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This post started in January. Scroll down to find the he latest update
****POST UPDATED 12th August 2016****
(update title is "Dawn")
Apologies for the break between updates. I have had a very busy time of late getting the new book ready to publish!
Bee 1
****POST UPDATED 12th August 2016****
(update title is "Dawn")
Apologies for the break between updates. I have had a very busy time of late getting the new book ready to publish!
Bee 1
The one that got away (almost)
I found this photo of a once prolific style of boat on the internet.
***If you would be kind enough to like my Mayfly Page on Facebook I'd be much obliged.***
The google shortcode below will take you there
The google shortcode below will take you there
Not
long before my sixteenth birthday we were heading slowly back down
the river at the end of another summer holiday and were tied up for
lunch on some nondescript concrete edging at the end of which was a
half sunken boat. After over forty years I can't remember where on
the river we were but I do remember the 19 foot front cockpit plywood
Dolphin cabin cruiser half full of water with a couple of small fish
swimming around inside it. It had clearly been there for some time,
and would, if nobody did anything, have sunk. The name “Willow
Wisp III” was clearly visible on the bow, the steering cable, which
I was able to lean over and try, was completely seized solid, as were
the throttle and gear-shift. Seeing my interest, my dad suggested
that I should ask the nearby boatyard if they knew anything about it.
Surprisingly they knew of the owner and, better than that, they
wrote a phone number down on a sheet of paper for me. In the days
of mobile phones I'd have been able to ring straight away (making the
assumption that I'd have been allowed to have one) and the story may
have had a different outcome. As it was, I had to wait until we
were back home two days layer to get in in touch with the owner.
The man that answered the phone sounded a little surprised, and said
that he'd lost interest in the boat for reasons he didn't want to go
into, and that I was more than welcome to make him an offer for it.
Twenty pounds was the sum we settled for, and the man said there was
an 18 horsepower Evinrude outboard that I could have for another
twenty if I got the craft back in order. I contacted the boatyard
to say the deal was going ahead and they said they'd lend me a
“Henderson” pump which would be more than adequate to get the
water out of the thing, after which Dad said he could tow it back
behind the extremely underpowered Nyzark, where it would eventually
find its way onto some hard standing in Kingston Power Station's
unused barge house where I could work on restoration. The whole
project seemed viable as, even with my limited abilities in
woodwork, I would have been able to repair and replace bits of the
sheet plywood hull, and other parts, as required. Two days before
the proposed expedition to raise Willow Wisp III we were contacted by
someone who had kindly towed the boat in its half sunken state to the
dinghy rollers alongside the weir (I'm afraid I can't remember which
lock it was attached to). I wasn't too worried abut this as we were
allowed access and, with the borrowed pump, set off to complete the
rescue.
On
arrival at the rollers we found that Willow Wisp III, having been
towed without being emptied first, had finally sunk to a point that
the outboard well was now underwater. Worse than that, the powerful
“Henderson” pump was an old, but rather large, semi rotary hand
pump. Worse still the thing didn't actually work either. We did
our best to heave the craft onto the rollers but, yet again they were
meant for much lighter craft, and were not in any fit state of repair
either. In particular, the shallow gradient at the bottom end had
at some point, snapped or sunk, to leave a step that was too much to
get the water laden Willow Wisp III onto. Another tack was tried,
which was to lash tarpaulin over the outboard well and manually bail
the craft out. This too resulted in failure. The whole afternoon
was spent in ever more futile attempts to re-float the craft, but
without the cash to hire a decent petrol powered pump, and to get the
outboard well even a little bit watertight we were forced to give up.
I've often wondered if the boat was rescued and still regret that I
wasn't able to be the person that did it. I was only sixteen and,
though disappointed, accepted that the job was too big for me. I
remember Dad saying that If I really wanted to own a boat, he was far
more in favour of that than me owning a motorbike. I know my
limitations as far as balance goes, and never really fancied the idea
of hitting the ground at anything more than walking pace. I said
nothing though, but was pleased that Dad wanted to help.
