22 February 2014

Three and a half months since I moved in. I’ve loved it really. The wet and stormy weather has been beastly, but hasn’t honestly affected me much. My parents have rung me a couple of times, alarmed at the news of the Thames Valley flooding, but I’ve tried to allay their fears by explaining that this is going on a good 30 miles west of where we are. The Thames Barrier is doing its job (on a regular basis I understand)keeping water levels here on the tidal part of the Thames at normal levels, so there is little prospect of us being swept away down Creekside towards Deptford High Street, unless further freak weather events bring a tsunami in from Staines.

When on the boat the stormy weather is rather more dramatic when the tide is in. Our boat and the three others are apt to move about a fair bit on the water, and the gangplanks creak and strain something alarming, but everything has held together, happily. When the tide goes out and we settle back on the silty bottom, sometimes we find ourselves a little further out from the mooring – even a few inches means the ropes tighten or slacken noticeably, and the boat is left listing from one side to the other a bit more noticeably, but it is all manageable.

Temperature-wise the weather has been mild, without the anticipated freeze, so far. I am not yet half way through the ten 25kg bags of coal that I bought in December. Getting  the coal aboard without doing myself an injury was an achievement which required more than a little luck. The coal was delivered on pallets to other boat-dwellers in the neighbouring Creekside yard. I was able to borrow a trolley from the garage mechanic who works in ours, and all the coal went onto that and back 200 yards or so to ours. The getting of each bag onto the boat, via the two gangplanks, was not so easy; each one a dead weight that required both strength and concentration to carry along the wobbly steps and then position onto various spaces on the boat. I felt myself fortunate, after about an hour of this, to manage it without any serious hurt to myself (aching muscles notwithstanding). I shall think twice about trying to manage this on my own next time.

Getting the stove going of an evening is a satisfying activity, and once stoked up it can really belt out the heat; sometimes I have to open the doors and windows, it can get so hot. I need to scavenge up wood from the local streets for kindling and to get the initial blaze going; I usually carry a heavy duty Lidl supermarket bag in my shoulder bag when I go out so I can carry the wood back when I find it. Narrow planks or pieces of wood I place at a 45 degree angle against walls where I break them in half with my boot. Last Sunday I took on a piece of wood from a pallet that was stronger than I bargained for, and I strained my lower back. I ended up in bed, howling occasionally as the muscles went into spasm whenever I tried to move.  C had to make the tea, shepherd’s pie, with me shouting out instructions from bed – a decent shepherd’s pie it was too.

Rather gingerly I managed to get up the next Monday morning, taking C off to her mum’s and me off to work. It had been a warmer, brighter day, as it was the day before; spring is nearly with us. I cried off work early with my back still very uncomfortable and got the 16:35 train from London Cannon Street to Deptford. It was still daylight when I arrived back on the High Street. It’s lovely to have a little bit more daylight at the end of each passing day, to enjoy the daylight views of the creek when home.

The previous Monday C had been ill and I had kept her off her classes and we spend the day on the boat. This gave me an extended opportunity for creek-watching. It was a showery day, with periods of bleak persistent rain, heavy at times, interrupted by brilliantly illuminating sunshine. During some of the better weather I watched, with my cheap Nokia binoculars, a pair of grey wagtails combing the low-tide shoreline, hopping and dipping from and between the rocks and the refuse for whatever it is they hope to find there. After a while they zoomed joyfully upstream, flying low along the shoreline with their lively, up-and-down-dipping trajectories. Since then, I have been seeing (presumably) the same pair quite often.

Later on that Monday our part of the creek was invaded by a largish group of low tide explorers; schoolchildren and their guides from the Creekside Discovery Centre nearby, all in waders, red waterproofs and big broom handle like walking sticks. Having ventured onto the creek in my wellies only the once so far, I can vouch for the value of a good stick, which will help prevent you sinking into the soft yielding silt too quickly, as well as provide you with extra balance over the rocks and rubbish. Our visiting party stopped for a while on the opposite shore from us before venturing past the boat and then returning and disappearing back round the bend from whence they came. No doubt these parties are fairly common during the school week, I am just not normally here then to see them.

