We’d spotted on the OS map that the last battle of the Civil War, the Battle of Rowton Moor had taken place nearby and we went in search of this landmark site. The villagers of Rowton seem unaware of this remarkable event as there were no signs boasting of its importance. We found the field and it looks as though it hasn’t been used for anything recently.
During the afternoon the weather deteriorated and we decided to stay another night in Waverton before moving off early the next day. We usually have Radio 4 on and we were encouraged to find ourselves listening to a programme on Open Country which talked about just the stretch of the Shropshire Union Canal we’d travelled along this week during which they spoke to fellow boaters who spoke fondly of ‘the cut’ which demonstrated that we weren’t the only ones who find this way of life so appealing.
We decided to invade Tattenhall Marina by boat in search of some diesel and water. The sign for diesel was visible in the distance and beckoned us to a space behind the reception building. There was quite a breeze blowing across the marina – the wind is not a friend when trying to manoeuvre in tight spaces. We discovered that we needed to reverse onto the mooring to fill up with diesel as the hose was quite short. Storm put me ashore and I took the middle rope with me and we turned the boat using a mixture of engine power and science where we managed to pivot the boat as I wrapped the rope around a mooring bollard. We filled up with water and diesel, paid our dues and got ready to leave when another boat arrived to fill up and we felt quite smug when he had six or seven goes at getting his boat onto the mooring in the wind.
We motored on to Waverton, as we were in need of food supplies. We passed some interesting canal art.
The village was very pretty but not the most welcoming as the only mooring provided with mooring rings announced that it was for “trip boat only”. We moored up just beyond using our mooring spikes and went off to explore.
After a good look round the village to the west of the canal we stopped off at the post office that also announced it doubled up as the village store. I left Storm waiting outside with Max.
It was a chaotic space and it seemed that everyone in the vicinity had entered the shop with me, no-one being sure who was next to be served. Many waiting had handfuls of envelopes, all different sizes and all destined for different parts of the world. The postmistress was trying to remain calm and serve the customers as quickly as she could and at the same time trying to educate them in how to separate their mail into piles of envelopes of equal cost so that when they left with sheets of stamps they would know which stamp they should stick on which envelope.
Finally it was my time and I asked for 3 dozen second class stamps. The postmistress said ‘they come lose, how many do you want?’. I said again that ‘I’d like 3 dozen please‘. I’d also picked up some milk and biscuits and she asked her colleague working alongside her to take for my groceries. I asked if I could pay for it all together with my bank card. I was told this would be possible if my bankcard was a debit card. I assured her it was and placed it in the card reader at which point she said ‘that’s a credit card’. I explained that it wasn’t but she seemed reluctant to believe me. ‘Well put it back in the card reader and we’ll see because it won’t accept credit cards’. My payment went through. This whole process took about 20 minutes and I felt afterwards that I’d been in an episode of ‘Little Britain’.
We decided to stay overnight as there was a pub in the village and we paid it a visit later that evening. The landlady welcomed us with a cheery smile and took great interest in our lifestyle.