we
reached Cottonopois, which we fetched at about one o'clock.  I have always
been given to understand that it does little else but rain at Manchester,
and certainly on this occasion the much-maligned city did not belie its
reputation.

However, we did not trouble ourselves much, about the rain, as we had
mackintoshes and sou'-westers on.

Presenting much the appearance of a pair of ancient mariners in our get-up,
we entered Hulme dockyard, safely berthed our canoe there, and prepared to
spend the next two days with friends in the city.

After passing two very pleasant days, during which we saw all that could
be seen during such a brief stay, we said good-bye to our hospitable
Manchester friends and pushed on towards our destination and in due time
reached Booth Town, close to Barton moss, passing _en route_ Old Trafford
Park.  Near by here we arrived at the famous swivel bridge by which the
Bridgewater Canal is carried over the Manchester Ship Canal.

We happened to get to this point just as the bridge was opened to traffic
for the first time, and as we paddled across in state we were hailed and
told that ours was the very first canoe to have the distinction of crossing
the new waterway.

During the rest of the day's paddle we were in the very heart of the
coal-mining district, and our progress caused no little comment and wonder
to the crowds of "locked-out" miners and their families.  So embarrassing
became their attentions at length that we had to abandon our original
intention of landing at Wigan, owing to the numerous crowd awaiting our
approach at that place.

Twice we essayed to get ashore, but finally, not appreciating the
appearance of the motley crowd, we pushed on until we reached Plank Lane,
where, the crowd of idlers being a little less dense, we summoned up pluck
enough to venture ashore.

Even here we found ourselves the centre of attraction to the people;
rough miners crowding around as we lifted our canoe from the water,
to stare in amazement at our appearance, some even going so far in their
admiration of our little craft as to pass their hands along its polished
sides, all the while expressing their opinions in such a broad vernacular
as to be almost unintelligible to our Southern ears.  They thought it was
a joke upon our part when we told them that we had paddled all the way
from London in the canoe.  The way they nudged each other and winked
solemnly was most expressive.

Their attentions at last became so overwhelming that we were compelled
to give the craft into the care of the friendly lock-keeper and beat
a hasty retreat.

Our host at Leigh very kindly afforded us a much-wished-for opportunity of
exploring a coal-mine.  Getting up early in the morning, we proceeded to
the mouth of the pit, entered the cage, and soon were speeding downward at
a most alarming pace, accomplishing the distance of 700 yards in forty-five
seconds.

The sensation accompanying this rapid descent into the bowels of the
earth was far from pleasant, but we quickly recovered when we reached
_terra firma_, and, when we had become accustomed to the intense darkness,
were soon able to follow our guide through the almost deserted workings.

The miners were on strike, and only the engineers and others necessary to
attend to the machinery for keeping the shafts and workings ventilated and
free from water were on duty, so that the desolate stillness of the place
impressed us more profoundly, perhaps, than if we had been surrounded by
busy toilers.

After going all over the mine, each with Davy lamp in hand--during which
we had several times to chase our head-gear, which was blown off by the
strong draught from the ventilating fans--we once more entered the cage
and were quickly whirled upwards to the light of day.

Next day we embarked rather later than was our usual custom, and paddled
on towards Preston, having to traverse a portion of the river Ribble before
we reached this town.  Nothing very interesting or exciting occurred upon
this day, except for a rather narrow shave we had of getting smashed up
by a barge.

It happened that one of us was towing, while the other remained in the
canoe to steer.  Just as we got to a very narrow strip of the canal near
the entrance to a lock, we met some barges coming down in tow of a tug,
and, as luck would have it, our tow-line fouled a tree stump just at the
moment when the tail barge began to swing ominously over towards our bank.

For a moment or two it looked as if the canoe must be crushed like an
egg-shell between the bank and the barge, but fortunately at the critical
moment an extra strong jerk on the tow-line got it clear, and with a run
Jacky whisked the canoe through the narrow streak of open water, and we
were safe.

We stayed with friends at Preston for the next three days, and managed
to put in a highly enjoyable round of sight-seeing, during which we paid
a flying visit to Southport.

Our stay at an end, we embarked once more, taking three of our friends
with us in the canoe as far as Garstang.

Five people (in addition to luggage) in a small craft of this description
was an exceedingly tight pack, and we had to strictly taboo any skylarking,
else we should very quickly have got a ducking.  At Garstang we left our
friends, after a high tea; and after passing several towns and villages,
at eventide reached Lancaster, which we made our headquarters for the
night.

I may mention that we met with great kindness and consideration from the
officials during the whole of our journey along the Lancaster canal, one of
the employees being told off to clear all barges out of our way, and see us
safely, and with the least trouble to ourselves, to its end at Kendal; this
thoughtfulness saving us much delay and inconvenience, and rendering this
portion of our trip one of the most delightful experiences throughout the
whole of our journey.

Getting afloat in good time next morning, we bade farewell to Lancaster,
and pushed on towards Crooklands, passing Nately and Ashton on the way.

For a great portion of this part of our journey the surroundings were truly
beautiful, the trees meeting overheard in many places, and forming a cool
leafy canopy, while the water was so clear that we could distinguish
objects lying upon the bottom quite distinctly, although the water averaged
a depth of seven or eight feet.  Our silent approach allowed us to come
upon shoals of fish, which only darted away when our bows cleared the water
immediately above them, a sight that roused all our angling instincts.

At other spots along the canal the towering hills, with their crests
enshrouded in mist, combined to make up as impressive a picture as can
be conjured up by the imagination.

Wild-flowers, blackberries, and sloes dotted the banks in profusion,
and the occasional starting of a hare or the putting up of a rocketing
pheasant from out of the woods, through which we passed at intervals
conveyed to us a charming impression of Nature in all the glorious
wealth of an early English autumn.

At Hest Bank the canal approached the coast, which we followed for some
distance allowing us to obtain an interesting view of Morecambe Bay.

Arriving at Crooklands about seven in the evening, we left our canoe in
charge there and walked into Milnethorpe, a distance of some three miles,
and sought shelter for the night, with the consciousness that next day
would see us at the end of our canal journey.

Early next morning we are out and about and, breakfast despatched, we get
afloat once more, with the sun shining, the birds singing, and a soft wind
blowing from the south, making the last part of our trip every respect.

We paddled along past the varied scenery on the banks, dotted here and
there with villages and hamlets and occasionally a town.  The last day on
the canal we made a regular picnic of, landing on the grassy banks when we
wanted to rest and eat, and pushing onward again when we were so inclined.

In this manner we progressed past Hincaster, Sedgwick, and Natland,
and at about three o'clock in the afternoon reached Kendal, where the
canal system curiously ends in a sheer wall.  We were now practically of
our destination, and after carefully bumping the nose of the canoe against
the headwall of the canal, we landed at the steps.

Obtaining the assistance of a man with a horse and cart, we conveyed our
craft to Kendal railway station, and after tea took the train (with the
canoe stowed away in the guard's brake) to Windermere station.
Now a difficulty arose as to how to get the canoe safely to
Bowness-on-Windermere, a distance of about a mile and a-half.
We were nearly at our wits' ends for want of a suitable conveyance,
when a kindly disposed 'bus-driver offered to take the canoe inside the
'bus, which offer, needless to say, we literally jumped at; and seated
outside with our craft stowed away inside the vehicle, we proceeded to our
journey's end in this novel fashion, much to the amusement and edification
of the numerous onlookers.

After a short stay by the lakeside, we took our canoe by train back to
London, and so brought to a close one of the most health-giving and
enjoyable holidays it has ever been my lot to spend, and which I shall
always recall with the liveliest feelings of delight.