Of Byelaws and Other Nonsense

In a previous blog essay I threatened to return to the subject of the changing laws on the Middle Level. Royal Assent was awarded the Middle Level Act 2018 in November 2018. This means the Private Bill I was fighting against for about two years is now law, although I guess I should admit to being a little bit pleased that had it not been for a delivery driver, a postie, a care worker, a bar worker and this old hippy muso, boaters in the Fens would be in a much worse position than that in which they now find themselves. Our little gang with some sterling support from a retired barrister and a rather extraordinary experienced campaigner on waterways issues managed to get the Bill sponsors to accept about twenty amendments and undertakings to the original draft of the Bill that one MP in the first Commons debate described as "Draconian". The process for this to happen was somewhat curious.

Private Bills are rare. When they appear they are usually unopposed and generally favour a commercial interest of some kind - HS2 is one about which many people will have heard. Bills like these are often rubber-stamping exercises. Had we not made our arguments against the Bill over eight days of Committee in Parliament I don't think any of the amendments would have come about. Despite the fact that we proposed most of them (although I personally wanted this example of feudalism to be thrown out altogether) it seems to be one of the many Parliamentary procedures that confuses me so much that it was deemed more fitting for the Bill's sponsors to propose the amendments that scuppered the worst excesses of their own ambitions. For what I believe is the first time, laws relating to the inland waterways in this country have secured some recognition for live-aboard boaters, including continual cruisers, to be recognised as a special group. It was written into the 2018 Act.

I have been surprised, therefore, that the "consultation" document proposing draft Byelaws, as allowed for in the 2018 Act, seems to have returned to the spirit of the original "Draconian" Bill. I still object to people having the right to come on to my boat, my home, to check that I am complying with their rules. These people do not own my boat, I do. These people do not own the waterways, they are there to keep the land free from flood and keep the waterway navigable. The law now gives them the power to impose a licence arrangement. Alongside that they already have the power to require that I have the correct insurance. My insurance company requires that I can prove I have a valid Boat Safety Scheme Certificate. No local authority has the right to enter people's homes merely on the flash of an identity card or even of the twenty-four hours notice this navigation authority thinks is sufficient. Even the emergency services require a very good reason to come into someone's home uninvited and the police would require a warrant. I am mildly put out, verging on outraged and I'm a white (and by implication, privileged) man. I can only imagine how impositions such as these would be seen by solo women boaters, for example.

The 2018 Act requires that the new Byelaws be drawn up in consultation with a Navigation Advisory Committee. Before the Act there was no such thing as this Committee. Somewhat naively I expected there to be a little bit of a democratic process to define who is going to be called to serve, specially when they are meant to be looking after my interests. A search on the navigation authority's website is a frustrating affair at the best of times. It has all the appearance of a professionally constructed site, but whoever designed it should really have a think about what a website is for. Finding any information, even using the built-in search engine is difficult. I don't understand how it is also so hit-and-miss. These are computers. If I use specific search terms one day those same terms should find the same results the next. Unfortunately, that rarely seems to be my experience. After a hint from another boater I found a set of minutes that listed names of people from organisations who had apparently been invited earlier on this year to sit on the Navigation Advisory Committee. There are no minutes of any Navigation Advisory Committee meetings which the 2018 Act made a legal requirement to consult, either to agree or to go to binding independent arbitration on a number of matters including the drawing up of the Byelaws. Instead, the list of Committee members I have seen recorded in the minutes of a different meeting altogether shows no hint of democratic process. This authoritarian organisation has made a list of its friends who accepted without question the first version of the Bill, you know - the Draconian one, and asked them to join the gang. There is no one on the list I have seen who has actually questioned the navigation authority about their decisions and behaviour so far. The liveaboard "representatives" actually spoke for the sponsors of the Bill, as expert witnesses, during its passage through Parliament. Perhaps I was being overly sensitive, but many people living on their boats just about get by. We don't have the means to be able to buy new boats from the spoils of a superannuated job and the sale of an empty bricks-and-mortar nest. There are some who seem to think the inland waterways are best left as a reservation for those who can keep their boats looking pretty and thoroughly maintained. This was certainly the message I took from this particular "expert witness" in Parliamentary committee. As far as I can tell there are no solo boaters on the NAC either.

