Christine became a fan of Strongbow Hard Cider during one of our prior travels to the UK. This post is not about that beverage.

In case you missed my last post, we awoke at 2 a.m. this morning to the raucous laughter of some young drunks. They pounded against our hull with their fists and thus called the four of us from sound sleep. I peered out the window to discover that they had untied us from our moorings and set us adrift. We restored order soon enough, but the adrenaline charge assured that there was to be no more sound sleep at that docking.

We slept-in this morning to stave off sleep deprivation. By the time we had dressed and taken a bite of breakfast the predicted storm “Hannah” was hard upon us. Concern even motivated our Welsh friends, Huw and Nina Thomas, to give us a ring. The rain sodden zephyr had crossed their location to the south and was of sufficient intensity to even threaten long established trees. The weather reports were properly pessimistic as I watched the barometer dip into some serious storm territory. Nevertheless, we proceeded down the canal with intentions of a 4 hour cruise to the Anderton Lift, one of the “Seven Wonders of the British Canals”. There will be more on that destination when we make it… a hint that we did not make it today.

We pressed on against the force of the storm for over two hours. Driving rain and brutal headwinds slowed our progress to the point that full throttle threatened to become insufficient in some stretches. On a “normal day” we should have seen dozens of fellow narrowboaters plying the waters. We saw only one while underway. Prudence dictated that I find a secure mooring, and when good fortune presented an opportunity I seized upon it.

We are tied to concrete embedded mooring rings in an isolated picnic grove that is only accessible by boat. There should be no miscreants tonight unless they drop in by parachute. The weather should clear by morning as this “StrongBlow” plows through. In the meantime we are four souls stuck by circumstances in a submarine-like interior space that is barely 6 feet wide and 50 feet long. We half expect a cigarette smoking Rod Serling, wearing a pencil-thin tie, to suddenly appear on shore speaking to an invisible audience… “Given for your consideration, 4 friends set out for a pleasant narrowboat holiday only to find that their destination has become… The Twilight Zone.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. This evening, in spite of the cramped quarters, Christine and Tom prepared a marvelous onboard dinner for the four of us. Nanci and I handled the KP (clean-up) duties afterward. The sharing that we celebrated became the highpoint of the day… thus we have now found ourselves in The “Highlight Zone”!

My self declared “Intermission” has apparently ended before it began. As I said in the last post, topics seem to fall from the sky. Yesterday afternoon and night stand as proof. Read on…

We returned to The Boar’s Head Inn, which had been our billet for our first two nights in England. There we met Tom and Nanci who had arrived minutes before by train and taxi from Birmingham. Liz, the proprietor of the establishment, stood duty behind the bar and served our first round of pints with the warmest of smiles. I gave passing notice without much thought that the pub seemed very busy for 5 p.m., and that the patrons were all well dressed by usual pub standards. My attention became seriously sharpened when one of the nattily attired customers approached our table and made reference to our own appearance. He accusingly declaring that we must be narrowboaters. I was somewhat relieved that he was smiling, but became alarmed as he continued. “You look like Canadians arrived from Birmingham… and you (me) must be Peter who came in from Manchester and plans next week to travel to Chester with your lot!” The four of us were dumbstruck, it was as if the air had suddenly left the room. We each silently struggled to fathom the depth of the man’s clairvoyance. He then laughed at our drop-jaw shock and revealed the nature of his insights. It was Andy, owner of AK Private Hire. Back in the States I had arranged with Andy via email for one of his vans to transport us from Manchester Airport to Middlewich, and earlier in the day I had confirmed arrangements with him for transport of the four of us and our luggage to Chester next week. Andy made great use of his “inside knowledge” at our expense. With relief the four of us now joined his laughter and he joined us, pint in hand. Andy was at the pub to attend the wake of a friend which was being conducted in the next room. Thus was explained the assembly of well dressed people.

Tom, Nanci, Liz, and Andy (and perhaps the recently dearly departed) stand at one end of the human spectrum, which for the purpose of this post I will deem the “Saints of the day”. They did not stand alone.

During the 90 minutes preceding Tom and Nanci’s arrival I sought to visit the nearby St. Michael & All Angels Church of Middlewich. The ancient church and grounds had drawn me when we first arrived two weeks ago, but I was denied a visit as all the doors were locked.

Today Christine remained at Salten-Fjord reading, so this was a solo venture on my part. I was once again thwarted by locked doors so I was left to walk the grounds and examine the hundreds of tombstones that had been laid in the horizontal creating a walkway and patio area. I was later to learn that they were once conventionally arrayed in the vertical but years ago the church green space had been seriously reduced by the incursion of two intersecting highways.

