Foxton Locks — Attraction in Harborough

So, Foxton Locks. Everyone bangs on about the staircase of ten locks, and yeah, it's pretty cool to watch boats doing a slow-motion aquatic ballet up and down the hill. You get a real sense of the sheer ingenuity it took to conquer that particular lump of Leicestershire.

The volunteers, bless their cotton socks, are there to guide the bewildered boaters and the even more bewildered tourists. You might even hear a colourful expletive or two from a skipper wrestling with a recalcitrant paddle, which just adds to the authentic canal-side charm, wouldn't you say?

But let's be honest, while the locks are a delightful spectacle, they're not the main event for a discerning intellect such as myself.

Ah, the Foxton Inclined Plane. A glorious, majestic, and utterly magnificent failure. And I mean that with the utmost respect. Picture this: late 19th century, people are getting a bit tired of boats taking forever to navigate those ten locks. Someone, probably a very clever chap with a magnificent moustache and a twinkle in his eye, says, "Why don't we just… hoist the boats up the hill in a giant bathtub?" And thus, the inclined plane was born!

It was a marvel of Victorian engineering, a veritable titan of its time. Two massive caissons, each big enough to hold a couple of narrowboats, trundling up and down parallel railway tracks, counterbalanced by mighty chains and powered by steam. Imagine the clang and the hiss, the plumes of smoke, the sheer spectacle of it! It was, quite frankly, a beast. A beautiful, complicated, glorious beast.

Then, it broke a lot, and it was expensive to run. So, after a mere ten years of glorious, if temperamental, service, they just… let it go. Left it to rust and crumble, a magnificent monument to ambition and the occasional practical oversight.

Now, when you visit Foxton, you're not going to see it in full working order, sadly. That would require a time machine and probably a very large team of highly skilled Victorian engineers (and an even larger budget for repairs). But you can still see the remains. The massive brick foundations, the ghostly outlines of the tracks, the sheer scale of the endeavour. Stand there, close your eyes, and you can almost hear the phantom creak of the caissons, the hiss of steam, and the faint, melancholic sigh of a truly brilliant idea that just didn't quite make it.

So, yeah, go to Foxton Locks. Admire the locks, enjoy the quaintness, maybe even brave a canal boat trip. But do yourself a favour: spend some quality time contemplating the inclined plane.

It's a reminder that even the most ingenious plans can sometimes run aground, and that sometimes, the most interesting stories are found not in triumphant success, but in the glorious, magnificent, and utterly human endeavour of a truly grand attempt.

It's a testament to our enduring fascination with making things go up and down hills, even if they occasionally prefer to stay put. And that, my friends, is a story...

Ah, Foxton Locks – where the canal boat captains wear Crocs, the ducks have attitude, and the locks work harder than most MPs on a Friday afternoon.

Nestled in the gentle armpit of Leicestershire, Foxton Locks is a glorious place where time slows down, and so does the queue for the pub. This engineering marvel of ten staircased locks was clearly designed by someone who thought, “How do we make a boat do cardio?” Watching narrowboats climb the hill is like witnessing a tortoise do CrossFit – slow, determined, and followed by a small crowd of pensioners with ice cream.

And what a crowd! You’ve never known true British joy until you've seen three generations arguing about whose turn it is to hold the dog while Granny photographs a heron. Somewhere, a toddler is launching sausage rolls at swans, and a retired man named Clive is explaining the lock system to anyone within a five-metre radius, whether they asked or not.

Meanwhile, the boat folk live in their own time zone. They sip tea at 3mph, wave at everyone, and shout things like “Mind yer fenders!” and “We’ll be through in an hour or three!” Every lock is a chance for minor drama: someone loses a windlass, someone else drops a phone in the canal, and at least once a day, a tourist nearly falls in trying to get “the perfect photo of the gates opening.”

The pub at the top? Glorious. Full of ale, dogs, and couples pretending they’re not having a row about turning the boat round in the winding hole. There’s always a man with a beard that could house a family of voles, tuning a banjo near the beer garden. Nobody knows why. Nobody stops him.

And let’s not forget the Foxton Inclined Plane – that massive Victorian bit of kit that was once meant to replace the locks entirely. Now it’s a museum piece, which is ironic, because so is the bloke who runs the museum. Lovely man, smells of engine oil and Werther’s Originals.

So if you want peace, beauty, hilarity, and the chance to hear someone shout “WIND IT THE OTHER WAY, MARGARET!” at full volume next to a field of sheep – Foxton Locks is the place for you.

Bring a camera. Bring your patience. And for the love of all things floaty, bring a sandwich. The queue for chips is longer...

My wife, Christine and I had not been to Foxton Locks for many years. Then, one Saturday morning my son James telephoned to say he intended going to Foxton Locks and he would be delighted to take us if we wanted to go. That morning the sky was blue, the sunshine delightful and the birds were singing away. Yes, we would be delighted to go. Within the hour James and his wife Vicki arrived. On our arrival at Foxton Locks we parked in the municipal car park. The parking fee was most reasonable. Public toilets were available. Within a few minutes we were on a bridge over the canal. The flora was magnificent, divers shades of green, and not a ripple on the water. Along the footpath, adjacent to the canal were several narrow boats; one boatman was polishing brass fitments on his boat, on another boat, a lady had a display of merchandise for sale. Further on a cafe was open; the aroma of freshly made coffee was inviting. Down the hill we went passing several locks until we reached the bottom, perhaps, known as the basin. Swans and ducks with their young, cygnets and goslings, were enjoying the clement weather and seeking food from the visitors. James and Vicki treated us to refreshments. Before I tucked in I silently said Grace before meals; Rub a dub dub, thank God for the grub. Yep, it was yummy. On our way back we visited the museum. It was small but full of historical information. The owner was most helpful and knowledgeable. On reaching the car parked I reflected on our visit. The people we met were friendly, happy and enjoying themselves. A visit is strongly...