I have long suspected that democracy was not what most of us assume it to be. What I experienced during the Parliamentary process and my eight days in Committee was an appearance of being part of the democratic process which, on reflection, may not have been real. My first shock was the chairman of the Committee of MPs who went back to Parliament and gave a speech on behalf of the Bill's sponsors. He was clearly not as impartial as we thought. I have more respect for the process as it went to the Lords where the sponsors were given a good grilling over many of the points we, the petitioners, had raised as well as a number of others we hadn't. The Lords seemed to have read (and, more importantly, understood) the documents. However, the end result was that the sponsors got what they wanted. Of course they made concessions in terms of their undertakings and amendments, but we were not seriously party to those decisions.

Now we have the draft Byelaws and consultation for these has closed. I did not even know about the draft Byelaws document until a fortnight before the consultation period ended - strong sense of déja vu here. In Parliament one of the sponsors made it clear that important notices could be delivered directly to boats. The draft Byelaws that are going to have such an impact on my life for as long as I am in this area were clearly not considered sufficiently important to justify notifying me. I don't suppose many others heard the news either. In fact I know they didn't. The farmer who owns the land near where I moor regularly didn't know until I told him. The member of the navigation authority who lives next door may have known, but he doesn't speak to me, not even to return a greeting.

There are going to be some aggrieved people come the time the Byelaws are rubber-stamped into existence. One of the new rules states that boats cannot be moored within either ten metres of a bridge or thirty metres of any other water control structure. Going through the nearby villages on my trip last weekend I made a mental note of boaters with garden moorings. Some of them are adjacent to bridges. I knocked on the door of someone in such a situation and asked whether he knew about the Act and the draft Byelaws. He said he had heard of them, but had no idea what was in them. "I expect a letter will drop on to my mat before too much longer," he said. I was very disappointed that a) many people are so fatalistic about these unnecessary impositions and b) he wasn't prepared to do any legwork to find out for himself. "Do you realise your boat will be moored illegally once the Byelaws come into effect?" I asked him. "You are right next to a bridge." His garden isn't wide enough to move the boat ten metres away from the bridge. "It's a footbridge," he replied ... "and just let them try!" He has more optimism that he can fight the system than I have. I'd hate to see him lose his boat, because he thought it couldn't happen to him.

The proposed Byelaws are full of absurd ideas. One of the original petitioners found fault with many of them and listed eight or nine ways the proposals are actually in contempt of Parliament. I wrote an eight-page response to the proposals. I'll finish this essay by giving just one example of the poorly-considered changes to our conditions of being here. In fact, what the proposed law contains is not just daft, it puts single-handed boaters like me in danger if we attempt to comply. I hope the  arguments I have given in my response will cause the section on using locks to be amended.

Locks are dangerous places. People die in them. I take the greatest of care when using a lock. The proposed Byelaws state that a boat should be secured at the bow and the stern when going through one. I polled a discussion group of single-handed boaters and all who responded, just like me, only ever use a centre rope to steady the boat in a lock. Trying to keep on top of everything while water is rushing in or out requires great care. A boater on their own cannot safely control a 50' steel boat like mine (or a longer one like many) using both fore and aft ropes. That is possible only with a crew. Even if I could reach both ropes at the same time I could probably not hold the boat steady with the different forces acting on it in the lock. I don't like to tie the boat to the bollards because I may not be able to release my rope quickly enough when I need to do so. Tying up from both ends is unthinkable. The last thing I want is to hang my boat and submerge it if I couldn't get to one of the ropes quickly enough! The law is in great danger of becoming the proverbial donkey. I certainly do not want to serve on the Navigation Advisory Committee (and couldn't anyway with the kind of peripatetic life I have), but I don't have any confidence that the navigation authority knows how to approach people who know what they are talking about. If you hear about boaters dying in a lock in the Fens, or losing a limb, you'll know the navigation authority probably didn't agree that I have a point.

