Folk in Skipton

Monday night in Skipton is Folk Club night at the Narrowboat. Every time we've visited a folk club or session on our travels it seems we've found a different combination of instruments.

It's years since I've seen a folk harpist – I think the last time was at a Kathryn Tickell concert in Penzance in the 90s. Last night was a singers' night, and there was a good mix of performances. It was thoroughly enjoyable, as such evenings usually are. I did one or two songs with my guitar, and our friend Margaret from Edinburgh was prevailed upon to do a poem in dialect, with lots of expressive action.

There was also a group of holiday makers from Scotland who helped the whole evening to go with a fizz and were very appreciative of it all.

Next morning we set out a little later than we should, and it was Margaret's first time at a tiller of any sort. Considering how windy it was, she quickly convinced us she was a natural.

We had several swing bridges to negotiate, and at one of them we found ourselves in the company of a day boat of holidaymakers who, extraordinarily, recognised Margaret and called across. Turned out they'd worked together on young people's camps in Scotland. So we dropped her off with them for a while between two bridges so they could catch up.

And then we caught up with a wide-beam full of the Scottish contingent who'd been in the folk club the previous evening.

We were coming to the first lock that both they and another wide beam of hirers had ever encountered, so we went up first, and my best beloved was glad to show them the ropes.

She must have done a pretty good job since they all turned up in Gargrave later, safe and sound.

I'd like to edit the local adage and say there's nowt so wonderful as folk.

Neighbours

This afternoon it was off down to the station to meet the 1408 from Leeds.

Our friend Margaret from Edinburgh was coming for a few days. We'd all known each other as members of the same church and youth group – won't say how many decades ago. See how we've changed!

And see what she brought us to remind us of Scotland!

This morning Alan and Noreen came and moored up behind us, just as we were in the process of moving to a slightly straighter stretch of towpath. So when the three of us went for a walk and found him polishing his boat we stopped for a natter.

Now Alan has a Christian fish on the front of the boat, so I naturally asked him about his choice of name! It transpires it's Lancashire for an adorable child, or something similar. Intriguingly, Aussies tend to know the word and regard it as one of their own. It's amazing what comes out of Lancashire.

Strolling on we had a look round the interior of Holy Trinity church, and I found this plaque on the wall.

It reads: Alfred Hartley, who died 19th May 1922, aged 73 years, who was Head Master of the National School, and Superintendent of the Parish Church Sunday School in Skipton, and whose influence for good for over fifty years will ever be remembered by many of his old Scholars and friends.  “They that be teachers shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever” Dan XII. 3

I thought this was a remarkable testament to the life and work of someone who must have been a remarkable man, and I was glad to have seen it. Someone's been polishing this plate for nigh on 100 years.

Finally we strolled up the path alongside the Springs Branch of the canal, which comes out on a road from which you get this less-seen view of the castle.

I've no doubt that pictures of the better known bits are going to feature significantly on this blog when the children are here from Norway – three weeks today! But meanwhile, we've a cruise with a good friend to enjoy.

Sound

Erin Mae's cruiser stern is a delight, if you like that sort of thing. It enables not only my best beloved and myself to share each other's company as we travel, but also those who come to visit or stay for a while. The problem, of course, is that right underneath you is the engine. You're shielded from the noise by the Buffalo Board deck, but that's not basically designed as sound insulation, and conversation has to be conducted at higher volume than usual.

We've been thinking about putting in something more effective since we met the T W Marine guys at a festival a couple of years ago, but it was seeing some insulation panels in Midland Chandlers at the start of this cruise that got me thinking again. Eventually I decided the panels from T W were going to be considerably better quality and worth the bit extra. They were also very helpful on the phone as we discussed which type to select and how to attach them. So we got a box delivered to the Bridgewater Motor Boat Club at Runcorn, and picked it up on our way north. Today was the day to conquer my unreasonable nervousness and do some fitting.

I was glad to find that the cruiser stern in question is actually quite a suitable spot for doing the work. We're moored up in Skipton and I didn't feel I should take over the pavement. Anyway, it's been spitting rain from time to time. Measuring up and cutting the panels was easier than I'd expected. In the end I use a serrated kitchen knife which did the job a treat.

I'd been worrying about adhesive, but T W advised me not to glue – the panels themselves are capable of lasting a lot longer than the boards they're attached to. They said to use self-tapping screws with broad washers, and that worked well. As I write I'm half-way through the job, with the centre panel and one of the side panels done. I feel I've earned the cuppa I'm enjoying before I finish it.

One of the things about this particular job is that very few people will get to see the finished result, or be able to note that the line I cut wasn't quite as it should have been. This is completely opposite to the efforts of the bell-ringers who are currently going strong in Holy Trinity Church. I'm not sure if they're practising or inviting everyone to worship, but any and every deviation from the prescribed peel is announced at high volume to the whole community. You have to be brave to be a campanologist. The sound doesn't appeal to everyone but, for all the mistakes, I'm enjoying it.

