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

Our pilgrimage, to Cornwall

Dear Molly,

There’s something here. I don’t know what it is but I feel it deep down inside me. We first visited in 2017. It was the holiday that shaped so much of me, and of us.

We drove here today. 6 hours of motorway driving. It felt like a pilgrimage. Our journey through life. As we grow together, the threads that weave our story grow clearer to me. What I learnt recently, is that, today, we also followed a ley line to get here. An ancient pathway from here to home. Over 300 miles. From here, to where we live.

Cornwall is steeped in myths, legends and folklore and whether you are enchanted by the stories, or nonchalant, the air, the landscape, the warmth, the feeling here is real. It is for me.

Tonight we stumbled across Polkerris Beach. The most beautiful hidden gem of a beach with a soft sandy shore and rich green forested cliffs and headlands.

Cornwall keeps surprising me in the most beautiful of ways. Polkerris is in Daphne Du Maurier country, and she is one of my absolute favourite writers. It feels appropriate that we should roll up there, unexpectedly, on our first night here. ‘Rebecca’ links me to my own mother, whose copy I read and re-read as a teenager and adult. I will forever be enchanted by the opening line, “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” Then I read ‘Jamaica Inn’ whilst visiting the north coast with you in 2017. You read ‘The Railway Rabbits.’ You were six years old and the sweetest girl.

You are happy here now. I feel that too. You have a peace about you, a smile, and you find joy in everything you see. I made the right choice bringing you back. I feel that inside. I want Cornwall to shape your story too. Your now and your future.

Let’s have adventures whilst we’re here. Let’s find all the secrets in the steep windy streets, leading to colourful stone cottages, by fishing harbours and secluded beaches. Where the steep, green rolling hills meet the sky and the sea beyond. Where mists roll in and shroud the hills before the warmth of the sun glides through once more. Let’s leave with happy hearts and with footprints of Cornwall deep down inside us.

I love you sweetheart xxx

“Because I want to; because I must; because now and forever more this is where I belong to be.” ~ Daphne Du Maurier, Jamaica Inn.

Another bend in the road

Your last day of primary school. It is unfathomable that we are here. And yet, here we are.

I always knew it would be hard, that it would be a wrench. I just never knew how hard.

We came to the school community when you were 3 years old. Your bubbly blonde curls, framing your chubby baby face with your big blue eyes and your happy, articulate, caring and eager to please personality shining over everyone you encountered. I brimmed with pride at every interaction. You made wonderful friends of girls and boys alike, and I made friends with their parents. Those people, in that building, were more than classmates and teachers, they were family.

A small rural school meant that you had a small class. You were all thick as thieves from the moment you were jumbled in together in those welcoming little classrooms, with their tiny chairs and huge hearts.

And now, you are 11. Your primary school journey has come to an end. That last day was one of the most painful days. The amount of emotion hurt my heart and head. The joy of the memories, the friendships, the achievements, the love, mixed with the fact that it was all over, was a heady concoction. It hollowed out a space in my stomach which felt like the air was being sucked from me. I was always going to cry, but watching you and your friends sobbing into each other’s arms was so beautifully painful that it broke me.

The cherry on the top was you being awarded ‘Pupil of the Year’. You have worked tirelessly since you got to that school. You’ve read, and written, and researched and soaked up every last bit of knowledge that they have given you. You deserved that trophy with everything you are. Now take all of those experiences onto your next adventure. You are going to fly my love, I just know it.

All my love, Mummy xxx

"my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does." ~ Anne, Anne of Green Gables, L.M.Montgomery

The Hidden Paths

Dear Molly,

I write to you less these days. I tend to wait until I feel it all brimming over, which it is right now.

We are two weeks away from Mummy and Kevin getting married. We have lived through a global pandemic. You are growing up before my eyes and I want to write, to keep this snapshot of our lives, here in 2021, on record forever.

With the wedding only two weeks away, I feel like our lives and past are playing out, constantly, in my head. I was driving home from the school run today and an old song came on. It triggered a slow-motion, home video style, memory of me playing in the street with my friends as a child. My memories with you are playing on repeat and my dreams are vivid.

New beginnings have always been happy and sad for me. I have always felt emotionally attached to our lives as they are. I even find it difficult to even throw away something that has been on the side in the kitchen for a few months. Even losing a negative element from my life, and gaining a positive one, is difficult for me. You have a lot of that in you, but you are leaning back from it as you grow up, and I will encourage that. Not to lose it, just to cut a few of the threads to make it a little more comfortable. It has always felt like a heavy emotion for me.

The future is really exciting, and through these days leading up to the big day, my instinct is to hold you so very close to me. It is so strong that I imagine binding your body to mine. You are my insides, living alongside me, and I need you like I need to breathe. I will never lean heavily on you, but you will always know how much I love you.

