Our very own narrowboat home

Dear Molly,

Our latest canal trip has just ended.

Being right in the middle of England, on the waterways, settles me in a way nothing else can. It is where my heart exhales. Where the grass is greener than anywhere else. Where life slows to the pace it was always meant to be lived at. Out between hedgerows, still water, and fields, I feel a kind of peace that is hard to describe and impossible to manufacture. It simply is.

Perhaps that is why the canals stir so much in me. They don't just offer escape, they also stir memories, with a long wooden stick, in a deep puddle, with leaves and twigs floating in it. I am 10 years old.

This trip was threaded through with my childhood. In the quiet moments, I could feel my younger self close by. At times, I could see her clearly, in you. The two of us sat together on a lock gate, waiting for the water to empty, while our narrowboat, Georgia, hovered below, ready to enter the lock. It was one of those moments that felt small from the outside, but more from within. Time folding in on itself. You beside me, my younger self somewhere within me, and the boat waiting patiently below, and somehow aware. Our own narrowboat.

Two years ago, I wrote, here, about how happy I was that we hired boats regularly. That felt significant, then. We borrowed slices of canal life. Temporary homes, familiar escapes. Now, here we are, with our own narrowboat home. Our canal story strengthened.

There is something moving about stepping into a space that belongs to our family in this way. Georgia is not just a boat. She is becoming part of our family story. Her wooden interior displays my paintings of birds on the walls, the woodburner warming us on a chilly evening, the sofa we chose, the cushions and blankets (one crocheted by my dear friend) that grace every corner and make the whole space feel like home. Not a home from home, but our own little home on the waterways.

This journey was quite an adventure. 40 or so locks completed, including a staircase, a stop lock and some single and some double width locks. We navigated Braunston Tunnel, cold, dark, and deeply eerie, stretching for just under two kilometres. It was one of those places that makes you feel every sensation more sharply. The damp air, the echoing drips, the closeness of the brickwork, the strange stillness and the low hum of movement through darkness, the light from the cabin, casting window shaped yellow lights on the wet tunnel wall and, with all of that, comes an awareness of the astonishing engineering involved in building this tunnel. To move through a tunnel built some 230 years ago is to encounter history. I feel it with every part of myself.

We were moving Georgia, from her original home near Derby, to Crick, bringing her an hour closer to us. The interesting thing was that everything about that journey felt right. Not merely practical, but right in a deeper, more instinctive sense. Crick feels more like the marinas of my childhood memories. More rustic, less polished, more rooted, somehow. It has the atmosphere I remember. And now Georgia is closer to home, which means more weekends, more spontaneous visits, and more opportunities to drift off into the surrounding, rolling, countryside.

There is joy in ownership, but even more than that, there is joy in continuity. In realising that something you loved as a child has not lost its magic. In watching you step into that same place. In building a life that makes room for old loves and new traditions side by side.

And so, our latest trip has ended, but it feels, in truth, like another beginning. Our canal story continues.

I love you,

October 2025 - A year has passed

Dear Molly,

It’s October again. Our season. I always seem to write to you in autumn, though I never plan it. A year has slipped by since the last letter. My joy now is knowing you love this time too. You don’t just say it; I see it in how you settle. Today you said you were happy in the drizzle, and I believed you. You looked grounded.

Last year you were finding your feet at senior school and in cadets. This year you’ve returned from summer camp with an early promotion and stepped into your GCSE years full of ambition, with your academic scholarship. You work hard and you’re thriving. Parents’ evening was a quiet triumph. Few things please me more than hearing your teachers speak of your intellect, humour, and authentic kindness.

Life is full, our days finely balanced. Still, we keep our small rituals. Dinner at home, laughter, and rest where we can. I see my role as one where I must inspire you, show you the potential in the world, support your journey to independence and to keep you healthy, warm and happy, and also, to nag you to read books and hydrate!

At fifteen you carry a calm beyond your years. Your favourite film, Dead Poets Society, suits you perfectly, curiosity, courage, voice. You move easily among people, building friendships and attracting allies. There’s quiet strength in the way you lead, not by noise, but by knowing who you are.

Today a man said "nice car" to me and then proceeded to ask if it belonged to my husband! The idea that someone might ask a man if their nice car belonged to their wife is so extraordinary that it tells you all it needs to. You’ll meet that question too, in one form or another. The world still asks women to prove themselves twice. One day you’ll answer, as I did, that the car is yours. You already know that success is built, not given; that education and discipline matter and that you have to feel discomfort on the path to success. You chose to share this quote following your recent trip to NASA in Houston:

“We choose to go to the moon in this decade, and do other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” - John F Kennedy.

I offer less advice now. You seem to have your own compass, and that is as it should be.

Below is you at Mission Control in Houston, and you, proud of your rocket build. I love that showing true emotion in photos matters more to you than a perfectly curated Insta shot. I hope you never lose that.

There’s nothing I would change. You are unfolding as you should. I feel the loosening where once your little hand was in mine; now we walk side by side, our threads light as cobwebs in the wind. Your world is widening, and I am learning to let it.

