Grandma’s Briefs is a lovely blog from America, from a self-described “long-distance grandma navigating the waters of grandparenting”.

Yesterday she wrote a piece called ‘Granny’s Buttons’, in which she described the two tins of buttons she keeps at home:  

One is small and kind of boring. It's filled mostly with spare buttons in plastic packages, thrown into the can for safekeeping in the event a garment needs a replacement.

That small, boring can of buttons is mine.

Then there’s a second tin. Less useful, but more valuable:

It's filled to the brim with what looks like buttons, but they're actually treasures. Treasures from my mother-in-law, also known as Granny to most anyone who knows her.

Granny's tin of treasures became mine when she was moved into a nursing home a few years ago.

She outlines  her plans for disbursing this inheritance, donating them bit by bit to her daughters and grandchildren, often in the form of wrapped gifts.  I think that’s charming.

None of her buttons are of chocolate, far as I can tell, which is a pity. 

I’ve been distributing Granny Buttons’ inheritance myself for years, mostly in the form of treat packets to children on the towpath.

But not always children. Once I met a real ‘granny Button’ on the towpath.  It was near Loughborough on the Soar, November 2005, and we got chatting. As grannies do.  She said her real name is Judith Button, she lives on a canal boat, and she’s a grandmother. 

This is the closest I ever got to giving a real Granny Buttons ‘granny buttons’. How sweet.

When it comes to old waterways stories, we Brits tend to think we have the market cornered. Maybe, we think, just across the English Channel, the infinitely larger continental waterways leave behind one or two other interesting tales, and that's about it.

But the fascinating 'Ghosts of DC' blog (offbeat historical tales of Washington DC) today reminds me that much of interest must lurk in the annals of American canal history.

A does-what-it-says-on-the-tin post called 'Georgetown Canal Boatmen Brawl; Brutal Fight Ends in Murder', tells the 1886 tale of two boatmen on the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, who fought over a wife.

Says the blog post: "Here’s a little back story, and these always involve some intoxicant. Believe me, this gets a little crazy. George Seaman (aka, G.W. Simmons) was not a good dude."

Above: C&O Canal from Wisconsin Ave. Bridge, Georgetown c.1920 (Library of Congress)

The newspaper article makes me feel that good journalism is as much a part of history as are the old waterways.  The tale is as florid as it is gripping: 

In a tall and dilapidated brick house facing the river, on Water street, above Thirty-third street, there occurred on Saturday night one of the most brutal and desperate fights between two canal-boat men which has for years startled the quiet community of West Washington, and which resulted yesterday in the death of John Bruebaker from the injuries he received from his adversary, George Seaman.

Both are men of more than usual strength and distinguished by their brutality, but had always been friends until the frequent visits of Bruebaker’s wife to Seaman’s house led to an estrangement and the fight Saturday.

It seems that while Bruebaker was sleeping off in his cabin a customary fit of intoxication on Saturday evening his wife determined to pay a visit to her friend, Mrs. Epps, who lives on the third floor of Seaman’s house, and while there was obliged to call for assistance in consequence of the sudden illness of her friend.

Seaman responded instantly, and while the two were engaged in assisting the sick woman, the door was suddenly thrown open and Bruebaker staggered in in search of his wife. The moment he saw her his eyes, bloodshot from the effects of his recent debauch, lighted up with malignant fury, while the poor woman shrank frightened into a corner.

“You are here again,” he said through his clinched teeth as he walked straight towards her and seized her by the shoulder. “This is the way you heed what I tell you,” and without paying the slightest attention to her entreaties, he struck her fiercely in the face.

Before he could repeat the blow Seaman, who was still in the room, seized his arm and tore them apart. Then the two ruffians glared at each other and prepared for a struggle, but as they did so Mrs. Bruebaker rushed between, imploring Seaman not to strike her husband and saying that she was willing to stand the blows herself.

Seaman, though violently angry, tore himself away and abruptly left the room. When he had departed Bruebaker turned to his wife and again commenced abusing her, exclaiming as he did so, “Seaman is the bully of Georgetown, but he can’t whip me.”

Drunken Mr Bruebaker was the battle's loser, as the lede/standfirst tells us. But knowing the end doesn't take away from the fascination.  And anyway, it wasn't quite the end. Seaman stood trial for manslaughter, but vanished into history.

