A magical transformation.

A very strange thing happened to us on the Stratford canal.  Above Lapworth there are three lift bridges to negotiate.  One is electrically operated and the other two are hydraulic and need a bit of elbow grease and a windlass to wind them up.  At the last one, I leapt off the boat and ran towards the bridge, then remembered I needed a windlass, so Kath, at the tiller,  picked up my favourite one and tossed it onto the canal bank.  There it gave a wiggle and a bounce and promptly jumped into the canal.

“Oh bother!” I exclaimed (well, words to that effect anyway).  Even though I had a duplicate spare windlass, I was not a happy bunny.  I thought I ought to at least try and retrieve it, although I don’t have one of those magnet thingies.  So, without much hope, I probed around in the mud at the bottom of the canal using the boat hook.
“Wait a minute, I’ve hooked something”.  Gingerly sliding the pole upwards so as not to drop whatever it was, I hoisted out of the water to reveal . .  .

someone else’s windlass!! 

Covered in nasty black mud and a thick crust of rust, it didn’t look much cop but I kept it anyway as further probing failed to locate my own windlass.
Next day I got very dirty scrubbing off the mud, filing away the rust, and sandpapering the “new” windlass and somewhat miraculously it came out looking more than reasonable.  A good coat of fertan and job’s a goodun.  In fact I have to confess, I now like it better than my old one because it has a rotating sleeve on the handle.

Old one (replica)

“New “ one