Cropredy to Flecknoe

"Well a new day," I said brightly as we flung open the back doors.

It was seven am and all was quiet as we set off.  Boating at this time of day is lovely, with the sun low and birds singing.

Without hindrance from other boats we had a fine system going up  the next two flights of locks, clearing all eight in an hour and a half. We were now on the summit pound, Oxford Canal's long pound. Like the top pound of the K&A, this was the canal's quietest, most rural stretch, although all the Oxford is rural really. Indeed, the Oxford Canal Walk is a long distance path that during the 83 miles that it covers, crosses only one road.

I was studying the map whilst Mick steered. Suddenly I jabbed my finger at the page and exclaimed "We have to go through a tunnel!" Fenny Compton Tunnel, there it was on the map. We're not that keen on tunnels. We knew we had a long one to go through at Braunston but this one was a surprise.  I didn't remember reading anything about a tunnel on the Oxford Canal.

When we got there we realised our mistake. There had been a tunnel, once. But now it was simply a very narrow cutting. So narrow we scraped the side of the boat all down the wall. I was glad it was Mick's turn to steer, at least I wouldn't get the blame. "Oh no, my paintwork," he groaned.

Fenny Compton Tunnel, 1138 yards long and just 9 feet wide, proved to be something of a bottleneck when canal traffic on the Oxford began to increase. In the 1840,s the tunnel was effectively turned into two shorted tunnels, allowing boats to pass more easily, but this failed to solve the problem, and in the 1860's the tunnel was dismantled completely.

After the tunnel the canal begins to really twist and turn in earnest. This is a "contour canal" par excellence! Contour canals were favoured by the early canal engineers (and their financial backers) as, by following the contours of the land, they minimised the need for costly locks, embankments and tunnels. Raising the finance for the canal had been tight to say the least, and James Brindley, the engineer, was aware of the importance of keeping costs down wherever possible. Brindley died in 1772 and responsibility passed to his assistant, Sanuel Simcock. As it was, funds ran out partway through and the final Banbury to Oxford section had several cost cutting measures: wooden bridges rather than stone ones, single lock gates rather than double ones and using the River Cherwell rather than dig a new one.

At Wormleighton the canal performs a long four mile wind around Wormleighton Hill before meandering northwards again towards Napton Flight, the series of locks which would take us off the summit pound. At the bottom of the flight we stopped for essential sewerage duties. Opposite the sanitary station was a tempting looking pub but it was only five o'clock and we decided we should get a couple more hours under our belt before stopping for the night. As we rounded the corner we spotted the rushing hire boaters moored up for the night. For all their rushing, they still hadn't gpt any further then!

On the hill the Napton Windmill was clearly visible as we wond round the village. There was a mill on this site as far back as 1543 although this one was built in the late nineteenth century. It has been restored and is now a private house.

Not long after Napton the first junction with the Grand Union joined from the left hand side at Napton Junction. This marked an immediate change in the dimensions of the canal. Wide and deep it marked a distinct change with the narrow winding course of the Oxford up until now. Just after the junction a group of lads on a hire boat asked us where the nearest pub was.
"Five miles on and then a mile walk from the canal!" I shouted. I knew this as I had already checked it out on the map and this was where we were headed. "Follow us if you like!"


An hour later we reached Flecnoe and, leaving a large space for our companions, we squeezed in between two boats. Waving jovially the other boat went past us - and then carried on!
"It's up there!" I called out, pointing to the lane that wound up the hill to the village.
Mick laughed. It's a mile away up that track," he said. I bet they decided to carry on and find a canalside pub.
We'd had enough boating though so we moored up and trudged into the village. The pub The Old Olive Bush turned out to be a reasonable pub with a proper bar area, separarate from the food bit, rather than a restaurant by another name.  We enjoyed a couple of pints before wandering back down the lane to the boat.