A Relaxing Weekend on the Canal

The canal runs parallel with the main line of the Trent and Mersey Canal for nearly half a mile until they meet at Hardings Wood Junction. "Heartbreak Hill" locks and Middlewich are to the left; Harecastle Tunnel and Stoke are to the right.


     ‘Switch on here, press this button and turn the key,’ said the man at the Marina when I picked up the barge. I had expected to receive at least a five minute lesson on how to drive the boat. Collecting it fell to me because my son and partner would be working on the Friday. Luckily I remembered that someone had told me that you kept to the right on the canal not the left like the road. So with not a little trepidation I set off.

Although sixty years ago my grandmother lived a few yards from the lock at Hardingswood on the Trent and Mersey canal it was my first trip on a barge. In my childhood my cousins and I took no heed about the dangers of playing near the lock and frequently played tick running and jumping fearlessly to avoid being ‘on’. Frequent walks along the canal side collecting wildflowers with a favourite uncle was my first lesson in learning the names of wild flowers.


This day in less than a mile I reached the Harecastle tunnel. Built in 1825 by Thomas Telford it is nearly two miles long, only wide enough for one boat and unlit. All I had was a lamp on the front of the boat. So a dark, dank narrow tunnel and a boat of 70 feet long and a light a little better than a candle. A metal boat too. No matter how hard I tried the boat ricocheted from side to side. The boom, boom, boom it made was deafening. I was terrified. Remembering my local history I realised I was passing the entrance of a disused coal mine which was reputed to be haunted by the ghost of a murdered woman The Kidsgrove Bogart. My fear was augmented.

When I sailed out into the dazzling sunlight I steered the barge to the side. Still shaking I managed to leap off the boat and tie it up to the huge metal mooring rings. What a relief it was to see my sailing partners coming along the towpath. The terror dispelled I called a cheery welcome.


Relieved that my son Robert and partner Philip had joined me my confidence returned. I felt proud of my single handed maiden voyage. I didn’t tell them how scary my journey through the tunnel had been. They stowed their gear and strapped the three cycles they had brought atop the cabin. Eager to show off my newly acquired seamanship - er - canalmanship, I said I would steer for the first few miles. We began the stretch known as the killer mile on account of the number of locks in such a short distance. I was thankful that there had been no locks for me to negotiate when alone.



It was all going well until I realised too late that there was a lorry, a very long lorry, parked so that its rear end overhung the canal by at least six feet. Yes, I hit it and the number plate on the side of the cabin was sliced off.

I was demoted from steerer to lock opener.

The rest of the first day went well. We moored the boat and cycled towards for the nearest pub. The towpath was narrow and we rode in single file. My son lead, followed by me who was closely followed by Philip. Too closely because he braked hard to prevent himself from touching my rear wheel and whoosh, splosh - into the canal he went. Philip is not an athletic man so I was amazed to see him leap up and out of the water onto the canal side as though he had landed on a springboard. It was just as well as Robert and I were cruelly and uncontrollably laughing. We couldn’t have helped him even if he’d been drowning. The now dripping Philip turned to see his brand new hat floating gently on the water. ‘I must take a photo,’ he said diving into his rucksack for his camera. Aiming it he said, ‘That hat cost me ten quid.’ The hat said, ‘Blub, blub, blub,’ and sank into the murky water before the camera clicked.

As Philip, drenched from head to foot, was shivering with cold we postponed our Pub visit and returned to the barge. Fortunately one of us had brought a bottle of whiskey so we drank to our first day’s excitement and the rest of the trip which was uneventful until the last day.


Nearing the homestretch Philip who was steering called to Robert, ‘Look there’s the lorry your mother hit on the way out. I must take a photo of it.’ He dived down the steps into the cabin for his camera and returned just as we hit the lorry for a second time taking off the other number plate.

On our return through the tunnel Philip took the helm. This time I was unafraid but felt a bit aggrieved that he seemed to be unaffected by the booming of seventy feet of metal on brick in the echoing darkness. I started to tell him the ghost story. I thought it only fair since I had previously negotiated the tunnel of terror alone. As we were passing the entrance to the mine I shouted, ‘Look there she is.’ A white female shape floated towards us then turned into the entrance of the old mine. It was probably a trick of the light but it was enough to make Philip dive into the cabin for the whiskey bottle leaving me to steer us out into the daylight.

We have the photo of the lorry but sadly not the hat. Philip is no David Bailey and it seems that neither of us is Ellen MacArthur.
I have a really poor photo of the lorry but I am unable to copy it to this blog.


You can see information and videos of The Harecastle Tunnel, Kidsgrove on Wikipedia. A very informative website worth visiting is http://www.talke.info .




There is also a history booklet containing information about Kidsgrove and the Harecastle Tunnel called The Best of Kidsgrove News by Philip Leese and Published by Good News 124 High Street Harriseahead ST 7


The Kidsgrove Boggart and the Black by Philip Leese and published by Staffordshire County Council make interesting reading. Unfortunately out of print but I am sure it is available from Hanley or Kidsgrove Library.


It is a pity that Kidsgrove does not use its unique position on the canal to its advantage. It is still exciting to take the trip through the tunnel and to see the old legging tunnel and wonder how families in the past survived the hardships of canal life.