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First published 2015
Text copyright © David Bartley and John Sergeant, 2015
Front cover image: © Terry Matthews / Alamy
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The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-718-18065-2
Introduction
The Trent and Mersey Canal
Introduction
A Brief History of The Trent and Mersey Canal
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Birmingham Canal Navigations
Introduction
A Brief History of The Birmingham Canal Navigations
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Aire and Calder Navigation
Introduction
A Brief History of The Aire and Calder Navigation
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Leeds and Liverpool Canal
Introduction
A Brief History of The Leeds and Liverpool Canal
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Grand Union Canal
Introduction
A Brief History of The Grand Union Canal
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Llangollen Canal
Introduction
A Brief History of The Llangollen Canal
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Caledonian Canal
Introduction
A Brief History of The Caledonian Canal
The Journey Itself
The Broader Historical Context
The Kennet and Avon Canal
Introduction
A Brief History of The Kennet and Avon Canal
The Journey Itself
The Evolving Canal
Further Reading
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OH THE JOYS of television. I am in the backyard of the famous Wedgwood factory, and they have given me a pile of reject china on a trolley. All I have to do, with their full permission, is to behave like a bull in a china shop and tip the whole lot over. But how can I make it look natural and, of course, amusing? My first attempt fails. The trolley has slipped into a narrow ditch, but I cannot make it flip over. The ditch needs to be deeper. Next time it is perfect. The noise is ear-splitting, the shattered plates and remains of the jugs spin vigorously on the ground.
It may seem a daft way to learn anything, but the more I pushed this ungainly trolley, the more I was forced to think about the real difficulties faced by Josiah Wedgwood 200 years ago. Nowadays it is so straightforward. You go into a shop, have your plates packed up and off you go. Mr Wedgwood began by depending on horses and carts to deliver his delicate china. He longed to use canal boats. Then his goods could travel safely in huge quantities, to supply the British market and also satisfy the demands of eager buyers overseas. But his planned factory was a long way from a decent waterway, let alone the sea.
Mr Wedgwood was not the sort to give up. British manufacturing, spurred on by the industrial revolution, was leading the world. And he was convinced that his new style of incredibly thin bone china would make his name and his fortune. He dreamed of turning the Potteries into Eldorado. He would conquer the world, he announced, ‘vase by vase’. Despite all the difficulties, he set off to build a waterway, which would become the famous Trent and Mersey Canal. Later a giant boat lift would be added, powered by steam engine. The resulting system sent clay in one direction and the finished china back in return, with almost no limit on how often it could be used. Engineering genius and a business wizard had produced the marvel that we can still see today.
Having been given the chance to travel along the best canals in Britain for an eight-part television series for ITV, I had a ringside seat to enjoy some of the most spectacular feats of civil engineering ever undertaken in this country. These beautiful canals were not designed to look good. They were born as a result of hard times and grim reality. I saw extraordinary examples of technical innovation, but I was also struck by the harsh requirements which drove the engineers to excel in such amazing ways. Even when the construction work was over, thousands of canal workers were needed to keep the whole system going through long hours and backbreaking toil. It was often the only way to keep their families from starvation.
Now, these pencil-like waterways, criss-crossing the country, are almost entirely devoted to holidays and the leisure industry. But they also remain a great historical treasure. Many people see them as one of the wonders of the world; and it is not hard to see why. They can be appreciated on so many different levels; and their charms are not always obvious. You can drive along a motorway, catch sight of a canal boat and not be unduly impressed. You may not relish the contrast between the speeding cars and the slow, deliberate pace of the narrow boats. But most of those on the water are unlikely to be in any doubt. They may well favour a 4 mph speed limit and believe, when it comes to lifestyle, they are the ones to be envied.
I discovered, though, that some of those who have spent years living on canal boats can still find it hard to explain why they would not want to base themselves on dry land. It is wonderfully complicated. There is an element of mystery. Most of the canal users certainly have a desire to escape from everyday concerns and they also like to be involved in some way with history, to live in the past. But why have the canals attracted so much more interest in recent years? More miles of the old waterways have been restored than ever before. Is it because we are so buffeted by technological change that we instinctively feel much closer to the original canal promoters, who were hit first by competition from the railways and then by the dramatic switch to the roads?