A couple of days ago I visited the Creekside Discovery Centre. The wooden scout hut like building was closed, but my companion and I enjoyed looking at the artistic displays of strange objects in the centre’s grounds, assembled from detritus bought back by their mudlarking creek-wanderers.

17 February 2014 - barge seen from Creek Road bridge

The Mark Prior yesterday on Deptford Creek just before they opened the Creek Road bridge for it.

January 2014 - Down on Deptford Creek

Down on Deptford Creek

The water’s rising with the tide

That comes in twice a day

The city streets are always near

But now we drift away

From muddy beds we're lifted up

In boats that crack and creak

It's time to strain the ropes again

Down on Deptford Creek

And though the wind is blowing low

And though my light is weak

I’ll see a moving picture show

Down on Deptford Creek

And when the tide begins to turn

And go back to the sea

A mossy wall shows velvet green

That used to be the quay

Where bigger boats had once come to

When Ha'penny Bridge was raised

Unloading cargo from afar

Back in the older days

Below the rumbling dockland train

Down in the waters bleak

I see the ages ebb and flow

Down on Deptford Creek

And when the sea has left the scene

It leaves a shallow flow

Where duck and wader, gull and grebe

And heron come and go

To pick among the rank remains

For filthy foraged fare

In tangled twine a Christmas tree

A broken office chair

Up on a rung my fisher-king

Above the sea-birds’ shriek

Surveys the silver in the stream

That swims in Deptford Creek

A flash of blue, a dip, a dive

A tiddler's in its beak

I hope that I'll see you again

Down on Deptford Creek

I hope that I'll see you again

Down on Deptford Creek

Alan Tyler 2014

January 2014

The boat is a Norfolk Broads cruiser of fibreglass construction, moored among a cluster of other boats under a Docklands Light Railway viaduct on Deptford Creek. A couple of months ago I was having a miserable and increasingly desperate time trying to persuade a succession of South London property agents that I was a suitable tenant for one of their less expensive one bedroom lettings, and having already lost several hundred pounds in agency and referencing fees, with no successful outcome, things were not looking good. Then a boat dwelling friend of mine messaged me with a link to a Gumtree website ad for a houseboat to rent - at an affordable rent with, importantly as she had pointed out, no letting agents or any other kinds of agents involved. The ad was only about 45 minutes old when I saw it so I was able to get in quickly, telephoning to arrange a viewing for me and C- (my 14-year-old daughter who stays with me weekends) the following Saturday.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, after a friendly chat with the owner who then went and offered it to another viewer who then dropped out, we got the boat, and moved in at the beginning of November. Moving in went reasonably easily in the end. Heavy storms had hit southern England the Monday the week before, which had worried me a bit (fearing the boat might sustain damage before I could even move in), and more bad weather was predicted for the day of the move. but I and my four helpers made an early enough start on the day, to avoid further stormy weather that was forecast but never really materialised.

You get to the boat from a gated (and usually locked) yard off Creekside London SE8. From inside the yard there are two gangplanks that lead down to the boat. The first gangplank takes you onto the back of a huge old barge that dominates the moorings; the second gangplank is a rather more wobbly one which goes from the barge onto our roof. From there you then step back alongside the gangplank to the back of the boat where some steep aluminium steps lead down to its narrow door. For the move I had synchronised our arrival with high tide thinking that this would make it easier to get on, but it didn't make any difference really - the tide just modifies the angles of the gangplanks, which remain, not surprisingly, always the same in length.