Why isn't journalism as creative as this nowadays?

And now, read on.

Above: C&O Canal & Wisconsin Avenue Bridge, Georgetown c.1920 (Library of Congress)

Another dark day, another sad death, another bleak statistic. I was (fortunately) late to the scene, coming across it a couple of hours after the clearing up began.

The local papers covered the accident extensively, since it appears to have been a 'hit-&-run' by a lorry driver. 

A day or two later, a modest bunch of flowers appeared, rooted with a stick to the verge, and a hauntingly sad card. "Our beautiful Ben - taken from us so suddenly":

I've said it before, I don't like the modern, mawkish custom for death-scene flowers. In fact I have to stifle my stiff-upper-lip urge to take a walking stick to these roadside shrines. Or at the very least remove the plastic wrapping, which usually ends up as litter.

However, this one was never much more than a single bouquet, unlike the veritable compost heaps that many such sites become. And it has been regularly refreshed, with the old flowers removed.

A couple of weeks ago, something unusual happened: When the recent wet weather made the verge grow fast, the family seemed to have cut the grass for several yards around the flowers.

The 'lawn' was being 'mowed'.  A 'garden' was developing.

They haven't cleared any of the rubbish in the adjacent ditch or trimmed the hawthorn hedge, but I suppose it's a start.  But what they should do in his memory, I think, is to plant something permanently.

Daffodils or snowdrops, I think. These would have the charm of blooming on the anniversary of his death, February 21st.

(The family have started a petition to have streetlights installed on this stretch of the dual carriageway as yet another memorial to their boy, but that's the last thing the boatyard wants.  It's hard enough to live alongside the constant thundering roar of the traffic without 24-hour lighting around as well.)

What has this got to do with canals? 

Well, it occurred to me that what we have here is an equivalent to towpaths.

You occasionally see similar towpath shrines, where someone has died in the canal (or on the towpath) in unfortunate circumstances.

It's rare that any of these canalside shrines include an element of 'gardening', but perhaps they could be pressured into doing so, in the new spirit of volunteering?

Yes, pressured. Either by the new Canal & River Trust, or by canal users in general, perhaps with some sort of unofficial 'towpath rental' or 'towpath adoption' scheme. That is, in return for being permitted a memorial, they could either do some towpath maintenance on that particular stretch, or make a regular donation in return for the right to keep their relative's memory there.

One solution might be to create a proper 'garden'.

I remember coming across a makeshift garden on the River Stort near Sawbridgeworth in 2008.

It had been over four years since the 17-year old was found drowned (here's the inquest report from the local paper), and clearly the family were still in mourning, as they'd created a clearly-permanent shrine, complete with brass plaque - and note the watering can hidden in the bushes behind - and laid flowers recently on the fourth anniversary the month before I passed.

What disappointed me about this was not the shrine itself, but all the plastic wrapping on the cheap bouquets, instead of permanent flowers being planted.

I passed by in late 2008. I don't know what that shrine is like now, but I'd like to think they've planted flowers permanently, and that they are diligently doing local towpath litter collections and hedge trimming in honour of their boy's memory.

But I think it would be good for such 'gardens' to need a payable licence, or at least rules for their maintenance.

Another canalside memorial was for young Stefan Morriss, who drowned in Dunn's Lock, near Leicester, in July 2006.

In that case,  the memory was a couple of filling-station bouquets tied to the lock steps and a profusion of scrawled graffiti, soon gone and painted-over. 

But in that case the relatives soon made a more permanent (and cost-free, maintenance-free) online shrine on the 'Gone Too Soon' website and on Facebook. 

Where presumably he's always being reminded "UR THE BEST".

No tiresome gardening or volunteer-led litter picking required on the web.

It's not mine; I stole it. Well, I 'salvaged' it. And I've always felt a little bit guilty about this.

The last time I was on the Stort, in early December 2008, I was passing down Sawbridgeworth Sheering Mill Lock at Sawbridgeworth when I stopped to photograph Granny beyond the lock beam - and  spotted the mug on the ground, in the far right corner (below).

I picked it up and put it on the lock beam, to give a sense of 'place' to the picture.  The 'Ware' reference spoke of 'Lee & Stort'.