Overwhelmingly I want to be at home, to play outside with you, to talk to you, to hug you, to share with you and to listen to you. Your chatter is so mature at the moment. You want to achive high standards in all that you do. Yesterday, I said that “practice makes perfect” and you replied, “no one is perfect Mummy. Practice makes progress.” I mean, seriously, when did my child get so wise? Although, you were crying at not being able to do the monkey bars at the park at the time. You went from not being able to even hang from the bars to doing two of them that day. That was the “progress” you referred to and I was as proud of you then as I was when you aced your maths tests. Please don't be too hard on yourself. It is a blessing and a curse. Be as kind to yourself as you are to everyone else, that is all I ask.

My wish for the next two weeks is to enjoy your company and to soak up as much of my little girl as I can. It is just something I want to do. And then, on our wedding day, I will have you by my side, where we can make our memories, as a family, to last forever.

I am so excited for our future. I can not wait to support you to become who you will become, to enjoy our family life and to love you forever. Life has had a way of laying out our path for us. Sometimes it is overgrown and sometimes it is clear. We just have to hold each other’s hand, and walk together. We will be ok my love. I know we will.

I love you eternally.

“Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate
And though I oft have passed them by
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien

"Love her, but leave her wild"

I read this quote today and it resonated so strongly somewhere deep down in my psyche.

North Norfolk this summer

My second favourite film of all time is Born Free, but you know that. Joy and George Adamson’s journey to setting Elsa the lioness free symbolises so much of what I hold dear. If I am grateful for anything, it is freedom, and if I had to fight to the death for anything, it would be freedom. And you a free spirit and I am privileged to be able to spend my life with you. Watching you grow is like watching a seedling unfurl.

My strongest instinct has always been to let you be. For people to let you be. I have said it so many times in Dear Molly. I want you to have space to uncurl your leaves, to push off your husks and to flower, and wilt, and to flower once more.

With you, there is a gentle but firm barrier in terms of how I share my views. An invisible wall. A voice. One which whispers to me on the breeze and reminds me that I really don’t want to tell you what to say, what to think, what is right and what is wrong. Instead we talk about issues and I encourage you to care. I furnish you with as much information as I can and I let you process the world in your own way. I can’t explain what stops me but sometimes, especially in recent years, I have felt a gentle hand on my shoulder which has shown me the right way when I was leaning the wrong way. I can see it when I look back, and I want to thank it, whoever, or whatever it is, but it is gone. Just footsteps in the snow remain.

Our garden this winter

I fill my spare time with my hobbies. I read, write, paint and bake and I listen to Joni Mitchell way too much. And when you want to join me, you do and I cherish that. I can see that you know how happy it makes me when we paint together and I see you doing it now, because of that. Your joy at creating a pastel piece that you were really proud of recently was beautiful. And then I love that you chat to your friends online. Playing Roblox, Among Us and chatting on Houseparty has kept you sane in 2020. I can see that you have become more streetwise, savvy, confident, and so very capable with technology, through your 2020 downtime. I love that you are already showing me what to do with technology, which is the correct order of things. I showed my parents, you will show me. I learn from you, you learn from me. We exist together, shaped by our stories and held together by the threads of our past. 

Your pastel piece

Your compassion for everyone in your class, people who are less fortunate than you, your cat, your friends, your family, for me and for the world around you is just mind blowing, to me anyway. You will ask for guidance from time to time, and I will give it to you, but I know, deep down in my heart, that letting you be will serve you better than all of the plans that I could formulate for you. I know that you will hear me, you will take in who I am and I am certain that that will have more influence than anything I could ever tell you to do. Like our tomatoes this summer, the rambling plants which seeded alone, which were left to find their own way in a tumbledown jungle, bore the very best fruit of all.   

Our runner beans this summer

So as with our seedlings, I will watch you grow with the same pride that we had for our little runner beans this year. I will love you, but I will always leave you wild, my darling.

 “She was born free and she has the right to live free” – Joy Adamson, Born Free

June 2020

Dear Molly,

June 2020. Wow. Where do I start? We are in the midst of a global pandemic. Coronavirus has changed our lives immeasurably and we are currently in lockdown. No school, work from home, no friends, social distancing, Zoom calls, homeschooling, cancelled.....well....everything! When we look back on this time, it’ll be hard to believe that this all actually happened, but it did, it is and I am certain it will change us forever.

