Bill and The Mary Ann Shaughnessy

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘How far is it to the next lock?’ Malcolm asked, some time later.

  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ replied Jonathan. ‘What we should have is the map laid out on top of the engine there.’

  ‘It’d blow away in this wind,’ said Joe.

  ‘We can put something on the corners,’ said Malcolm, diving into the cabin and returning a moment later with the long map. ‘There,’ he said, bending over it. ‘Where are we now? Oh yes; we’re near the village of Horningsea, over there to the right.’

  ‘There’s a lot of squiggles in the river before we get to the next lock,’ put in Joe now; and Malcolm pushed him as he repeated, ‘Squiggles! They’re bends. There’s nothing much until we come to Clayhythe and The Bridge Hotel; then there’s the Cambridge Boat and Sailing Club. That should be good to see, shouldn’t it?’

  But when they passed the Cambridge Boat and Sailing Club the boys didn’t remark on it much, for an incident prior to their arrival there had filled them with indignation. They had been moving along just to the right of the middle of the river when they were all startled by a double hoot from the port side, and Malcolm, jumping up on the locker and bringing a groan from Bill as he trod on the end of his tail, shouted to Jonathan, ‘It’s a boat passing us.’ In the meantime Joe had dashed through the cabin to the stern, and when he returned a minute later he gasped at Jonathan, ‘It’s that big boat from the yard, The Night Star, you know, and she’s gallopin’.’

  Jonathan did not raise his eyebrows and scathingly repeat, ‘Galloping!’ but immediately gave way by turning the wheel sharply to starboard. Casting a glance to his left he now saw the high bows of the boat as it overtook them at speed.

  ‘Coo! He’s rocking us,’ said Joe. And he was rocking them. Instead of keeping well to their port side the big boat was hogging the middle of the river and, when he was past, his wash sent back large waves and The Mary Ann Shaughnessy bounced and jibbed as they pushed her nearer to the starboard bank.

  ‘Did you see that?’ cried Joe.

  ‘Courtesy of the river!’ exclaimed Malcolm indignantly. ‘That’s what they said to us back at the yard; “Go slow when you’re passing boats”.’

  ‘They meant stationary ones,’ said Jonathan; then he added tersely, ‘but who does he think he is, anyway?’

  ‘And look there!’ cried Joe, pointing to a notice. ‘Dead slow while passing the boats moored at the club. And look at the speed he’s going.’

  ‘He has slowed down a bit,’ said Jonathan now.

  ‘You’ve said it…a bit.’

  ‘And now here’s more trouble,’ said Joe. ‘Look at those two sailing boats coming at us. And they’re going some an’ all.’

  Both he and Malcolm knelt on the locker with Bill squeezed between them and watched the approach of the sailing craft. And Jonathan noted their approach too, and with some trepidation. The boats, their red sails gleaming, were tacking, and from different sides of the river. For a moment he didn’t know what to do. Then he remembered what Mr Hawtrey had said with regard to sail: ‘Give way entirely. And when in doubt do nothing; leave it to them.’ And this is what he did now, and the boats, seeming to miss his bows by inches, glided skilfully past, bringing exclamations of admiration from the boys.

  They were nearing a sharp bend of the river now, and Malcolm, looking at the map, said, ‘Bottisham lock must be round this corner. But look; there’s a red flag out there and a notice up.’

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Jonathan. ‘Can you see?’

  ‘Not from here. We should have binoculars, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘Well, as we haven’t, get up on the roof and use your eyes.’

  ‘It says,’ shouted Malcolm, ‘“Danger. River work in progress”. And Jonathan, I can see the tops of boats coming out of the lock.’

  ‘They won’t get very far without their bottoms,’ laughed Joe.

  ‘Funny! Funny!’ shouted Malcolm down at him. ‘… And Jonathan, I can see The Night Star waiting to go into the lock.’

  ‘Well, we don’t want to go in with him,’ said Jonathan flatly, as he slowed down.

  But they had to go into the lock with The Night Star. After having to hug the bank to let the outcoming boats pass, and having watched the big steady bulk of The Night Star going smoothly into the lock, they were then waved forward by the lock-keeper.