After looking round for some time, we found, at Thames Ditton marina,
a small clinker built cabin cruiser sitting on blocks in the car
park. She wasn't in the best condition and was rather expensive as
part of the deal included a nearly new 7.5 horsepower Mercury
outboard. A closer look revealed that the deck on top of the cabin
was in a very poor state, and light was visible between the cabin
front and the bow deck. We were given the phone number of the
owners, and that evening I rang them. The first thing to ask was if
they were willing to split the boat and motor into two separate
sales, and to ascertain how negotiable they were on price. They
were happy to do both, and we agreed on £150 for the boat, leaving
the marina to sell the outboard. My life savings at that time were
£180, which was in a building society account that I had no access
to without parental permission. That night there was one of those
conversations between Mum, Dad, and Granny. Dad had an uphill
challenge, the clincher of which was that in just over a year I'd
have been able to buy a second-hand motorbike, without permission.
At that time it was permissible to ride a 125cc machine on a
provisional licence which, given that I hadn't so far even ridden a
push-bike, struck fear into Mum and Granny who saw the boat as a
suitable money pit to keep me distracted from alcohol loose women and
road going vehicles.
One
condition of sale was that the owners, a retired couple, wanted to
see me before they sold the boat to me. They were both canal
enthusiasts, had visited several festivals and wanted the boat to go
to someone that had the same enthusiasm. I must have impressed
them, as, without my asking, they said that I could have the boat for
£125 rather than £150. My memory of them was that they were a
really nice couple. I seem to remember their name was Nicholson,
but I may be wrong. I handed them a cheque, and Bee 1 was then my
boat. All I had to do was get her ready for the water with very
little cash.
And the one that didn't.
This is yours truly at age seventeen with his life savings in wooden form.
An Accident with Custard.
The
following weekend, I caught the bus to Thames Ditton, walked into the
car park, and couldn't quite believe what I'd done. Sitting on
blocks on the hard standing with cars parked nearby was Bee 1, and I
owned her. Rather than go straight to her, I went to the chandlery
shop to seek permission which, given that they already knew me by
association with Mum and Dad, they said I didn't need. I walked
back to the boat and stood looking at her with a feeling that the
situation still wasn't quite real. I owned a boat, albeit a
somewhat shabby one, but I owned her outright, she was mine. I
undid a few of the brass turn-buckles that secured the rather rotten
canvas and found a stout looking box to use as a step. Once in the
cockpit, I unlocked the cabin doors to start assessing what needed to
be done. The boat had been out of the water for a long time but was
still pretty well equipped for something that small. All of the
contents, however, would have to be unloaded before any repairs could
be done, and there were plenty required. The cabin top was probably
in the poorest state and, with hindsight, it would probably have been
a good idea to replace it with a new sheet of marine ply had I have
had any money to do it. The worst thing was that it had been
covered with a diamond patterned plastic covering that was supposed
to seal it completely, which it probably did for a while, until water
started to creep in from any glued edge to leave a permanently wet
layer between it and the wood. Also one of the deck rails had been
badly knocked, and had come away with a few layers of the plywood,
leaving a small hole near the back of the cabin. There was the gap
that I'd noticed between the front deck and the cabin front, through
which light was visible across the whole width. Dad had suggested
that canvas and old paint were the solution to my problems, and, with
un-proofed cotton “Duck” being cheap, and old pain being more or
less free, it seemed a good solution. I was able to set to work to
get the old rails and deck covering off the craft, a task that was
surprisingly easy given that the glue holding the plastic no longer
had any strength whatsoever and the brass screws securing the deck
rails were all pretty loose.. A tin of wood filler, which cost very
little closed the small hole in the cabin roof, and, after a day
sandpapering I was good to go with the paint. After a raid on the
garage for old cans, plus a couple of cans showing up that were being
thrown out by the marina staff, I started the job. The dried out
wood soaked the paint up quicker than toilet paper, but I soon had a
suitable coat of sticky gunge to lay the canvas across. Once this
was done, a task that didn't take too long, it was time to stipple
more paint through the canvas until it was totally saturated. I had
a large tin of custard yellow gloss for this job, and all went well
until I was almost finished, whereupon I dropped the tin on the top
of the cabin, spilling a fair amount which proceeded to run down the
side of the boat, which I had intended to keep in its original
varnish finish. It now had an untidy vertical yellow stripe down it
which took me longer to clean off that it has taken to do the whole
of the decking! I finished the day late, covered in various colours
of paint, and seriously fed up. The job was, however, done. The
decks of Bee 1 were now watertight, and, as soon as they were dry, I
had a tin of Royal Mail red paint to put a top coat on. Thankfully
I'd learned my lesson, and was very careful not to spill this one,
and it took one sunny afternoon to apply the final coat, tack the
beading along the edges, and trim the canvas. I finished the
weekend with yet more paint on my trousers, but a feeling of both
achievement and of optimism that I could actually see the job
through. I think my total spend that weekend was less than £5
which seemed, even then, to be a tiny amount for the transformation
it made.
