One fine day

8/8/2018

Today ends under a bank of calistemon pink clouds, mirrored in the canal, church bells chiming in the village of Cropredy, a mile or so distant.

At 6am we woke in our tiny dark womb-cavern cabin, to enjoy a cuppa back in bed, dozing off in the snug secure warmth until 9! Moored for the night in Banbury, where we strolled after dinner through the medieval lanes, to the cross, a Victorian edifice, a replacement for the three crosses the marauding Puritan vandals destroyed in the mid 17th century.  One interpretation of the nursery rhyme has Elizabeth I's carriage breaking down on the hill by a cross, to complete her arrival on a white cock or ungelded horse thoughtfully onhand courtesy of the townsfolk. Another version has an early Lady Fiennes, foremother of the actor, who was the 'fienne' lady.

The mooring was immediately below Banbury lock, with boats banking up to climb the lock, others waiting to descend. We wait for our turn, the Cap'n goes to operate the lock, I forage for blackberries, then motor into the lock. Mooring opposite the historic centuries old Tooleys boatyard (1790), we head off to buy some veggies, stamps, find a cafe, sit in the cool shade of a market square.

Supplies obtained, we lunch on the boat, then cruise out of the entertaining busyness of Banbury.

4 miles of quiet rural cruising, several locks, and we meet the beginnings of the line of craft moored at Cropredy. In the nearby fields the ridges and furrows of medieval farming are still writ large.

In June 1644 the Royalist cavalry won a battle against Cromwell's troops, who were trying to capture Cropredy Bridge, and march on Charles I's HQ at Oxford. We find a delightful mooring, near the end of the 2 miles of boats, under a shady tree, the sun still strong at 4. We take our chairs to the towpath, chill out with a cuppa, the paper. JJ tackles some touch up painting spots. I make a compote of blackberries and apple, assemble a salad.

After dinner, around 8, we decide to walk back to the village, which curves up from old wharves on the canal, unfolding to reveal 3 or more old pubs, winding lanes of stone houses, a church.

In the Brasenose pub we pause for a beer, and find to our delight a marquee at the rear, where a trio is performing as part of a warm up for the annual Fairport Convention folk festival. Feet tapping reels. We share our bench with 2 brothers from Napton, down by boat for the festival. The festival provides a great boost for the local economy, they tell us, and list some specific improvements, courtesy of the festival proceeds. We watch a little girl, about 6, twirl and dance, enraptured by the music. Barefeet, knee length pants, a striped top, and a pink hat.

Now back on the boat, recalling the detail of a day full of small treasured moments.