You may say this is all stuff and nonsense. A week or two on a canal, with bed and board included, is just a cheap family holiday, with Mum happy to be homemaker, Dad pretending he is a yardarm away from being Lord Nelson, and the children determined not to give up their role as twenty-first-century transformer fanatics. What I found, to my delight, is that people on canals are far more varied and interesting. There are the stay-on-boards, lots of them, who live on their boats, which they are proud to own. Some of them are reclusive, and a few of them live alone. But they share a desire to enjoy the boating life, moving on when they feel like it, choosing their neighbours and not being told where and how they should live.
There are the regular visitors who want to celebrate the countryside. They are taken by the wildlife, have no difficulty distinguishing a coot from a moorhen, are mesmerized by a hesitating heron and revel in the blue flash of a kingfisher. If you mention some of the less enticing aspects of the countryside, perhaps an attack of horseflies or locals giving a rather too graphic description of their favourite manure, they adopt the dreamy posture of the true convert. They have decided from the very beginning of the fortnight that this is going to be a perfect holiday and they will not be deflected.
There are the children, particularly those approaching their teens, who are confident they know how to get the best out of their time on the water. They are amused by those younger than themselves who don’t know how to operate a lock or manage a swing bridge and when questioned admit, with a deep sense of satisfaction, that these accomplishments can also be difficult for grown-ups.
There are also those adults who, in spite of being confined to a narrow boat, want to make the most of this experience. They scan the maps, anxious to make sure they are always within walking distance of a good pub. With electronic equipment easily charged up on the boat when the engines are running, they can check on precisely the beers that will be on offer and, after looking over the sample menus, decide it may be wise to stick to the fish and chips. I have to admit that sometimes I fell into this category.
Then there are those I really admired, the canal volunteers drawn by a deep appreciation of the past and a determination to look after every aspect of the waterways. I joined a group in Bradford-on-Avon who had undertaken to clear the banks of undergrowth. They were a dedicated bunch, mainly retirees, who threw themselves into the task. One of the women pointed out that enthusiasm alone was not enough; we also had to make sure that the weeds I was cheerfully throwing into the canal were kept on board to be disposed of later. As the working boat rose through the muddy water of a lock, I asked whether our interest in the long-outdated canal system was yet another manifestation of the British character. One of the volunteers paused for thought as she stood in front of the dirty lock wall moving steadily upwards. ‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘it is our heritage.’
I have thought about this question in some detail. There is certainly something very British in the way we cherish the canals, which for only a relatively short period provided the answer to our transport problems. Nostalgia is part of it, a feeling that we have left something valuable behind which can be retrieved; it takes us back to a time when the pace of life was slower and maybe suited us better. We also seem to be attracted to the idea that the way those undoubted hardships were overcome represents a peculiarly British kind of victory and should be celebrated. We also like to be reminded of that period in history after the industrial revolution when we led the world. Trade followed the flag, and the Union Jack fluttered across a quarter of the globe. It was the greatest empire the world has ever seen; and that is not a bad thought to contemplate as you sit at your mooring, sipping a pint of British beer.
Of course, we are not living anything like the life of nineteenth-century boatmen. If you go on a canal holiday you are simply playing a game compared with those rough and tough canal folk, who were often scorned by those in regular jobs and treated like gipsies. The men and women employed on the narrow boats had to work all hours to see their cargoes arrive on time. If they had children old enough to help that might make things easier, but often it was a couple walking with the horse and taking turns on the tiller. I spoke to an elderly woman brought up on one of the few remaining working boats. And she described with bitterness her cruel childhood. She told how they had to work hard to earn enough to live; and they had to keep on the move. It could be bitterly cold in the winter and uncomfortably warm in the summer. However, despite all her hardships, she was still attached to the canals. This strange, shifting life outdoors was where she felt at home.