Golden Syrup
Having
got the cabin top and front deck watertight, it was time to sort the
peeling yacht varnish from the cabin sides and all the hull. I was
lucky in that, along with the boat, came a reasonable amount of the
stuff and other paint products that had been used for general
maintenance which had been stored either in the cabin or cockpit.
There wasn't quite enough varnish but I only needed a relatively
small quantity to add to what I already had. First though, I had to
prepare the ground. In these days of cheap Chinese made power tools
I'd have risked electrocution with an unbranded mains powered sander,
or explosion with a battery powered one. Then though, I only had
one option. Cork block, sandpaper and elbow grease. Though tiny
by cabin cruiser standards, 15ft 6 inches is a lot of boat to sand,
and I also had the joy of keeping finding little bits of yellow paint
that I hadn't managed to get rid of in the previous clean up. The
whole job took all of my spare time for a week, at the end of which I
felt that I'd made Bee 1 look a hell of a lot worse than she'd looked
at the start of my effort. There was only one thing for it, start
varnishing! Another bus ride, with some more paint brushes I'd
purloined from the garage, and I was again ready to go. The weather
was warm, and I have always found that painting is quite therapeutic,
so I settled to working away, brushing the syrup coloured yacht
varnish on the cabin sides and hull whilst listening to my radio
which was perched inside the cockpit. The wood was quite dried out
and soaked the first and second coat up with little change to its
appearance. I think I put four coats on in all over the period of a
week, and perhaps a fifth on the cabin sides which had been in a very
poor state. One of my happy memories of the time is standing back
looking at a newly varnished plank glistening in the sun and the new
single by Roy Wood's Wizzard, “Angel Fingers” got its first play
on Radio One.
As
is the case with boats, there is always another job to be done when
you think you've finished. I'd taken the name boards off in order
to paper behind them, and was simply going to reattach them when the
varnish was dry. Having looked at them though, I felt they were a
bit too battered and decided to take them back home for a repaint.
That evening I set about sanding the first, only to find that water
had got behind it (where it hadn't been painted) and, as a result, it
had decomposed quite badly. Checking the two, I found that one was
in as poor a state, and the other wasn't so hot. The following day
I managed to find a suitable piece of scrap wood that was big enough
to make three new name boards. It took me quite a while to get them
all the same size, and each got three coats of white paint before I
started with the lettering. Using graph paper as a guide, I drew
the letters out and then traced them, going over the back with a very
soft pencil so that a mark would transfer over to the pristine white
gloss of the boards. It took a few hours to paint the name three
times over, and get each board looking the same. I used a small
artists brush and black Humbrol enamel (from my Airfix kit days) for
this. By the end of the week I had some quite presentable boards,
which I proudly attached to the boat. I now felt I had something
that looked quite presentable, and which was also beginning to feel
believably mine. There was still a lot to do, including getting
something to power it with. I'd been told by the previous owners
that the 7.5 Mercury had been a bit of a mistake on their part when
they bought it to replace an earlier outboard. It was a very well
engineered machine but was a bit on the heavy side, and Bee I was
overpowered with it. On the river it wasn't so bad, but on canals,
on the low throttle settings, they found that it tended to run a
little too cool, and, even with the 50 to 1 petrol oil mix, spark
plugs used to oil up quite frequently. With this, and a budget of
£30, in mind, I set about the task of finding something suitable.
It was to be a long search.
I need power Scotty!
The right tool for the job, a 1968 Mercury 3.9
I need power Scotty!
In
the days of no Ebay or Gumtree, it was classified ads, the Exchange
and Mart, and basic cycling around to every boatyard in the phonebook
that was the method of searching. There were quite a lot of old
outboards available, but most of them seemed to be the 1 ½
horsepower variety that wouldn't have had the punch to push the boat
on the Thames, though they'd probably have been fine for canals.
