Narrow Dog to Carcassonne by Terry Darlington Page A

middle of the bridge I gave a wave and a shout.
    Up Slime Road we rattled through a soup of sand and gravel, and into deeper water where surges whispered and bubbled—
Just one mistake, just one mistake, break a belt, break a belt
. Robin said It’s going wrong, we are late. He took over again and showed Clive, whom he liked, where a big tanker had caught aground and rolled, lost with all hands on just such an evening. They catch, they catch again, and then they roll, and then they drown.
    But the strife was o’er, the battle done. Sharpness would let us in after the blue freighter ahead. We sat in the front deck where the engine could scarce be heard and watched the evening come down. The smoke from a cottage rose straight into the air. The water settled to a rink of opal, overflowing every creek and spilling on the grass.
    At Sharpness we waited in the stream while the freighter passed into the lock. Another demonstration from the merchant marine, that foster-child of silence and slow time. Then
Squawk
, and
Re-squawk. Come on Robbie boy, we’ll squash your funny little boat in somehow squawk fizz
.
    Our bedmate was registered in Estonia and was rather smaller than Jermyn Street. We crept under her side and her crew, fugitives from many a desolate Baltic wharf, looked down with disbelief on the thin boat, the orange dog, the bush hat, the flowers.
    The gates opened into the canal and Robin came along the lock. Thank you Robin, I said as we shook hands—you have helped give us one of the best days of our lives.

    THE GLOUCESTER AND SHARPNESS CANAL RUNS alongside the Severn estuary. It’s a ship canal—straight and wide to Gloucester.

    On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
    Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

    Robin told me he had only done one narrowboat before, said Clive. Did they make it? I asked.
    We drank and we boasted—We went past the Houses of Parliament, and we went under the great bridges.

    For lust of knowing what should not be known,
    We take the golden road to Samarkand.

    We’ll take the narrow dog to Carcassonne—bunnies can and will go to France!
    Jim knew we were inland—I had not seen him wag his tail before, but more than that, he was frolicking.
    I’ve been thinking about the Channel, said Clive: about roping the boats together. It’s a question of the forces at play. Oh yes, I said, the forces at play.
    There’s not going to be any forces at play, I thought. We were lucky today—it could have gone either way. Sail on, you mad bugger—for me, it’s the lorry, and the crane into Calais.

Three
    DEAD MAN’S WHARF

    Stone to Southwark
    J im and I walked down to Aston lock to look over the edge of the world. The cut was frozen but in a few months the narrowboats would be moving again—
thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
. We stopped at the Star for a pint and a bag of scratchings. The new landlord pulled Jim’s ears—They say a whippet makes a good dog—what’s he like as a boat dog? Terrible, I said.
    I hear your friend Clive is taking you over the Channel, said the new landlord. Good heavens, I said, who told you that? Everyone knows, he said.
    At home we had a second e-mail from the nice man with the beard and the capital letters. Perhaps he had remorse about the capital letters, for this time his letters were small. Ring the Royal Yachting Association, he suggested.
    A weather window special, said the Principal of the Royal Yachting Association Dover Sea School, showing no surprise. It can be done—I took one across ten years ago. You must close up the front deck or it can fill and sink you. The ferries throw up waves three feet high, the Sea Catamarans six or eight feet. There is always a swell. It’s the busiest shipping lane in the world. It’s full of rubbish to get round your prop and the tides run fast. The Goodwin Sands is a very big place and very nasty. Your best plan is to go down the Thames and round to Ramsgate with a pilot and then across to Calais