Ty Coch Lower Lock, 2013: Week 1
I guess that there are two kinds of report for most canal camps...
The first, a rather standard affair, could read:
Picked up WRG vans, arrived at accommodation, collected assorted volunteers from various stations, filled church hall with assorted bedding, gave health and safety talk, went to pub, enjoyed volunteers bonding, explained difference between spade and shovel, got very muddy, shifted lots of heavy stones, pointed miles of greedy canal walls, went to pub, realised goals for week were far too ambitious, ate a lot, told lurid stories about the bad old days, went to pub, made sure no-one required filling out accident paperwork (apart from one grit-in-eye crisis), shifted more heavy stones, went to pub, said sad farewells to assorted volunteers at various railway stations, cleaned church hall toilets, washed tea towels, went home (or in my case stayed for a second camp).
The second type of report is rather more fun to write...
It begins with me standing on the bullnose of Ty Coch Lower Lock watching 15 red helmets and hi-viz jackets moving around the scene of organised chaos beneath me that is my canal camp and experienced the rush of blood to my head that comes from absolute power. I reached for my whip...
My first ever camp leadership was exciting, stressful, challenging, enormously enjoyable (otherwise why would we volunteer to lead), exhausting and nerve-wracking. Until now there had always been someone else to take final responsibility, blame, praise and criticism. Someone else to turn to for advice and help. Someone else to always be there, always on call. Now that person was me!
What would go wrong, and right? What would the volunteers be like? How about the weather? How many volunteers would I maim? Would I have to crack the whip or discipline anyone? Would people enjoy themselves? Would the yawning gaps in my knowledge and experience reveal themselves?
First, the people, the gang, the team... And what a bunch I lucked into! Though I admit to encouraging some returnees from last year, the majority of the volunteers were new to me. I had coerced Katie Bell into being my Assistant, and what a great job she did, quietly making decisions and guiding the others, relieving me of lots of pressure and fuss, whilst working hugely hard at the bottom of the lock, wielding a mattock and shovel with the best of them and sharing the van driving. She worked so well and made so few demands that I worry that I didn't make it plain how much I recognised and appreciated that the success of the camp was so much due to her. The same applies to Ayushi, who slaved away in the kitchen from dawn to dusk, supervising the cooking of breakfasts, producing fantastic meals and still managing some productive time in the mud. I was very lucky to have Katie and Ayushi on my team for my first-ever leadership. I doubt whether the week would have been so much fun or productive without them.
The same can be said for my "old hand" volunteers, Georgina, Pete, Bob and Andy, who worked solidly and stolidly, without complaint at the many times I leant on them, taking advantage of their experience and getting them to guide and advise the newbies, which they did with patience, good-humour and high standards. Pete slaved away with both mechanical excavator and mattock, Bob patiently led the repointing team, Georgina never seemed to stop working (as well as her efforts on site she was constantly helping in the kitchen), and Andy was cheerful and reliable.
And then there were the masses, the volunteers from all backgrounds and of all ages, the DoE strivers, the first-timers of all ages and from all walks of life, and the European Community, this time including volunteers from France and Spain. Everyone worked together safely, productively and happily. In fact apart from the background clang of steel on stone and the chug of generators, the most frequent sound on site was laughter, surely a sign that people were enjoying their muddy, muscle-tenderising experience.
The week began dramatically with a loud buzzing sound, not of conversation but of angry wasps. Almost our first attack on demolishing the bullnose discovered that the structure had been colonised by a large number of unfriendly Hymenoptera, who immediately showed their displeasure at being disturbed by stinging Zoe and Tanvi, the latter four times. Poor Zoe, stung on the upper lip, subsequently looked like a boxer for the next couple of days, but soon regained her good looks and symmetrical smile. Tanvi, bitten in various tender places, for some puzzling reason politely refused to allow me to examine the wound on her posterior.
