When I was twenty-five, I first stepped foot on a canal boat, and I fell in love.
The actual visit took place on my brother’s wedding day. It was mid-August, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky as we gathered in Stratford-upon-Avon for the nuptials. The wedding ceremony was lovely, but as is often the case with these events, there was a long gap between the service and the reception. The bride and groom were off taking photos, leaving the guests to mingle with one another. My husband and I ended up chatting with a couple who lived in Stratford on a narrow boat, which was moored just a few hundred meters away.
Before that day, my only experience with narrow boats had been from the outside. As a child, I have fond memories of visiting Stratford and being mesmerized by all the painted exteriors and colourful names of the vessels. However, I had always imagined the interiors as cramped and dark, not somewhere you could actually live. But that perception changed when I stepped inside these people’s home.
Given the time we had to spare, the couple invited us to see their home. (Maybe it was bad etiquette to leave my brother’s wedding like that, but he didn’t know, so I’m sure it’s fine!) Obviously, we jumped at the chance.
The woman and her husband were, and still are, musicians. Given their housing situation, you might expect them to play small instruments like a piccolo or a violin, but no. In this houseboat, they had a double bass, an upright piano, guitars, trombones—you name it, it was there. And as for it being dark, well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The light streamed in through the windows, glinting off the polished wood. It was spacious, light. Perfect. And in that moment, as I said, I fell in love.
Unfortunately, I haven’t yet fulfilled my dream of living full-time on the river (I just have to keep nagging my husband until he agrees). But the older I get, the more peace I find being by the water.
In Austria, we lived by a lake, and I would sit and write, gazing out at the waters. Now, we live near an estuary, and I recently got a paddleboard that I take up and down the nearby canals. Only a few weeks ago, we headed up to the Norfolk Broads for a holiday on a boat there. Waking up to see herons perched on the waterside or a family of swans and cygnets gently paddling past brought me the most profound sense of ease I could ever hope for.
Writing this book has brought me an incredible sense of serenity. It draws upon the memories of calmness evoked by the water and carries within it a sense of hope for a future yet unwritten, not only for myself but for all who read its pages. My sincere desire is that it bestows that same peace upon my readers as well.