The first machine I remember finding was made by a company called
Clinton who, I thought, made motors for lawnmowers. The thing was
pretty old and battered, but had the look of a “proper” outboard.
The person I spoke to at the yard said he didn't know much about it
except that it made a bit of a clatter, and that he wanted £50 for
it. Next in line was a 4 horsepower British Anzani which would have
been suitable on power, reliability and condition. They were a
simple machine, with a permanently engaged forward gear, meaning that
when you started the motor, it immediately propelled the boat, and
kept doing so until you stopped. O.K. for going along the river,
but not so good for manoeuvring in locks etc. I would have bought
this but someone wanted it for a sailing boat and offered the seller
more money than I had. The same place had a 4 horsepower short
shaft British Seagull for sale at a price that I could afford.
Problem was that it was a short shaft, designed for either an
outboard well or a sailing boat with a lower stern or motor bracket.
The yard must have had the thing cluttering the place up for some
time, as they offered to fabricate a bracket out of scrap steel for
me as part of the deal. Feeling that this was about as good as I
would get, I accepted the offer and now would be able to move Bee 1
when she eventually went in the water.
The
bracket, when it did show up, was made of pretty thick steel,
weighing about a quarter as much as the outboard. It was well put
together and I duly attached it to the back of the boat with four
large bolts. My “Jim Stratton” moment came some time later
when, at the power station barge house, I attached the British
Seagull, and set about pulling the starter cord. In my book,
“Mayfly” Jim simply goes through the motion of starting a rather
better machine on a day when nobody else seems to be around. I
wasn't so lucky. The wharf area for the barge house was alongside
Canbury park, and I attracted a small audience as I tried, and
repeatedly failed, to get the damn motor to fire at least once. Of
course, I eventually got the guy who “knew a bit about outboards”
who gave me all sorts of spurious advice which resulted in the
carburettor flooding and absolutely no life from the little outboard.
There's something about starting recalcitrant machinery that is
mildly annoying, and it gets even more so when someone keeps shouting
advice through a stout iron fence. After about twenty minutes it
was probably possible to cook an egg on the top of my head (though I
never tried) I simply disappeared into the barge house to see if
there was anyone that actually knew anything, and ask them.
Thankfully by the time I returned, fuelled with the advice to simply
leave it for the petrol to evaporate, put a new spark plug in (of
which several were supplied in a box of bits for the motor) and then
pull the cord once with choke and again without. I was also now
accompanied by my dad, who had finished work for the day and was
interested to see how everything went. The advice I'd been given
worked, and with the motor on tickover I cast off. I got as far as
Gridley Miskin's Timber yard near Kingston Bridge (no more than a
couple of hundred yards) when I noticed that, instead of being
perpendicular, the outboard was now leaning at quite an angle, having
vibrated its clamp screws (which I had made sure were tight) to a
point where I could easily have lost the thing in the river.
Thankfully I was able to grab hold of a moored barge, stop the motor,
re-tighten the clamp, and head back to the power station barge house.
The run hadn't exactly been the success that I'd hoped and, despite
encouraging words from Dad, I couldn't help feeling that I'd wasted
my money. I can't remember running Bee 1 with the British Seagull
again, though I may well have done, and I sold it soon after for a
small profit to pay for something entirely better.
During
the restoration of Bee 1, the new owners of Lady Jena, the boat Mum
and Dad had bought before they got Nyzark, had decided to sell her.
They'd enjoyed their time with her, but with a new baby on the way,
they needed to get some money together. A buyer was soon found, but
they couldn't afford the boat with the engine and, much as I had
done, planned to find one when funds were available. I'd always
liked the single cylinder 1968 Mercury 3.9 that had powered Lady Jena
more or less since she'd sunk and been brought back to life. This
now was just within the absolute limit of what I might be able to
afford so I offered the owners £40 for it, thinking that it was
probably worth more and fully expecting to be turned down.
Thankfully they accepted and I was now the proud owner of a long
shaft outboard with a real gearbox and proper remote fuel tank. I
was also completely skint, but I really didn't care. With a smile
on my face, and some stout plywood on the back of my bicycle, I set
off to my little boat to remove the well made but rather unsightly
(and now unnecessary) steel bracket. Once I'd taken it off, I
reinforced the stern with plywood either side of the stern post,
fixed firmly into place with the bolts from the bracket, several
screws and a good dose of marine grade glue that I'd found in one of
the lockers. It is the Mercury that I decided to build the opening
scene of Mayfly around. The motor never really set a foot wrong,
and I'd like to think that, like many of its kind, it is still around
today.
