I chose this title after the famous wartime book but I can not claim that I have never been on a narrow boat before, since my father was an enthusiast from the early 1960s. I was hankering after an opportunity for some more boating. Then, through a crewmember who had been on trips with our boat (Sharpness, the tug) on the Stratford Canal, I heard about President. I was surprised to hear that they had difficulty sometimes getting a crew together. Problem solved! I joined FoP right away and put my name forward for the training day and a trip.

When I joined up at Worcester there seemed to be a certain uncertainty when I called it a holiday. As far as I was concerned it was my holiday.

But by the end of the week, after long 10 – 12 hour days, finding that when I coughed my ribs hurt and I seemed to have aching in new and unusual places, perhaps that was what was meant. You certainly need to be fit.

We had marvellous weather and that always helps, but I think the main thing was a crew where everyone was keen and got on really well. That was partly thanks to Richard as captain, and his attitude to training and helping everyone mucking in together. The only thing he did wrong was mooring the first night in Kidderminster next to a church with a clock that rang every hour! Although few of the 7 knew each other beforehand, by the end of the trip we were all saying, "we must get this crew back together again!"

We were all over forty but seemed to have the same sense of kid’s fun. I hope other crews enjoy blowing the whistle and getting the train drivers to whistle back to them! We had a brilliant run up the Wolverhampton 21, and may even be featured in a canal magazine as we were photographed all along the way. The engine came up in two and a half hours, a good time.

Other highlights were: the early mornings, steering through cuttings with sunshine coming through the leaves; the sharing of stories and life histories and getting to know some new people. One thing we discussed was how to extend the publicity and fundraising for President (my particular job background). How about the idea of a calendar of photos? Celia and I thought it should be "All the Presidents’ Men" rather than the girlie variety. You can imagine the rest of the suggestions!

When we arrived back at the Museum, Richard went to give a talk to the BCN Society about President. A few of the crew went too, and I can recommend it for interesting research and photos. Three of us spent the Friday at the Museum. We were lucky enough to find that it was inspection day for the boilers – which meant that all the steam engines were working! A rare event indeed, and the end of a wonderful holiday. I’m looking forward to the next working party or trip – but I think I am being put down for work on the Committee to help with raising funds.

Penny Clover

I wake up in the dark to the screaming of seagulls and the discomfort of a full bladder.... again. No one else is stirring, but the ‘call of nature’ is becoming an urgent one. Nothing else for it but to brave the trip to the Porta-Potty. So, quiet as a mouse to avoid waking the softly snoring sleepers all around me, I inch open the zip of my sleeping bag and slip barefoot to the floor. One stealthy pace and I yelp loudly in pain as I stub my toes on the foot of my own bed. I fumble about in the dark for the cross-plank I must duck under to reach the bathroom, dislodging my alarm clock noisily onto the floor as I go. Grasping the plank with both hands I duck down, swing forward and smack my head into the plywood door that I had forgotten. It bursts open with a crash and I crawl into the bathroom and close the door. Brilliant. Stealthy as a three-legged hippo. I’m feeling about in the dark for a light switch when I trip over the Porta-Potty.

Welcome to Kildare, the butty fitted out as crew quarters for President and our home for a week. This is actually our second morning aboard. On the first I had chickened out of the Porta-Potty Challenge and slipped ashore to the luxurious appointments of the Inland Waterways Museum in the middle of Gloucester. Surprised to find it was fully daylight outside I made an interesting spectacle scooting along the dock in my jim-jams and ankle boots. No more cheating though because today we start travelling. First to Sharpness and back by the Ship Canal, then straight on up the Severn to Worcester for the Festival. Whilst underway these two narrowboats will be the extent of our world. Better get used to it.

We had arrived on Saturday afternoon, settled in, taken over from the previous crew and on their recommendation spent our evening at the ‘Tall Ship’ alongside the docks. ‘Try the shark steak’ was good advice.... delicious. My fellow crewpersons, it was clear, were all into narrowboats, steam, good food, good beer, good pubs.... I was sure we’d get along. Ron and Judy I’d met last summer whilst spending a day in assisting presidential progress. John Logie had been roped in to lend a hand like me that day, and like me, was now doing his first week of crewing. Dave Goodman was our engine driver and I hoped to learn the rudiments of that black art from him this week.

We had spent Sunday on show moored at the museum and shunting President around the docks a bit. I was eager for a go at the tiller. It steered like the hire boats. I was used to but ‘controlling’ the engine by bell signals felt remote and scary. I missed the little lever that converted my plans and panics into action without my having to think about it and tomorrow we’d have a butty to contend with!