The morning was frosty, and the mug had clearly been out all night. I thought it unlikely the owner was coming back.

What the heck, who'll be looking for it? If you'd left a cup behind, would you bother to come back for it - or expect to find it if you did?  (Even if you were a local boater; and it was likely this was a local boater, since Ware is only a day's cruising away.)

So I stole it.

In the last three years it's been perhaps my favourite cup, and  has been on Granny Buttons three times longer than the original owner ever had it - surely it's mine now?

It led me to thinking about all the other things I have which I've borrowed and never returned.  Things I daren't admit to  having - and yet the very fact that I love and treasure them is perhaps reason enough to keep them.

There's the staple gun, which I borrowed from an old girlfriend 25 years years ago, and it's the only tangible (albeit prosaically unromantic) item left from our relationship.  One of my most treasured possessions.

There's the Casio calculator a builder friend left behind when he was doing some decorating in my house in 1998.  He's dead now, so I can't return it. But he, in turn, borrowed an old clockwork photography darkroom timer of mine, and it became his wife's favourite kitchen timer so I never asked for it back.

There are other items too. These are my 'madeleines' - the guilt I have about them is enough to trigger a wave of memories each time I use them.

I thought about all this when a chap at Streethay Wharf, where I've been for the last four months, came up to ask me if I'd write about the Ware Boat Festival. He gave me a little poster, which of course I quickly lost. But not before I took it back to the boat and 'connected' it to my mug and felt guilty all over again.

Last week at the Little Venice Canal Cavalcade I saw the poster again, and the guilt came flooding back.

It would be nice to know if anyone remembers losing this Ware Boat Festival mug at Sawbridgeworth Lock, although I don't know if I'd give it back.

These customised mugs are jolly good PR value. The memory carries on. Whenever I'm drinking from my 'great mug of Ware' I think of the town, if not the annual boat festival. 

My grandfather was born in Ware. He liked to say to me "Ask me where I was born", and I'd asked him "Grandpa, where were you born?", and he'd say "Yes, that's right", and then he'd wheeze with laughter.

So whenever I see 'Ware', I think of my mug. My tableware.

By the way, is there a website for the Ware Boat Festival?  Waterscape & one or two other sites give it a cursory nod, but little more. It must be bigger than that to justify a celebratory IWA mug, surely?

Three weeks ago I was enjoying a relaxed Sunday morning inside Granny Buttons at Streethay when a whistle  tooted very loudly as a boat went past.

I knew immediately it was the steam narrowboat President towing Kildare, just like the chimes of Greensleeves tell you that ice cream is outside.

I rushed outside in a t-shirt, only to find a hailstorm starting.

Once I'd got back inside to put on a jacket , the boats had passed. I had to run a quarter-mile to catch up, and missed a chance for a decent photo. All I could catch was this snap of it passing under a railway bridge - although the steerer thoughtfully let off more steam when he saw my camera raised.

The Kildare crew were dressed for the part of the hailstorm and looked resigned but tolerant.

Just a couple of days later the pair were at Polesworth when press photographer Rod Kirkpatrick of F-Stop Press caught up with them and followed them up the Atherstone flight.

He enjoyed better weather, and the result was an excellent spread of seven photos in the Daily Mail showing President & Kildare set against the golden fields of rape.

Click here to see President & Kildare in all their glory on the Mail Online. 

I've never seen such good photos of President!  Leastways, none of such high quality all assembled together.

Incidentally, I know it's not fashionable to approve of the Daily Mail, but these days its website is truly an excellent publisher of good photojournalism, giving photographers the chance to showcase their work. 

It also gives a handy summary of each story in 'stacked headlines' like newspapers of old.

But that's just still photography. What about movie, what about video?

Assorted TV news programs gave them brief coverage on the way down to London. But if you want to see a nice clip of President passing through Berkhamsted, try Dee TV's "President chugs to Canalway Cavalcade".

(Click the picture above to view on the DeeTV website.)

DeeTV is a new local internet TV venture for the Berkhamsted area set up by veteran waterways supporter Lindy Foster-Weinreb and her family.

Lindy alerted us via an email that said:

Here is a film of President on her way to Cavalcade - feel free to use it on your web site or pass it on!

I assumed that meant we were invited to embed it, but after some time struggling I found that I couldn't.  It turned out that what she really mean to say was "Feel free to give us  a mention on your website."