  ‘No mind,’ whispered Jonathan fiercely as he gripped the wheel and brought The Mary Ann’s bows in line with the mouth of the lock. ‘Don’t let’s have any more trouble with HIM. One of you hang on to Bill.’

  ‘But who’ll hold the boat?’ asked Joe quickly.

  ‘If one of you is on the quay I can keep her off from down below. I think I see rubber tyres hanging down the walls; they should keep her clear. But the main thing is, keep that fellow from going berserk.’ Jonathan thumbed towards Bill, who answered the gesture with a pained look.

  Following the same procedure that he had used when entering the previous lock Jonathan now found to his dismay that procedures had to be adapted to circumstances. The Night Star was taking up more than half the length of the lock and so not allowing him the space in which to act according to the book, so, having gone in with ‘way on’, he did not reverse quickly enough to bring The Mary Ann Shaughnessy to a stop before she reached the stern of The Night Star.

  ‘Here! What you think you’re up to? Slow up! Slow up, can’t you?’

  As The Mary Ann’s bows bumped against the stern of The Night Star the huge figure of a man in a jersey with a close-cut bullet-shaped head came round the deck and, with his foot, thrust angrily at the bows below him.

  ‘Haven’t you got eyes?’ He was bending over now and glaring through the open windscreen at Jonathan, and Jonathan replied apologetically, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry be damned! You should have practised on a bike and learned to steer.’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’ Jonathan’s voice was no longer quiet.

  The man picked up a short boathook now and pushed it against The Mary Ann’s bows to ward her off, and as he did so there came a low growl from Bill as he jumped out of Malcolm’s hold and sprang onto the seat below the windscreen, where, standing on his hind legs, he now began to bark furiously at the man on the stern above him.

  With his arms tightly around Bill, Malcolm shouted through the open window, ‘Please, sir! Would you mind not holding that stick…I mean that boathook.’

  ‘What?’ the man shouted. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘The boathook. Our dog doesn’t like sticks.’

  ‘Oh! He doesn’t, eh?’ The man looked at the boathook in his hand. ‘Well, that’s a pity, isn’t it? Strikes me he needs training.’

  ‘Please!’ said Malcolm again. ‘He’ll stop barking if you put it down.’

  ‘And what if I don’t?’

  ‘What is it, Sloper?’ The man wearing the peak cap and the blue reefer coat had come out of the wheelhouse. His voice was different from the other man’s, quieter, more refined.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said the man Sloper. ‘Just that ugly mug’s barking because I’ve got the hook in my hand. They want me to put it down.’

  ‘Well, put it down.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put it down.’

  ‘Oh!’ Sloper put down the hook; then slanting his gaze at the owner, moved slowly away out of sight, and the man in the peak cap smiled as he looked at Bill and said, ‘He looks a stout fellow. I wouldn’t like to meet up with him in the dark.’

  Malcolm smiled slowly; and Jonathan smiled; and Joe on the quay smiled.

  ‘What’s his name?’ the man now asked.

  ‘Bill, sir,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Very appropriate.’ The man nodded; then said, ‘Your first trip on the river?’ He was bending slightly forward and looking past Malcolm to Jonathan now, and Jonathan nodded and said, ‘Yes, sir. We haven’t got used to the ropes yet. I’m sorry I bumped your bows.’

  ‘Oh! You bumped her, did you? Well, I didn’t even notic
e.’ He looked over the side. ‘Not a scratch.’

  ‘She’s a beautiful boat, sir,’ said Malcolm, looking up at the radio mast.

  ‘I think so too.’ The man smiled, then turned away when, the lock-keeper having drawn up the sluice gates, the boats began their gradual fall to the level of the next part of the river.

  Bill just couldn’t believe it, but of course he should have known that once they passed those black gates they’d be dropped into a well. It made no difference that he had his two masters with him now: he didn’t like wells any better than he liked men with sticks. As he leapt from Malcolm’s hold into the cabin Jonathan’s hand flashed out, but missed him. When he reached the small well of the aft deck and stood on his hind legs with his paws on the locker and barked furiously, he heard Joe’s voice calling down to him, ‘It’s all right, you idiot,’ but he found no reassurance in it; instead he turned to make another sortie, and collided head on with Malcolm. Then he was hauled onto the bunk and had the indignity of being lain upon, while Malcolm’s two hands gripped his collar. This sort of tackle wasn’t fair, but he stopped his barking and lay trembling, one white-rimmed eye turned upwards to that awful moving black wall outside the window.

