Dickon Levinge

Author, Photographer & Boater

2.8.2022

The Port Of Berkhamsted

Although it’s only three miles the uphill gradient increases and so, between Apsley and Berkhamsted, there are fourteen locks. It was a beautiful day so I left early and took my time – feeling confident that I’d make Berko, as the locals call it, well in time for an early evening pint of Tring in The Rising Sun. The sun shone, the damselflies danced their way alongside me and I got to navigate one of my favourite features on the obstacle course that is The Grand Union Canal: Winkwell Swing Bridge.

This is a small, single lane bridge that crosses the canal but is too low for any boat to go under. Therefore boaters moor just before and, with the aid of a Canal And River Trust key (or, if like me you procured one before the takeover, a British Waterways key) control it much like a railway’s level crossing. The traffic lights turn red, the barriers come down as a bell goes ding-ding-ding while irate drivers (usually, strangely enough, in Range Rovers) shake their fists as the bridge glides open. The boater then moves through, ties up on the other side and closes the bridge. The entire process takes about fifteen minutes – a pleasant interlude or a painstakingly slow delay depending on if ye be pilot or driver.

It was about two locks after Winkwell that I encountered another boat coming the way who informed me that the Canal And River Trust were chaining up one of the locks approaching Berkhamsted between the hours of four o’clock every afternoon and eight o’clock every evening. I found this a little hard to believe as this is now late July. The height of the cruising season when the days are still long and many boaters won’t even set out until mid to late afternoon.

No, he assured me, the have to. They don’t want to, but they have to. …Vandals.

I carried on, slightly picking up the pace in case he was right and, sure enough, when I reached Bottom Side Lock, one of the last two before betting into Berkhamsted proper, I noticed there were locks and chains ready to be utilised. It was four o’clock on the dot, so I counted myself lucky that they must have been running late as I entered and started to fill the lock.

Then, just as the lock began to look full, a strange thing happened. The water began to lower again. Not just in the lock, but in the pound I was fixing to move into. It was at this point the Canal And River Trust employee appeared – rattling his keys and looking mighty surprise to see me. A thoroughly decent chap, he helped me through the lock and, while doing so, I asked him what was going on and why he was locking the gates.

Oh, vandals, he explained. We don’t want to do it, but we have to. Someone keeps opening the paddles at night and draining the locks.

Yes, I asked, but why has the water started to drain now? It started about five minutes ago, I helpfully added, and it’s already gone down by about a foot.

He shrugged rather sheepishly and then got on his walkie-talkie, telling the person at the next lock that there was one more boat coming through.

You mean you’re chaining up two locks?

Yes, he said. And I’d better get going. The water’s really going down and I’m about to get grounded. The pound’ll be empty soon.

Indeed it will, I agreed. Yet all the lock gates are closed, the paddles are down and there isn’t a vandal in sight. Care to theorise with me?

He didn’t.

…Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown!

Nevertheless, I made it into Berko, secured an ace mooring and beetled down to my favourite lock-side pub on the canal, The Rising Sun. …Where they no longer serve Tring. This was a minor disappointment as they stocked many other fine varieties of ale, and the place has certainly not lost it’s character. A couple of evenings after I arrived I wandered down there again and, as these photographs will attest, enjoyed a very pleasant evening of folk music and Morris dancers. The highlight of the music, for me, was their strangely brilliant cover of Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell.

Music On The Lock

And as for the Morris dancers. Well, to paraphrase Voltaire, “the mad will always be mad, but the maddest of all are Morris dancers”.

I must confess, I did make a quiet exit just before the ‘participation dance’, about which far too many people, for my liking, were excited.

There are two other canal side pubs along this stretch: The Boat and The Crystal Palace. The Boat has always been a well respected establishment. More of a restaurant than a pub and very well spoken of, although I haven’t eaten there myself

I did visit The Crystal Palace, as my mooring was a mere thirty-one paces away, and it was fantastic to see the place so much improved since my only other visit – which I swore would be my last. Back then it didn’t enjoy the best of reputations, with either boaters or locals, but has recently been taken over. The new owners appear to have invested heavily both in the structure and the staff. The most notable change is that they have removed a large section of the wall and replaced it with a large, floor to ceiling window, so that the two tables nearest the bar now have a fine view of the canal. The bar itself is extremely well stocked – they do have Tring, at least two types, along with several other ales and beers from near and afar. Most importantly, the new staff are all charmingly friendly. The only criticism I would have is that the kitchen seems chaotic, with food slow to arrive and not of the best quality, but I suspect that these are teething problems which will soon be resolved.

