Village characters

I was out walking with my daughter the other day and we were laughing about some of the very special characters we have in our village. And then I realised that while I often write about the Crumbly Cottage (Mk 1) and show photos of the gorgeous view that prompted me to buy it in the first place, I rarely say much about the village where we live. So, since the weather's kept me housebound for much of this week, I thought I'd tell you something about it. 

As far as small communities go, the village, which for now I'll call Valdorp*, is not so remarkable at first sight. Much of the older centre, including its 19th century church, was destroyed early in WWII due to its position on the border with Belgium. However, what is worth mentioning is that the current settlement dates back to the 17th century, was built along a dyke built for the purpose, and has the renown of being the second longest village in the country. Earlier versions date back to the 14th century but were swept away in floods prior to the land being drained and the dykes constructed. Valdorp used to have a tramline running from one end of its nearly five-kilometre length to the other and it also had, I believe, four breweries. What happened to three of them, I don't know but there are none left now. The fourth, last and best known closed in the 1960s.

The houses along the dyke are mostly a mix of charming cottages, stately gentlemen's residences, traditional 1920s Dutch homes and a number of more modern structures, probably replacements for those destroyed in 1940. It’s a shame because these recent additions are out of keeping with the old-fashioned style of the rest of them, but they certainly add to the variety.  Some homes are immaculate, others are a tad scruffy and yet others are works-in-progress, giving a real lived-in feel to our environs.

Charming cottage

A more stately residence

A house on the dyke with no front garden

The greatest appeal of the old village, though, is in the arrangement of the houses: Some, like ours, sit on the dyke; others sit below it. Some have gorgeous front gardens with flowering shrubs and mature trees; others have their facades right on the street. And then at intervals, there are offshoot lanes that dive down below the dyke and reappear a few hundred metres further on. These give access to other properties, such as farms and the larger, more substantial houses set back from the main through-road. This split-level development gives a quirky character to our village, which isn't drop-dead gorgeous in the way many English and French villages are, but it is very attractive. The more you look, the more you see. In fact, Valdorp can be quite lovely in the sunshine with the magnificent trees, flowering shrubs, and lush, colourful borders adorning the dyke.

Flowering shrubs, trees and variety in Valdorp

An offshoot road below the dyke giving access to a farm

But what makes our village really special is the people. They are different in such a wonderful way, so let me tell you about a few of them.

A more modern home

Firstly, we have the couple who take their pigs for daily walks in the nature reserve just along from the Crumbly Cottage. They've had their pair of pot-bellied porkers since they were tiny and from the start, they've walked them in the woods. We often see them when we're out with Zoe and Lucy and it entertains me that while we have to keep our pooches under control, there's no such by-law for having your pigs on the lead. Not that these two are likely to upset any of the wildlife; they're not exactly fast movers. They waddle along, snuffling in the leaves and undergrowth and clearly enjoy a rootling good trundle. What amuses me more is that the couple who walk them look about as ordinarily suburban as you could find, but they definitely live a life less ordinary with their piggie pals.

Then, we have the lovely Uncle Ron who is undoubtedly the local dog whisperer. Ron is a local with a capital L. His Zeeuws accent is so strong that only other born and bred locals can understand him, but we've developed a communication system to cope. Firstly, Zoe and Lucy do all the important work. They adore Ron and if he's sitting on his outside wall, which he often is when my daughter and I set off on our walk, the dogs' instant response is to virtually dislocate our shoulders in their efforts to reach him. The competition for his attention is huge and a day is not complete with a snuggle with Uncle Ron, who coos and fusses fondly over them. When they've finished, all we have to do is make appropriate remarks about the weather forecast and haul our love-smitten pooches away. Luckily, the dogs are 'it' and we just happen to be accompanying them. Of course, the chances are he'll still be there on his wall on our return, so the smooching fest has to be repeated. Is it the same for the other village dogs? Yes, of course. Uncle Ron is much beloved by every canine on the dyke.

And if that's not enough, Ron has a brother, Uncle Billy, who lives in his own cottage a few hundred metres along the dyke in the other direction. When I first started spending time in the village, both Ron and Billy had their own dogs, but that was seventeen years ago, and the dogs inevitably passed on. I suppose since both men are quite senior, they have opted to remain dogless. 

