Flood

Last night I felt Erin Mae was listing more than would indicate a full poo tank, so I checked the mooring lines. Sure enough, the canal level had risen and the lines had tightened, holding down one side of the boat. Slackening them off restored equilibrium, and we had a good night. The purpose of coming up the Stourbridge Canal was to cruise the arm that goes into the town centre – a section we'd omitted three years ago. So we set off, and found ourselves behind a boat belonging to a local college, giving students an experience of something or other.

Like ourselves it turned right at Wordsley Junction, where the Town Arm leaves between the bridge and the first lock of the Stourbridge flight. We followed it slowly down a section that didn't really match Nicholson's description. There was indeed a mooring by the Tudor crystal glass works, but it was decrepit and uncared for, and there was little sign of life in the dilapidated buildings backing onto the canal. Perhaps the fronts are more inviting, but the whole place reminded me of pre-renovation Stoke and did nothing to inspire a visit. So we pushed on to the town centre.

We passed a couple picking up litter as they walked and, near the centre, found a volunteer team out doing some serious clearing.

Once we reached the basin, the reason for their activity became clear. With all the rain, the Stour had burst its banks yesterday, cascading into the canal basin and flooding it to a depth of several feet. Although the water level was now back to normal, its colour was muddy yellow, and it was not a pretty sight. A number of people were in clean-up mode.

Only one boat appeared to have suffered from flooding – it was unfortunate that it was moored on the left at the point where there is triple parking on the right. We were asked to go very carefully past it – they feared that a bit more movement might sink it completely. We did so, and went on down to the winding hole by the building that Nicholson's did get right – the bonded warehouse that is now the headquarters of the Stourbridge Navigation Trust.

On another day we might have explored the canal shop there, but we think they may have been under water last night and there was naturally little sign of them wanting visitors. We felt for them, but there was nothing we ourselves could do, so we winded and retraced our steps to the Staffs and Worcs.

St George and the Dragon

We tied up last night an hour or so out of Stourbridge itself, and thought we might have cruised in this morning. But (a) we slept in – all part of the recovery process, and (b) the weather forecast didn't exactly encourage an unnecessary move. And in addition (and the least of all reasons, of course!) we've got reception in this spot and the England were playing Wales at the Euros. As a result, we've had a quieter day, apart from a bout of baking and a couple of hours of nervous tension until England won the match St George beat the Dragon with a minute to spare.

So, with the rain keeping us in, I thought I'd put up a couple of pictures from yesterday of Hyde lock – the first one as you come up away from Kinver.

It's a picturesque spot, but what makes it rather special are the garden gates to the dockside cottage.

Not a wasted trip

The phone call from Mr Wilson Jnr didn't come last night, so we assumed that was that and we would have to find some other way of repairing or replacing our pram hood cover. When the morning's rain stopped we walked into Kinver village to post our referendum votes, bought a few groceries, and had a slightly early lunch before packing up to make our way back to Great Haywood. We needed to turn Erin Mae, so sauntered down to find the winding hole south of Kinver. It wasn't quite where the guide implied, but was worth the wait. Winding hole with summer house and floral border!

Coming back to Kinver lock, what should we see but NB Matthew Flinders, which occupies a marina berth just three down from Erin Mae's. They must have arrived while we were winding.

We drew attention to ourselves, but nobody appeared, so we pushed on up the lock. Another boat was coming the other way, and my best beloved got chatting the way she does, with the subject turning to boat covers. It transpired that just yesterday they had had a cover mended by Wilson's, and they gave us Keith Wilson's mobile number. We rang him – and he said he'd be with us in 5 minutes!

It seems that Keith himself, having been simply an employee and not a director of the company that defaulted, had been able to set up on his own account. He had absolutely no obligation, of course, to do anything about our cover, but it was something he accepted. He took it away there and then, repaired the section where the fabric had torn and had it back with us after an hour. I think that deserves an honourable mention on this blog – accepting corporate family responsibility when he didn't have to.

So our trip down to Kinver was not wasted, after all. We've started the return journey, but are taking a slight detour to see Stourbridge, since we didn't go up the Stourbridge Town arm when we passed three years ago.

Kinver blues

We'd planned our present trip months ago, with the intention of combining at least a nice run down the Staffs and Worcs with getting Wilsons, the manufacturer of Erin Mae's pram hood cover, to look at the material, which is showing early signs of undue wear. We'd rung them at some point and they'd said to call in as we were passing through Kinver. It was when we got to the Bratch a few days ago that the volunteer lock-keeper told us that Wilsons had gone into administration, a warning repeated by Mike in a comment on this blog a day later. Such an event would obviously render useless the 5-year warranty that they'd given.