Aside from the canal side hostelries there is much to offer in Berkhamsted. On Wednesday and Saturday mornings they have a wonderful street market, with stalls selling fresh fruit, flowers, artisan breads, local meats, records, prescription eye-ware, partridges and pear trees (seasonal) and sweet pastries. From the last of that list I procured a Portuguese custard pastry that would rival those even of the renowned Portuguese coffee shop on Golborne Road in Notting Hill.

Along that stretch of high street there’s The Crown – a superb Wetherspoons. I’m sure a few of you will think I put that in as a joke, but there’s a lot of ‘Spoons bashing these days which, personally, I think is a bit unfair. The pubs are clean, usually in period buildings, filled with character, and nobody can deny the value. The Crown certainly has all of these, and if ever there were times when we call appreciate being able to sit down for a passable burger and chips accompanied by a superbly kept pint for seven pounds and change, these surely must be them.

You’ll pay a bit more for a pint across the road in The Mad Squirrel, a micro-brewery run tap and bottle shop. They specialise in their own brews on draft but also stock a wide selection of other strange and unusual elixirs. One of their selling points, for me, is that instead of serving pints or half pints, their measures are pints, two thirds of a pint or one third of a pint. The beverage in the photograph is two thirds of a pint of Sumo, their own superb American Pale Ale.

Sumo And The Rex

The programme in the same photograph is for the real highlight of Berkhamsted: The Rex Cinema, which first opened in 1938 and stayed the course until 1988. Years later it was bought, restored to its prime, and finally reopened in 2004. It’s a sumptuous place to see a film. High ceilings with smooth, deco lines, ornate fixtures and deep, red velvet seats. There are tables to dine while you enjoy the film, a bar at the back that stays open throughout the show and, when I last visited (which, sadly, was not on this visit) the film was introduced with great humour and joy by the current owner – who’s love of both the art deco picture house and the art of cinema shone through.

The Port Of Berkhamsted, as it also seems to be known, steeped with history. Berkhamsted Castle dates back to 1066 and was once, I have it on good authority, home to Richard III’s mother. In more modern times it was a centre for the building of canal barges. Berko’s pride in its canal history can be seen in the way the locals so lovingly look after the ornate signage (pictured) which adorn all the main bridges in town.

My favourite relic from from the past, however, is a bit more recent: The Berkhamsted Totem pole. In the early 1900s the boatyard was sold to the Alsford family and became a timber mill. In the 1960s Roger Alsford, the grandson of the timber mill’s founder, fell on hard times while working in Canada and was saved by the Kwakiutl, a First Nation tribe. Roger’s brother, James, went to Canada to retrieve his sibling from his saviours and when he met the tribe he was quite taken with them. So, by way of gratitude, he commissioned the totem pole, brought it back and placed it in their yard, alongside the canal.

The Berkmamsted Totem Pole

What was the boatyard and then the timber mill is now a housing development. But the totem pole still stands, so I gave it a smile and a salute as I cruised past on my way out of Berko and towards The Marsworth Flight…

Dickon Levinge

Author, Photographer & Boater

22/7/2022

The Paper Mill, Apsley

Although my stay in King’s Langley was brief I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear that the duck eggs and Tring ale lived beyond expectations. King’s Langley remains, as I’m sure it always will, one of my favourite stops on the Gand Union. As implied, this time it was merely a pit-stop and after a few days I moved a short distance (about a mile and three locks) to Apsley – on the outskirts of Hemel Hempstead.

Apsley could hardly be described as the most picturesque town on the cut. Apart from the pretty marina, next to which I was fortunate enough to find a mooring, the rest is mostly concrete and steel. But it is hugely convenient on many fronts. This happened to be a fortnight when I needed to be in London for several visits and the mooring I secured was a three minute walk to the railway station – the train journey then being about a half hour into Euston. Although this was the main reason I upticks and shifted to Apsely, this small enclave possesses many other fantastic amenities.

Quick side bar: I’m not sure where the expression up sticks and shift comes from (I suspect the military) but in the boating world it is not just metaphorical. Very few of the towpath moorings, outside of urban areas, have rings or bollards. More often that not we use steel pins, or sticks, which we hammer into the grass banks with mallets (fantastic for aggression therapy!) then tie onto during our stay – before lifting up and shifting on. Fun fact or dull fact? You be the judge.

Back to Apsley. As a boater’s pit stop it has huge benefits. In one direction, about a ten minute walk, there’s an excellent laundrette. Across the canal there’s a large Sainsbury’s next to a retail park with an Argos, a Curry’s and one of those weird warehouse places that seems to sell everything from pet products and compost bags to curtains rings and power tools. On this trip, I finally managed to find a decent desk chair – in which I now sit and, for the first time in a decade on board, am able to type in comfort. (Hurrah!)