This man is someone whose blog I have followed for a few years. He knows what he is talking about too.

https://livingonanarrowboat.co.uk/why-a-narrowboat-centre-line-is-so-important-for-solo-owners/

Of Floating Free 4 And Existential Issues Of Smoke

I might as well add the final video I made of this little trip. The Well Creek Trust, who played such an  important part in reopening the Old Course of the River Nene to provide the navigable section from Marmont Priory Lock through to Salters Lode have also, over the years, put in some visitor moorings at Upwell (one as you come into the village and one by the village church/Five Bells pub), one each at Outwell Basin and Nordelph and a rather isolated one between Outwell and Nordelph. I don't know if they were also responsible for the moorings at Salters Lode, but I didn't get that far this time. The mooring that features in this video is the rather isolated one.

I recently changed the fuel that I burn to stay alive. When I moved on to the boat the previous owner recommended Taybrite processed coal nuts that came in bags. When the price went up substantially I switched to Winterblaze, which was also recommended for multi-fuel stoves, because it was £3 cheaper for a twenty-kilo bag. I wanted to use logs, but storing them until they are properly seasoned and ready for burning is a bit of an issue. I know lots of people burn logs and many gather their own and keep them on the roof, but that has never seemed to work for me. Wood gathered from the wild is too wet to use immediately. It produces little heat and fouls the chimney whilst also creating a tar-like substance that gathers and runs along the roof and down the sides of the boat in unseemly black/brown streaks. When this happened to my boat I never found out how to clean those streaks off. The mess also removed paint from the roof and sides and made the boat look unloved. Having only relatively recently paid nearly £10,000 for a month-long job comprising of a complete grit-blast back to bare metal and repaint the prospect of unseemly streaks isn't an attractive one. I really need this paint job to last as long as possible. For a similar reason I don't really want to store wet wood on my roof until it can become sufficiently seasoned to use. Having steep sides to the cabin walls I also suspect that too much weight on the roof will risk destabilising the boat, specially in windy conditions. The steep sides mean I actually have a wider roof than most narrowboats and I can see where temperature changes have made the metal roof expand and contract more than might be evident on a narrowboat of more traditional build. I have tried using kiln-dried logs, but they burn to ash almost before I close the door to the stove. The Winterblaze burns steadily at a good temperature and, like the Taybrite, can keep the fire in for twenty-four hours or longer. Then there is the IPCC report, getting involved with XR and the whole conscience thing that comes with being a activist - damn it! We have just about reached the point of no return. I have made many changes in my personal life and here I am getting through three bags of coal a week in winter.

Recently I discovered a compressed wood fuel called HeatLogs, produced by a company called Heat Express. I never bothered with reconstituted wood before because I didn't know what sort of substances had been used in the mix to bind the wood. HeatLogs claim not to use any. They cost £5 a dozen in my nearest supermarket, burn for a few hours and are smokeless - allegedly. I have also spoken to the merchant from whom I have been buying my bags of fuel. He informed me that the Winterblaze I have been using for about five years is not smokeless, although Taybrite is (which may explain the extra cost). Consequently I have returned to Taybrite. However, instead of getting through two to three bags a week I have decided to use the compressed smokeless wood during daytimes. This has allowed me to reduce my usage of coal by two bags a week. It is by no means ideal, since I am still burning fossil fuel, but I have cut the amount by 60%, so it is a start while I look for a better solution. As an idea it all seemed to be going rather well. By burning wood I am not releasing carbon dioxide into the atmosphere that would otherwise stay locked in the ground. By burning smokeless fuel I am minimising the number of particulates I release. However, on this return journey the chimney was throwing out a lot of smoke. I wondered if, perhaps, I needed to clean the chimney and that it was the flue that was smoking. I thought I would stop at the isolated mooring and check out where the smoke was coming from. In the video below it can be seen quite clearly. Opening the fire door revealed that what I was burning is actually producing smoke within the stove. This seemed to undermine somewhat the point of paying extra for smokeless fuel, although it remains possible that the flue is also the source of some of the smoke.

The jury is out. I'll carry on looking for more ethical and sustainable solutions, but in the meantime I am still a polluter. My engine is also powered by diesel fuel, which is receiving its own bad press at the moment. Again I don't know what the answer is. I have cut down on a lot of travel including the dozen trips a year I took for many years on aeroplanes. If I move off my home mooring I can only stay on a public mooring for thirty-six hours before having to move on. I am proud of having much of my electricity provided via the sun, but that only really works for about half the year. I don't have the money to replace the van and buy a hybrid engine for the boat. electric vehicles require lithium batteries ... mining lithium devastates environments and child expoitation is rife when cobalt is required ... nuclear? Atomkraft - nein danke! Fitting a sail might help ... but then there is Bridge 69 on the Twenty-Foot ...