But will it float?
With
all the work done, it was time to put Bee1 back in the water. She
was severely dried out, and it was suggested that I put some water in
the bottom to allow the planking to take up the slack. It was a
good job that I did, because there was a bit round the bow where
there was quite a bad leak. Nothing too serious to fix, but
sufficient to have sunk the boat overnight had she just been put in
the water. As with all similar situations, suggestions as to how to
fix the problem came thick and fast. In the end, someone from the
yard workshops said he'd go over it with a product called “Farocaulk”
which would sort things. I've never seen a tube of the stuff, and
can find very little information on it other than it was well liked
and had a long shelf life. It did the trick though and Bee 1 was
lowered into the water on the slipway the next day. The following
weekend, I reassembled the interior of the little boat, having done
my best to repair items made with interior grade plywood that had
separated. I also bought (with the last of my cash) a small brass
bodied pump for the bilges. All was good to go. I had turned
seventeen and I owned a boat. Sadly it was close to the end of the
summer break and I had no money whatsoever. I did have a tank full
of petrol though, so I was able to enjoy a few short runs before
going to college of further education. With the Mercury outboard
Bee 1 had a good turn of speed, and was easy to handle, a lot of
which was down to the beautiful hull design. She did roll rather
more than some boats but was a willing little craft and it was on one
of the runs I made with the original tankful of petrol that I decided
I was going to have my own holiday, the following summer. I sat
down and worked out the cost, and whichever way I did, I came to the
conclusion that I would either be able to afford food, or fuel but
not both. Then petrol shot up in price. I calculated again and
things did not look too good but I was still, at an age where one
really wants to assert independence, determined to go. The answer
was simple. Apart from the odd LP record now and again, I saved
every penny I could, putting the cash either in a tin on my
windowsill, which once had about £10 worth of 1971 two pence coins,
and a wooden box near my bed for anything that would fold. A whole
lot of that was lost on the licence, but I kept the regime, and by
the end of the summer term at college of further education, instead
of revising for my exams, I was busy on Bee 1 preparing for what, for
me, was an epic voyage. I remember arriving by bicycle, with all I
needed for the exams stuffed into the pockets of an old anorak.
Actually the pockets had long worn through so I had steel rule,
drawing set, slide rule etc. in the lining which amused people as I
pulled the items out, appearing to lose weight as I did. A friend
was filled with horror when I told him I'd put a coat of white gloss
on the inside of the cabin top that afternoon when he'd had his head
in a textbook the whole time. I had been warned by the tutors that
I would probably get a worse mark in the exams than in the mocks
mainly because of my attitude to revision. I still got a
distinction though (Which is as good as you could get in City and
Guilds), so I must have been doing something right.
The
day finally came for that “Jim” moment. This part of it was the
heading into the unknown. I am aware that many teens my age claimed
to have been everywhere and done everything, which did rather
belittle my talk of my own personal adventure. It was my adventure
though and I was going to have it. The Mercury fired up perfectly,
and I was on my way up the river Thames. Hardly uncharted territory
but this was my boat, and my home for two weeks. Then it started
raining and I was a sitting duck. I got soaked through, stopped at
Molesey Lock, changed my clothes, put waterproofs on and continued.
Then the sun came out and I started sweating like a pig. Whilst
still steering, I took the waterproofs off and tossed them in the
cabin. Cue another heavy shower.
By
the end of the day I had been soaked to the skin and dried out
several times. I also had had a splitting headache. I tied up for
the night near Halliford school on the old river behind Desborough
Cut. Next it was time to try my luck with the rather old and
equally dangerous looking Calor gas stove.
One
burner on the thing looked like a sawn off blowtorch, and the other
was disk like with four vents. Both burners were quite rusty, and
the knobs very stiff. The main body of the thing was made of steel,
painted with faded custard yellow paint. Not feeling too hungry I
decided to boil and egg, which, using the blowtorch burner, boiled
too fast and exploded in the pan. The meal was not set to be a
resounding success, but it was food. I was in my boat and it was my
holiday and I was going to enjoy it even if it killed me!