However, Billy, whose magnificent girth belies an apparent strength and fitness I would certainly like to boast, cycles everywhere with a saddle bag full of dog biscuits. Every time we see him pedalling towards us when we're out walking, Zoe and Lucy become nigh-on hysterical to greet him. Of course, it's the biccies that clinch it, but they adore him too. He never fails to stop, heave himself off his bike and, like Aladdin and his lamp, produce those magic cookie treasures from his tiny saddle bag. Billy is a tad easier to understand than his brother, but both are endlessly cheerful and such good souls. No wonder the dogs love them.

In fact, talking of the two brothers, this village is a collection of families, much like our village in France. The farmer over the way has a married son with his own family, a cousin and, I think, a brother living here. Then, there's a couple up the road who have two sons and a daughter all living in houses along the dyke. I'm sure there are other complete families here too, but that's the way it is in these rural areas, which is lovely. It gives an even greater sense of community to our dorp**.

But lastly, I have to mention our village horsey ladies. Set behind and below the houses on the dyke, the farmyards are large, so they provide plenty of space for stables. Indeed, a couple of them seem to focus on equestrian activities these days, rather than farming. One farm, though, seems to have a stable yard that is rented to individual owners. It reminds me a little of the Larkins’ yard in The darling Buds of May***; in other words, visibly chaotic. The shed and courtyard where the horses are kept are decidedly ramshackle, but the animals are clearly much loved and pampered. What entertains me most are the two plump ladies who exercise their two plump ponies every day along the dyke. Seen from behind, they offer a wonderful image of swaying spheres, increasing in size from the ladies’ riding hats down to the ponies’ posteriors. 

Added to this, there is the woman who walks her Shetland pony twice a day, leading it as if it was a dog. Another takes her horse around the nature reserve to let it graze, probably because she doesn’t have a paddock of her own, and yet another goes for long walks with a beautiful, tall, languid thoroughbred. This woman amuses us by carrying a bundle of hay under her arm and alternating between whispering sweet nothings into the lovely creature’s ears and scolding it for snacking from the goodies on the verges. We assume the hay is intended to be adequate as treats, but the horse has other ideas and is totally unmoved by the scolding.

There are other characters too: Henk, for whom every day in the village is like a glorious holiday, which he tells us nearly every time he sees us (he's lived here for twenty years, is lovely and the most positive person I've ever met!). There's farmer Lars, whose accent is also incomprehensible to me, but who waves and calls out every time we see him, which is several times a day in, or on, a different vehicle: his bike, his pick-up truck, or his tractor. But then I realise my daughter and I are objects of entertainment as well, since we are known as the two dames (women) who walk their dogs far and wide. It’s quite nice to feel we’ve also become part of the local colour. So before I ramble on any further, I’ll finish by wishing you all a great week allemaal. I hope you’ve enjoyed this village tale and I’ll catch up with all the current affairs next time.

Another cute cottage below the dyke to finish with

* I deliberately haven't used its proper name to protect the privacy of our neighbours. I've also changed people's names to be sure.

** dorp means village in Dutch and has the same root as the suffix ‘thorpe’ we see added to English place names, especially in counties like Lincolnshire, e.g. Scunthorpe.

*** The Darling Buds of May was a novella by HE Bates that was made into a popular TV series. The family in the book were famous for being unorthodox and chaotic. 

Autumn reigns, or rains, as time takes a step back

Well, the drought has well and truly broken, hasn't it? In the last weeks, we've had storm Amy, and I believe Benjamin is approaching to shake us out of our shoes. My garden at Crumbly Cottage Mk 1 is buried beneath a carpet of gold, russet and bronze, but the sudden and unpredictable squalls have prevented me from spending time kicking through the fallen leaves, much as I'd love to. I should really rake them all up, but I'd rather look at the glorious colours from the window than risk a soaking. They really are lovely, aren't they?

Last weekend, we had what was possibly our last 'spuddle' on the Hennie Ha when we paid a visit to Vereeniging to do some work on the wooden panels that needed attention before the winter weather renders painting impossible. Daughter 1 and her Lucie came too to both enjoy and assist, and a good time was had by pups and all.

Skipper at the helm

Pups on board

Drawing away from Vereeniging after the jobs were done.

I say it was possibly the last spuddle because the days are drawing in quite rapidly now. I've noticed that just in this past week, the mornings have been much darker and it's a struggle to be up at 7:30, let alone 6:30 which is normal in the summer. Zoe isn't much help either; she's happy to snooze under the covers until it's fully light and is never in a hurry for breakfast when comfortably ensconced in her nest. She's definitely a pup after my own heart, which isn't very useful when I know I should be up and at it.

