Jack Hill recounts the days from his youth in the 1950s when he graduated from Liverpool University:-

The final total of honours degrees for the year was three firsts and eight seconds. The remainder were ordinaries, so I felt reasonably vindicated to be in the first 10 per cent.

The graduation day saw a posse of relatives arriving from all corners of Britain, ours were accommodated in the various bedrooms at Mossley Hill Drive whilst we students shared one room with mattresses and blankets on the floor.

Graduation day was the only occasion when I have worn a black formal gown and the school collar, also black and white. These were hired for the afternoon and then handed back as soon as photographs had been taken.

Farewells were said, equipment was gathered up and transported back to Leicester, my home town, where I now had to think about getting work as I no longer was being given state assistance. Fortunately for me, a London firm of architects called Farmer and Dark got in touch ,after having been declined by Denis Greenwood who mentioned my name, and offered me an interview.

The two senior partners, Frank Dark and Bill Henderson, gave me the third degree and then said that I would be suitable and what salary would I like. I mentioned the vast sum of twelve pounds per week, they exploded with amusement and said they never paid more than ten pounds for a new entrant, so I agreed that ten would be adequate and started the next week.

I learned of a hostel in Belsize Square and was able to arrange a small single room with gas fire. All meals were taken in the restaurant, which was allied with the hotel next door. Fellow inmates were from many walks of life and there I met my first live tax inspector among many other professions.

Having time on my hands at the weekends, I used to explore the byways of London and found Little Venice where I saw a canal boat with the name of Peter Scott and the Wildfowl Trust painted on the side. This made me think about owning a canal boat  myself and when one was advertised in a local pub and on show moored to the towpath, I decided to take the plunge, borrowed £300 from my father and did the deal with the Christine Archer of the day (Pamela Mant).

I had presumed that I could obtain a mooring in Paddington Basin, but was rudely rebuffed by British Waterways.

After much negotiating, I was granted a mooring at Waltham Abbey, and so had to devise a method of moving the boat northwards. Pandora, as she was called, was a butty boat so I had to construct a frame on the rudder to take an outboard engine. I then hired a 10hp Seagull for the weekend and with the help of Len Plant, my brother- in-law, we started off down the Regents Canal.

Control of the motor required me stepping off the rear of the boat on to a block of wood and bending down to operate the throttle. Progress was slow but when we arrived at Islington tunnel I reduced power and of course the motor stopped. We had drifted further inside so gloom descended and it was decided that we would leg the boat through as in the olden days.

Lying on one's back on the boat roof and pushing sideways with ones feet is extremely tiring. The tunnel is just over a mile long so being able only to see a tiny horseshoe of light was very daunting, especially when things kept dropping from the roof.

The next part of this memory can be found under Islington.