Turns out they won't allow embedding, because the priority of the young business is to get advertising hits rather than to get the video viewed. 

To be fair, when I nagged Lindy and her daughter about this, they very kindly supplied me with a personalised embed code "just for you", but I couldn't get it to work.  Let me know if it works for you.

Still, it's a very nice little video, conveying a lot about President and Kildare in its 3:30mins - definitely one for canal fans.

DeeTV has different channels (see 'You Choose') for different subjects, and an 'In Your Area' section.  There's no 'Canal' category yet - I hope they add one and I look forward to more canal news from 'Berko'.

President & Kildare made it down to London in time for the Little Venice Cavalcade last weekend, and presumably for the rehearsal yesterday for the Thames Diamond Jubilee pageant, but I haven't heard about that yet.

He records how his wife retained his mother's old spare button bags after she died:

My wife Jan spent a great deal of time caring for Mother in her final years. She cherishes the small things Mother left, things valuable only to those who loved her. Jan is a quilter, and she especially loved Mother’s collection of buttons.

For Christmas this year, she decided others needed to share this legacy. This is the note she wrote to the women and girls in our immediate family. The button bags were given to Mother’s granddaughters and great-granddaughters.

His wife's note to the next generation in the family begins:

Granny was very frugal, as were most women of her era.  As garments would wear out, Granny would cut off the buttons before disposing of the garment, saving them for future use. 

The buttons on your bag are some that she saved.  She would have thought it very special that they were placed on a bag made just for you, her granddaughter, with special keepsakes inside. 

Not a lot to do with canals, but I found it most charming, and - as you can see - it has a lot to do with buttons.  This counts as relevant to the subject of my blog, I think. 

Granny's Buttons by Jim Ainsworth

My own Mother wasn't a clothes button collector, although being brought up in WW2 she was frugal in her own way.  Granny Buttons acquired her soubriquet from her routine of always bringing packets of chocolate buttons to her grandchildren.

If you want a canal connection, here's another heartwarming story: 

Over five years ago I reported on how NB Emerald was burned by vandals at its moorings near Wolverhampton - and it only had the necessary 3rd-party insurance - owners Dave and Julie never imagined they'd be the target of arsonists.

The distraught owners were homeless, until fellow narrowboater Dave Pokhan stepped in to organise not just a collection to help rebuild it, but to arrange sponsorship from local businesses. 

The story is here on my post Emerald News and Friends of Emerald progress - and follow the links back to the original post).

Yesterday I passed Emerald, now beautifully restored.   Apparently it's now going to be called M2, or is it Em II?  It was hard to tell with our brief and shouted conversation as I passed. 

It took 18 months of restoration, but they got their home back, and more beautiful than before. It seemed churlish to ask them about insurance, but I'd love to know that side of the story.

Anyway, here's how it looks now - lovely, although rather more mauve or taupe than emerald.

I was quick off the mark to apply, six months ago. Indeed, my application was the 116th received, so was in good time.

While there's sadness, then again it would have needed considerable effort and organisation for Granny to take part. And it would have required setting off for London a month earlier than planned.  So, really, everything is for the best.

As a consolation prize, they have offered me two tickets for a 'prime viewing area', which presumably means the right to be close enough to actually *see* the procession.

My ideal vantage point would be on London Bridge, looking towards Tower Bridge. There is no greater river view in the world. 

But all bridges will probably be closed on the day. They must be. Just think of all the juveniles waiting to droll and spit on the royal barge as it passes beneath. If you haven't been spat on by a yob on a bridge, you aren't a real boater.

I was spat on by a yob near Salford Junction last summer, and the humiliation was compounded by drops falling into a pint mug of ale I was about to drink. 

Some years ago Granny was about to pass under a bridge in Manchester and I waved to two young boys, who waved back cheerily. As I came out the other side, a rain of maggots fell on my head, and the boys whooped with delight, waving their now-empty bait bucket.

Maggots found their way down my collar, and I had to stop, change my clothes and spend an hour sweeping up the wriggling detritus. I still found maggots in the bedroom as I was getting ready for bed, and dreamed of alien monsters for days afterwards.

Hmm, when I come to think about it, I'd rather be on the bridge than on the boat.