Two Weeks on the English Canals--day 12

Day 12
Wednesday
July 31, 2002

7:30 AM.   I sat up in bed and looked out our cabin window. Huge raindrops pushed out concentric rings as the rain increasingly splashed into the Stratford-on-Avon canal. Eight o'clock saw us underway. The rain increased and water dripped off my nose, which was insufficiently protected by the cheap throwaway ponchos-in-a-baggy that Sara had bought in London for just such a day as this. I was on the bow of the 70 ft vessel, trying to make myself useful as a forward lookout. Tom was at the tiller. Oh, well, at least there were no locks scheduled for today's run. Wrestling sluice gates in the English rain might be less than great fun. Just as the downpour was at its heaviest, I heard Tom's strong musical voice coming from the stern:

Here's another middle-watch, another hair upon m' chest,
There's just an hour or two 'til I can go and get some rest,
Morning, Dogs* or Afternoon, the Forenoon or the First,
None of 'em comes easy but the Middle is the worst.

Keep your engine going round, your diesel going up and down,
Keep the old ship going homeward-bound.

How did I get into this when I was just a boy?
M' Mother wouldn't let me go, I was her pride and joy,
When she tried to stop me I just ran away to sea,
But Mothers always know best, now that's very plain to me.

     Tom's song turned that soggy day into an experience of humor and fun. I was soaked, but during that minute of music, the still-pouring rain ceased its role as unwelcome guest and came to belong to the moment, making everything around feel right and natural.
     We had been underway a bit more than 2 hours when we entered Brandwood Tunnel, effectively an umbrella 352 yards long. I sang Shallow Brown--again. It seemed the only song I could remember when we went through tunnels. During the weeks that followed the trip, I was to watch a lot of video tape while editing the video tape and researching this journal. I would become very weary of hearing my slightly flat whiskey bass render that same song ad nauseum. Eventually, I had the good sense to shut up. After a few seconds, the sound of Tom's strong tenor came to my ears, echoing off the sides of the tunnel. I do not know what song he was singing. As we left the tunnel, another voice joined his, probably Mac's, harmonizing two notes above.
     A few minutes after emerging from the tunnel we went through King's Norton Stop Lock. This interesting structure consists of two Guillotine (dropdown) gates.   During the early history of the canal system, these gates could be lowered to jealously guard a canal's supply of water from a competing nearby canal.   Nowadays, needed water is a bit easier to pump around and most of the canals are under government management, so the gates are permanently open.
     Almost immediately after going through the stop lock, we left the Stratford-on-Avon Canal behind and joined the Worcester & Birmingham Canal. (does anybody know why the town is Stratford-upon-Avon and the canal is Stratford-on-Avon?) Another hour's run brought us in to Birmingham.
     Birmingham is England's canal city. Its 32 miles of canals snake through lively canal side developments, which are centered around places with names like the Mailbox, Gas Street Basin and Brindleyplace. The canals are wide and allow boats to pass one another with comfortable margins, especially compared to the narrow canals that we had experienced over the last 11 days. There was uniformity to many of the buildings along the waterway--mostly neat red brick structures from one to four stories tall. The sidewalks were clean, as were the canals, free from the jetsam of much of the rest of the waterway system. There was a conspicuous and refreshing absence of automobiles in the immediate area of the canals.
     We moored and had some free time before needing to meet with the rest of the company for dinner. Quaint pubs lined the waterway and Sara and I recouped in one of them. Sara sat by the window and wrote postcards while I did most of the recouping.
     Then we did some further wandering, ventured into a few shops in a more modern "mini-mall" a few blocks from the canal. Eventually, we even found a busy street. The rapid whoosh of passing cars snapped the mood brought on by the idyllic environment surrounding our boats. A stairway descended from the roadway to the canal, delivering us back to gentler surroundings. We had traveled in a loop that returned us to our boats and our companions who were gathering for the evening meal.
     Tom had arranged an ethnic eating adventure at the Punjab Paradise restaurant. We traveled in the van for some distance and entered a part of Birmingham with a distinct mideastern flavor with many Pakistani and Indian shops and businesses The signs on the businesses were written in a variety of languages including Arabic and Hindi as well as English.
We drove into the small parking lot across the street from the Punjab Paradise. A mustachioed fellow in a small hat motioned to us with authority, directing us to a parking place that he had chosen.
     The Punjab Paradise is a traditional "Balti" house. Balti is a traditional type of food that is very popular in Northern Punjab and has its roots in Baltistan, now the northernmost part of Pakistan, which was once a kingdom with its own royalty.
      We were courteously seated immediately upon entering. With friendly help from the waiters and the more Balti-experienced of our own group, we made choices from a very large menu. Almost immediately huge, roughly circular pieces of flat bread (called pan) appeared at our table. We soon became adept at tearing off pieces and using them as scoops to consume the delicious mideastern food that followed. The food was wonderful, the service excellent, and the atmosphere exotic.
     We returned to the boats. Sara and I hadn't been in bed long when we heard and felt a BUMP and some voices, which eventually ceased. We didn't think too much about it and went to sleep. The next morning we found out that some jolly bloke, having swallowed a generous number of pints, decided it would be great fun to untie our boat as we slept. He loosed the stern line and the rear end of the boat started to drift into the channel. I'm not sure if he was going to untie the bowline or not. Perhaps he never had the chance. As it turned out, our prankster was on camera the whole time. A security officer was watching the whole prank on video. The officer came out and confronted the tipsy gentleman, suggesting that he climb aboard, rouse somebody, explain the situation, and offer to help tie up.
     Pam, who was staying in the forward cabin that night heard the knock and opened the door. The fellow informed Pam the their boat was partially adrift and could he help tie up again. Pam came out on deck, had a look, and readily agreed. What a nice gentleman! The security officer who was supervising the activity informed Pam that this nice gentleman was actually responsible for the problem in the first place. The guy 'fessed up after further questioning by Pam and then his tone turned decidedly friendly as he earnestly attempted to become more familiar with our attractive van driver. Hmmm…I wonder if that is what the English call "cheeky".