FLOATING HOMES.
THE houseboats of the Thames are famous centres of a dallying summer existence in which life tunes itself to the pace of the drifting punts and skiffs, and seems to be expressed by the metallic melody of a gramophone or the tinkling of a mandoline. At night there is enough shelter for paper lanterns to burn steadily. And, as the wind is tempered, so is everything else. All is arranged so as to add the practical touch of ease and comfort to the theory of living roughly and simply. The whole is a mixture of paradox, paradise, and picnic. One wonders what proportion of the population of the houseboats, if any, lives on the houseboats in the winter. The boats always seem to be empty then, and of course they were not designed for regular habitation. A wall or roof which, like
"The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made," is not a meet covering for the winter. Nor would even a thoroughly weather-proof boat be so if it have no fire- place. But the thought of every child, whether young or old, runs on from the spectacle of a houseboat to the further possibilities of this mode of life. Why not live always in a floating house? But, then, why keep to the tame scenes and surroundings of the upper Thames ? Why not live on the Broads, under that enormous wind-scoured vault of sky, among the wilder sights and sounds of nature ? Thought runs on again. Why on the Broads, after all ? They are a long way from London, and it may happen that one has to be often in London. And in the summer you might imagine that the Thames had been transported to Norfolk, so full are the Broads and rivers of picnicking parties. Why, then, not live permanently in a houseboat on sea water? Sea water is a great purifier. No fear that it will become stagnant or rank. Its transmuting process turns everything to cleanness. Take an odd proof. Even rubbish or paper in sea water is not an offence as it is in fresh water. Hurried along on the tide, it bears a relation to the great business of ships ; but in fresh water it reminds one of people without taste, careless of all the amenities.
People may shudder and ask if a houseboat would not be very cold in winter. The answer is "No," because a ship below
decks is as warm a place as you choose to make it ; and the houseboat of our fancy would be a ship. It might be a ship no longer serviceable for deep-sea voyages, and perhaps not even fit for coastwise trade. But when a ship is " condemned" by the exacting tests that take count of sailors' lives, remem- bering that only planks lie between them and a grave, that ship may be good for a hundred years and more of existence inside a haven. The child, young or old, whose fancy is captive to water, builds for castles in Spain houseboats on tidal estuaries. He thinks, perhaps, of buying an old man-of-war. But ancient men-of-war, though very roomy, are more expensive than you might suppose. Besides, in the conditions of sale there may be a stipulation that the buyer must break up the ship. A barque, such as is often bought by a Norwegian trader in timber, and spends her remaining days being pumped out by a windmill on deck, might serve for a houseboat. So would a steam yacht with the engines taken out. But then the draught of either is not light, and the occupier of a houseboat might want to lie far up a snug creek, and there even the highest spring tide would not give him the necessary depth. A houseboat might be built specially, but that is not the way of wisdom; the cost would be very great. The houseboat must be a vessel of very easy draught and also one that can be bought cheap and be easily adapted for the purpose.
The answer of a friend of the writer is that the ideal floating home is a Thames barge. Everyone knows what Thames barges are—the vessels which adorn the lower reaches of the Thames with their towering spread of brown canvas. No other vessels in the world carry so much canvas with so small a crew. The typo of Thames barge has been growing in size. A few years ago barges well under a hundred tons were common; now all the barges that pay well are over a hundred and run up to a hundred and forty. A smaller barge may be bought reasonably cheap, with a long life still before her and capable of coasting in perfect safety and even of running across the North Sea in decent weather. The writer's friend had the courage to make his dream a reality. He was devoted to yachting, but like many other people found it too expensive. There was only one solution : to make his yacht his home. Two years ago he did this. His friends prophesied that he would come finally on shore within six months. But the prophets were among those who do not understand that there are people in whose temperaments water responds to and satisfies some primary natural need. The need does not dwindle; it grows. At the end of two years the owner of the barge-yacht-houseboat is determined to live the rest of his life in his floating home, and, if he changes it, it will be for a larger one. The writer lately stayed with him on board. The barge lies alongside the grassy bank of a tidal creek within fifty miles of London. The creek runs into a larger river, or estuary, which runs into the North Sea. The barge is within a mile and a half of a railway station, but is in a spot of profound quiet—all around only the cry of curlew, plover, and redsbanks. At night no paper lanterns hanging under trees, but strong shafts of radiance striking up into the night from the windows and skylights, conveying amid the solitude and across the fields an almost fierce message of warmth and good cheer.
Let us look at the economics of the realized dream. The owner bought the barge for £150. She is a ninety-toner, measuring 73.3 feet by 172 feet. She draws only three feet, and of course depends upon lee-boards for her power of sailing to windward. The owner, who is a capable amateur carpenter, put much of his own labour into adapting her, and he also designed all the internal arrange- ments and the raised cabin tops which contain altogether twenty-six windows. When she had been fitted up ready for himself and his family to live in she had cost almost exactly £400. But besides becoming a house-boat she had also become a yacht. When the owner draws in the gangway that connects him with the shore and casts off his hawsers he can put to sea, being himself an excellent seaman, with the help of a single band. The same crew could manage a barge of a hundred and forty tons. If we reckon the interest on capital at 5 per cent., the rent of the floating home works out at £20 a year. The annual cost of painting, black-leading, and renewal and repair of gear has averaged £20. The rent, it may be said, is thus really £40 a year, since the annual expenditure of £20 is vital to the proper upkeep of the vessel. But it has to be remembered that the total rent includes the owner's pastime of yachting. Besides, most householders have to pay for dilapidations, though the upkeep of a ship, of course, costs proportionately more than that of a house. On the other band, the owner of the barge pays no rates. The test of whether a floating home is ratable or not depends on the reality of the epithet " floating." At some state of the tide the vessel must float. There was a rating case not long ago about a man living in a houseboat in a tidal river. The rating authorities assessed him for rates and he denied his liability. The authorities arranged to visit the houseboat at an appointed time to see whether she floated. The time was the top of the highest spring tide, and there was quite enough water under the houseboat to float her ; but unfortunately the casks on which the platform was mounted were not watertight, and the houseboat remained firmly on the mud. No amount of shoving would move her, and the owner had to acknowledge himself beaten. The insurance of the barge when she is laid up alongside her grassy bank costs t6 a year—an ample enough insurance against fire, burglary, accidents of berthing and unberthing, thieves, rovers, pirates, letters of mart and conntermart, jettisons, barratry of the master, and seizures by princes, powers, or peoples. When the barge is cruising, the insurance costs about 23 10s. a month. The owner pays £1 5s. a year for light dues.
The dimensions of the barge have already been given. The internal arrangement is as follows: There is a steerage or lobby surrounded by numerous shelves ; aft of that is a cabin containing two bunks; opening forward of the lobby is a saloon measuring 16ft. by 15ft.; this is the main living- room. Two cabins open out of the saloon; one of them has two bunks, and can also serve as a linen cupboard, as it is warmed by an iron chimney passing through it from the saloon fire. Forward of the saloon is a small dining-room, and forward again of that is the owner's two-bunked cabin and the bath- room—hot water from a geyser—and lavatory. Further forward still are the kitchen, scullery, boatswain's stores, and raid's cabin. On deck is a salt-water tank for the bathroom. The fresh-water tank bolds eight hundred gallons, and is filled as often as may be necessary by a friendly farmer, who brings water by cart in a canvas vessel. A pipe is laid on from the bank to the tank on deck. The section of the cabin top over the dining-room is removable to admit furniture. There is a sailing dinghy carried in davits, and a motor boat is towed. The motor boat is capable of exchanging positions and towing the barge.
The owner loves playing with water, and has a delightful toy in a tiny lagoon in the whinge which is filled by the tide
at high water. He holds up the water in the lagoon with a
dam and sluice gate ; and by letting out a rush of water at will he has a cleansing stream flowing round the barge. The stream also scours out the soft mud, so that eventually, with the help of digging, a deep waterway will extend from the
barge to the channel, and will allow a dinghy to be floated at almost any state of the tide. The lagoon is to be deepened and will become a bathing pond; and the owner's two boys and one girl enjoy a vision of being able to water-chute (in a bath?) the whole way down from the sluice to the channel in
the middle of the creek at low water.
The owner has discovered the true way. He who would live in a houseboat on tidal waters should not build his vessel, but should buy an old barge and adapt it. If his family outgrows it, be can add another barge to the establishment. He might have as many as three in a row : one for sleeping in, one for living in, and one for the servants. The owner of the barge we have described goes up to London every day, and about an hour and a half after leaving the City he is in his comfortable saloon panelled with oak and birch, among his books, blue china, and Sheffield plate; or he may walk his decks and perhaps watch, as the writer did a few evenings ago, the tide silently creeping up the glistening creek, while a ruby-red moon lifts behind a cloud-bank and the wildfowl call to one another the last warning notes of their restless and watchful day. The owner and his wife are justified of their originality and courage.
"But spite of modern notions they found her, first and best, The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest."
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