Wearing our ‘Storms don’t last forever’ rainbow badge from our friend Kat ❤️

We clapped for carers with our neighbours up

and down the country during the global pandemic #NHS

We couldn’t go canal boating at May half term so we camped in the back garden 💚

During lockdown, you have relished family time and home, you are quite a homebody. However, you have struggled more than I thought you would with missing school and your friends. It’s made me realise how much enrichment you get from outside of the home. It is your lifeblood. I feel guilty everyday that I have to work and can not give you all of my attention but, if the truth be told, I can not give you all you need. And so we set up Houseparty so you can call your friends. You all play Roblox together for hours on end. The chatter and laughter is infectious. Screen time is off the scale but, frankly, who cares. It is a little bit of joy in these strange times.

Since you were tiny, night times have been when you’re most anxious. When you were little I’d sit by the door until you fell asleep and I could leave. And now you hold out your hand to me, not wanting me to leave. At 9 years old, you still can’t quite articulate your feelings. Often it is a funny feeling in your tummy or throat. I try to understand and I will always be here for you.

As I have done for all of your years, I love you with every fibre of my being and I adore every fibre of your being. Sometimes I can’t breathe for the strength of my love for you. As time goes by, I have learnt that if you are ok, I am ok. If you are happy, I am happy and, if you are anxious, I am anxious. I just want to do what I can to make you feel safe and happy. These strange times are putting up hurdles that I wasn’t expecting and we are climbing over them together, as a family.  There is a lot going on in the world and I am explaining some big things to you as you question what you see around you right now. One thing I promise, have always promised, is that I will enable you to learn and I will let you form your own opinions. I am very proud of who you are becoming. Through this period, you have handled conflict, upset, distressing news items and restrictions in our freedom with a maturity and sensitivity that I am so very proud of.

Homeschooling is a challenge for everyone and I will remain grateful for the opportunity to shape your learning for this period. It’s not easy but I’ve enjoyed researching and learning with you. From race equality to yellow spotted river turtles to volcanoes to trolls, we will always remember the summer we ran school and our business from home, together, with our family and our massive cat.

I write to you to give you something to look back on in years to come, to give you something to remind you. Stay happy, stay kind, stay funny and don’t lose those wonderful 9 year old qualities which make you you.

        “You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.” Maya Angelou

I love you xxx

Yorkshire - Just you and me

It is February 2020 half-term. Since 2017, we have been talking a little holiday together. Just you and me. We have had a tiny house in Cornwall, a nice hotel in London, a shepherd's hut in Suffolk and now a teeny little cabin in North Yorkshire. I will always treasure these little holidays and hope that we continue to have them. 

Our cabin

I have always felt at peace in Yorkshire. Bleak, isolated, ruthless and craggy beauty. It is so very real And real is where I feel most myself. Memories do not have to be made in golden palaces or in fantastical wonderlands. They can be made with the clean smell of damp mossy earth, the sound of a waterfall and the majesty of the steep open dale beyond. And with you and me.

The dale

On our 'intrepid' walk

Although you are like any 9 year old girl, and you love computer games and YouTube, you haven't cared that there is no wifi. If you were just humouring me on our intrepid walk today, then you hid it well ("Mummy, stop saying intrepid!" was what I heard a lot!) We walked the Ingleborough waterfall trail and then took a tour of the, other-worldly, Ingleborough Cave. We walked through millions of years of history, limestone formations, fossils, stalagmites, stalactites, crystals, the darkest dark you will ever experience and a reminder that wherever humans go, they change the environment. Life exists in this cave purely because of the lights that we have introduced. It is mind-blowing how much we alter the world around us. You were the only child on the tour who bounced up and down and wanted to see the fossils when the tour guide asked. The others were taking selfies for Instagram. I love you so much. You're playing Minecraft now, and that's ok too. 

Cave explorers

Inside the cave

It is relentlessly raining this week. It gives our trip the 'us against the elements' dimension and makes our little cabin all the cosier. We went to Haworth yesterday so that I could show you where the Brontes lived. You got your first copy of Jane Eye (if you're anything like me you will end up with multiple copies, collected over the years). You were more than a little perturbed about seeing the actual sofa that Emily Bronte died on, but you also took pride in learning which sister wrote which of the famous novels. And you are on chapter 3 of Jane Eyre already, which I am very proud of. I explained what life would have been like in Haworth when the Brontes were alive. Although, I'm not entirely sure that it was that different yesterday! Still raining. You haven't complained though.

On the Bronte's front steps

In Haworth village

And today is my friend Charlotte's birthday. We remembered her as we stood by a lake on our walk today. Memories are funny things. All of your yesteryears, jumbled up and piled high in your memories. Some will warm you up from the inside whilst others will leave you feeling cold. Some bring back joy whilst others, a tear. And someday, something will transport you back to a memory on a cold February breeze, or with the smell of the earth, back to standing beside that lake today, just you and me. 

At the lake today

"I have dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind." - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights