Excerpt from Watery Ways, chapter 2:

A few days later I am looking for Philip to show me my new home. The barge he has in mind is one I’ve loved and admired from the first. Its name is the ‘Hoop’, meaning ‘Hope’ and pronounced the same way, which feels like an omen. It is a graceful old schip that has never been converted, so the accommodation is still restricted to the original skipper’s living quarters behind the wheelhouse. I find Philip on board. He is distinguished by his almost ever present smile. It is wide and dominated by very white teeth. The rest of him varies from tanned to black depending on how much welding he has done when you happen to bump into him. Grinning in greeting, he shows me inside the living area which I have never seen before, and I am totally smitten.
To explain, the families who originally owned these old barges lived on them full time, so the skipper would have not just his wife, but all his children on board too. Nevertheless, their boats were their livelihood and their business was carrying goods, so the living area had to take up as little space as possible. From around 1900 onwards, the motor barges had a cabin built behind the wheelhouse called the roef, which consisted of a built up area with windows in the side to give both headroom and light. This was great progress as formerly, the accommodation was below the deck., and such was the sense of comfort, these new models became known as luxe motors.
Inside, the cabins were normally panelled with painted wood, and beds were built box-style into the curved area of the stern. This then left space for a small salon and kitchen, as well as plenty of cupboard space. Still, it seems inconceivable that whole families lived in these tiny, cramped ‘apartments’.
On the Hoop, everything I see now is original. It is so complete I almost can’t believe it. All the panelling is untouched, unadulterated and in incredibly good condition, and all it needs is a lick or two of paint. There is also extra sleeping space in the vooronder, the area below decks in the bows, again with its original panelling. In fact, everything on the Hoop is authentic, even down to its Kromhout single cylinder glow-head engine, which is the one it was built with. I realise in stunned amazement that although neglected and in need of some major TLC, this barge is a gem. With some careful restoration, it could be worth a fortune not just as a historic monument, but also as a truly beautiful barge.
It has lovely lines and perfect proportions, but best of all, it has never been ‘messed’ with. The wheelhouse is one of the prettiest I have ever seen, although this is the part that needs the most work. No problem for me, since this is definitely my area. After finishing my studies, I spent two years stripping and restoring antique country furniture and have never lost the urge to get my sander out when I see a neglected thing of beauty.
When I mention the Hoop’s potential value to Philip, he just smiles. Of course he knows. He has been buying, restoring and selling barges for some time, and is well known for his skill with a welding torch.
He tells me that the old man he bought the Hoop from never lived in the roef. He lived in the hold and used an old wood stove for heating. For fuel, he’d gradually burnt all the floorboards, and by the time Philip approached him to buy the barge, there were only about four square metres left. Time to go, perhaps? I feel glad and relieved that the roef was spared this butchery. The hold is empty now, although the floor has been restored. Philip has plans to convert it one day and then sell it, but for my part, I hope it’s not too soon.
In the meantime, we strike a deal. I will live on it, clean it up and refurbish the wheelhouse in return for a few months free of rent. I positively beam with contentment. What a pleasure this is going to be.
This brings me back to a key point, though, being that when you live on a barge, numerous objects are likely to end up in the water. They do in my case, anyway.
The reason is only partly because there is a great deal to be learnt about living on board. Bearing in mind that the five months I spent on a barge before my spell in South Africa were with a partner who had a passion for all things mechanical, there are many, many things I personally don’t know. In short, I did the woman thing then while my husband embraced all those areas which are typically the male domain. This included the fixing of all moving or motorised parts, filling tanks, lighting stoves and checking all exterior necessities, such as ropes, cables and tarpaulins. I must now learn to do all these things myself.
The Hoop has no running water; the toilet is sitting upside down on the bench in the wheelhouse; there is no electric lighting and there are no washing facilities at all. I suppose that some might think this is primitive. On reflection they could be right.
My landlord is charming. A kinder, more generous man you couldn’t wish to meet. The trouble is he is also what we call in Afrikaans a loskop. The closest and kindest translation for this in English is ‘somewhat absent-minded’. In practice, this means that when he says I will have running water, a toilet and a shower by the time I have moved in, I have a strong suspicion it is not going to happen that way.

© Copyright Valerie Poore 2008