Their boat furniture business is a separate company and, ringing them, we got through to Ralph Wilson who said he would come and see if there was anything that could be done. But when he'd seen it he said not. A problem with stitching could perhaps have been managed by the furniture people, but this was basically a fabric failure. As I write, based on something Mr Wilson Snr said, I'm awaiting a possible phone call from Mr Wilson Jnr, whose boat covers company it was that failed. I doubt if there's even a partial solution to our particular issue, but we shall see.

Meanwhile, my bout of something disagreeable is not our only recent experience of coping with ailments while boating. My best beloved has been having some dental issues and a root infection decided to flare up. Being out of shouting distance of your own dentist is discomforting when that sort of thing happens. We looked up Kinver dentists on the internet and, yesterday afternoon, on our walk to the High Street, called in to see what might be done. The result was an 8.30 appointment this morning, a very helpful consultation for just £25 including an X-ray, and an antibiotic prescription to calm things down till we travel back home in a week and a half. Very nice service!

So we're surviving these present troubles – just part of the Erin Mae experience. Rough with the smooth, and all that. If it gets really bad, I can always get the guitar out and seek a bit of 12-bar solace.

Mostly quiet on the Western Front

Finally resuming our journey to Kinver this morning, we found we were virtually the only boat on the move. Just this lone encounter with a quartet of hirers as we neared our destination.

It was also, fortunately, much quieter on my own personal Western Front, even though last night was not entirely tranquil. We decided my body jolly well ought to cope with the rigours of a few hours' boating. The Met Office couldn't seem to make up its mind whether we were going to face fierce, thundery downpours or merely a bit of cloud. Whatever, we weren't going to drown and, anyway, it's my best beloved's birthday! So we had to do something.

This part of the Staffs and Worcs is delightful. We've been on a section where the canal is also the River Stour, so at every lock there is a means of taking the general flow of the water down the necessary drop.

The conduits are mostly round or octagonal, though we found one designed slightly differently.

Along this stretch is Stewponey.

Wikipedia hazards a couple of guesses as to the origin of this name. What seems certain is that it was the name of the ancient inn that was here, passed on to become that of the local area. On and on a bit, and you come to Dunsley Tunnel which, at 25 yards, must be a challenger for the shortest tunnel on the network. Approaching from the northeast it looks like a wide brick bridge.

Halfway through, and then looking back, it's clear how the red sandstone was indeed tunnelled out.

So, in due course, we came to Kinver and tied up on the visitor moorings. A walk up to the Post Office furnished my best beloved with various happy mementos of this momentous day. We have also made certain unexpected discoveries and arrangements, but I think reporting on them can wait until tomorrow.

Sick

Generally I don't do sick. Must be all this clean living. But in the middle of Friday night my stomach began to heave – I  think that's enough detail! By Saturday morning I felt as you do when you've been up half the night, and went back to bed. It rained most of the day so it wasn't as though we were longing to be cruising the final few miles to Kinver. From time to time I would emerge and try to do something, before deciding that I needed to be in bed again. Nothing to eat apart from a poached egg and a small piece of toast in the evening. Most of it stayed down.

I could sense another restless night coming on, so made up the bed in the dinette. At 8 o'clock I felt OK to watch the first part of the England game, but by half-time was so zonked I turned it off and went to bed, and the night was much as anticipated. Today has followed much the same pattern. I can't remember the last time I found Test Match Special too exhausting to listen to! Half an hour, and then I needed to sleep for a while.

All very odd, and I don't know what's causing it. Writing this post is going to need some more horizontal recuperation in a minute. On the bright side, we've been stuck in one place for two days under rather gloomy conditions, which is exactly was was needed to test the new electrical configurations in the wild.

Poppy fields

We wondered at first whatever the helicopter was doing. As it came low overhead it threw up fifty times as much grass cuttings as a CRT strimmer, and blew a fender off Erin Mae's roof. It was as it landed in the field opposite that we realised it was an air ambulance, and that there had been an accident on the road bridge just back from where we had moored at Wightwick. We heard later that, sadly, there had been a fatality.

After that it was a quiet night (apart from watching more referendum debate on Question Time), and this morning we continued on our way to Kinver. As red as the ambulance, though of a slightly different shade, was a field of poppies.

Seeing them through the trees out of the corner of my eye (all attention on my steering, of course) I'd taken them for a long, brightly-coloured industrial building, until my best beloved said "Did you see those poppies?" My incredulity was matched by her desire for a piccy, so I pulled over and walked back to see. She was quite right!

On to the Bratch – this extraordinary feat of water engineering that has three locks very close together, with the pounds between only a few yards long, but leading off to hidden ponds where the water is stored as you move up or down. It's a most attractive and well-kept site, and a favourite place for students of industrial architecture to visit.

It's a bit more complicated to operate than normal, so Philip was on hand to make sure we did nothing disastrous!

He also gave a welcome helping hand with his windlass as we dropped down over 30 feet.

This morning Erin Mae was dry even though it had rained very hard in the night. We travelled in the dry,  but it's hot and muggy and pouring again as I write.