Anyway, this weekend, the clocks will be going back, giving us a couple of weeks of relief. I've long thought they shouldn't bother changing from winter to summer time. Having lived in a country where there's no daylight saving during the summer, I don't see much point in the hour's adjustment, not from anyone's perspective. That said, those in the know still seem to think it's worth doing, so in that case, I'll stop complaining scribbling now allemaal, and wish you all a good week ending. See you on the other side.

Autumn in Haute Marne

The last ten days have been a blur. We'd no sooner returned to our home harbour with our Hennie Ha than Koos was collected by his son and daughter-in-law to go to France and visit the Crumbly Cottage Mk 2. Still needing time to clear up and come down, I stayed home in the Netherlands to sort out the boat and clean up before travelling down to France myself last Sunday. Crazy, isn't it? I can't keep up with myself, let alone our lives. 

Anyway, it's been a fine week here after being deluged on my journey down. Below are photos of the view from CC Mk 2 when I arrived. I'm very happy to say the weather improved substantially the following days.

That storm was heading our way

So far this week, we've been working on the house, performing an effective demolition of the chimney breast in the upstairs room which had suffered from water ingress. The plaster was bulging and crumbling so it's all coming off before we re-plaster the whole thing. In between, my daughter introduced me to the lovely church at Vignory, a village halfway between the two of us. This church dates back to the 11th century and isn’t even the first one on the site, the original being Carolingian although nothing remains of that earlier version now. Here’s the Wiki page about the church. If you use Chrome, Google will translate it for you. https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89glise_Saint-%C3%89tienne_de_Vignory

The whole village is a treasure trove of wonderful nooks and crannies, pretty walks around its ancient earthen ramparts and longer walks into the forest. I love it there. The there are some real gems among the houses too. Below are some examples of what you would typically find in the area.

 As usual, we've had some lovely encounters with the locals and Koos and I have taken the odd trip into the countryside, which is looking glorious now. The trees are in the process of changing colour and the rich golden of autumn is beginning to add incredible richness to the scenery.

Sadly, we have to leave on Sunday due to commitments on the home front, but that's okay too. I love my Dutch village and being near the big sea canal...which reminds me, the canal here is filling up again. According to the waterways workers (they of the VNF), 'normalement' it will re-open on the 16th of this month. That's great news although sad for all those, like us, who wanted to fare this way in the summer. The season is over and it's a bit late now. Never mind, let's hope they keep it open next year!

Earlier in the year before the canal was emptied

Have a good weekend allemaal, and I'll catch up with you back in the Flatlands.

Close encounters of a social kind

 One of the best parts about our faring adventures is the encounters we have with other people connected to the waterways. Our recent holiday was just a short two weeks and the distance we travelled barely amounted to 100 km, but we had the loveliest time and met some incredibly nice folk, which made our trip extra special.

At the end of my last post, we’d spent a night in the town of Deinze at the point where the Leie river is incorporated into a major commercial canal leading to Lille. Because of a yacht club event that was due to occupy the town quayside, we had to leave on Saturday morning, but instead of continuing onto the broad canal, we turned back and found ourselves a perfect place to pass the weekend. 

Our spot was an unofficial mooring but there were two perfectly placed wooden poles set into an equally perfect wooden siding. The bank was easily accessible and it offered us shade and great walks for Zoe. Even better, we had it all to ourselves.

A perfect, peaceful mooring

Good, easy walking along the cycle and towpath

The rainy view from our window

As it happened, it was a timely find because Saturday turned rainy, but once the skies had cleared in the afternoon, we received a visit from across the water. As the rain dripped down, I’d been watching a young man and a little boy busy working in the garden of the bankside house opposite our mooring. They’d been busy feeding a bonfire and doing other chores on their pontoon on which a bright red canoe was placed.

Imagine our surprise then, when a tap on the Hennie H’s hull alerted me and looking outside, I saw the red canoe alongside with father and son on board.

“Excuse me,” the young dad said. “My son has been asking me if he could come and see your boat. Would it be alright if he came on board to have a look?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, smiling down at the small, earnest face of the child. He looked so serious sitting in the canoe with his vivid orange lifejacket. 

They climbed up on deck, at which point Koos came out to chat to the dad, who introduced himself as Waldo, while I took young Aster inside. He sat himself on the sofa and proceeded to pat Zoe, who, quite conveniently, adores children. 

Aster told me he was five and would be six in December and that when he was grown up, he’d like to have a boat like ours. I was struck by this child’s awareness and maturity as he asked some really thoughtful questions. The two of them spent a good half hour on board telling us about their home and life before climbing down into their canoe and rowing back across the river. Meeting them was an unexpected pleasure and I think their visit will remain a special memory for both Koos and me.

