The Regent's Canal

The Regent’s Canal

I’ve known the Regent’s Canal, which describes a 200 hundred year old, East-West arc through London just to the north of the centre, for many years.

When I worked on the northern edge of the city of London, it was easy to reach for a lunchtime jog. It is also part of the least stressful route for cycling from further north to Limehouse, where the canal joins the Thames, and thence through Canary Wharf down to the Greenwich Foot Tunnel (firebombed in the zombie film 28 Weeks Later).

(However, for cyclists the towpath brings its own stresses. For no doubt good reasons, the path often jags blindly under the many bridges. This means that there is a good chance of meeting head on another cyclist thoughtlessly travelling the opposite way.)

I should have learned about the blind towpath, when this September, I was part of a group that assembled in the Canal Museum near King’s Cross. (The event was organised by The Circles of Art, a not for profit entity which supports small galleries and museums through membership subscriptions and fund raising events - www.thecirclesofart.co.uk.) But in spite of an hour’s browsing and a short lecture, my cyclist’s irritation was not explained. But I learned a lot- about the canal network (the first highways of industrial Britain), the types of boat and the people who worked and lived on them.

These days, canal boats are mostly divided between those devoted to leisure cruising and those that are floating, moored-up, homes: or those that are both, moving between moorings.

The treat of the day, and a first for me, was a two-hour voyage on a boat. (“Voyage” is perhaps not the right word, as it suggests sea-going, wave-breasting travel. A canal boat putters along through flat water. The first thing I noticed after setting off was that a woman pushing a buggy on the towpath was overtaking us.)

We were all loaded on to a longish and narrow boat, of modern build, but a replica of a traditional coal-carrying vessel.

Off we went, slowly. Our first encounter with a major engineering feature (apart from the canal itself) was the nearly 1,000 metre long tunnel under the busy streets of Islington. 

In early times (there being no towpath in the tunnel) boats were “legged” through – the crew would lie on their backs and push against the tunnel walls with their legs. The tunnel is not very wide: certainly not enough for two boats travelling in opposite directions, but it is not narrow enough for a boat to be “legged” on both sides, unless on a very fat boat.

Our next canal event was a lock. Years before, I had been on a large (once sea going) motor boat that my father’s brother had lent to my father for his 60^thbirthday treat – a trip up the Severn River. Although my father and his brothers were fanatical sailors/boat people, this beast was too much for my father, his family – and the Severn. I remember the impossible steering, the consequent erratic progress, ripping up the lines of fishermen; and the desperate grabbing at mooring rings in order to try to slow down the boat before it rammed the lock gates.

In complete contrast, our sedate canal craft coasted up, sat still, and drifted into the lock. Which then worked its simple magic (all performed manually by the boat’s second crew member): close rear gate, open front gate, let water level subside, and out we go. 

Turning around, and back we came – open gate, get in, close rear gate, open sluices from the higher level, up we rise; open front gate and out we go.

As we rose in the lock, like leavening bread, a trio of police walked by. They seemed in no hurry – not rushing to investigate bicycle carnage. They were happy to exchange chaff – this was not a usual patrol (given current abysmal police resources in London, none of us thought that). Perhaps they were taking a break and slinking towards a towpath café.

Back in the tunnel, there was a slight alarm. Ahead was a swan with three cygnets, almost fully grown. We chugged on, and the swans moved into clear water at one side of the tunnel – apart from one cygnet that had fled forward at the approach of our boat. It cried in distress from the canal beyond because this mechanical monster had detached it from its parent.

We then went past the huge new King’s Cross development (our eventual landing spot was there) and into another lock (by this time we were blasé). We turned for the last time in a basin hard against the railway viaduct that takes the Eurostar and other high speed trains into and out of St Pancras Station. 

As our boat manoeuvred, a couple of these trains passed by. Although not at this point speeding, the trains and the canal boat were an interesting contrast in motion- that brought to mind the Latin tag Festina Lente(Hasten slowly).

September 2018-09-25