The more you know about the British canal system, the more it fascinates; the more you travel across this vast network, the more you realize how much you still have to learn. There are so many possible canal journeys, and they vary so much in character and type. From the great mountains and lochs which dominate the Caledonian Canal to the gently rolling countryside adorning the Kennet and Avon Canal there is so much to discover. The people I met ranged from hardy souls who had spent years on the canals to those who had just managed a few days. I can honestly say there were few cross words from us or anyone else. When the sun was shining people seemed to find it hard not to smile. This book contains descriptions of eight of what we regard as the best canal journeys in Britain, but it could very easily have been a longer list. One of the joys of boating is imagining the voyages you could take when you have the chance to shrug off the pressing concerns of everyday life. I hope this book will help.
There were many memorable moments as we worked our way across the country. I will not forget my encounter with Freddie, a gentle giant of a Shire horse, pulling narrow boats along a stretch of the canal at Kintbury in Berkshire. I was allowed to take his reins, and, with some gentle encouragement, and frequent stops to sample the grass, Freddie settled into his routine. It was a hot day, and I became increasingly unaware of anything except the task in hand. After about an hour, Freddie came to a halt. It was where he always stopped to allow the tourists to get off the boat, and I gave him his reward. A peppermint sucked across his large tongue narrowly missed his enormous teeth. His pleasure was obvious. I gave him another mint and then the rest of the packet. I had bonded with Freddie, and he had made my day. These programmes in the high summer of 2014 were among the most enjoyable of my entire career.
John Sergeant
CANALS, FROM THE 1760s until the 1840s, when they suffered a form of sclerosis thanks to the coming of the railways, were the arteries of the industrial revolution. It wasn’t the case that this revolution came into being and then the canals helped it along. Neither could have developed without the existence of the other. Canals brought raw materials – coal, limestone and iron – to the infant industries that enabled the Age of Steam to roar into flame.
Inland towns without the benefit of navigable rivers now became behemoths of industry. The Potteries were able to source raw materials and ship their goods all over the world. The Black Country became a smoky industrial powerhouse, Birmingham the City of a Thousand Trades. The all-important textile industry either side of the Pennines was also well served by canals.
By the time the canal age got stuck in neutral, Britain had become the Workshop of the World, its products shipped to all four corners of the globe, its manufacturers and merchants rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
Goods could be carried up to four times more cheaply by canal than by road. Coal for domestic fuel, and later gas lighting, salt, soap and all manner of new, and cheaper, pots, pans, crockery, buttons, bows, bedsteads, trinkets and other creature comforts, transformed the lives of ordinary Britons. Materials to build the new Britain came by canal – bricks, stone and gravel. Thanks to canals the chemical industry picked up speed. Fertilizer was carried by water and helped foment what’s been called the agrarian revolution, the striking improvements in agriculture, contemporary with those in industry.
But nothing lasts for ever. The glittering success of the first canals led to the ‘Canal Mania’ of the 1790s, when promoters, hucksters and get-rich-quick merchants whipped up a feeding frenzy of speculation in canal shares, tempting the unwary into schemes that seemed too good to be true and usually were. Many investors lost their shirts, as canals were left unfinished or saddled by crippling debts.
The railways, from 1830, put the biggest spoke in the wheel, and the canal companies, who’d been living high on the hog, panicked, sold up and sold out. Commercial trade on the canals survived until very recent times, but it was bleeding away from the First World War onwards, in a slow but steady haemorrhaging of traffic, revenue and hope.
Many were abandoned, and the whole network looked like slipping into the wilderness from which it had come – dry, rusting, rotting, moss-laden. But from the 1950s, in ever-increasing numbers, an army of dedicated volunteers began to reclaim these fallen giants, a process that continues today, bringing more and more miles of waterway, and the associated buildings that have survived, back into being. To be enjoyed by a competing alliance of pleasure boaters, canoeists, anglers, walkers, dog-walkers and dogs. Reservoirs are now chock-a-block with sailing and windsurfing clubs, and the waterways themselves – thanks, ironically, to their near-abandonment – are havens of wildlife, where the rarest flora and fauna thrive.