Another pleasant encounter was with the bridge keeper downstream at Astene where we returned after the weekend. To backtrack, when we were in Deinze, we’d moored next to an old Dutch tjalk that was clearly fit for living aboard but didn't seem to be occupied. I’d noticed the name of the owner was Luc, but other than that thought no more of it except what a nice space this small tjalk had for accommodation.

The bridge keeper came over to chat while I was doing a little scraping and painting and told me he too had an old boat that needed painting. It quickly transpired he was the Luc of the tjalk in Deinze and I was fascinated to learn from him that his barge was a very early conversion. It was built in 1910 and converted to accommodate passengers in 1920, so it was hardly ever used for freight, which makes it quite a rarity. I wish I’d taken a photo of it now. Again, meeting Luc was a pleasure and I realised anew how we always seem to come across such warm, interesting people when we’re faring.

We are now back home and I can truthfully say we’ve had one of the most enjoyable and relaxed holidays since – well – last year’s trip through Belgium. From Astene, we meandered our way slowly back downstream, spending another three nights on the Leie and having some lovely rural walks before staying one more night in Gent and arriving back in Sas last Friday afternoon.

Now, it’s a matter of clearing up and sorting things out before going down to France again for a quick visit, but I'm always a little sad when we come to the end of our faring.

Till next time, here are a few more photos for those who haven’t already seen them (again in reverse order). Have a great week allemaal!

The Henni H fares forth again

So here we are in the latter part of September enjoying our first real faring of the year; I, for one, am revelling in it despite the changeable weather. 

There’s something very special about being on the waterways just out of the season. There’s still plenty of boat life and folk with small yachts or cruisers are still enjoying their watery playgrounds, but the frenetic sense of the rush of the holiday period is over. The kids are back at school and most people below retirement age are back at work.

The commercial activity, however, carries on regardless and for this I am especially grateful as we’d otherwise be going nowhere. Why? Well, most of the canals in Flanders, which is on our route to anywhere, have major restrictions in place for pleasure craft, on account of the drought. In fact, no locks on the smaller, non-commercial waterways are being serviced in Flanders during September until the 26th, the result being that we can only go through locks used by commercial barges, and even then, only when there is a barge that needs an opening, a factor that can result in long delays for the holiday or liveaboard boater.

Koos and I knew we had two weeks beginning last Sunday, the 14th. Other commitments dictated we couldn’t leave earlier or return later, so our disappointment in learning about the restrictions was keen as we’d planned to do a route we’ve tried to complete twice before and failed due again to water level issues or out-of-service locks. But shrugging off setbacks is something we’re used to so we revised our plan and decided to return to the much-loved Canal de Roubaix. 

That was until we learned that the lock we thought we could go through in the middle of Gent was closed on Monday, a mistake on my part for having a senior moment and thinking last Sunday was the 13th and not the 14th. We could have passed through it on Sunday had we got there before 6 p.m.. However, having confused the days and times and believing we could make the passage on Monday, we made our leisurely way to Gent in blissful ignorance, only to realise that evening we’d have to turn back and go all the way around the Ringvaart (Ring Canal), adding an extra 30 km, which is a day’s faring for us.

Another factor causing us to revise our plans again was the reason we had to be home by the 28th. Koos’s son had asked to come and visit us. What I hadn’t understood when the arrangement was made was that the visit should be at CC2 in France. As soon as the penny dropped, I gulped, threw up my hands and squealed ‘not possible’. To be in France on the date of our return from faring was a feat not for mere mortals like us. But then having had my hissy fit, I started thinking rationally and we realised we’d have to be back in our home port a couple of days earlier to make the plan work at all. So, we are staying much closer to home than originally intended but are still enjoying every moment.

The end result is that we spent four nights in Gent, but in two different places: the first being at our favourite place next to the Brusselsepoort lock we couldn’t go through; the second being at a marina on the south side of the city on the Leie river, which we reached via the Ringvaart.

Both were lovely and relaxing with great walks for Zoe and attractive urban environs, confirming yet again why and how I love Gent so much. From the marina, we simply crossed over the Ringvaart and carried on up the beautiful, winding Leie as far as Astene. Apart from the aesthetic beauty of this river, it has the advantage of carrying no commercial traffic until just before it joins the widened canalised section at Deinze. There are also no operating locks, so no stoppages or delays.

