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This morning dawned with a mist hanging over our hideaway. I choose black for the occasion.
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Saturday, September 6,1997
All television stations carried the procession and service of Diana's funeral. Like the rest of the nation we watched as the coffin left Kensington Palace and began its journey solemnly through the streets of London.
We had decided to pay our respects with the lockkeepers rather than London. We got under way as the procession was heading into the Pall Mall. This mornings passage would be the strangest of our entire trip. The Thames was deserted as were the streets of the towns we passed through.
At 10:50 we tied up below Soning lock and I lit two candles. At exactly 11.oo'clck and as the bells Bells tolled constantly we all stood motionless.
We moved through Reading as the funeral ended and the river returned to its Saturday bustle.
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On the western edge of Reading we found a stop which all cruisers should take note of. A Discount TESCO store with moorings located not 250 ft. from its door. The perfect cheap place to have a shopping spree, which we did once again, including a bottle of vintage Chateauneuf de Pape. The Maid's larders filled to over flowing, and the ale supply replenished boredom and civilization got to us. The lines once again were taken aboard and we pushed westward looking for a section of river where the tour boats had already turned in order not to be disturbed by their jovial passengers and loud music.
We ran pretty much through the day until we passed Mapledurham looking for a good spot to spend some time. We found it at mile 60.5 on the northern bank between some large trees next to rolling pasture. We settled into my favorite form of mooring secured slightly offshore between two trees.
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Sunday September 7, !997
We awoke the next morning and after a relaxed breakfast decide that this was as good a spot as any to spend some extra time. I returned to my book, sprawled on the upper deck during the afternoon, and curled in the salon as the sun began to drop, as had become my habit.
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Monday September 8, 1997
This morning when I went to warm up the engine I was greeted by a dull click, the sound of no power. After a full check of the system I could find no sign of the second battery bank I was told we had in reserve and gave up looking for an easy fix.
Searching out my heavier socks and road shoes I set off to find a phone and call in the hire company repair team to remedy their small inconvenience. As it happened, and perhaps as it always is, we were as far from a town as I could have found. To even reach the main road required a good mile walk through a field populated by young bulls who were a bit too aggressive for my taste. Once on the country road I began my trek to Whitchurch.
The day was cool and walking easy, however, it was over an hour before I wandered into the back streets of Whitchurch and enquired as to the location of a phone box.
One suspects that this is not that unusual an occurance, as there was no surprise from the marina when they heard my call for assistance and arranged to dispatch a mechanic quickly. Unfortunately the girl on the phone was far from a navigator or even competent to find the local bar let alone direct a service crew to the middle of nowhere. The call made, I retraced my steps considering that perhaps I had been spending too much time sitting and too little time being active over the last months.
By mid afternoon the mechanic arrived spare battery in the truck, fortunately England seems far more inclined to permit strangers access to land than many in America, as he was able to drive up to the bank alongside the Maid.
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