Most importantly, especially if you’re staying a bit longer, there is, as you can see in the first photograph, a first class pub. This is on the off side, which brings me to another advantage of my lucky mooring. What you can’t see in the photograph is that I was pitched next to the footbridge which leads directly to the hostelry – and, beyond that, the aforementioned railway station. There is also an excellent pizza joint called Calzone and, a mere fifteen paces from my (I can’t stress this enough) amazingly well appointed mooring, an Indian restaurant called Marina. The Indian only opens in the evening, and even then appears to have a fairly relaxed attitude towards its posted hours, but it’s well worth a visit. If you do go, I highly recommend the lamb rogan josh.

Although Apsley has these wonderful assets and many more besides (there’s another lovely looking restaurant next to Calzones which I didn’t get a chance to try on this trip) it still strikes me as a place that puts function above form. I wouldn’t call it ugly, but I would suggest that it verges on the sterile. That said, like all towns, Apsley does have its occasional splash of colour. Most notably for me, this character (second photograph) who sits on the towpath and gives me smile every time I walk past – in spite of my general dislike for topiary.

The Angry Apsley Hedge

And there I shall sign off on this shorter than usual entry. Mainly because, as I write this, I’m excitedly thinking about the next journey: to Berkhamsted, and a pint at The Rising Sun...

Dickon Levinge

Author, Photographer & Boater

4th Navigation: Rickmansworth to King’s Langley

16/6/2022

Bird On A Tiller

This week I have been celebrating the arrival, while I was still in Rickmansworth, of my brand-spanking-new leisure batteries: four 12 volt Rolls 128ah AGMs, for those who understand these things. For those who do not understand these things and, such as myself, refer to batteries as magic boxes, all you need to to know is that these particular units hold more power than you can shake a stick at and they’re sealed – the latter point meaning that I won’t have to crawl into the engine bay every few months to top them top with deionised water. On the packaging they’re even described as ‘no maintenance’ – which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is the best kind. Hey-nonny-nonny and hip-hip-hurrah! Each one weighs 70.5 lbs, which means they arrived on a pallet which the driver, thankfully, put on a trolley and delivered to the boat. While I was waiting he had the courtesy of calling to say he was about twenty minutes away in King’s Langley. King’s Langley, I thought. One of my favourites destinations. Perhaps I’ll stop there next.

With that in mind, the following day with my new batteries on board but not yet installed, I set off. Four hours and five locks later I arrived in Cassiobury – about half way, as the boater navigates, from my starting point. Rickmansworth to King’s Langley: roughly, twenty minutes by road, but eight hours by boat. Nowhere is the old adage, “it’s about he journey and not the destination”, more true than when travelling the canals.

I was more than happy to pit-stop in Cassiobury, which is another regular mooring for me. Even though it’s only a half-hour walk to the centre of Watford it’s one of the first stops, moving away from London, that begins to feel properly rural. The local wildlife is both plentiful and, as you can see from this entry’s top photograph, friendly. There’s also a wildlife sanctuary (www.cassioburyfarm.com), with some not-so local residents, which holds a few open days every summer. I had the pleasure of attending one of them last year and was amazed at the diversity of the menagerie – including donkeys, rare breed pigs, lamas, kangaroos, zebras, meerkats, ring-tailed lemurs, porcupines, a kookaburra and even an arctic fox. (Although it must be said the kookaburra is rude, ornery and best avoided). According to the sign on the gate their next open days are 24th July, 7th August, 27th August and 28th August. Should you be in the area, or even prepared to make a special trip, I highly recommend it as a fantastic day out.

Always open and free to visit, Cassiobury Park is a popular summer spot for families, dog walkers and cricketeers, with a superb cafe at it’s centre. But it’s real highlight, standing majestically on the side of the hill, is the Cedar Tree Of Lebanon which, after many years of visiting, I now consider an old friend.

Cedar Tree Of Lebanon

Having visited one of my favourite trees, changed over my batteries (which, happily, wasn’t nearly as arduous a task as I’d anticipated) yesterday I set off for the second leg of my intended trip. Eight locks in total and only a couple of miles, the journey should have taken about four hours, but instead took closer to five and a half. This was mainly due to the disgrace that is the pound between Cassiobury Locks which, due to years of poor investment, has become close to being unnavigable – at least for a solo boater. I have no idea when that stretch was last dredged but I’m guessing it was either many years ago or, if more recently, the job was poorly executed. Apparently, in order to save money, the Canal And River Trust have taken to only dredging the very centre of the canals since, according to their grey-suited logic, a boat only moves through the middle bit. This entirely fails to take into account the rather obvious facts that boats to have to move aside to get around oncoming traffic and, just occasionally, they also moor up. In this particular pound even the lock landings, where a boat must moor so we can come ashore to operate the locks, are so heavily silted that, even when the water level was reasonable, I found myself having to over-rev the engine to power through the viscous and pebble filled muck. Having struggled though the first of the two locks I was horrified to find that, because the gates are leaking so badly, the water level had dropped to such an extent that the boat was beached. After an hour of running back and forth trying various combinations I found that the only way I could re-float her was to open the bottom gate and the top paddle of the top lock to fill the pound, and then keep the top paddle open while I moved the boat into the second lock. Apart from being a massive inconvenience and causing much hardship to a boat’s hull, prop and engine, it strikes me that a last resort exercise such as this is a terrible waste of water. Perhaps if the Canal and River Trust would invest a little more in repairing and maintain these basic infrastructures while spending a little less on some of their more pointless exercises, such as idiotic rebranding exercises and unnecessary ‘no mooring safety zones’ – perhaps if they spent a lot less on some of their more mercenary actions, such as paying their top executives six figure salaries while selling off the charitable trust’s assets to property developers – perhaps, just perhaps, the inland waterways would be a better place for us all.

