Okay... this is a continuation of yesterday's blogpost. I couldn't title that one "Long Eaton" because of my one word rule so yesterday's post was "Long" and this one is titled "Eaton". Nothing to do with the posh school for posh boys near Windsor (Eton) and nothing to do with "eating" either.
After four or five miles I decided to halt for refreshment. I had reached Cranfleet Lock on the short Cranfleet Canal and there ahead of me, above the lock was an unoccupied picnic bench calling my name.
What a pleasant place for a rest. I took off my rucksack and pulled out my water flask along with the sandwich I had prepared before leaving home - containing slices of spicy German sausage and cucumber. It was a peaceful spot and a silver-haired couple were in the process of maneuvering their wine-coloured narrowboat back into The River Trent. The short Cranfleet Canal was built in the mid-nineteenth century to bypass a weir on the river.
Yes. There I was enjoying a leisurely if frugal lunch when I heard a motorbike behind me. The rider brought his shiny Japanese machine on to the concrete platform where my bench was situated. He took off his helmet, untied a black plastic bag containing his lunch and came over to my bench.
Sign for river traffic and a shrine to a departed husband, father and grandfatherHe didn't even ask if he could join me. He just sat down and began talking in a broad Nottinghamshire accent. I had the feeling that the fellow must have struck up many such conversations with complete strangers in past times. His name was Dave and he was seventy five.
Bristly grey hairs emerged from Dave's nostrils and lug holes. His slightly milky eyes were blue and he had unusually high cheek bones. It wasn't all one way traffic but God could that fellow ramble from one subject to the next. His recent visit to Melbourne House in the Derbyshire village of Melbourne. Catching a train to Sheffield with his friend when they were both barely eleven years old. His nephew's ongoing holiday in America. They are currently in San Francisco. "I wouldn't want to see Alcatraz!" said Dave. His motorbikes. Quarrying stone and gravel. His sister. I will say this for Dave, he was energised by life and experience. I couldn't ever imagine him being bored.
I have always been a good listener and many is the time that people like Dave have latched on to me simply because I listen and do not have the heart to tell them to bugger off.
Three times I told Dave.that I needed to continue with my walk or I would never get back to Long Eaton in time for my train home. In the end I had to stand up, put my rucksack back on and simply go with Dave still rabbiting on as I continued along the riverside path.
I've had similar experiences. These guys have no control whatsoever. However, your walk was just great as far as I was concerned.
ReplyDeleteI think it is best to be a little wary of complete strangers. You don't know who you are taking to at first.
DeleteSurprised you didn't feel the need to disavow any link between Long Eaton and the other (also posh) places called Eaton associated with the Grosvenor family.
ReplyDeleteLong Eaton is certainly not a posh place. There was a lace making industry there and that's how the town grew.
DeletePeople like Dave who don't seem to pick up on nuances can be very hard to offend. He will be used to conversations being stopped by someone leaving.
ReplyDeleteI gave him all the prompts but he was not paying much attention to them.
DeleteAt least Dave was a nice person. I wish Australia had little villages and plenty of walking paths.
ReplyDeleteOur network of paths is one of England's best treasures though we rarely shout about it.
DeleteWhat a great spot for a picnic, indeed - except for the unwelcome company. Not entirely unwelcome, I guess, but someone like Dave can be so exhausting! My boss is like that on his "high" days (he has manic and depressed phases and, thankfully, knows himself and his condition well enough to tell people around him in what phase he currently is and that we can always tell him to bugger off).
ReplyDeleteI wonder whether Dave is so lonely that he seeks out people to talk to, or simply a chatty fellow who has no sense of empathy for whoever happens to be near enough to start a conversation.
Anyway, your photos are beautiful, as usual!
I didn't mind a dose of Dave but if I had not broken away I might still be there now!
DeleteI would love to live in that little white cottage by the canal, although Dave roaring up and down would make me cross. And you must never forget, a public bench is always a public bench.
ReplyDeleteThat's not a canal Thelma, it is The River Trent. You might not like to see the water rising in an especially wet winter.
DeleteIt sounds like Dave was lonely. When you have no one at home to talk to you tend to chat more to strangers. I know the feeling only too well.
ReplyDeleteIf only I had known, I could have sent Dave down the M1 to see you. You could have trimmed his bristles!
DeleteIt wasn't me talking to you YP. I would talk to a scarecrow if it started the conversation. It looks a great walk.
ReplyDeleteDoes Dave mean - gob on legs?
DeleteSeveral years ago I watched many episodes of a British series that dealt with "narrow boats," and those words may have been the title as well. It followed a guy who retired, bought a narrow boat and traveled around England. It seemed like such a fine way to spend retirement with the exception of navigating some of the long one way tunnels which seemed terrifying.
ReplyDeleteCanal people are like a sub-culture in this country. They live for their narrow boats and some live on them permanently.
DeleteLovely photos and another nice day to enjoy your walk. Well, except for Dave, but at least he didn't bore on about his ailments (worse than anyone else had to endure) and his last op. (the surgeon had never seen anything like it!), something most of us have had to endure at some time.
ReplyDeleteOh yes. I have had one or two of that type of encounter CG!
DeleteYou could have invited Dave home with you for tea so that he could finish his conversation.
ReplyDeleteThere's a children's book called "The Tiger Who Came To Tea"... "The Dave Who Came To Tea" would be a more troubling sequel!
DeleteDaves or Davids, tend to like to talk.
ReplyDeleteAre you a Dave Mr Penguin?
DeleteI knew a woman like that. You absolutely could NOT politely get away from her. She never took a breath. You just had do to as you did- get up and walk off with her still talking. She never seemed to mind.
ReplyDeleteI believe the condition is called verbal diarrhoea or diarrhea if you happen to be American!
DeleteThe simple white house by the willow is calling my name. Just don't tell Dave I bought it.
ReplyDeleteHe sounds a lonely sort of chap to me!
ReplyDeleteI gave him half an hour of my limited time but he wanted more.
DeleteIt wasn't me, either. I don't have a shiny Japanese machine.
ReplyDeleteWell, polish it then!
DeleteYa ma get it.
DeleteDave's probably still talking.
ReplyDeleteIf talking was an Olympic event, Dave would probably win a gold medal.
DeleteOh man, I used to live next door to a guy exactly like that and I always had to just walk away. He lived alone and I think he was lonely. I wonder why. ;^/
ReplyDelete