I was approached by a gentleman who asked of my interest in the church. Upon my reply he then asked if I wished to see the interior… he was Mike Reed, a member of the parish governing body, and he had the keys! Mike ushered me in, turned on the lights, and most kindly gave me a brief tour that included instructions for accessing the church website.

One of their very tech-savvy parishioners had assembled a remarkable virtual tour of the interior highlights that includes a “Heritage Trail” and separate 360 degree viewing feature. Here are links that will give you access to the history of the church, the interior “Heritage Trail”, and the 360 degree viewing image:

Church History (“Click” Past, Present, Future, down the page) http://www.middlewichparishchurch.org.uk/mhome.html

Heritage Trail http://heritage.middlewichparishchurch.org.uk

360 Degee Tour https://my.matterport.com/models/XFBCnSc8tQc?section=media&mediasection=showcase

I have included some images to entice your visit to the above websites, but I will defer to those sites to provide you with details and insights. I offer my gratitude to Mike, another “Saint” of the day, for his generous grant of time and knowledge that made this sharing possible.

Now for the “Sinners” of the day: At 2 a.m. this morning we were awoke from our slumbers aboard Salten-Fjord by rowdy voices. Soon, there was the sound of pounding fists agains the steel hull of the vessel with accompanying laughter. I peered outside and saw that the canal towpath was moving… we were adrift!!

The four of us clambered from our beds and assembled on deck to find that a group of drunken rowdies had untied our moorings and those of the vessel berthed astern of us. I engaged the engine, and navigated back to the canal-side where Tom held us in place against the current while Christine and I searched for our mooring lines. In short order we secured our vessel and the neighboring narrowboat. A call was made to the police and to the nearby Andersen Boats yard to give warning of the mischief afoot. Nanci made coffee and tea (decaf, of course) and after some deep breathing we all returned to bed.

The world is populated by both sinners and saints. This was a rare day that brought me into close contact with the extremes of that spectrum. I prefer hanging out with the Saints.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. During his impromptu tour of St. Michael’s Mike explained that the church was undergoing a much needed restoration. Over £300,000.00 has already been spend on just one portion of the roof. There is need for another £1,000,000.00 to continue the work. If there are any who wish to lend a hand by way of a contribution, please do!!

We are back in our vessel’s home port of Middlewich, Cheshire. Our Canadian friends Tom Shillington and his wife Nanci Burns arrive to join us this afternoon. They are fresh from their own travel experiences in England and Wales. We look forward to spending our final canal week with them followed by 3 nights together in the medieval town of Chester. Awaiting their arrival offers us a pleasant day of rest.

Every day I wonder if there will be something worthy of a post. Topics do just seem to fall from the sky, waiting for me to pick them up and give them a little polish. I am fortunate that Christine has come to understand and appreciate my desire to share our experiences and my thoughts. Most of my writing occurs after she has gone to bed, or before she has arisen. I get by with less sleep than most folks, but there comes a moment now and then that I feel I should give it a rest.

I launched this website about 14 months ago. I rarely post from home, reserving most of my activity for times that we are on the road. My “Thoughts” have welcomed over 28,000 views to date. Nothing special by internet standards, but far exceeding any expectation I may have held.

I derive deep satisfaction knowing that there are many of you who follow us every day. I am especially pleased to know that some of you take the time to share these “adventures” with children as if they are a continuing story. I hope that at least one child’s imagination may be inspired to someday pursue his/her own quests. May that child begin looking into the future by asking “how do I make it happen”, rather than passively wondering “will it ever happen for me”.

For now, it’s Intermission Time.

Peace Everyone. Pete

Solitary pilots plying the canals of England are a rarity. The locks and drawbridges typically command the attention and efforts of at least two who are able bodied. We have observed that cruising couples seem to fall into a routine of cooperation, one manning the narrowboat and the other the onshore equipment. They are not gender specific roles. The mold set very early for us. Christine deferred the vessel to my skills even though the physical requirements of the lock gates and paddle gears are not insignificant. Her emotional comfort superseded her physical comfort.

In matters of seamanship it is customary for one person to be designated the skipper. This is not just mindless autocracy, but rather is a matter of safety that can even be lifesaving in an emergency. Committees may be well suited for contemplative decisions, but urgency requires immediacy. For on-shore relationships to survive off-shore protocols there must be respect and cooperation that flows in both directions. I can not imagine a dysfunctional partnership surviving long aboard any vessel.

The most successful relationships are not driven by gender stereotyping but rather by frank acknowledgment of the strengths that each partner brings to the union. If the husband has the patience and energy to manage home and children while the wife has the marketable skills to better command financial security, then logic should determine their roles. The partners and the children are the beneficiaries. Sadly, that runs contrary to long established social norms.

