opposite the entry side. It is raised before the gates are opened, of course, but itâs strong enough to stop these very expensive accidents from happening.
All round the lock were waiting barges. Some of the wealthier
bateliers
had taken their cars off with the extensive lift arms that they had installed, and driven off. Others were painting and scraping their main asset. No wonder their barges look so spick-and-span: the number of man hours that go into lacquering the decks with special varnish, clearing every speck of rust off the hull, and keeping the paint fresh, must be enormous. Delays of this kind are very annoying however, because the
bateliers
can be penalized for not delivering their cargoes on the appointed day.
The canal was opened sooner than expected and we made our way through Tournai, which lies at the southernmost part of Flanders. The river, with all its heavy barge traffic, runs right through the middle of the town and makes a fine sight. I went into an antique shop on the quay, to have a look at a particularly fine bit of lace in the window, but wassidetracked by some postcards of the town during the 1939-45 war. The streets in which I had been walking had been virtually destroyed by successive American, British and German bombardments. I have often wondered what it must have been like to live in a town that had been invaded and occupied by enemy forces. This is something that neither the British nor the Americans had to experience in either of the World Wars. What would oneâs attitude have been to the occupying force?
By now we were heading east through the âcockpit of Europeâ. Neat signs from the war graves commissions reminded one of the huge costs of war. From time to time, we could see the rows upon rows of white crosses on the green, rolling countryside. It was hard to imagine that this place was once a sea of mud, where screaming shells replaced the spring birds.
We were now in old canal country and the
Leo
felt at home. The barge traffic was light and when barges passed us they were mere 300-tonners making a short cut to one of the main canals. It soon became apparent why the larger craft did not use this canal, when we were faced with a flight of four Anderton lifts. These marvels of Victorian engineering closed at 5.00 p.m., which is early on the canals, and we were caught at the bottom level. This delay gave us the opportunity to investigate what was causing the vibration we could feel in the propeller shaft. I was quite sure that we had picked up a bit of rope that had entwined round the propeller. Ray and I tried a
very
unsuccessful experiment, namely trying to lift the stern of the
Leo
out of the water with the crane that was installed on the barge. Of course, it was not nearly powerful enough but at least we had made the attempt, because we knew that one of us would have to plunge into the still chilly, murky waters of the canal to feel what was wrong. Ray bravely volunteered and, after some minutes of diving under the
Leoâ
s stern, told me that the propeller blades were badly dented by a stone and that we would have to change thepropeller as soon as we could. This meant we would have to lift the
Leo
out of the water as it was extremely difficult to change the propeller under water, even with a diver.
In the early morning, we let a barge pass us in the queue, as indeed one should: they have to earn a living and, more to the point, they pay for the use of the canals. Our ascent through Andertonâs four masterpieces was uneventful. The lifts are so massively built and kept in such good repair by the authorities that it is surprising that they are not a much bigger tourist attraction, although once the new lift that is under construction at this point on the canal is finished, this will doubtless happen. The new lift will replace the four Anderton lifts and will be capable of taking 1300-ton barges. It stands like some vast blockhouse awaiting another German
All round the lock were waiting barges. Some of the wealthier
bateliers
had taken their cars off with the extensive lift arms that they had installed, and driven off. Others were painting and scraping their main asset. No wonder their barges look so spick-and-span: the number of man hours that go into lacquering the decks with special varnish, clearing every speck of rust off the hull, and keeping the paint fresh, must be enormous. Delays of this kind are very annoying however, because the
bateliers
can be penalized for not delivering their cargoes on the appointed day.
The canal was opened sooner than expected and we made our way through Tournai, which lies at the southernmost part of Flanders. The river, with all its heavy barge traffic, runs right through the middle of the town and makes a fine sight. I went into an antique shop on the quay, to have a look at a particularly fine bit of lace in the window, but wassidetracked by some postcards of the town during the 1939-45 war. The streets in which I had been walking had been virtually destroyed by successive American, British and German bombardments. I have often wondered what it must have been like to live in a town that had been invaded and occupied by enemy forces. This is something that neither the British nor the Americans had to experience in either of the World Wars. What would oneâs attitude have been to the occupying force?
By now we were heading east through the âcockpit of Europeâ. Neat signs from the war graves commissions reminded one of the huge costs of war. From time to time, we could see the rows upon rows of white crosses on the green, rolling countryside. It was hard to imagine that this place was once a sea of mud, where screaming shells replaced the spring birds.
We were now in old canal country and the
Leo
felt at home. The barge traffic was light and when barges passed us they were mere 300-tonners making a short cut to one of the main canals. It soon became apparent why the larger craft did not use this canal, when we were faced with a flight of four Anderton lifts. These marvels of Victorian engineering closed at 5.00 p.m., which is early on the canals, and we were caught at the bottom level. This delay gave us the opportunity to investigate what was causing the vibration we could feel in the propeller shaft. I was quite sure that we had picked up a bit of rope that had entwined round the propeller. Ray and I tried a
very
unsuccessful experiment, namely trying to lift the stern of the
Leo
out of the water with the crane that was installed on the barge. Of course, it was not nearly powerful enough but at least we had made the attempt, because we knew that one of us would have to plunge into the still chilly, murky waters of the canal to feel what was wrong. Ray bravely volunteered and, after some minutes of diving under the
Leoâ
s stern, told me that the propeller blades were badly dented by a stone and that we would have to change thepropeller as soon as we could. This meant we would have to lift the
Leo
out of the water as it was extremely difficult to change the propeller under water, even with a diver.
In the early morning, we let a barge pass us in the queue, as indeed one should: they have to earn a living and, more to the point, they pay for the use of the canals. Our ascent through Andertonâs four masterpieces was uneventful. The lifts are so massively built and kept in such good repair by the authorities that it is surprising that they are not a much bigger tourist attraction, although once the new lift that is under construction at this point on the canal is finished, this will doubtless happen. The new lift will replace the four Anderton lifts and will be capable of taking 1300-ton barges. It stands like some vast blockhouse awaiting another German
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