A correction. In the video I mentioned that Well Creek ends at Denver Sluice. Of course I meant Salters Lode Sluice. There is a tidal length of the River Great Ouse between Salters Lode and Denver. The current flows pretty fast and you have to make sure not to get stuck on the sandbank opposite the exit to Salter's Lode Lock/Sluice.

I bagged up the rubbish and put it in the farmer's dustbin. At least the mooring looks neater now.

Of Floating Free 3 And An Aqueduct

The Fens, much of which is below sea level, might seem an odd place for an aqueduct. There is one, though, and it carries Well Creek (part of the link route between The Great Ouse and the River Nene) over the Middle Level Main Drain, which itself terminates at the huge St German's Pumping Station (when it was rebuilt a few years ago it was the largest pumping station of its type in Europe) at Wiggenhall St German's.

Following the video as I set off in the morning I hadn't intended to record anything else, but I realised that some people may not have seen the previous entry I made about Mullicourt Aqueduct a year or so ago. When Well Creek was opened up again to navigation in the 1970s the route included the Aqueduct which, according to Evelyn Simak, was constructed in 1921.

Such a construction was necessary because one of the almost certainly unforeseen circumstances of draining the Fens in the seventeenth century was the shrinkage of the peat, the drying of the topsoil into a fine tilth that would be blown away easily by the wind. This process leads to a progressive lowering of land levels. The Fens are therefore experiencing erosion from both directions - rises in sea level attributed in large part to climate change as well as land shrinkage as the soil is eroded through natural processes.

Of Floating Free 2 - The Morning After

This is the return journey from the funeral mentioned in the last entry. Of course, being in a boat I couldn't simply reverse and go back the way I came. Although theoretically possible, maybe, it is fraught with potentially awkward moments and not something I would really want to do with any kind of wind. It is only possible to turn round where the waterway is wide enough and while the nearest place would have been to reverse to Outwell Basin, there is no control over the direction of the boat when moving in reverse except by correcting the direction with bursts of forward thrust. This can mean a very short journey can take longer than a longer one going forwards. There is also the danger that a sudden gust of wind could swing the front end of the boat into a moored boat or some other stationary object. I opted to travel down to the next village. The five minutes in the van is now about an hour's journey.

Of More Sad Goodbyes And Floating Free

I may have mentioned that I run a monthly acoustic evening for writers to perform their own poems and songs. I know I am reaching that age but, rather disturbingly, the last two of these included performances by two of our regular songwriters who, within hours of giving fine performances passed away. I've been to both funerals in the past few weeks and it is enough to bring me up a little short. I know we all have to face the reality of our own mortality, but I feel honoured to have witnessed two such fine performances. Both funeral services took place in nearby crematoria and it was comforting to be able to spend time with mutual friends at both. I have pretty much always felt that funerals should be for those who are left behind. It makes sense that we should be able to honour the departed in the way that seems most appropriate.

Barry, whose funeral was last weekend, wrote his songs as poems and sang them. He didn't read or write music, he didn't record his melodies, but somehow he just remembered them. I have to write my songs down, including the music, or I forget them, so I appreciate his dedication to being able to remember his own songs. Many of his songs were historical documents about his life as an engineer with a particular passion for boats, trains and other engines. As I type this I have the part of the tune to his song, "Legging" going through my head. It was about the "leggers" who, working in pairs, used to lie on their backs on a board across a narrowboat with their feet pressed against the tunnel walls in order to propel it through a tunnel in the days before steam or internal combustion engines. This was an arduous and risky occupation with several fatalities.

After our sessions Barry and I often talked about boats. He is the only person ever to have observed and remarked correctly concerning my affectation for wearing odd socks. He correctly noticed I always had a port and a starboard sock, i.e. I generally wear a sock with red in it on my left foot and something on the blue/green end of the spectrum on my right. I'll miss Barry, as I'll miss Mike with his "French Polisher's Blues". Cabriole legs will never be the same again. We are approaching the final Friday of the month when we hold our Songwriters & Poets night. I do not wish to go to any more funerals just yet.