The wasps, fiercely defending their nest, delayed our start on the bullnose for two days, until Steve, Volunteer Coordinator for Torfaen Council, bravely donned heavy overalls and destroyed the nest using the site mini-excavator. Watching him (from a safe distance) controlling the digger whilst at the same time ducking and dodging dive-bombing insects was something I won't forget in a hurry.
Thankfully, once the excitement died down, the rest of the week was drama-free, apart from one grit-in-eye incident, and even then I'm sure that my attempts to flush Laura's eye with saline caused more tears than the speck of dust.
Of course, my original plan of action, which included fitting new lock gates, rebuilding the Pentre Lane bridge and a champagne reception to welcome the first boat at Ty Coch, was hugely over-ambitious. We often worked faster than the supply of lime mortar, but given the heat and humidity, we welcomed the short breaks provided by the time the tracked wheelbarrow took to trundle at funereal pace from the mixers to the lock. Indeed, the weather was fantastic all week, with only the final afternoon being marred by Welsh drizzle. Given that last year it rained every day for the entire two canal camps this year's experience restored my faith in the British climate (soon to be shattered no doubt).
But although we hadn't quite rebuilt the bullnose or laid the bricks in the spillway, by Friday the team had sweated, hacked and heaved the firmly-mortared stonework of the bullnose to a level where new foundations could be laid, rebuilt the spillway weir from foundation level and repaired and repointed most of the canal-side stonework beneath the towpath. We generously left enough for the week two team to do so that they wouldn't be too bored.
The food was wonderful, despite Ayushi's vegan miso soup being so spicy that I lost the power of speech for a week. We experienced Emma, Laura and Evie's amazing trifle, and I had baked beans for breakfast every day, which will keep me sated until next year. The accommodation was, in Canal Camp terms, five star, though we were a little more cramped in the dormitories than I'd planned, and the initial absence of hot water was soon remedied. I think the only things we missed from Crosskeys were the sofas in the church hall crypt and The Philanthropic Inn. The Open Hearth was a fine replacement, and it was great to be able to sit beside the canal on mild evenings. The washing facilities at Pontypool Leisure Centre caused some initial panic when we thought that the male and female showers were visible from each other, but we were soon shown to properly gendered facilities, much to the disappointment of a couple of male volunteers. Dan on the other hand enjoyed making use of the disabled shower, even though it entailed siting down.
It would be unfair to pick out individual volunteers from the team for articulate mention because they all worked so well. So I'll mention them all. Spanish Emma was delightful, even if she managed to miss catching the van to site one morning. Zoe proved herself amazingly strong when faced with heavy coping stones. Bruno worked doggedly the whole week. All three contributed to what I called the "Eurowall" next to the spillway.
Emily was always smiling and quietly proved her worth, and Dan was a good humoured stalwart who took himself off on walks almost every morning and evening. Tanvi was constantly entertaining, but managed to fit in plenty of hard work between song and dance routines. Tim was always at the centre of things. We had four Duke of Edinburgh candidates: Ben got so keenly involved that he had to be dragged away from his wall at the end of the week. Laura, Evie and Emma were a collective phenomenon, showing initiative and commitment as well as being fun.
Perhaps the measure of a good team is their collective efforts on the last morning, when lots of tedious cleaning and tidying and packing jobs have to be done. And true to form, everyone mucked in up to the very final tearful farewell (thanks to Bob for cleaning the loos and Bruno for sitting in the laundrette for two hours). Ayushi and Tanvi were so distraught at leaving that they left their boots behind.
So I suppose I could end by treading on dangerous ground and make comments about how fantastic/attractive/handsome we all were, about how Emma's legs embellished almost every one of my photographs, about how brilliant the camp leader was, about who snored the loudest, about my gallantry in giving up my inflatable mattress in support of Anglo-Spanish relationships, about the choice of music on the van radio, about my miserable failure to reverse the trailer into the church hall car park etc etc, but I won't.
Instead I'll finish by saying that if if WRG let me, and I can persuade the right people to be my assistant and cook, I'd very much like to lead another camp on the Mon & Brec next summer, and if I do I'd like absolutely everyone from Camp 16 to come back and join me in the mud...