  When presently the black wall gave way to green fields and blue skies he was allowed to stand up. After shaking himself, he looked Malcolm in the eye and told him he bore him no ill will, then went quietly out of the cabin and took up his position on the seat he had chosen for his own.

  They were now travelling in the wake of The Night Star, but it was getting further and further away from them, and Jonathan, his eyes on it, remarked, ‘He was rather decent.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Malcolm; ‘he seems a very nice man. That other fellow is likely just one of his crew.’

  ‘There were two others besides him,’ said Joe. ‘A little fellow with bandy legs’—he gave an imitation of what the man looked like—‘an’ another bloke, who could be King Kong’s cousin.’

  ‘The owner called that big-mouthed fellow Sloper,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘There used to be a sauce called Sloper,’ said Joe musingly. ‘I remember when I used to go to me granny’s when I was little, she always had it on the table in a three-gill bottle. Ally Sloper’s sauce.’

  Malcolm and Jonathan began to chuckle, low sounds at first, which gradually grew until they were doubled up with laughter. They often found that Joe’s reminiscing had this effect on them; it was the odd way he came out with things. He could be very funny about his granny, although he disliked her so much.

  Jonathan’s laughter had a strong element of relief in it. He had brought The Mary Ann Shaughnessy through two locks, and under difficult circumstances which had nothing to do with either wind or weather, because anybody who had the choice would pick a storm in preference to the rumpus that Bill could create. Yes, he felt he had achieved something and could rightfully feel that he was, in a way, the master of The Mary Ann Shaughnessy.

  Two

  They spent their first night up a little creek, leading to Burwell Lode, which could be entered through a lock and which led to a bird sanctuary. Bill had not been slow to voice his feelings at the sight of yet another lock and the boys had some difficulty in convincing him that they had no intention of going through it. There was only one other boat in the creek and it was canvassed up and evidently not in use. So, with the rond anchors safely dug into the bank, they had, after a great deal of commotion, their first meal aboard, which consisted of sausages and fried tomatoes, new bread, currant buns, and a wedge each of the large fruit cake that Mrs Crawford had packed for them.

  And then came the business of washing-up, and as only two could stand in the galley with any degree of comfort the operation was slow and threaded with much nudging, pushing and laughter.

  Following this, they looked at the map and plotted their journey for the next day, which took in The Royal Oak Hotel up the old West River, from where they were to phone home and reassure their parents that all was well.

  When the light began to fade and a chilliness settled on the cabin, Joe suggested that they should light the Tilley lamp, but this was quickly decried by Jonathan, saying, ‘We know nothing about that; we’d better leave it alone.’

  ‘Oh, I can light a Tilley lamp,’ said Joe.

  ‘When did you light a Tilley lamp?’ Malcolm asked, scathingly now. ‘You say such daft things.’

  ‘Daft nothing. I’ve lit a Tilley lamp dozens of times. Me granny used to have one in her cottage when she lived right out on the fells near Hexham. She used to say it gave her warmth an’ light at the same time, but Mam said she only lit it because she was too mean to burn coal.’ Joe’s face suddenly lost its perkiness and Jonathan, quick to notice this, and after exchanging a glance with Malcolm, said airily, ‘Well, go ahead then, light it, as we’re not supposed to use the electric lights too much in case of running down the battery.’

  Joe remained silent as he went about the intricate business of lighting the lamp. But when the job was completed Malcolm’s and Jonathan’s praise brought him back to normal, and he exclaimed airily, ‘Oh, there’s nothin’ to it.’

  ‘Doesn’t it look smashing!’ said Malcolm, following Joe into the cabin, and Joe, placing the lamp on the sideboard, answered, ‘It’ll be smashing if Big Bill Hiccock decides to go mad.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a thought,’ said Jonathan solemnly. ‘We’d better keep him over on this side. Come on, boy. Onto this bunk.’