Apart from the big barge, the boat is also moored alongside and between two other vessels; a small yacht, appearing to be rather in need of repair (a tarpualin covering the cabin), which turns out to be occasionally inhabited, is on the nearside of the mooring, and on the outside of us is another fibreglass holiday cruiser, like mine but smaller, which turns out to be home to a certain South London musician of my acquaintance.

Having sold or jettisoned so many of my possessions to fit in the boat, I am fairly happily surprised that everything fits in pretty well, with even a bit of shelf space to spare.

The boat is an old Hoseasons Broads cruiser, 37 feet long and 12 feet wide; a holiday boat of fibreglass construction which has found its way onto the Thames and up Deptford Creek to find its permanent mooring here. On one side it says "This boat is fitted with Sun Power charging systems - 01692 630 461" and on the roof there are what appear to be two solar panels,which I thought at first didn't work, but do. The name of the boat (definition - to be overcome with astonishment; astounded), is nowhere to be seen on it - it had, I am told, been written on the back by the door, but this has somehow rubbed off. If anything has so far disappointed us about the boat, it is its rather uninspiring and unromantic name. C- has tried to insist we re-name it, to which I reply that naming rights reside with the owner, and not us. Actually I am coming around to the name, which chimes fairly well with the unlikeliness and happy surprisingness of our being here.

Coming in through the little back door, the boat inside has headroom of 6 feet, meaning that I can't quite stand up straight in it, and must therefore part my legs a bit to stand with a decent posture. I have had to put masking tape over some screws that secure the ceiling panels in the galley area because my hair was catching in them. From outside you step into a little living room area, with cushioned seating in a U shape on your right which converts into a bed, and a shelf with cupboards below on the left - big windows on both sides. A couple of steps forward, in open plan, and you are in the kitchen/galley and stove area. The stove, a Morso Squirrel multifuel, is on the right, then further in we have a shelf under which there is a mini-washing machine, a dryer, and then a fridge freezer facing back at you. Along the left side is a kitchen worktop, then a sink, and then a four-ring Calor gas stove - yes, all mod cons! The gas stove runs off Calor propane gas housed at the back of the boat to the left of the door. Opposite the stove is a toilet and shower room. It's a macerating toilet, which means it chops everything up and sends it straight out into the Thames, which is permitted, because we are in tidal waters. In front of the toilet, in the same little room, is the shower (which is heated from an electric immersion heater, as is the sink's hot water) which empties into a plastic shower tray on the floor, over which are placed two wooden panels which make for a sturdy floor when the shower is not in use. When the tide is out, and the boat is resting on the uneven muddy creek bed, the slight tilt of the boat (a couple of degrees downwards from port to starboard) means that the water will gather at the toilet end of the shower tray, not draining fully down the plughole until the tide comes in and the boat levels out on the water. Similarly, though the kitchen draws and doors are fitted well enough, and will always close, they will shoot out rather once opened, when the tide is out, as a consequence of the slight tilting of the boat.

Beyond the kitchen and toilet, with a wooden door that closes, is the bedroom, which is also where the boat's steering wheel and controls are (front left). The boat, so I understand, is a runner, and I have an agreement to allow the owner in from time to time to run the engine. But that's as far as it goes, and for all I know, the boat may not have seen action on water for many a year. It is certainly so well and complicatedly roped up, not only to the mooring but to the three other adjacent boats, that taking it out would be a major operation. Perhaps one day, who knows? Anyway, the bedroom is very pleasant, with a comfortable double bed, a fitted wardrobe on the left as you come in, and more big windows at the front and sides, with crimson velvet curtains. For use in the warmer months, there is a sliding roof which opens to let the sunshine in, which will be delightful.

At the front of the bedroom are two doors that take you out onto the front of the boat, which has a little semi-circular "garden" area, with unobstructed views (that is, no boats in the way - we have a front row seat on these moorings) of this part of Deptford Creek, with the narrow River Ravensbourne flowing out into the wider creek reach from the right, where it passes under and becomes un-navigable at Deptford Bridge, out of sight just a little way upstream.