The wake following Barry’s funeral was to be held in a hotel a few miles away that stands just across the road from the river. Of course it seemed quite appropriate for me to go by boat. I left a few hours hours to give me enough time to turn the boat round in a wide bit of river about fifteen minutes away and set off back passing where I started towards the hotel. The lock was against me and the lock-keeper unavailable - just me then. Closing the open penstocks (that’s what we call paddles in the Fens) left open by the last user, emptying the lock, manoeuvring the boat, closing the lock gates, filling the lock again, mooring the boat at the nearby staithe while I went back to close the gates again took the best part of forty-five minutes. I arrived at the hotel with enough time to order a lunch and eat it. The boat had behaved impeccably all the way. This must be what other boaters feel like when they go out on their boats. I made four videos during the journey. Here's the first of them.

Of A Placeholder Update and Downloadable Music

I do apologise AGAIN for not adding anything to this blog for such a long time. I began with such good intentions too.

I have been out and about in the boat and I have been performing to promote the album a little and have been very pleased that it has received plays on BBC Radio Cambridgeshire, West Norfolk Radio and Future Radio. I have also been busy with other projects, mainly ceilidh bands, and drum workshops, but other musical projects too. I have even played drums in a rock band for the first time ever and had a lot of fun doing that. I was offered a busking spot at a small festival recently which was also a lot more fun than I anticipated. I didn't earn much and didn't sell any cds, but I did earn enough in about an hour and a half to feed myself that day - result! I have also finished a couple of new songs for the first time in months and I am happy with those. I've even trialled them at the monthly Songwriters nights I run. Did I mention the extraordinary Lâg/HyVibe guitar I've had for the past six months? I must do a bit about that in a future blog essay.

This week I have been drawing together some thoughts on the Byelaws that are being proposed for this waterway. This follows the introduction of new laws last year, which conferred the necessary powers on the navigation authority here to make these Byelaws. Not really good news, unfortunately, but hopefully some of my objections will strike a chord. It is amazing how many powerful people are not really aware of their actions on others; or is that just people in general?

I've experienced losing a couple of musician friends suddenly and unexpectedly in the last few weeks.  I suppose I'm at that age when this will increasingly become a feature of my life. I've been asked to read one his poems by the widow of the latest to go.

Much less drastically, but also unexpected and unfortunate, I have had some gigs cancelled that I thought were settled. As one door closes, another one slams shut! It wouldn't affect me so much if I had a proper job (or any job I suppose) maybe? Perhaps more busking ...

I just thought I would mention though, that FINALLY I have got round to sorting out putting some music on Bandcamp. That means people who want to buy a download instead of the physical cd can do so. Naturally the download is cheaper, although it is nice for us musicians that customers, followers and fans can add a little extra if they would like to. This is the place ...

https://marshlander.bandcamp.com

I understand some people prefer not to use PayPal. If you buy from Bandcamp I believe it doesn't have to go through PayPal unless you want it to.

At some point I have to address the daunting prospect of redesigning my websites I have to reflect what I actually spend my time doing these days. It's another one of those jobs I've put off for years. Work begins on costumes and masks for February's 2020 Venice Carnival very soon.

11. Say I'm Sexy - Track eleven from "Head Above Water" by Marshlander

Say I'm Sexy

How can you say I’m sexy when I’m sixty-three years old?

At our age most prefer to think that passion long ago grew cold,

But you throw petrol on my fire and, if the truth be told,

We’re burning bright, let’s burn all night!

Even though we’re old 

We’re burning bright, let’s burn all night!

Even though we’re older

My sight is too far gone to see that you’re no longer young.

Liver spots and wrinkles never seem to stop us having fun.

The meals we make taste just as good and when the eating’s done

We’ll sit at the table laugh and talk.

Who needs to be young 

We’ll sit at the table laugh and talk.

Who needs to be younger

Deep within your gaze, I see that glint that’s just for me.

Each gentle touch excites me more than anyone has a right to be!

All these years I’ve loved you and your love has made me free.

Let’s stay together ever more; you, my love, and me!

Let’s stay together ever more; you, my love, and me!

Sex is wasted on the young.  They think they know the score.

Your kisses and caresses make me want to love you more and more

And more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more.

But it matters not (well, not a lot) when sex becomes a chore.

