For Sam and Laura, who love the canals
CONTENTS
1 TITLE PAGE
2 DEDICATION
3 FOREWORD BY PRUNELLA SCALES
4 INTRODUCTION
5 PART 1
6 MR & MRS WEST
7 NARROWBOAT NOVICES
8 TOUR DE FARCE
9 THE BIRTH OF GREAT CANAL JOURNEYS
10 PART 2
11 THE KENNET AND AVON
12 THE ROCHDALE
13 THE LLANGOLLEN
14 CANAL DU NIVERNAIS
15 INTERLUDE: ALL IN THE TIMING
16 PART 3
17 FORTH & CLYDE AND UNION PART 1: AULD REEKIE AND THE ART OF FINDING A DRINK
18 FORTH & CLYDE AND UNION PART 2: THE OTHER WOMAN IN MY LIFE
19 THE OXFORD CANAL
20 CANAL DU MIDI
21 THE LONDON RING CANALS
22 INTERLUDE: THE FAMILY BUSINESS
23 PART 4
24 LONDON’S LOST ROUTE TO SEA
25 BIRMINGHAM TO BRAUNSTON
26 SHANNON-ERNE WATERWAY
27 INTERLUDE: FROM THE LOG BOOK
28 PART 5
29 SWEDISH SAGAS
30 STRATFORD-UPON-AVON
31 VENICE
32 JOURNEY’S END
33 COPYRIGHT
BY PRUNELLA SCALES
I THINK THIS BOOK is a bit like one of our canal journeys; meandering along through our lives until it is suddenly carried away by a current, or a weir, or a sandbank.
I am married to a restless spirit. Tim doesn’t like to stay too long in one place. This means that while theatre audiences in the provinces have been able to enjoy his performances in Chekhov, Sheridan, Ibsen, Brecht, Shaw and Arthur Miller, those in London, where it’s supposed to count professionally, haven’t.
Is this important? I don’t know. What matters to me is that I’ve shared his passion for exploring unusual places, meeting new people and doing surprising things; that’s been my life, and I wouldn’t change it.
Most people seem to be able to enjoy a very nice, planned ‘Annual Vacation’. Not us. We’ve just grabbed time when we could, gathering up the kids in their school holidays, and somehow we’ve managed the trade-off between leisure and work. Canal boating, however, initially couldn’t have been further from our thoughts: this book tells how the idea suddenly became an integral part of our lives, and eventually led to the creation of Great Canal Journeys.
When we first started filming the programme, I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to be doing. ‘I’m an actor,’ I told myself. ‘I like playing people who are infinitely more intelligent than me, and say things considerably more interesting. I don’t just want to be me.’
Tim doesn’t seem to mind; he’s done this sort of thing before. And actually, when I got into the rhythm, I really enjoyed it, and the waterways started to work their magic. On a canal, you can relax, enjoy the scenery and the wildlife, think about where exactly you are and let your mind wander back through the past.
I like to be given occasional reminders of my childhood. I was brought up in the country; I remember walking miles in the Lake District to bring down a baby lamb who had been born too far up the fell; I can still smell the paraffin from the oil lamps that we had to fill every night, and trim the wicks. We had lovely dogs. Viewing the pastoral scene from water level, at four miles an hour, gives me the opportunity to piece bits of memory together.
Before writing this foreword, I looked at some film excerpts we have of the canal journeys, and picked out bits that hold a special significance for me, because nowadays I don’t remember things very well. The romance of Venice, the excitement of India, the beauty of the Midi, and all the much-loved domestic waterways: the Llangollen, the Kennet and Avon and of course the Oxford canal, where we first got together more than fifty years ago, when we were going round the country doing different plays.
In this book, Tim talks a little bit about our professional lives, but doesn’t really dwell on it; it’s not really within the scope of the book. I’m afraid that, since the onset of what we like to call ‘my Condition’, we no longer go to the theatre a lot, because I just can’t remember much of it afterwards; so it’s a bit of a waste. The cinema is much the same. Music is rather different; we can go to concerts, and even the opera, and I can come away spellbound, with neither of us needing to talk about what we’ve heard.
Social occasions are more tricky: at a party, someone may be telling me about his mother’s death in a road accident, and I’ll be properly sympathetic and then go away and talk to somebody else. A little while later I’ll be back with the original person, and ask him for news of his mother. Patiently he’ll tell me the story again, and I’ll repeat my sympathy. But if there’s a third time …
I’m afraid this is the reason we don’t get asked out as much as we used to!
How do I feel about being in this situation, people ask? (Or, indeed, are hesitant to ask.) Well, angry, of course. I hate the idea that the world is going on all around me, but that so much of it is closed off. I soon forget my anger, though, as I forget nearly everything else.
I don’t really want to talk about it. Instead, please enjoy this wonderful book, which relives our journeys together – both literal and metaphorical. I did.
WHEN I WAS ABOUT FIFTEEN I went to stay with some friends in Bristol, and we saw in the local paper that a public meeting of the Kennet & Avon Canal Society (not a Trust in those days) was to be held beside a disused lock in the centre of Bath. We didn’t know anything about it, but we had a free afternoon and thought it might be fun, so we went.
There was quite a crowd there, including the Bishop of Bath and Wells and the MP Chuter Ede. There were a number of young men holding placards saying ‘SAVE THE K&A’, and someone told us that this important canal, built by John Rennie and opened in 1810, had been gradually run down over the years until it was useless and derelict; and a lot of people thought it was time to do something about restoring and reopening it.
There