Clients working on the barge this week: James, Thomas, Sean and Derry with Mark Woolman leading.
By the second visit, the honeymoon glow had dimmed slightly, replaced by the unmistakable scent of reality: damp wood, forgotten fabric, and a hint of optimism trying to breathe through the dust.
This was the first proper workday aboard Jonge Jan — no handovers, no polite nodding at systems we didn’t yet understand — just the five of us, a heap of bin bags, and the quiet resolve of people who’ve committed to something big before breakfast.
The inside was, let’s say, lived in. Tools, offcuts, ropes, half a firewood collection, and a scattering of items whose purpose remains a mystery. We began the slow, satisfying work of clearing, sorting, and reclaiming space — a kind of archaeology of canal life. Every box held a surprise; every drawer a new decision between “keep,” “bin,” or “figure it out later.”
The light through the portholes was kind, though. It caught the wood panelling with a warmth that hinted at what she could be again. Beneath the clutter, there was charm — and under that, potential.
I remember standing by the stove, looking down the length of the cabin, thinking how much character sits in imperfection. The cracked paint, the uneven floor, even the smell — it all tells you a story before you’ve started writing your own.
Wendy, ever the pragmatist, had already found her rhythm: sorting, labelling, planning. I was, predictably, still admiring the patina on something that probably needed to go in the skip.
Gallery
The team quickly found their groove:
- Sean, who had never lit a log burner before, took on the challenge — and did a brilliant job. Within minutes, the cabin was filled with a golden, steady warmth that made everyone stop and smile.
- Thomas, our qualified electrician, spent a good two hours studying Jonge Jan’s peculiar wiring system — only to confirm what we all suspected: boat electrics are their own strange universe.
- Derry got to work on the deck, tightening and securing floorboards that bounced like a trampoline. By the end, it was solid enough to stand on without fear of testing your balance.
- James methodically cleared the cabin, hauling away what must’ve been years of accumulated clutter — bit by bit revealing the bones of the space.
- And me? Well, let’s say I focused on morale — chatting with passers-by, offering nods of encouragement, and generally pretending to supervise.
By mid-afternoon, something remarkable had happened. With all the rubbish cleared, Jonge Jan literally lifted — rising out of the water by nearly 100mm, as though relieved to finally breathe again. It felt symbolic somehow — a boat shaking off the weight of neglect, standing taller, lighter, freer.
By the end of the day, the floor was visible, the air clearer, and the sense of ownership stronger. We weren’t just visitors anymore; we were caretakers. Jonge Jan was beginning to feel like she’d let us in — reluctantly, but not unkindly.
We left tired, a bit grubby, but deeply content. The work had officially begun — and for the first time, she felt like ours.