Well tomorrow has become today and with the two craft cat’s-cradled together and Dave happy with the boiler pressure we ease the ungainly-looking combination backwards from it’s berth into the main basin, the lift-bridge goes up and we’re off. The canal boater who dislikes all that trudging up the towpath with a windlass and a BW. key need look no further than the Gloucester and Sharpness. With no locks and each lift-bridge manned by a keeper we make easy progress on the broad deep channel, mooring up to take lunch ‘al fresco’ at the same time that the bridge keepers take theirs. Local knowledge has warned us of windy exposed sections so we remain butted-up. I expected this to make a lot of difference to the handling, like adding a sidecar to a motorbike, but when I take the tiller I learn this isn’t so. My other surprise is the ‘President Effect’, smiles, waves, shouted greetings and thumbs-up signs mark our passage, these are acknowledged on the steam whistle. Our passage through Saul Junction is particularly noisy but no one seems to mind, then I spot a bus driver, out of his vehicle and waiting for us at the next swing bridge. He is not waving, we have delayed his schedule. I brace myself for a sharp remark as we pass by but he doesn’t say a word. He is grinning from ear to ear.

Our first day’s cruising ends at Shepherd’s Patch (the pub has been recommended). We fall into conversation with a retired couple who now live on their narrowboat. After showing them P.& K. we get a tour of their home. They’ve got into ‘canal craft’ in a big way. He paints the castles and roses while she crochets beautifully intricate lacework. Brass trinkets abound, not a square inch is allowed to go unadorned. My head spins from shear visual overload. We’re joined by Simon and Rachel Nuttall. It’s his 31^st birthday so we ambush him with card, cake and badly sung rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ then take him to the ‘Tudor Arms’ to apologise. The restaurant part of the pub is called the ‘Rorty Crankle’ (eh?) The food, beer and welcome are all excellent.

Tuesday starts drizzly and becomes rainy. Dave has got steam up but nobody feels much inclined to move so we take a leisurely breakfast and talk about it a bit. We could still make it to Sharpness and back to Gloucester for tonight if we get a move on but we can’t leave it much longer. The alternative plan is to go straight back to Gloucester and ensure a berth at the museum for the night. Resigned to getting a soaking either way we press on and the weather clears. We moor at Sharpness, take a stroll, view the estuary and now defunct lock into it and begin to retrace our route. I’m reminded we’re on a ship canal when a sea-going vessel looms into view, it seems to fill the whole channel as we steam toward each other and I quickly surrender the tiller to Ron. The monster looms over us as it murmurs past. It seems to be a cable layer, certainly it’s a businesslike boat and our little craft suddenly feels toy like beside it but the crew are all waving and taking photos, as pleased to see us as any hobby boaters. We press on to the museum, well almost. We’re too late for the last lift-bridge and moor up just outside the docks. By our reckoning we were already too late for the previous bridge but the ‘keeper was on President Friendly Time. As tonight is not an eating out night we don’t visit the ‘Tall Ship’ but go across the road to the ‘Whitesmith’ for a drink. We used this pub on Saturday night- colourful characters, colourful language, no food but some splendidly kept Arkels.... Cheers!

Wednesday morning sees us enjoying the novelty of our first lock (!) and then we’re on the Severn. The narrow canalised channel gets wider as we leave the city behind then turns into the Severn proper. I am learning about the engine from Dave, my mind’s a whirl of pressure-gauge, regulator, injector, blower. The boat needs repairs. These are fun because you have to use what’s to hand. Need a gasket? Here’s a Stanley knife, get busy. Waterproof grease? There’s lard in the fridge. Cordless electric drill with screwdriver function incorporating adjustable torque setting? Dream on. There’s quite a bit of traffic on the river and a lot of it’s heading for Worcester. We’d like to overnight at Upton but we won’t be the only ones with that idea and every pleasure craft that passes us feels like another mooring opportunity lost. Sure enough, Upton comes into sight and it’s choked with boats. Reluctant to moor against ‘tupperware’ we find a slot alongside three steel narrowboats just below the bridge. No sooner are we secured than a sixth boat ties up alongside us, then a seventh. An extra line from our bow to the bank seems prudent on this river noted for rising quickly after rain. That night as we enjoy a pint and a bite at the ‘King’s Head’ we watch sheet lightning light up half the sky at once and that extra line seems a very good idea indeed.

Thursday finds the river and boats still where we left them. Our neighbours help us extricate ourselves from the fledgling pontoon bridge we have built and we slip down to the marina. Deciding against the tricky downstream turn from the briskly flowing river into the marina crowded with expensive fibreglass we secure ourselves to the Elsan disposal /water pontoon while John and I go marauding for gas.

By now the two craft feel like home but they still catch you out, twice in five minutes I bang my head in Kildare’s cabin and christen this the ‘Kildare Kiss’. Even the old hands are not immune but Best Head-banging Story honours go to fellow rookie John and myself. In the darkness of Kildare’s innards we approach the same cross-plank from opposite directions, we arrive at the same time, duck our heads at the same time and.... well you get the picture. We follow the broad and busy river under elegant bridges and past the striking cathedral to the site of the Festival. I’ve never seen so many narrowboats, they’re five and six deep lining the riverbank as far as you can see. But there’s a clear spot just for us. We nose in and tie up. Journey’s end.

Postscript; It’s Saturday lunchtime and I’m still here. We’ve cleaned the boats, shown them of to Festival-goers, press and public and handed the baton over to the new crew. It’s time to go home. I realise I’ve got the ‘Post-Holiday Blues’ so I suppose I must have enjoyed myself.

Harry Stoopman