Day 121 - and the sad tale of Matilda.


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September 13th 2013
Published: September 13th 2013
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Day 121 - on the home stretch.


Ooops.Ooops.Ooops.

Canal work boats tend to push engineless barges in front of them, rather than towing them. We assume that if the barges are as laden as this one then it would pull the stern down too far in the water. Anyway, this barge was so badly loaded it was almost capsizing and to cap it all it was very firmly aground - couldn't resist capturing the humiliation!
7 locks, 462 in total.







The crane flies of yesterday afternoon became a veritable plague during the evening – in our hair, hiding behind the curtains and then zapping us; they had to go and, by fair means and foul, they did (apart from the one I could hear in the bedroom for most of the night!)







We had a mere 15 minute wait to go down the Watford Flight and staircase and this was long enough to wait in such close proximity to the M1. We went down 65 feet in the 7 locks and then motored past the back of the Watford Gap Services. I should have liked to have walked through the lorry park and into the services as, after all, there can't be many of these places accessible by foot but it was not to be – there was no suitable mooring in the area and also it was raining by then. We motored to Norton Junction, executed a faultless turn despite meeting an oncoming boat with little warning and then moored a few yards along the Grand Union as it headed back to Braunston. We have a lovely open outlook which is also presumably appreciated by the other 10 boats who've joined us as the rain became more prolonged this afternoon. It is lovely to have moved away from the M1, A5 and the railway which have been an unwanted presence for many days now.







Matilda and the Buckby Cans. Water cans were used by boaters to collect fresh drinking water. The highly-decorated, pale blue and cream Buckby Cans were first painted about 1900 by Matilda, the niece of the then landlord of the New Inn. The story tells of Matilda being virtually a prisoner of her uncle, forced to paint these water cans and allowed almost no contact with customers – and no contact with the man with whom she'd fallen in love. In despair she took her own life; her ghost is said to sit at Table 11.

We lunched here and sat at Table 13 - no untoward sightings.

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