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There’s a chill in the air tonight and there will be mist on the water in the morning. Join me tonight as I answer some hard questions about how viability is a long term in the Erica on the canals?
Journal entry:
21st September, Thursday
“For a short while this evening
The crescent moon and the setting sun
Shared the same length of skyline.
A fiery bronze heart and the ghost of bone.
Then a robin sings as rain drops fall.
Here is tranquillity and peace.
The horned moon
And evensong among the patter
Of elder leaves.”
Episode Information:
In this episode I answer the following listener’s questions:
Have we burnt our bridges?
What do we do about dentists and GPs?
How will the funding cuts affect us?
With special thanks to our lock-wheelersfor supporting this podcast.
Derek and Pauline Watts
Anna V.
Sean James Cameron
Orange Cookie
Donna Kelly
Mary Keane.
Tony Rutherford.
Arabella Holzapfel.
Rory with MJ and Kayla.
Narrowboat Precious Jet.
Linda Reynolds Burkins.
Richard Noble.
Carol Ferguson.
Tracie Thomas
Mike and Tricia Stowe
Madeleine Smith
General Details
In the intro and the outro, Saint-Saen's The Swan is performed by Karr and Bernstein (1961) and available on CC at archive.org.
Two-stroke narrowboat engine recorded by 'James2nd' on the River Weaver, Cheshire. Uploaded to Freesound.org on 23rd June 2018. Creative Commons Licence.
Piano and keyboard interludes composed and performed by Helen Ingram.
All other audio recorded on site.
For more information about Nighttime on Still Waters
You can find more information and photographs about the podcasts and life aboard the Erica on our website at noswpod.com. It will also allow you to become more a part of the podcast and you can leave comments, offer suggestions, and reviews. You can even, if you want, leave me a voice mail by clicking on the microphone icon.
Become a 'Lock-Wheeler'
Would you like to support this podcast by becoming a 'lock-wheeler' for Nighttime on Still Waters? Find out more: 'Lock-wheeling' for Nighttime on Still Waters.
Contact
For pictures of Erica and images related to the podcasts or to contact me, follow me on:
I would love to hear from you. You can email me at nighttimeonstillwaters@gmail.com or drop me a line by going to the nowspod website and using either the contact form or, if you prefer, record your message using the voicemail facility by clicking on the microphone icon.
21st September, Thursday
“For a short while this evening
The crescent moon and the setting sun
Shared the same length of skyline.
A fiery bronze heart and the ghost of bone.
Then a robin sings as rain drops fall.
Here is tranquillity and peace.
The horned moon
And evensong among the patter
Of elder leaves.”
[MUSIC]
A quartering moon has just slipped below the horizon leaving the sky heavy with cloud. Stoves have been lit and curtains drawn in many a boat. This is the narrowboat Erica narrowcasting into a chilly September night scented with woodsmoke to you wherever you are.
Thank you so much for coming. It's so good to see you. I've put the kettle on hoping you could make it. It's far too chilly to stand around outside. Mind the steps and come into the warmth. Welcome aboard.
[MUSIC]
Friday morning. The sun is two and a half fingers above the horizon and burning off a thick blanket of fog leaving only gauzy veils in pockets and hollows – like sheep wool caught on a bramble thicket.
In a bankside pool of sunshine, a moorhen suns herself. Motionless, apparently unheeding of my approach. She’s hunched, wings not quite outstretched, but approximating that sunbathing stance. I am too far away to see if her eyes are closed – as blackbirds when they fall into that state of ecstatic bliss. A spot of morning moorhen zen.
Earlier, the swans came by when the fog still lay thickly over the canal trench. There is something rather Arthurian about swans in the fog. There is a particularly mythic quality about them – gliding silent, serene, and white among the greys and muted greens.
Just now, from the west, where the fog still holds the strongest, comes the plaintive cry of geese on the wing. They form a loose straggling chevron against a blue sky raked with mares’ tails of high cirrus clouds. There’s about fifteen in all, working east towards the rising sun, but two are outriders. Their fast-wing beats pat the morning air. One of the outriders transects the clear blue between it and the flock, easing into the formation. However, the other one remains distant, charting a much more southerly course. The lone goose. I often see them. The one that doesn’t quite join the flight. Clearly belonging to the flock, but somehow or for some reason, at this moment, not quite part of it. Who are these lone geese and why are they alone? I am not even sure if it is the same goose. But there seems to always be those geese who chart their own courses across the misty skies.
The main flight maintain their easterly sky-path, their constant contact calls bubbling across the flock, rising and falling. There is a sense of syntax here. These calls are more than mere robotic proximity beeps. There’s a subtle differentiation and complexity in each call. A sense of person. If I was a Hebrew writer, a sense of nephesh – living soul. The out-breathings of the divine into all living things.
But this lone goose, a few yards distant also calls, but the call is very different. Longer, louder. There is a sense that it is more insistent. It appears to have a very different register to those in-flight calls. For a while I half expected the main flock to alter course and tag along with this outrider. But they didn’t. The distance between them grew ever wider until now the lone goose was just that. No longer an outrider just a solitary bird flying purposely off to some unknown destination. As they receded into the distance, I could still make out the two sets of calls – though the lone goose’s call became a little softer, perhaps decisions had been made, conclusions drawn.
The sun continues to rise higher. Smoke begins to curl upward from one of the boats. One the last swallows of summer arrows down the canal, skimming low across the surface to drink. The early morning chill begins to dissipate.
[MUSIC]
[MUSIC]
Have we burnt our bridges?
What do we do about dentists and GPs?
How will the funding cuts affect us?
This is the narrowboat Erica signing off for the night and wishing you a very restful and peaceful night. Good night.