It matters not (no, not a lot) when sex becomes a chortle! 

(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)

He says it and he means it. I love him. "Say I'm Sexy" celebrates the good fortune of finding love in later life.  I was fifty-five when I wrote it and I change the age every birthday. The song is out of date again.

10. In Your Place - Track ten from "Head Above Water" by Marshlander

In Your Place

There are no ghosts, but as I sit here

Memories are shimmering on the edge of recall.

The shadow of a thought of a recollection.

Nothing more will focus but I feel I want to scribble

Half a word, half a sketch while I’m sitting in this unaccustomed quiet

In your place.

Silence gives way, splintered by memory

The howl of your laughter uncoils in an echo of a thought.

I thought you were brave.

Or was it just persistence?

You must have been strong so I feel I want to share half a smile and a tear

While I’m sitting in this unaccustomed quiet

In your place.

We never quite said what was important.

Instead we sent e-mails and kept each other amused.

You tried to recruit another campaigner,

But I turned you down so I feel I want to share half a word, half a line

While I’m sitting in this unaccustomed quiet

In your place.

Those things never shared 

You knew that I meant them.

You should have rejected me, but you took me in as one of your own.

You thanked me many times for making him happy.

I think we should have hugged.

You should have had a new hat.

In your place of private grief and hilarious meals I shed a tear, 

In your place.

It’s strange how in death I sing out to reach you.

We put you in the ground and that’s where you’ll always be.

Sometimes you feel near; those memories shimmer.

We could not have been more different, but I feel I want to sing half a line, half a song while I’m sitting in this unaccustomed quiet

In your place.

(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)

Another death in the family. I'm at that age where the frequency of deaths around me is accelerating. These thoughts are about sitting in the house of a loved one who has recently died and trying to pull together some coherent memories.

9. Damn You, Enchiladas - Track nine from "Head Above Water" by Marshlander

Damn You, Enchiladas

Many songs are sung of life and loves both won and lost

Celebration of the living seems to come at such a cost.

But when Mama told your story it was hard to stem the tears

At the bravery and the wisdom of a man so few in years.

Damn you! Damn you, enchiladas!

You may have won this time, but I shall beat you next time round.

Chemotherapy has made a shadow out of me,

But I shall beat you.

Damn you, enchiladas!

Where do ideas come from when we haven’t read great minds

Sharing words of comfort when it wasn’t yet your time.

You shared the love of ancestors who reached you through thin air.

The wonder of their being was that only you saw them there.

Damn you! Damn you, enchiladas!

You may have won this time, but I shall beat you next time round.

Chemotherapy has made a shadow out of me,

But I shall beat you.

Damn you, enchiladas!

Sickness stole your childhood and the treatment stole your youth.

But George took on the dragon after digging up some truth

And planted in that hole some seeds of hope that grew so tall.

Against the odds the oil of life was burning after all.

Damn you! Damn you, enchiladas!

You may have won this time, but I shall beat you next time round.

Chemotherapy has made a shadow out of me,

But I shall beat you.

Damn you, enchiladas!

Papa saw you smiling and your foot began to tap

At the songs of this cock crowing with his sounds that overlap.

This was something massive when such sounds could leave you cold.

From three days left to audience was something to behold!

Damn you! Damn you, enchiladas!

You may have won this time, but I shall beat you next time round.

Chemotherapy has made a shadow out of me,

But I shall beat you.

Damn you, enchiladas!

(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)

I met the father of the family in this story one night at a gig and, following his recommendation, read the intensely moving book, “The Boy In Seven Billion”, by Callie Blackwell and Karen Hockney. This is my version of the story of a boy who, while getting to grips with a world experienced through an autistic filter, developed leukaemia and later a second cancer. He was not expected to reach his eleventh birthday, let alone his fourteenth when he ran from the hospice four weeks after being given three days to live. I sang this song in public for the first time with the whole family unexpectedly present on his eighteenth birthday. Being able to be together may have been a most amazing gift for the family, but trying out the song was an unexpected gift for me, specially since I hadn't planned to sing the song that night. The greatest compliment was paid by Callie who observed that I really had read the book very closely. It was one of those I simply could not put down.

