Steve Haywood - Narrowboat Nomads: Living the Dream on the English Waterways

NARROWBOAT NOMADS

Copyright Steve Haywood, 2015

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To Moira, who went through hell for this one

PROLOGUE
Begin with the Dream

S o there we were on Pangbourne Meadows on the River Thames on one of the hottest days of the year. I was splayed on the grass in the sunshine, messing about trying to repair something or other off the boat except that it was too hot to concentrate and Id found myself dozing through the afternoon, disturbing my half-dreams only for long enough to get another beer from the fridge or to shift position to avoid the sun. I really should have put on suncream but I couldnt be bothered. It was that sort of day, the sort of day when you cant be fussed with anything.

Em, of course, had put on suncream but then Em is much more sensible about this sort of thing. She was sitting motionless in a wicker chair on the front deck in her sunglasses, sheltered from the sun by a rainbow-coloured umbrella carefully positioned on the roof to provide maximum shade. She was reading some novel, probably, knowing her, by some in vogue feminista or other controversialist. The cat, Kit, was stretched out languorously on her lap and she was mindlessly toying with it, tickling it around its neck.

Meanwhile the river lapped against the bank, rocking the boat so gently that it barely pulled against its mooring lines. The current was slow and sluggish; there was hardly any flow on it at all.

Looking back on that time at Pangbourne it was, I suppose, the apotheosis of an ideal. It was the culmination of our long-planned project to leave home and live on a boat. And I guessed from the way they looked at us that many of the people who passed us on the towpath that day, walking their dogs or taking a stroll, might have seen us as a model for their own lives. We were, after all, the embodiment of a commonplace aspiration: we had escaped the rat race; we were living on the water. One or two of those surveying our brightly coloured boat Justice, its brasses glinting in the sunshine, might have been curious enough to want to know how wed managed it and how this unremarkable couple had succeeded in pulling off the trick. Why were we the ones sunning themselves here, at this place, at this moment, during this long, blistering summer? Why was it us on the boat and not them? Why were they bystanders to this tranquil scene and not the central characters?

One couple let their curiosity get the better of them and struck up a conversation. This happens frequently all over the place. We used to do it ourselves decades ago when we were beginning to get interested in the waterways; wed done it more recently too, just a couple of years before, in fact, when wed been cruising on the River Stort in Hertfordshire and had come across a couple on their boat on a day as lovely as this and in a mooring equally idyllic. That brief, chance meeting had revived plans wed been nurturing for nearly 40 years to live on our boat. It had been the reminder that we werent getting any younger, and that dreams are OK in their own way, but that theyll never be more than dreams until you act on them.

Beautiful day, the woman said. Lovely boat, the man added, addressing himself to me. You live on her, do you?

Now, when we werent living on the boat full time, this used to be a difficult one to answer because, strictly speaking, anyone who spends time afloat, even on holiday, is living on a boat. You sleep on it, you eat on it, you wash on it the fact is that over just a few days you can do everything which comprises life, from the mundane to the magical. But thats not living on a boat, is it? And people asking you the question know that. Theyre looking for something more from you, some measure of the commitment youve made to your lifestyle. They may not realise what theyre doing, but the question theyre asking is almost an abstract one in this context.

I used to blur the issue to conceal the truth. Id explain that Em and I had owned various boats for decades, that we spent long periods on them, sometimes whole summers not to mention large parts of the autumn and winter too. But that wasnt the whole story and I knew it. Eventually I always felt constrained to add that, well, yes, we did have a house, in London as it happens. And finally I always had to admit that, well, no, we werent actually living on the boat, not properly living on it because we could always go back to the house. Which meant, of course, that we hadnt completely committed to the waterways, that we always had a bolthole on the land, somewhere we could retreat to if the going got too tough.

Now, though, things were different, very different indeed.

Living on the boat? Yes, there was no doubt about it now; we were definitely living on the boat. Em had retired and wed rented out the house. If the boat sunk wed have nowhere to go. Wed be homeless and have to throw ourselves on friends and family and Premier Inn Ltd. OK, we might not lose all our worldly goods. But wed lose a lot of them. Enough of them to hurt. Our toothbrushes and clean underwear for starters. Not to mention our bed, the only one we owned now after Em in a fit of generosity had given all the ones from the house to charity. And wed lose tonights dinner, dont forget that either thered be no salvaging that from the murky depths of the Thames. No, there was no need to shilly-shally this time, no need to vacillate or misrepresent the situation. We lived on the boat. Full stop.

I said as much to the couple.

They looked at me with eyes as wide as a cows. It wasnt the first time this had happened. In fact cow-eyes were very much the order of the day whenever I told people, strangers or friends, what wed done. It could have been a form of pity for the stupid people (i.e. us) whod given up everything to embark upon this mad gypsy existence; though I like to think it was respect and admiration for the fact that wed managed to get out of the rut and make a break for freedom.

Leaving your house must have been a hard thing to do, one of the pair said. Very hard indeed, said the other.

I threw up my hands in derision. A hard thing to do? Pish! It was true, I didnt mind confessing, that thered been one or two minor problems associated with our move to the water. One or two glitches, and snags along the way. But I didnt overplay it. It was no big deal. I didnt want to make too much of it let alone to these new friends Id just made, and in whose respect I liked to think I was still basking.