Meanwhile, sounds from under the deck will hopefully be significantly reduced as we go cruising this week with our friend Margaret from Edinburgh.

Flag

The time finally came to make my contribution to the pension funds of those nice people at Pennine Cruisers.

Alternator repair, 500 hour engine service, pump out, fill the diesel tank – came to a tidy penny. Made what I gave them two days ago for the new tiller pin pale into insignificance. Ah well, they let me fill the water tank for free.

And the time also came to move away from the rather nice mooring opposite them. We're here in Skipton for the weekend, but I couldn't justify spending any more time on those particular rings. Must show willing. So we moved around the corner to where, happily, a space had opened up this morning on, unhappily, a bendy bit of pavement / towpath. The spacing of the rings is OK, but I would like to lock Erin Mae into position with a spring line to prevent too much movement when other boats go by. The curve is too great, and the rings too awkwardly placed, to get a proper one set, but I've done a fudge which will have to do.

Just in front is a wide beam sporting a Norwegian flag.

We didn't really imagine they'd sailed across the North Sea to Yorkshire like their Viking forbears, and anything less like a longship is hard to imagine. Anyway, when they emerged from inside we went over for a chat – having our own Norwegian family has to count for something. They were thoroughly enjoying their holiday, the second they'd had in this fashion.

Like yesterday, I also found that polishing the boat is guaranteed to stimulate conversation with all sorts of people. At least a dozen stopped to comment, and only about half to suggest that they had a similar job waiting at home if I cared to stop by. Among them were a recently retired couple from Western Australia, over here for 6 months and cruising in their own narrowboat. They have a grandchild in Budapest – and that makes managing our Oslo family seem very straightforward by comparison.

I wonder if we should get our own Norwegian flag when they come over in, goodness me, three weeks time.

Alternates and rectifications

Skipton has some delightful parts, and some very ordinary bits. We walked through some of the ordinary bits this morning to take bedding and towels, and everything else that needed a wash, to the launderette. Just opposite was an unexpectedly delightful spot – Phillipes Bakery.

They did some extremely yummie cakes to go with the coffee we'd taken with us, and we adjourned to a nearby churchyard to consume them while the wash was washing.

We've got used to sitting around in Skipton, waiting for the next episode of the alternator saga to unfold, and when we returned from the launderette, it had done so. Ian had come over and re-installed the now functioning item. He says they'd replaced a rectifier and the regulator – which means quite a lot of it. I'm actually pleased they found and rectified a fault – it's worrying to have intermittent things happening that no one quite understands. The final (I hope) episode of the saga will happen tomorrow when I discover how much the bill will be. Ouch!

What's in a name?

On another grand day at Skipton basin…

Ian came across from Pennine Cruisers to have a further look at the alternator.

For various reasons that I won't elaborate here, I'm predisposed to get on with people called Ian, even when it's not spelled Iain. Last night he had talked about his experience of Isuzu engine alternator lights – they apparently can misbehave even when there's nothing wrong with the alternator. But today's testing indicated that there was indeed something amiss, so he removed it to be assessed by a local auto-electrical engineer.

We therefore had a further day to spend on the 24 hour mooring, for which I shall have to do penance of some sort. So after lunch I decided it was time to clean the seagull's offerings from Erin Mae's paintwork. Having done so, I seized the opportunity afforded by cleaning hormones running strong to polish one side of the boat.

Lots of people were out strolling, and a chat rests the polishing arm for a few minutes. I spoke with the couple from Essex who like Yorkshire but feel Yorkshire doesn't like them. When we got onto cultural sensitivities they pronounced Yorkshire folk as being very opinionated and decided it was time to go. Next it was the couple from Penicuik, who were most surprised at finding themselves talking to someone who knew where it was. They were good fun, and we nattered about painting and their caravanning and Bolton Abbey and the New Forest and the Edinburgh Festival.

Then it was northerners Margaret and Cliff. Margaret commented on the amount of elbow grease being applied, I asked if she wanted a go, and then she confessed to having photographed Erin Mae's name earlier. Turns out she has two grandchildren in Bournemouth, one called Erin, and the other with Mae as her second name. So she wanted to send them the picture.

Well, all this chatting made the time fly faster than usual, even though the job must have taken longer than usual. Nice to meet you, folks.

Another grand day indeed.

Grand

It's become very clear that we've moved across the county boundary into Yorkshire. I'm not even sure there is a word in Lancashire dialect(s) meaning "A fine, sunny day with no prospect of rain". But from first thing this morning, people have been including in their greeting some mention of how "grand" it is today.

It started as we were setting out from our very nice overnight in Gargrave, and has continued all day. Certainly the sun made a wonderful difference to our journey down the remaining three locks…

and through a number of swing bridges.

Some of those were quite hard. This last one had electronics to operate traffic lights and close a barrier, but the bridge itself still had to be opened manually, and was a bit tricky.

So we came to Skipton, and tied up on the visitor moorings opposite Pennine Cruisers, who are going to do something about our faulty alternator.

And in their chandlery I found something to take away my shame.

Here it is…

Isn't it grand!