Today there are more craft on our canals than there ever were during their industrial heyday. Leisure has succeeded in keeping canals open. That this should be the case would, surely, have astounded the men who brought them into being – as well as the women who played a vital part in keeping the boats and goods moving. Their story has only relatively recently begun to be told.
This book explores the history of British inland navigation by looking at each of the eight waterways travelled by John Sergeant in his ITV series Barging Round Britain: The Trent and Mersey Canal, Birmingham Canal Navigations, Aire and Calder Navigation, Leeds and Liverpool Canal, Grand Union Canal, Llangollen Canal, Caledonian Canal and Kennet and Avon Canal. We’ll meet some of the most fantastical constructions of the canal age: the world-famous Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, on the Llangollen Canal; Caen Hill Lock Flight, on the Kennet and Avon; the Harecastle Tunnel and Anderton Boat Lift, on the Trent and Mersey; the Burnley Embankment and Bingley Five-Rise locks, both on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal; the notorious Blisworth Tunnel, on the Grand Union; and the extraordinary, gigantic Neptune’s Staircase and Clachnaharry Sea Lock, the pride of the Caledonian Canal.
As well as their works, we’ll look at the lives, talents and legacies of the great canal builders. John Smeaton (who coined the term civil engineer), James Brindley, William Jessop, Thomas Telford and John Rennie. And the contributions made by the titans of industry so intricately linked with the glories and success of the canal age – Josiah Wedgwood, Abraham Darby, Richard Arkwright, John ‘Iron-Mad’ Wilkinson, Matthew Boulton and James Watt.
WHEN DO YOU know you are in danger of becoming a real canal enthusiast? To me one of the answers to this important philosophical question can be summed up quite simply. It is when you are excited by the idea of a giant boat lift, which will eff ortlessly transport your craft, with all your crew and contents, from river to canal and back again; when you are ready, of course.
I was on the gently flowing River Weaver at the start of my journey along the Trent and Mersey Canal. Before 1875 I might well have been carrying salt from the local mines and be about to shift it up a steep slope to another boat on the canal itself. Coming the other way, I would have to slide my cargo – perhaps china from the Wedgwood works – down chutes to a boat on the River Weaver.
For more than a hundred years, initially using a steam engine powering a clever system of hydraulics, the Anderton Boat Lift could do it all for you. The trick was to pump water weighing about the same as a heavily laden canal boat into large tanks on one side of the iron structure. And on the other side the boats would be lifted gently upwards, as if by magic.
This is the last working boat lift of its kind in England. It was fully restored in 2002 and uses oil rather than water and electricity instead of steam. But the fun of making the crossing is unchanged. Skilled men using radios guide the boats through, and all you have to do is give a brief rendition of ‘Rule Britannia’. It was the first of its kind in the world.
There are other first prizes which have been won by the Trent and Mersey Canal. It was a joint project mounted by Liverpool Corporation and the Staffordshire pottery owners led by Josiah Wedgwood. For the first time goods could travel by water from the Potteries to the port. And it involved building the first three British canal tunnels. It also deserves a first for it ingenious name. Yes, it does go along the River Trent, but it only briefly joins the river itself, and it never actually comes within sight of the River Mersey. But that is show business.
One of my most interesting experiences was to travel through the Harecastle Tunnel. It plunges through a hill, which would otherwise have required two flights of locks, and to begin with all was calm. The light from the entrance became a small white disc, as we retreated into the darkness. This being television, my guide began to explain the legend of the local ghost; I felt less and less able to laugh it off when small pieces of masonry began falling off the roof. We spent a full forty minutes in the cold and damp before being gratefully released on the other side.
I was reminded of the old canal folk and how they had to cope. Usually the tunnels had no space for towpaths, so horses could not accompany them. Eventually steam tugs were made to pull the boats through. But before then the boats had to be ‘legged’. Lying on their backs, the crew would push their way through as if they were walking along the roof of the tunnel. Professional ‘leggers’ would wait at the entrance in the hope of picking up work. As I gripped the handle to increase the power of our splendidly reliable engine, I gave a small, silent prayer to the twenty-first century.