We wound our way through bends lined with rich, gracious and sometimes lavish homes, both classical and modern, all of which had velvet green lawns stretching down to the water’s edge. 

I was so impressed by these almost uniformly beautiful swards of emerald velvet I said to Koos, “When you buy a property here, you must have to sign a contract promising to shave your grass to within an inch of its life. Imagine the shame of having buttercups and weeds!”

Almost as I said it, there was a home with its grass looking slightly uneven and lumpy. “Oh dear,” Koos said, laughing. “They’ll be named and shamed for sure!” 

Anyway, we then spent a perfect and peaceful night at the delightful old Astene lock (which is not used as such anymore), with its pretty lifting bridge and its maritime museum/café, the creation of an old friend of Koos’s. The business has now been taken over by another friend whose design for his liveaboard barge was inspired by Koos’s Luxor. It was great to be there again, reconnect with old friends and catch up with news.

Yesterday turned unexpectedly hot as we made our way to Deinze where we were planning to spend another couple of nights. As it happens, the quay has been reserved for a yacht club event from today until Monday, so after sampling Deinze’s bustling life, we cast off this morning and returned downstream to tie up along the side of the river next to the towpath-cum-cycling track. 

Since it’s raining and likely to be stormy this afternoon, we’re quite happy to stay here for the day and then head back to Astene for a night before making our slow way home again. Perhaps there’ll be another couple of nights in Gent on the way to sample a different spot and maybe a meander into the Moervaart. Who knows? Much will depend on the weather in the coming days. In any event, this relaxed, take it-as-it-comes trip is actually perfect as we have no stress, and no worries about delays. I’m loving it!

To give you an idea of where we’ve been and what we’ve seen, here are a few photos. Unfortunately, they aren't in the right order, as the last one is the first, but I'll organise them and add more later when I've got WiFi and more electricity. For now, though, I’ll wish you all a great week ahead allemaal,  and fill you in on the rest of our trip next time.

Astene

Astene

The Leie mansions

The Leie mansions

Beginning of the Leie

Woods near the marina in Gent

The Leie marina in Gent

Zoe in her travelling kennel

Evergem lock

Choppy, windy waters

Gent side street

First mooring in Gent

The skipper

One of those bits and pieces times

It's one of those bits and pieces times. I feel a little disappointed that I can't write a post about anything other than the desultory doings of a DIYer. The thing is, the weather. It's been perfect for working outside, but as you all know, Vereeniging had her major makeover in June and since then it's been a matter of painting when the heat has permitted (barring month-long forays into France, of course). I'm blessed that I have a willing helper whose fondness for power tools is approaching those of her sister's (who would have imagined that?) and my own, so while the one Superdaughter is a tower (or power) of strength in France, the other Superdaughter helps me immeasurably on Vereeniging. I sometimes wonder what I did right to have two girls who prefer fixing stuff to shopping and makeup, but believe me, I count myself very blessed.

So the way things have gone is that most days have been taken up with various and sundry jobs on board.

Having spent a ludicrous amount of time wrestling the 'new' tarpaulin I've had since 2021 onto the hatches – (it's taken four years to replace the old one because I knew it would take said ludicrous amount of time) – we had to make a cut to allow the entrance hatch to be opened easily and without further wrestling. I confess I never got around to making such a cut with the old tarpaulin because of my fear of leaks (a fear founded on previous experience), but it was a factor that used to drive everyone but me mad. However, this time I think (for that, read pray) we've got it right. I won't bore you with the details, but I'm pretty pleased with the end result. Suffice to say, we have things nicely screwed down and the hatch opens like a dream!

Wielding the tool I prefer

As does my able assistant

Another job worth mentioning is the restoration of our skylights on the Hennie H. I think I mentioned them in my last post. They were in a pretty sorry state, but I've now scraped, sanded, stained and varnished them both, as well as replacing the protective moulding on the top of one of them and re-kitting the perspex windows. They're very old, so perfection is not the aim, but they look a lot better and the rot of ages has been arrested, at least.

But just in case you're now all DIY'd out, here's a photo that makes being where we are all worthwhile. There are those who ask me if I miss France when I return here. There are, of course, some aspects of our French village that I think of wistfully, but when I have the view below and the sights from Vereeniging that I see almost every day, I don't hanker for long. Life on the water still has a stronger hold on me than anything else and our sea canal here on the Belgian border has as much life and visual splendour as anything I could wish for.

Have a great weel allemaal, and I'll bring you some more news and views from the Flatlands soon.