  But Bill, instead of jumping from one bunk to the other, put his two front paws on the floor, dragged his hind quarters lazily after them, and walked into the cockpit where he made a small whining sound, which brought an exclamation from both Jonathan and Malcolm at the same time. ‘You’ve been!’ they said.

  But say what they might, Bill argued otherwise.

  ‘Oh Lor! I’ll have to take him out again,’ said Jonathan now. ‘Throw me my pullover. And I’d better put him on the lead in case we meet up with a car.’

  ‘It’s funny that,’ said Joe; ‘I’ve never heard any cars passing along this road. It’s like the back of beyond. I don’t think you need worry about him bumping into a car.’

  ‘They sound like famous last words,’ said Jonathan as he moved off into the gathering darkness. Cautiously, he guided Bill past the lock and onto the main road and to where, a little way along it, there was a lane leading down to a boathouse and an open space. It was here that Bill had rampaged shortly after they had berthed. Having reached this spot again, Jonathan let him off the lead, but when Bill decided to make an exploration in the rough growth at the end of the field Jonathan ran to prevent him, and it was as he did so that he noticed the white gleam of the boat moored a short distance away in the main river. It was almost at the same moment that the van turned into the lane, and stopped within a few yards of where Jonathan was crouched over Bill.

  Then he felt Bill’s bristles rising and his own ears pricked up at the sound of the voice coming to them from the roadway, saying, ‘Hello, Duffy. Everything all right?’ for it was the unmistakable gruff voice of Sloper.

  Another voice answered now, saying, ‘Yes, right as rain. They were very obliging—killed two birds with one stone.’

  ‘You don’t say!’ This was yet another voice, and it ended on a quiet laugh.

  Jonathan remained crouched down, and gently stroked Bill’s head. He saw the dark figures of the men go to the back of the van and slowly pull out some object which they proceeded to carry down to the boat. He couldn’t make out what the object was, only that it must have been very heavy as it made Sloper gasp as he said, ‘Seems too good to be true.’ And the answering voice gasped also as it said, ‘Well, seeing’s believing, isn’t it?’

  Not until Jonathan thought they had reached the river bank did he move into the lane. He entered it at a spot just beyond the back of the van, and turning to glance at it he stopped dead in amazement and peered at the figure lying on the floor. He could just make out it was a man and he hadn’t time to wo
nder if he were dead, or alive, when the man gave evidence of the latter by flinging his arm outwards and making a sound between a sigh and a groan. As Bill gave a low growl Jonathan heard footsteps approaching again, and he turned swiftly and made for the road. But his withdrawal wasn’t noiseless, although he kept to the verge of the lane, and within a minute he heard a commotion behind him, and then the sound of running feet.

  He was in the ditch with Bill held tightly to him, one hand gripping his muzzle, when the men reached the road.

  ‘Must have been dreaming,’ said a low voice.

  ‘Tell you I wasn’t.’ It was Sloper’s voice.

  ‘Could have been a fox, stray dog or anything. Come on.’

  But Sloper did not come on right away.

  Jonathan could hear him walking among the undergrowth. But at last there was silence and Jonathan, pulling himself and Bill up out of the ditch, ran pell-mell back to the boat and startled both Malcolm and Joe by diving straight at the Tilley lamp and turning it out.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Joe sat where Jonathan’s entry had pushed him.

  ‘I don’t rightly know,’ gasped Jonathan; ‘but listen.’ And he proceeded to tell them what had transpired, and when he had finished there was silence for a moment before Malcolm said, ‘But the man in the van, was he hurt?’

  ‘I’ve told you I don’t know,’ replied Jonathan; ‘I had to get away.’

  ‘Perhaps he was just asleep.’

  ‘Don’t talk like a nit, Malcolm,’ said Joe scathingly. ‘I bet you what you like he’s been mugged.’

  ‘And now you stop talking like a nit,’ Jonathan said.

  ‘Then what’s all the fuss about?’ asked Joe pointedly. ‘You dashin’ in here and putting out the light.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t want them to know we were round the corner; they might suspect, and rightly, that it was one of us who was snooping.’