What's In A Name?

It’s been an expensive few weeks. It promises to continue in kind.

Frankly, the experience of boat ownership can for the most part be summed up in those twelve words. After two months in dry dock the forge boat is ready to slip gracelessly into the Bridgewater Canal and begin the journey south. It is at this point that geographical as well as conceptual progress is being made; with a craft bought and paid for, and all the prep work for the conversion carried out.

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There lies the work of several thousand pounds. Murphy’s Game lying at Hesford Marine shortly after being craned back in (Image: Author)

This is, therefore, the week where it all begins in earnest.

But first, a boating backstory.

Morlas was constructed in 1986 as a working motorboat for British Waterways (the old national navigation authority). Built with a heavyweight hull frame, the boat was made to be versatile and incredibly robust. Capable of transporting goods and materials, towing the ‘dumb flat’ cargo hulls that Waterways used, and with stabilising legs extended (which run diagonally down through the outer skin of the hull to the canal floor) it could support the operation of water-borne machinery. These boats, never pretty, have been the backbone of canal maintenance for years and their design and construction haven’t changed in decades, as I noted upon passing some brand new craft recently.

In the 37 years since construction this boat, like many of its peers, has seen much work and apparently little in the way of love. It was retired out of service in the early 00’s and has spent the time since working from Uplands Marina in Cheshire. After their selling off of old stock, it is entirely possible that had I not come along now the scrap yard may have beckoned. One thing is sure, after the pre-purchase survey was completed, an appointment with a welder was arranged at the VERY earliest opportunity.

For the most part, the construction of the craft was sound; there was a decent amount of metal on the hull frame, superstructure, and cabins. There was NOT a decent amount of metal underneath, however. For much of the 40 feet of flat base plate, there was only around 1mm thickness of steel remaining (yes, I’m mixing measurements, you may as well get used to it). In practice that means that a decent clout somewhere might have been enough to bring about a pretty catastrophic incident.

For those that aren’t au fait with narrowboats; they are generally flat bottomed. Unlike most river or sea going boats, they do not have a keel (the v-shaped profile to the bottom of the craft); this works well in their natural environment- they sit nice and still in calm water, and their flat base means they can run in much shallower water than other craft. What does happen though, is that canals and their boats tend to ‘ease in’ to one another, in that the waterways silt up to the level of the bottom of the deepest boats that use it, and boats then bob along on quite a shallow spit of muddy water. As the boats age, the base plate part rusts and part abrades; the combination of oxidisation and polishing meaning that the bottom of the boat can get quite thin, which is what has happened with Morlas. There is only one solution; a thick plate of steel must be welded to the bottom. New shoes, if you will.

The most infuriating thing about baseplate welding, is that all you can see for your money is the very edge of it… (Image: Author)

Adding this not-insignificant job to a raft of other age-related repairs means it has taken two months to repair and the cost has equalled the original purchase price.

Ho hum; at least it will float, or better had do…

The most infuriating thing is that this is work I could quite easily do myself, had I the time. In many ways it would have paid me to *make* the time, but that wasn’t clear at the start of the job, unfortunately. Still, Steve Edgley has done a lovely job all round, and if it does sink at least the insurers will shout at someone other than me. I hope.

There was one other thing that needed attending to whilst the boat was out, and that was the name. I’ve alternatively referred to her as the Forge Boat, Morlas, and Murphy’s Game so far, which could confuse. She has carried the name Morlas since construction, and as a rule boats don’t generally tend to get renamed without good reason. There is a whole cottage industry of suspicion dedicated to explaining why, but to cut a long and not particularly interesting boat yarn short; it’s ok to do it while the boat is on dry land. There are two reasons why I’m changing the boat name, one of which is some confusion about the meaning of Morlas; it is the name of a Shropshire brook, and there are other equally idyllic translations, but but on more than one occasion I have been told it means ‘Pollock’ in Welsh. Not wanting to be like one of those lads who end up with ‘Crispy Duck and Fried Rice’ tattooed on their arms in Chinese script, I’m taking no chances.

The other reason for the change is that the craft is becoming something quite different than what the original design accounted for, and so renaming is entirely appropriate. From this point forward she will only be referred to as Murphy’s Game, something that I have invested some meaning to.

Critics may call this a ‘less-than-professional’ out of water’name change, but if it’s good enough for Poseidon, it’s good enough for me. (Image: Author)

The Murphy referred to here is one Steven Murphy, one of my oldest (if not most frequently encountered) friends, and the blacksmith I trained alongside in the early 00’s. He was a very dear friend to me back when we were young, and I have never forgotten the help he and his family offered me when I was raw with the loss of my mother. We don’t see all that much of each other now with him having the temerity to live in a different country to me for over a decade now, but he and I had planned to set up a smithing school in Ireland before life took us in different directions, so this is a nod to that as well in part. I felt it was appropriate to acknowledge the importance of the friendship in some manner, and as he has yet to go out in any sort of glorious blaze I feel it would be wrong to put a name on a bench for him.

So. To work, and to boating. The day is May 31st 2023 and the game is very much afoot (aboat?). Into the Bridewater at Lymm and hang a left. Heading west south west through the lovely Cheshire countryside and within an hour the sun is shining on us. There’s a long way to go, and a lot of work to do, but for now it’s time to put the chequebook away (I hope) and get the miles behind us.

Oxfordshire, we are coming for you! (Yes, I am eating Raspberries, what of it?) (Image: Willow Langdale Smith)

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