The reference to the enchiladas comes into the story when Deryn is released from hospital to celebrate his eleventh birthday with his family at a favourite Mexican restaurant where he was determined to finish the whole meal. 

"Damn you, enchiladas," Deryn muttered as he glared at the few leftovers on his plate. "I'll get you next time." (from "The Boy In Seven Billion" by Callie Blackwell and Karen Hockney)

Given a lead-in like that, the song demanded to be written. Naturally there had to be a Latin feel to the music.

8. Lean On The Tiller - Track eight from "Head Above Water" by Marshlander

Lean On The Tiller

Kingfisher sitting on the prow of the boat

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

Kingfisher sitting on the prow of the boat

He’ll keep a-fishing, I’ll keep afloat.

Lean, lean, lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

Ten fine swans with plumage fine

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

Ten fine swans with plumage fine

Swim on the river in a dead straight line.

Lean, lean, lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

I’ll lean on the tiller like you lean on a gate

From the crack of dawn till the evening late

Watch my wash as I wend my way

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day

Fish close in for scraps from my platter

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

Fish close in for scraps from my platter

Here comes Mr Pike watch them scatter.

Lean, lean, lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

Cormorants sitting on a telephone line

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

Cormorants sitting on a telephone line

Eyeing those fish all looking so fine

Lean, lean, lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

I’ll lean on the tiller like you lean on a gate

From the crack of dawn till the evening late

Watch my wash as I wend my way

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day

The sadness in this cabaret

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day

The sadness in this cabaret

See the mink that swims this way.

Lean, lean, lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

I’ll lean on the tiller like you lean on a gate

From the crack of dawn till the evening late

Watch my wash as I wend my way

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day

There’s more to tell about life on the river

Lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

There’s more to tell about life on the river

But if I told you all you’d shiver and quiver.

Lean, lean, lean on the tiller all the livelong day.

(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)

Like most of the songs in this collection this is mostly from first-hand observation. Some people think this song is just about the natural world. It is partly that, but I also wanted to work through some thoughts on being in the right or wrong place and time. I am often in the wrong country at any given time, but thankfully I do have some choice in that. Seeing families being rounded up by the authorities after being forced out of the back of a lorry at Toddington Services on the M.1. was a less happy experience. I have written about that already in this blog. This is one of several watery songs on the album.

The musical challenge for "Lean On The Tiller" was to come up with a song where the lyrics told a story, conformed to a shape and the music had the feel of an American folk song - don't ask me why, because I don't really know why, except I have had a lot of pleasure over the years singing traditional songs from many times and places including a lot from American tradition. Could it have been a response to meeting Peggy Seeger, who greeted me by describing me as a "colourful pirate"?!

"Cormorants sitting on a telephone line ...?" Definitely cormorants, but they may be sitting on a power line!

7. Be Home Soon - Track seven from "Head Above Water" by Marshlander

Be Home Soon

Fifty feet of steel,   Travel where you will

Plough a furrow through the Fen, 

Go wherever you feel

That's home.  No place like home.

Sleep in your own bed.  Don't leave your room.

Every night a new place.

Be home soon.

Feel that engine roar.  Watch the river part.

Glide your way to somewhere new, hope in your heart.

That's home.  No place like home.

Stoke the fire.  Cosy nest.

Don't leave your room.

Every night a new place.

Be home soon.

New pace of life - four miles an hour 

The weather shows no mercy save for wind and sun and shower

That's home.  No place like home.

Closer than you've ever been

Don't leave your room.

Every night a new place.

Be home soon.

Perch and roach and bream, your aquarium

The raw and arching sky, your solarium.

That's home.  No place like home.

Hang the rest, do your thing

Don't leave your room.

Every night a new place.

Be home soon.

(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)

At an open mic evening some years ago I heard four or five young performers each singing one of the four songs they had knocked up that afternoon. I felt completely de-skilled. It takes me months and sometimes years to shape a song to the point where it becomes something I am willing to sing. Some years ago I set myself a task that, on my next clear day, I would start and complete a song in a day. I sat at the table with no idea about what I was going to write, so I wrote about what I could see around me. I can't say the song has remained untouched since then, but with the deletion or addition of a word or two and the addition of the simple harp part this is essentially what I came up with on that day. I like to think that  the sound of the song conveys the momentum and engine sound of cruising on the inland waterways at three or four miles an hour. I have often felt that living on a boat is like all the best bits of camping, only even better, because I can spend every night in a different place while I can still be in my home surroundings.

