I couldn’t understand it- there I was listening to the Shipping Forecast-‘ Dogger, Fisher, German Bight’and we were about to embark on the open seaways of the River Trent with no mention. Did they not realise that we were about to upgrade from the trickling tributries and canals to one of the Nations major rivers! No matter, on arrival at Thornhill country (Gunthorpe), we were met by the reassuring presence of Mr & Mrs McCommodore who briefed that no longer would we boys need to disembark at every lock to open and close, but that in the big boys club the locks were ’automatic’.
What would there be for us to do? No longer the worry of the £10 lost deposit should we accidentally drop the lock keys into the water. Would we ever be able to regain the lost skills – honed to a fine art over many years of experience? Would it be like having a dish washer and never revert to washing up- or sliced bread never going back to the tin , or diposable nappies and – forget it! All we had to know was on arrival at each lock, we were to tie up, fore and aft, to a pole recessed in the lock wall and hold the rope light. On arrival these looked like flimsy plastic rods and about as much use as a paper clip, but on closer inspection these revealed an inner steel wire, enough to hold fast the largest of ‘Cutters’. 
And so 2 vessels, with 12 souls on each, set sail for 3 hours in a north easterly direction towards Fardon for lunch. Conditions bright sunshine with a light to moderate north easterly breeze. Lunch had been pre- ordered so that we wouldn’t be hanging around ,however, hose on one course had to wait for those on 2 or 3 to finish their starters before getting the mains- not to mention those who had ordered sweets ...........This meant that time being of the essence we left late- tension was palpable- would we get back to the last lock intime before it closed? Would we get to the boat yard in time to avoid excess charge or ongoing appointments missed? We needn’t have worried, Mr McCommodore had phoned ahead to alert the lock keeper of our delay- the curse of the creme brulee had been exorcised! As it happened the lock keeper had tried to phone back that there would be a delay anyway owing to a north bound vessel due in the lock at the same time. Depending on the depth of the water,the lock gates seemed massive and on opening and closing it seemed like being in the bowels of Colditz!The return journey was extemely peaceful, albeit a certain pace had to be kept. Mr & Mrs McCommodore would surrepticiously have a hand on the swingometer lest us ‘old salts’ and the excitable novices get carried away whilst encountering hazzards.
Much bird life was to be seen and the Chief Ornithologist on board was widely consulted, only to find he’d nodded off. He was joined by several of the bretheren- was it the calm waters or age- or both! A survey had been recently undertaken regarding the swans along the Trent Valley and apparently only 10% were breeding. The reasons for this are unknown but it is thought the swans have a sixth sense and can detect ‘austerity!’. So where did the Trent differ from say the Soar. Well there were no tow paths, however there is a footpath which more or less runs from Attenborough, Nottingham for 90 miles to Grimsby. Also at no point could we / did we touch the sides! Another very enjoyable adventure with the usual thanks to the Mcs. See photos on website. (Oh for the old days of pictures and drawings!) The photos show the sunny day, which the Lady crew enjoyed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Smiles galore !!!!