“No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world." ~ Keating, Dead Poets Society

I love you always.

October Reflections - 2024

Dear Molly,

Today, someone unexpected mentioned they'd read a few of my Dear Molly letters over the summer. It was a lovely reminder of the joy that comes from writing to you in this way. I do it for both of us - for me, and for you - and I’ve always shared these letters for anyone who cares to read them. I write to capture time, to preserve moments and emotions that might otherwise drift away, trailing a string, a lost balloon. I usually wait for the universe to nudge me, to know when it's time to write again.

And here we are, just days away from your 14th birthday - 14! I know it may only seem remarkable to me, your mama, but I can hardly believe we've reached this moment. It's a beautiful contradiction. On one hand, it feels like just yesterday you were reaching up to hold my hand, a little head of blonde curls bouncing beside me. Yet, on the other hand, it feels as though we've shared a hundred lifetimes together.

October is our favourite month, a time that feels like a spiritual connection between us. Perhaps it’s because your birth month holds special meaning for both of us, but I think it runs deeper than that. There's a profound synchronicity between our happiness, our sense of well-being, and the arrival of autumn. We both feel it, and whether it's something learned, mirrored, or naturally woven into us, it doesn’t matter. We both love October - our month of golden light, crisp air, and a quiet, healing beauty.

This October, in 2024, feels like a time of transition for you. You are finding your place in senior school, balancing friendships, academic life, theatre, army cadets, and family - all the pillars that support you. We’re here, quietly guiding you as you arrange them to build the strongest foundation for your growth. Your dedication and work ethic are admirable, and you embrace every opportunity for enrichment. Watching you unfold is a joy.

As I observe the world around me, and recall my own journey, I understand what it takes to succeed, from my perspective. Every day, you show me how different we are, yet I see that the essence of who you are, your moral compass and your guiding North Star are not so unlike mine. I know you'll always aim higher, reach further, and embrace the truth that you get out of life what you put into it. You pour your heart and soul into everything you do, and I have no doubt that life will reward you abundantly.

Trust your instincts, go with your heart, work as hard as you can, be kind to yourself, treasure space, and always just go for it, whatever it might be. Let the ballon go if you need to.

The best moment of 2024 - The Eras Tour, Wembley

"With you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless." - Taylor Swift, Fearless

I love you poppet.

Canals, and me, and you

Dear Molly,

The British canal system, built to move coal and other raw materials, from city to city at the heart of our industrial past, has become a puzzle piece in my make-up.

I think it helps that inclement British weather is where my soul feels most at ease. I have a love hate relationship with summer. It looks cheery, but makes me feel sluggish. Spring with its hope, autumn with its cozy promise and the purity of winter are where I feel most alive. Canal holidays, in my experience, usually involve a healthy serving of spring, autumn and winter, on rotation.

One day, I will write more about the canal adventures I went on with my family throughout my childhood. From London to Oxford, North Wales, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Stoke-on-Trent, Liverpool, Birmingham, Leicester, Nottingham and every inch of beautiful British countryside in between, we covered it all on our various family narrowboats. From steep flights of locks up and over the rolling green Pennines, to aqueducts in the sky, to urban voyages through steel factories, derelict timber wharfs and potteries, the canals branded a love of the UK, and all of her characteristics, onto the little girl who watched it all go by.

I put myself in the camp of people who know what they’d like to do, but who allow life and lack of time to prevent it happening. I want to do more exercise, to volunteer, to go for more walks, to climb Snowdon, to walk some more of the SW coast path, to wild camp…..I would put my desire to carry on narrow-boating in the pot with all of those things, except for the fact that we have all been going on canal holidays for the last 7 years. Maybe the universe intervenes when it is important enough.

Being able to weave my love of canals into your life, and those of our family, is a privilege and brings me so much joy. My carefully bottled past memories, bubbling out, into us.

The distinctive chugging of a diesel boat engine, my heartbeat, the smell of the grease on the cogs of a lock mechanism, the feel of a 1.5 tonne lock gate opening, the haunting, freezing air in a black, brick, drippy old tunnel, where no sunlight has been in over 200 years, the taste of a bacon sandwich in the cold morning air, waking up to see dew laden grass on the damp morning towpath through the window by your bed, and the thrill of that illusive orange or blue flash ahead of you above the water. This list could go on and on and now, you could write it too.

At 13 years old, you get very excited for our canal holidays. You revel in arranging your cosy boat bedroom, in the peaceful time that this holiday provides for you, for us all. Seeing you, wrapped up in your raincoat, holding your lock handle, walking under the brick bridges, winding up the paddles, pushing gates, writing stories, and enjoying evenings on the boat, is all like peeping back through a window at myself, 34 years ago, and nothing much has changed.

If I had never been on a narrowboat, there would be a part of me locked away. I close my eyes now, take one step along the towpath, and the magic engulfs me. I see a damselfly. Until next time. I love you x

"We could never have loved the earth so well, if we had no childhood in it" ~ George Eliot