Not wanting to end this entry on a sour or negative note, because the vast majority of my boating experiences are far from sour and almost always positive, I’ll end by saying that the rest of the journey to King’s Langley was a rare pleasure. I got to slowly pootle through some of my favourite countryside on a stunning beautiful day –ending up in King’s Langley, one of my favourite towns discovered during my time on the canal. I’m now off up the hill to procure some meat and duck eggs from what I know to be a fine local butchers and, perhaps, partake of a pint of Tring ale in The Sarcen’s Head.

Dickon Levinge

Author, Photographer & Boater

3rd Navigation: One Year Later. Harefield to Rickmansworth

22/5/2022

Bunting At Ricky Fest, 2022

The more astute of you will have noticed that it has been almost a year since my last entry. Naturally, I’m going to play the covid card on this one. …’Nuff said.

Upon reviewing my last entry, from August 2021, I see that on my trip from Uxbridge to Rickmansworth I mostly lamented the construction of the HS2 debacle and the pandemic’s cancellation of the Rickmansworth Canal Festival. The bad news is that the railway construction continues to put a blight on beautiful landscape of Denham: pile drivers continue to drive us all to the point of insanity. The good news is that the Rickmansworth Canal Festival is finally back on –and happened to occur in perfect time for me to attend.

The four hour trip to Ricky merrily sped past, in spite of the drizzle, thanks to my sharing the latter four of the five locks with a lovely vintage narrowboat piloted by an excellent bloke by the name of James. When moving a narrowboat through the wider locks we have down south it’s always much easier to have a lock partner. A pair of seven foot beam boats slot in perfectly and so, as the water either rushes in or gushes out (although in many of the ill maintained locks it’s more like trickles in and seeps out) they manage much better than one alone.

The festival, which took place last weekend and from which I finally recovered at about five o’clock yesterday afternoon, was a proper boaters’ weekender featuring live performances and organic cider from MJ of the Widgeon Theatre Boat (widgeontheatreboat.com), with whom I was fortunate enough to moor a mere two boats from, and a real ale beer tent with a much needed sawdust floor. There was also a plethora of stalls selling all manner of items ranging from fantastically imaginative craft ales at The Creative Juices Brewing Company (creativejuicesbrewingcompany.com) and superb Viking inspired leather goods hand stitched by Martyn Walden (www.leathercarver.co.uk).

The usual flotilla of historical boats that attends these events were all present and accounted for and, this Jubilee year, bedecked with even more bunting than the norm. Rickmansworth’s resident historical boat, Roger, was open to visitors and definitely worth viewing, just to see the astoundingly cramped conditions in which working boaters of yore, along with their, families would live. Imagine six foot by six foot space then put in two bunk beds, a wood burning stove with a cooking plate along with the pots, pans and kettle, then visualise two adults and three children of varying ages crammed in. I wonder if people ever appreciated the hardship of the lifestyles they endured so that the rest of his could have our goods and chattels delivered across the country.

Tug Of War, Rickmansworth Festival 2022

The highlight of the festival was, as always, the tug of war competitions (pictured in the second photograph) where various boats pit their engines against each other. A raucous and entertaining event that raises as many cheers as it does churn up white water. Only topped this year, at least for me, by the two WW2 aeroplane flyovers: on Saturday a spitfire and on Sunday a Lancaster. The photograph below is of one of my visiting boater guests, Mrs B, waving at the latter. It is she and her husband, Mr B, who I hold entirely responsible for my extended hangover. Although, I still look forward to a repeat performance in 2023!

Lancaster Flyover,Rickmansworth Festival 2022

That wraps up this entry – other than to mention one last piece of boaty business, which is that it appears my very expensive leisure batteries, on which a boater depends for day-to-day living such as lights, water pumps and charging devices, are completely banjaxed. My fault entirely for neglecting them, I’m afraid.

Until then, be ye boater or landlubber, may you have a wonderful Jubilee weekend – and God save The Queen.