27 years ago Christine approached me with the idea of starting her own business. It required a significant financial investment, she would be giving up her regular paycheck, and we had 3 children ages 10 through 13 at home. She asked for my trust and confidence in her ability. She received both along with a good measure of encouragement and support. There were challenges through the years, but her’s was the hand on that tiller. Success followed her as it often does with capable and resilient people. Perhaps my most valuable contributions were not getting in her way and suppressing any tendency that I might have had toward being misdirected by ego. We, our children, and our grandchildren became the beneficiaries of those choices that we made.

Undertaking a “Canal Boat Holiday” has presented me with a metaphor for marriage. Canal boating is not for every couple, and neither is marriage. Ironically, I doubt that many people undertake the purchase or charter of a narrowboat without first critically examining their suitability for the venture. I have learned over my decades as a lawyer and mediator that folks often leap into marriage without giving the consequences a second thought. If canal boating doesn’t work out all one needs to do is exit the vessel. It is not so simple with a marriage.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. This bit of irreverent wisdom came to me recently from a friend: A man takes a wife believing she will never change, which she does. A woman takes a husband In the belief that he will change, but of course he doesn’t.

We arrived in Nantwich today on the Shropshire Union Canal. The plan is to remain in this port until Thursday, and then return to Middlewich Friday where we will be joined by our Canadian friends, Tom and Nanci. The weather is predicted to take an unfortunate turn for the week that they will spend with us, colder temps and rain. It is what it is. A bad day on the canal is still glorious.

The “wich” in Nantwich and Middlewich harken from the time of the Roman occupation and signifies a place of salt production. Salt had been produced here over the millennia not only as a condiment, but for the tanning of leather, as a food preservative, and for the production of world renowned Cheshire cheeses. At one time there were over 400 salt houses (16th Century), the last one closing in the mid-1800’s.

Nantwich is a larger community with a population of over 17,000. It is believed to have once been the location of a sacred pre-Roman forest grove worshiped by the Celts. It was listed as an urban area in the Domesday Book at the time of the Norman Conquest (AD 1066), though the Normans burned and sacked the town leaving only one building standing.

Disaster again visited Nantwich’s resurrected community in 1583. A massive conflagration again leveled the town, sparing only a few buildings. Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) personally contributed to the restoration of the community. From the ashes of that disaster arose a beautiful market center that, second only to Chester, boasts the highest concentrations of historically listed buildings in England. The town center is littered with buildings dating to the late 1500’s.

As we wandered the serpentine streets we beheld a beautiful church and green space. The green displayed a stone announcing that it was a sacred burial ground that had been “closed to new burials” for the last 200 years. Anglican St. Mary’s Church is the oldest listed building in Nantwich, and is stunning!

Construction began in 1286, was suspended from 1349 to 1369 by the Black Death, and then completed in 1390. The church twice served as a prison, once in 1644 following the Battle of Nantwich and again in 1648 during the 1st Jacobite uprising.

The church features scores of remarkable gargoyles, and a beautiful red sandstone exterior.

The interior is breathtaking, with colorful stained glass windows, and a choir comprised of 20 “misericords” which are 600 year old intricately carved wood choirstalls.

The St. Nicholas’ side-chapel features funerary effigies of a church founder, Sir David Cradock (d. 1390), and Sir Thomas Smith and his wife Dame Anne (dedicated 1614).

Another intriguing feature are the score of hand needlepoint kneeling cushions, they are in daily use and courtesy of the local guild.

This is a fitting place for a linger day on the canal. We look forward to visiting the many shops, taking a coffee and later a pint, and perhaps returning to the church for moment of contemplation and gratitude.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Lest I have given conflicted messages regarding the current state of my spirituality, I offer the following: I believe in the philosophy and teachings of Jesus Christ, but not to the exclusion or rejection of all other faith traditions. I have long had difficulty with the “rules of religion”, but at two important times in my life I encountered priests who admonished me not to concern myself with the rules, but to listen to my conscience. The first of those meetings occurred when I was 20, the second when I was 60. Each priest was German and each “meeting” occurred in Europe during a rare visit by me to a Confessional. Each priest asked if I considered myself a “good person”, and then expressed confirmation that they believed that I was. As an act of penance, the second priest commissioned me to always listen to my conscious and be so guided the remainder of my life.

My difficulties with the state of many religions today are manifold: Many (not all) create god in man’s image and likeness. Many (not all) mispronounce “dogma” as “faith”. Many (not all) mispronounce “exclusion” as “inclusion”. And many (not all) adherents profess to follow the teachings of Christ but never stop to ask, “What would he have done”…

Again, Peace Everyone. Pete