RUMPUS GOES TO NOTTINGHAM - OCTOBER 2001

I set off at about 1130 on a raw, grey day with strong winds and occasional rain. My first surprise came as I was heading down the Soar towards Trent Lock. I spied a steamboat funnel over the bank on the point where the Soar and Trent meet, and shortly afterwards found myself confronted with a flotilla of vintage launches - two steam, the rest petrol and all beautifully quiet and elegant. One or two of the wives looked a bit fed up with the rain and wind but if I hadn't got Rumpus's hatchway to stand inside I might have felt the same.

I pottered down Cranfleet Cut, to share a lock with a converted lifeboat with a solid but distinctly home-made-looking cabin: this meant I could stay on the boat - a good job as Cranfleet's quite a deep lock. With his more powerful engine he left me standing: no matter, this stretch of the Trent is probably the best bit of Rumpus's "home waters" and once we'd got past Barton village, a few hundred yards away on the flood plain, I was boating on waters I’d been on before, but not for about 40 years. I’ll explain.

When I was in the Scouts, I took an unusual route to get my Queen’s Scout badge. The normal route for a land-based Scout was to take the Bushman’s Thong, for which you had to earn a number of proficiency badges related to “normal” Scouting activities: camping, hiking, bushcraft and the like. For Sea Scouts and Air Scouts there were Seaman’s and Airman’s badges for these specialities: all three “arms” also had to earn Public Service badges: First Aid and Messenger are two I can recall. I decided (as I liked boating) to take the Seaman’s Badge, so I spent a week or more in camp on Barton Island with the 1st Notts Sea Scouts. We pulled a whaler down to what is now Beeston Marina every day to get our fresh water, sailed and canoed around the island and on one memorable day I was allowed to fully rig the whaler (jib, mainsail AND mizzen) and took her sailing: tacking up-river was damned hard work - we’d barely paid off on one tack before it was time to go about again! Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of that left as much got swept away in last winter’s floods. However, I was pleased to see that the local Beeston Sea Scouts have a base on the island. The water quality’s changed as well: 40 years ago there was a distinct “Trent Smell” and the water was distinctly warm if you fell in or swam in it: a result of all the power stations upstream discharging their cooling water. In winter, it used to steam..........

All this came back to me as I pottered down river. On the Internet there are initials for two imaginary “Clubs”, the RTBC or NPBC. These stand for Roughty Toughty Boater’s Club and Namby Pamby Boater’s Club - a jocular comparison of those who tough it out when boating and those who must have their creature comforts. I saw a prime example today - RTBC people wear hoods or hats to keep the rain off when they’re steering - NPBC members use golf umbrellas!

I eventually arrived at Beeston Marina, where the cafe and bar were both open. The latter served a passable Sunday lunch for four quid - I got my first sprouts of this winter with my (microwaved) roast beef. I was distinctly low on red diesel, but Beeston Marina’s 38 pence a litre was a bit steep price-wise, so I set off after lunch past the hydro station and into Beeston Cut. Here I got a little cross. I was well into the lock cut when one of Nottingham City Council’s Community boats entered the lock and shut the gate after them. Despite me sounding the horn loud and long (I do, y’know) they proceeded to lock through, leaving me to struggle on my own. My “Thank you for being so kind and courteous and considerate as to wait for me” did get me a grudging apology and at least they shut the gate after me after I’d locked down the foot or so difference in level which is all there is these days between the river and Cut.

The first stretch of this is quite delightful - willows weep over the water and there are a good number of nicely kept houses over the road facing the Cut. After this though, industry (in the shape of Boots) takes over, though I must admit to being very impressed with the landscaping that’s been done to make the canal environment more welcoming and even the wild flowers were doing their bit - a huge embankment with bindweed in full bloom was a spectacular sight. The towpath is also very good. As I made my way into Nottingham I was impressed by the building work that’s going on to create more housing facing onto the canal - there’s a great deal more than there was 10 years ago and some of the early stuff is starting to weather nicely. However, the galvanised industrial-style “ventilators” on one development were going rustier rather faster than the architect perhaps intended. One pleasing survival amidst a residential development is Trevithick’s Graving Dock - a good old-fashioned boatbuilding yard that used to have a connection with the Trent that I’ll mention later.

I went into Castle Marina for fuel. I can see why Canaltime people have a job getting in and out - the marina entrance is really the most awkward one I’ve come across. In the Marina there were two, rarer, breeds of Canaltime craft: one wide-beam houseboat that at least has the good grace to look summat like a boat and four narrow-beam houseboats, designed to be moored stern-on to the bank. These latter have a raised cabin section at the back (to make getting down to the lower level easier, no doubt) and an inspection-launch style front end, with very pointy bow, no foredeck and windows all around.

Finally, Rumpus and I did Castle Lock (where I spent a good few lunch hours helping boats through to the IWA National Rally, more years ago than I care to recall) and hit central Nottingham. The Waterside, Nottingham’s answer to Brindleyplace, was very quiet and the lack of the old railway bridges was also noted, as was the considerable expansion of the Capital One offices which has resulted in a new footbridge and much canalside tidying. The most astonishing sight, though, was where the canal makes a right-angled turn to parallel the road back towards the Trent. This always used to be a dark and `dismal spot, overshadowed by part of the Boots factory and the railway viaduct. Now (apart from the end of the viaduct, now home to a Hooters’ Breastaurant) all has been swept away and a swish new Premier Lodge hotel overlooks the turn. It’s also possible to moor and get to Nottingham’s NHS Direct walk-in if you need treatment for minor ailments and injuries.

The stretch of canal alongside London Road is one that I must have seen many hundreds of times: the bus from town to home ran down the road alongside it. I don’t recall seeing that many boats on it, so it was nice to be doing it myself at long last. The environs of Meadow Lane Lock have also changed: housing has replaced industry and the cluster of boats moored in the river (including, I seem to recall, and ex-RAF rescue launch) have gone. The sign at Meadow Lane Lock which says “Caution - the river is very congested” certainly didn’t apply today: I saw one other boat in motion.

Up the river, passing the University Rowing Clubs’ clubhouses to the left (used to be a good place for music in my youth), through the centre arch of Trent Bridge and past the one mooring pontoon, faint shadow of what was once a bustling waterfront. In the days before cars and days out by car, Nottingham used to come to Trent Bridge for a day out, usually by dark green trolleybus - the routes terminated on the Victoria Embankment, alongside the river. After an ice cream (or two) there were two main possibilities: hire a rowing boat and row (or thrash) around in the reach between Trent Bridge and the Suspension Bridge upstream. Very few people had the skill or energy to go any further........... The other option was to take a pleasure boat, wood with a slipper stern, roof, slatted wooden seats and a hand-wound Klaxon, down-river to Colwick Pleasure Park. In truth, this was only a sandy area with a few roundabouts, tea and candyfloss (and the bottom deck of a Nottingham tram, if you knew where to find it) but at the time it was a great adventure. Trevithick’s built and hired the boats - they had a houseboat-cum-office which came down with the fleet from Lenton in the spring and came back in winter, so maintenance could be done at the yard. Flood levels are carved into the stone wall by Trent Bridge - it’s pleasing to see that the “NOVEMBER 2000" mark is considerably lower than many of the earlier ones.