Sticky Locks or “when’s it going to fill?”

1. I knew it was going to be a good day when I slipped getting on the boat, almost shoving my knee up to my marriage certificate. Now call me superstitious, but these things always come in three’s, (one down). Usually we pick up at the Bay Tree, today we were picking up at the Packet Inn. The Bay Tree being a cafe, the Packet Inn is a pub, we like pubs. The charter was for two hours, that’s two hours with a boat full of screaming children. We set off  apace towards the pick up, arriving well ahead of schedule. I was as giddy as a teenager on his first date, the curse must be broken, perhaps these things don’t come in three’s. It was now a good day. We were ahead, the crew was all present, me, my long suffering mate, I know she’s long suffering, she tells me often, and Richard, oh and Chris, it was his trip. He’s the teacher, he was supplying the children. “Any chance of wetting a tea-bag?” says I, “Yeah, you can chuck one in the canal, that’ll wet it.” said she. Sharp as  razor my wife. So kettle on, tea on the way, time to kill. I love killing time, you just grab it by the neck and shake it. Best laid plans of mice and men, the urchins arrived early. Chris at the head of the party, they advanced on the boat. “Hiya, Chris.” I extended my arm, “long time no see.” Chris is crew but doesn’t do as much as he’d like as he is also a teacher, so can only crew in the six weeks holidays. He’s a nice guy and a competent crew member. “Hiya Pete, all right?” and rather than bore him with my sad life story and poorly knee, I replied “I’ll do mate, Kaths got kettle on.” Anyway, I digress, so rug-rats boarded, we set off 15 mins early. Passed Andys boat, the Shirley May, waved to Lily as we passed, everything was going great. It was going to be a really good day. The Chesterfield Canal is one of the prettiest canals in England, and although we see it a lot, we can never see enough of it. “Its just Witsunday pie lock, int it , Pete?” Chris asked, “only the pub is expecting us at 12,” the pub being the Gate Inn. “No problem mate, we’re 15 mins early.” We decided that Chris and Kath would work the lock with Richard to give a hand, while I handled the boat. Witsunday pie lock is a broad lock. It takes a lock between 15 to 20 mins to fill, so 30 mins later when Kath yelled “It won’t fill.” we knew there was something amiss. So we tie up the boat and have a look. Its almost full, but its just inches from equalising the pressure. So we give it five more mins, thats 35 mins. Even a broad lock should be overflowing now. I check the bottom gates, water’s gushing out. “There’s the problem, there’s as much coming out as there is going in.” So we have a chat, what do we do? do we give it more time and see if it will fill? do we reset the lock? We’ve got a boat full of kiddies and by now they’re getting bored. “Bugger this ” I said “reset it.” So another 30  mins later, it still didn’t equalise. If the  lock doesn’t fill, you can’t open the gates, the pressure of water is too great. The only thing to do is ring BW, which we did. The lock is busted we told them, we have a boat full of school children we told them, they need to be at the Gate Inn we told them, we run to a schedule we told them. “Computer says no,” said the receptionist, “but we’ll pass your message on.” (two).  Don’t ask me why but the chap who lives at the lock house where we had to turn next to the lock is not friendly towards boats or boaters. Strange but true, what I’m trying to say is, if you didn’t like cars, would you buy a house next to a rally track? and if you didn’t like trains, well you know what I mean. But even this chap hollered across, “are you still waiting for the lock?” Which gave me the chance to tell him that we would have to turn but at all costs we would avoid his lillies that grow in our canal, not his pond. To my suprise he said , “go ahead.” So roping the boat round, (roping round is a way of turning the boat using the minimum of space.) Having turned, we headed off back the way we came. Passing back under the bridge and waving to baby Lily. We headed towards Town lock, passing Pegasus who was moored in the basin. Into Town Lock and up through the narrows, the children were really enjoying it by now. Chris asked “do you think we could turn at the windy hole under Worksop road bridge so the kiddies could have a picnic type lunch?” “Of course,” I said, “anything to oblige.” I mean after all they’d waited over an hour at the lock and been very good for childen. So we headed into West Retford Lock, which is the last lock before the windy hole, noticing that while in the lock, Pegasus had now set off and wouldn’t be too far behind. Whilst the lock was filling (15mins), Pegsus had moored and was waiting for the lock after us. Heading out of the lock, I thought we may have a small problem turning as the windy at the windy hole was blowing in the wrong direction, hence the name windy hole. But no, she turned, if somewhat slowly, against the wind. Coming back under Worksop road bridge, I heard Kath’s dulcette tones, “You’re not going to believe this.” “Believe what?” I yelled, mooring the boat. “The lock gate won’t close!” (three). “Let’s have a look,” said I. “I’ve looked,” said she, “its jammed.” “Yeah but,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and looking at her like a little gremlin, “you’re a girly woman.” infering that she might not be strong enough to close the gate, that she’d closed a thousand times before by herself on her own, without a manly man, or even me. Just before she sconed me with her lock key, the crew from the Pegasus appeared from the other side of the lock. “Problems?” one of them called. “Gate’s stuck!” we chorused. “Have you tried wiggling it and banging it?” “Yes.” we said, “I don’t fancy ringing BW again.” I said. “Again?” they said. “Yeah, I had to ring em about Whitsunday Pie about two hours ago.” “Oh, we had to ring them last night.” “What,” I said, “and they’ve not been to fix it! Bloody typical!” “Tell you what,” said one of them, “let’s wiggle it and rock it, and see if we can do it between us.” So we did that, and after a sound like a firecracker going off, the gate closed. But only after it had taken five adults to do it. They entered the lock, we helped them fill it, and guess what, it opened a treat! By this time the kiddies had finished their picnic lunch, and had boarded the Seth. We moved away from the side and approached the lock, guess what?  That’s right, it stuck again! Luckily the Pegasus’ crew had hung about, just in case, for which we are very grateful. Repeating the aforesaid proceedure, we embarked on the rest of our journey, which I am glad to say was without incident. The moral of this story is, don’t bang your knee on a boat, ‘cos these things come in three’s! Oh, don’t call her indoors a girly woman, ‘cos I’m sure she put a spell on that last lock, they’re all witches you know. Bye bye, Boatiepete.