6. Cruiser - Track six from "Head Above Water" by Marshlander

Cruiser

Every day on your way as you drive home from work

There’s a place that you go where the gentlemen lurk

There’s some would deny they are manly at all

You know different, you’ve heard the call.

Everyone there has this thing on his mind 

And it gnaws and it chews at you.  Much of the time

You can deny who you are, but you lie to yourself

Save for this contribution to your mental health.

Then you poison your body with his body, poison your heart with his mind,

Poison your soul with his lack of control, every time.

Stop the car by the trees you won’t be alone.

Hide your wallet, your keys and your mobile phone.

Take off your tie and fold it up neat under the paper on the passenger seat.

Then you wait and you watch and pretend not to see, 

Read a book, have a smoke, or simply feign sleep,

While you check out the talent through nearly closed eyes.

Such abundance of choice Mother Nature supplies.

Then you poison your body with his body, poison your heart with his mind,

Poison your soul with his lack of control, every time.

If no one approaches raise the game

The rules of the hunt very rarely change.

Leave the car, lock the door with barely a sound

And into the wood where you hope you’ll be found.

Find a place in a space where the cover is good.

Then you stand and you wait in this threatening wood.

Take a leak, feel relief, your heart skips a beat

At the crack of a twig and approaching feet.

Then you poison your body with his body, poison your heart with his mind, 

Poison your soul with your lack of control, every time.

Look away.  Then a glance.  Then the flash of an eye.

Then you turn to display and the tension is high.

Recognise, as you rise, here’s a partner in shame;

How he looks doesn’t matter since he won’t know your name.

Look around to make sure that there’s no one else there.

Slowly close in and continue to stare.

You don’t know who you are, but you know who you aren’t.

You can’t fight it off, so continue the dance.

First a touch, just a brush, and you feel you will burst.

But that’s cool.  Then at least you’ll be over the worst

And you won’t have to stay in this terrible place

With a chance, just a glance and he’ll remember your face.

So go with the flow and you feel the relief

Of the thrill as you spill in the cheery belief

That you’ll never come back, but you know it’s a lie

And you’ll always be drawn no matter how hard you try.

Then you poison his body with your body, poison his heart with your mind,

Poison his soul with your lack of control, every time.

Nod your goodbyes and you get in your car.

Then you drive to the pub for a quick half-jar

Just to steady your nerves, get your reasoning straight 

As to why you’ll arrive home tonight slightly late.

What to do?  Where to go?  You are living a lie.

What you do might be fun, but it’s obvious why

There’s no sense of pride, just this burden of shame

And you’re looking for a love that still won’t dare say its name.

Then you poison her body with your body, poison her heart with your mind,

Poison her soul with your lack of control, every time.

Only fair, if you care, every once in a while

That you go to the clinic where they’ll add to the file

That they keep on your health in your fictitious name

And where the staff know the score in this sad, sad game.

They’ll listen and nod while you make up some tale.

As they check out your piss and your blood you regale

Them with the story that you don’t know how you got in this state,

But they know they can never trust a smiling straight.

So poison a body with a body, poison a heart with a mind,

Poison a soul with lack of control, every time.

(Music and lyrics by Marshlander - all rights reserved)

I heard a discussion on daytime radio many years ago when a nurse working in genito-urinary medicine stated that people in her line of work often passed on the advice to younger colleagues, “Never trust a smiling straight man.” Despite appearances "Cruiser" is not an anti-gay rant. The song is a recognition that there are powerful and malign influences out in the world forcing some men (and undoubtedly some women) to explore their sexual identities in secret. Sadly people often end up getting hurt when this happens. 1967 did not see the end of persecution; rather it ushered in an intensification of entrapment activities by the police. It took them a while to realise that, in 1973, short, neatly-combed hair, shiny black shoes and regulation spotlessly clean and pressed pale blue jeans was not entirely a useful look for covert operations in public conveniences. I'd like to think we are the last generation to have to deal with this. I suspect we may not be.

Since I discovered it many years ago I have searched for an excuse to use a diminished seventh chord. It seems to fall into place in this song and convey some of the drama in the story.