Thursday, 2 April 2015

Four Men In A Boat

In 1985, Bob Geldof was busy arranging Live Aid to raise funds for relief of the ongoing Ethiopian famine. Meanwhile at Midland Bank in Barking, Gerry Baker, Paul Calvert, Keith Markham and I were arranging a slightly less significant, but to us, important event, a boating holiday on the Norfolk Broads. Having successfully negotiated the same two weeks holiday for us all (a task not to be underestimated, as anyone who has wrestled with a holiday rota will appreciate), we booked our boat, and on 6th July 1985, loaded our luggage and provisions  into Gerry's car and set off for Beccles.


Left to right: Keith, Me, Gerry and Paul
Remarkably since they were putting a fairly expensive piece of boating equipment into the hands of complete novices, the boatyard seemed comfortable with allowing us to steer their shiny cabin cruiser away from its moorings with minimal training beyond where the controls were and what they did. They did warn about the limited headroom, but a practical reminder is always better than a theoretical one and I soon learned to duck when going into the cabin by walloping my head on the door frame before we had travelled more than a few hundred yards.

The Norfolk Broads, or more correctly, The Broads, since they include parts of Suffolk, cover 117 square miles and have more than 120 miles of navigable waterway. I've no idea how many miles we covered in our fortnight there, but I do know how many pubs we visited because for some reason I decided to keep a record of them and somewhat geekily, I still have that list, which is reproduced below. Given the fact that the top speed of hire craft on The Broads is limited to a pace equivalent to no more than a brisk walk, we managed to travel a remarkable distance in the first couple of days alone, reaching Wroxham by Monday, about 26 miles from our starting point in Beccles. Mind you we might not have travelled so far had the pubs been open all day; in those days the licensing laws meant that pubs closed in the middle of the afternoon, typically at half past two or three o'clock, reopening at about six, except on Sundays when the closed for even longer.



On the Sunday we stopped at The Stracey Arms, a cavernous pub of little character that was extremely popular; compared with many of the more traditional, rustic pubs we visited it had little to commend it. Apparently it is now permanently closed and I doubt it is much missed. It seems that Gunga Din's Old Colonial Inn is no more either, although with such a non-PC name that is scarcely surprising! Other notable pubs included The Lord Mancroft, notable for a reason which Paul will recall but which I am not prepared to go into here on the grounds of delicacy, and The Bell Hotel in Norwich. The Bell served up one of the best pub lunches I have had, consisting of a vast steak and kidney pie and help yourself to potatoes and vegetables, which I took full advantage of to the point where I was unable to eat or drink anything else until much later that evening!


Food and drink played significant roles in our holiday. It was perhaps unnecessary for us to cart quite so much food with us (we stocked up at a supermarket the night before leaving) as we cooked little on board apart from breakfast, although I do recall concocting something with eggs and tinned potatoes (ugh) and Paul kindly offered to make beans on toast on one occasion, although he rather put the rest of us off by enquiring if we actually wanted our beans cooked and our bread toasted. Paul's appetite (and all who know him will know that it is wide ranging and sometimes prodigious) had to be addressed regularly and we always knew when he wanted to eat because he would be overcome with a sort of thousand yard stare.

The middle weekend of our trip found us in Thorpe St Andrew near Norwich, a charming little place that I would happily go back to (in fact Keith and I did, a few years later) on Live Aid weekend; the weather was glorious. While the others took themselves off for a curry, I stayed on the boat as I was not then a fan of Indian food, ate cheese and biscuits and watched Bob Geldof implore the nation not to go to the pub but to send him their (expletive deleted) money instead. I went to the pub.[1]

The Buck at Thorpe St Andrew
Earlier in the week we had reached Potter Heigham, renowned for the low bridge which it is only possible to pass under with the aid of a pilot. A few years later I went on a long weekend on The Broads with my wife and brothers-in-law; it was October, there were high winds and when we attempted to turn round at Potter Heigham we were at one point wedged sideways across the River Thurne. Judicious use of boathooks was needed to get us pointing down river again.  Most of The Broads is easy to negotiate, even for novices like us, especially for me as the only one of our number not to have a driving licence, but Gerry in particular proved adept at manoeuvring our boat into awkward moorings. It was the lack of speed rather than anything else that proved a problem when we came to crossing Breydon Water, a stretch of water about  three miles long and almost a mile wide that we navigated to enter Yarmouth and the northern Broads. At the limited speed we were capable of and against the wind, the crossing seemed interminable and at Yarmouth we encountered some pretty big vessels before gratefully reaching the River Bure.

By the middle of the second week we seemed to have covered a large proportion of The Broads and having reached Oulton Broad on the Wednesday, stayed there until Friday when we moored up in Beccles to return the boat the following day. Here we had a last meal in a restaurant (the name of which I have not recorded) and Keith and I ordered cauliflower cheese, which proved to be a whole cauliflower covered in cheese sauce rather than the more usual florets!



We returned our boat (intact, believe it or not), returned home and decided that this boating lark was actually rather good fun. So much so that we decided to do it again the following year, but this time not on The Broads. It proved to be a much different experience!
To be continued...






[1] At some point I gave Bob some money too.

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