Dawn.
The
next day the weather was a bit more settled, and I woke up without
the headache. Everything seemed fine so I had breakfast (I can't
remember what it was) and then set about getting the boat ready for
the day. Most things seemed neat enough, and there wasn't a lot of
water in the bilge, so it was soon time to start the Mercury and head
off. Bee1 was a very pleasant little boat to handle, and cut
through the water without a huge wake. The outboard was pretty
quiet, and I settled to the days cruising happily, hoping to get to
Cookham by the evening. I'd always been told that two stroke
American outboards had a tendency to be very thirsty as far as fuel
was concerned, but I seemed to be getting between 4 ½ and 5 hours
per gallon from the little 3.9 horsepower single. There were no
issues with going through the locks, although my care with getting
the boat in the right place, did get me asked to speed up a couple of
times. After a few more locks though I fully got the hang of the
role of the one man boater.
The
meadow at Cookham was a bit packed when I arrived, but I found a
space that nobody seemed to have spotted. I fount that this may
have been because it had the misfortune of being something of a trap
for wash from the boats still going along the river. At the time, I
think the 7 knot speed limit was regarded by a lot of the more well
heeled boat owners as being more of an advisory thing, and they
pushed their craft well beyond it at times. This resulted in the
wash hitting the bank and eroding it, but where I was it caused a lot
to funnel between the bank and my boat, landing quite a good deal of
it in the cockpit. Eventually I partially fitted the canvas over
the back to deflect it. This was far from ideal as the cover was
nothing more than that. It clipped to the cabin top with
turn-buckles and sloped down to the stern, leaving pretty much no
room to sit. Still, when the traffic had finally ceased, I sat out
for the rest of the evening. I think there had at one time been a
hard top for the cockpit but this had been removed long before I had
the boat, and probably accounted for the several holes left in the
cabin top before I fixed it all up. The second, and subsequent
nights got better as time went on and I eventually found my way to
the beautiful meadow by Halfpenny bridge in Lechlade. It had been a
while since I'd been there, with the Thames being used mainly as a
route to the Oxford Canal by my family for a few years. The
distance had to be covered as quick as possible, with no time to
spend simply dawdling. Even then the town of Lechlade was changing.
The beautiful old café that was A.Smith had long gone, and the
shops were just beginning to homogenise into what we have today. It
was still nice to be there though, and I spent an enjoyable time
browsing at some places. A trip to Park End Wharf to get a few
necessities made an interesting diversion, and I eventually decided
to take a look at the old Thames and Severn junction. The best way
to look would have been by water, and the wharf, who used to hire
small motor boats by the hour, now only had a selection of rather
battered fibreglass skiffs. They had the advantage of being cheap,
so I spent a little of the limited cash I had on one. The thing was
in a poor state of repair, and the oars were in even worse condition.
To start with they didn't match! One was about ten inches longer
than the other. They didn't locate properly in the rowlocks which
themselves were severely worn and malformed, being bent to a point
that should have snapped any self respecting piece of cast iron.
Eventually I gave up on the attempt and decided to walk instead.
When
I got opposite the junction I found that the long demolished
footbridge had been replaced and I spent a couple of hours doing a
rather poor watercolour of the area, this being the only image I have
from the holiday. I sometimes wish that I'd taken a camera with me,
but with no more than the one image, I feel the memory of the holiday
has stayed a lot fresher in my mind that it otherwise would have.
I'd decided that if the time was to be a getaway, which was something
I really needed then, that I would take a minimum of clutter with me.
Following this ethos, I also left my radio and cassette recorder
behind, taking a guitar, which I wasn't that good at playing instead.
Although it was no more than a repeat of early family holidays, it
formed a special part of my life that eventually sowed the seeds of
my changing direction and going to art school. It could be argued
that the two weeks were truly life changing in that respect as, when
at Sunderland Polytechnic on my fine art degree course, I met someone called Janice Armstrong at someone's birthday party. The
rest, as has been said so many times, is history. A year after I
completed my degree, we were married in Kendal, and are now rapidly
approaching our 34th
anniversary. In the Mayfly books I have written a lot about the
benign influence boats seem to have on the lives they touch. Maybe
Bee 1 knew something that I didn't.
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