The old West River was narrow for most of its length, except where it swelled into a largish bay below The Royal Oak Inn, but the stretch along which The Mary Ann was now chugging was very narrow indeed and Jonathan had to take her well to starboard and into a mass of waterlilies. The Night Star, as she should have been, was moving over to her right side of the river, but she was not slowing down and the deep wash this caused pushed The Mary Ann through the waterlilies and well into the bank; and there she stuck. As The Night Star towered above them the boys, all glaring at Sloper at the wheel, protested loudly, and Jonathan, on this occasion, loudest of all. ‘Can’t you go a little slower! You’re the one who makes a mighty fuss about people bumping you.’
The Night Star well past now, Sloper turned and shouted from the wheelhouse, ‘Go and fry your face.’
‘And you go and get your ugly face lifted,’ yelled Joe, and for once Jonathan did not chastise him.
When eventually The Mary Ann’s bows were released from the mud they continued their journey, talking all the while indignantly about The Night Star and her crew, and as they entered the bay at The Royal Oak, Malcolm ended the discussion by saying, ‘But don’t forget we didn’t see the owner; I’d like to bet you tuppence he wasn’t aboard.’
As soon as they had berthed at the end of the bay they made their way towards the inn that lay above the river bank. They had to watch their step for the bank was strewn with tents, the guy ropes almost coming to the water’s edge. The tents seemingly were housing complete families, including dogs, and on Bill’s approach they set up a loud protest, but it was Bill’s one virtue that he never barked or stepped out of line when on the lead. Should he growl under his breath to show his displeasure he knew he would soon be checked by a tug on his collar, and since he was one who rarely wasted energy on something that had no end in view he appeared the most docile of dogs when attended by one or other of the boys.
When they reached the back door of the inn they were met by the lady of the house. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘You want water?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Jonathan. ‘Our name’s Crawford. We’re on The Mary Ann Shaughnessy. My uncle, Mr Cookson, said you would allow us to phone from here and have mail left.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Mrs Burgess. ‘Come in, come in.’ She stood aside and they followed each other into the little kitchen, Malcolm bringing up the rear with Bill.
Bill had his nose to the ground and an unusual sensation was prickling his spine; it wasn’t aggressive, nor was it the joyful feeling that he experienced when meeting up with a lady dog. The feeling was engendered by the smell of a black poodle sitting at the far side of the hearth.
‘Now, Dandy,’ said Mrs Burgess, ‘behave…Is he all right?’ She looked at Bill, and by way of answer Malcolm asked, ‘Is she a bitch?’
‘I’m afraid not; but he’s very good with other dogs.’
‘I wish we could say that of ours,’ said Malcolm ruefully. Then he had almost to chew back the inference because Bill’s tail, from a small movement, began to wag vigorously and, his bandy legs buckling under him, he lowered himself onto the floor and there awaited the black poodle’s approach. And when they shook hands with their noses the boys laughed, and, looking at Mrs Burgess, they exclaimed, one after the other, words to the effect of, ‘What do you think of that!’
‘You want to use the phone? Then go ahead; it’s just in the passage,’ said Mrs Burgess.
While Jonathan phoned through to home, Mrs Burgess handed Malcolm and Joe each a hot pasty, so hot that Malcolm had to release his hold on Bill’s lead. Within a second, realising what he had done, he made a grab at the strap, only to see it lying limply on the floor, and Bill lying as limply beside it, while he stared entranced at the black poodle. ‘Look!’ He nudged Joe. ‘Would you believe it!’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Joe. ‘Although I’m seein’ it I’m not believin’ it.’
It was at this moment that a tap came on the door and a polite voice said, ‘Good afternoon. My name is Leech; I’m the owner of The Night Star. Can you tell me if she has been in the bay?’
As Mrs Burgess moved towards the door the boys gasped at the man standing there.
‘The Night Star?’ said Mrs Burgess, pausing a moment. ‘No; nor have I seen her, but she might have passed down unknown to me.’
‘Yes, yes, she did.’ Malcolm moved to Mrs Burgess’s side and, looking up at Mr Leech added, ‘She passed us about half an hour ago and she pushed…’ He stopped.
‘Why, hello!’ Mr Leech beamed down, first on Malcolm, and then on Joe. ‘You’re the boys from the Miss Shaughnessy, aren’t you?’
‘The Mary Ann Shaughnessy,’ corrected Malcolm.
‘Oh, The Mary Ann Shaughnessy.’ Mr Leech moved his head in deep nods and glanced at Mrs Burgess as he repeated, ‘I mustn’t forget her full title; that would never do.’ Then, looking at Malcolm again, he asked, ‘Well, how are you enjoying it?’
‘Oh, very well, sir…’
‘…Except that in the night somebody untied our ropes and set us adrift.’ Joe was staring up into Mr Leech’s face, and Mr Leech, shaking his head gravely, said, ‘No! Really? That’s a dirty trick. Had you been getting on the wrong side of the village boys, because they are known to retaliate, you know?’
‘I don’t think it was the village boys. Anyway, we hadn’t seen anybody except…’
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ Jonathan said from the doorway, cutting off Joe’s words.
‘Oh…good afternoon,’ said Mr Leech. Then after a short pause he added, ‘The boys tell me you were adrift in the night, but none of you look any the worse for the adventure. These things happen on big and little boats alike and, as I say, you learn a lot when you’re in charge of a boat.’
‘Yes, you do, sir.’ Jonathan’s expression was unusually straight.
‘Well, I must away and find mine now. I’ll likely pick her up at Ely. I slipped up to London last night to see a friend and did not stipulate at what time I would be back.’ He was addressing Mrs Burgess now, and she, nodding at him, replied, ‘Well, she can’t be far. Somebody will have seen her; there’s a jungle telegraph keeps tabs on the movement of boats on the river.’
Mr Leech smiled; then looking at the boys he said, ‘It’s more than possible we’ll run into each other again…but not in the lock I hope.’ Giving a low chuckle, he walked to a big black car parked at the side of the inn, and a moment later he was driving away down the main road.
‘Well, what did I tell you?’ said Malcolm now. ‘He wasn’t on board. He’s a nice man. I knew he was.’
Jonathan made no answer to this but, turning to Mrs Burgess, said gravely, ‘There may be a letter coming. I gave them this address; is that all right?’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Mrs Burgess.
‘Thank you very much. Goodbye.’
Joe and Malcolm, too, added their goodbyes. Then out on the lawn near the little garden pool they stood looking at Jonathan, and it was Malcolm who asked, ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘The postman’s taken the case up. Father’s got to appear a week tomorrow, so we must get Bill back by then.’
‘NO!’
‘Oh, that’s bad,’ said Joe.
‘But he just broke a little bit of skin on his calf!’ cried Malcolm, his face all twisted up now. ‘He never bites people, only dogs. Everybody knows that. The postman knows that, and if he hadn’t picked the golf club up off the lawn and swung it Bill would never have gone for him. He wasn’t to know he was just playing; he thought he was coming at him…We explained.’
‘Well, apparently he didn’t take our explanation. This is the second time it’s happened.’
‘Well, he didn’t even break the skin the other time.’
‘He’s a bull terrier,’ said Jonathan, now looking down at Bill, ‘and people are frightened of bull terriers. They know that once they get a grip they won’t let go.’
‘But they must realise that he had no intention of
biting the postman,’ Malcolm went on protesting. ‘If he had he could have taken all the flesh off his calf. But what did he do? Broke the skin…just a tiny bit of skin.’
‘His leg was all bruised. Don’t forget that.’
‘Bruised!’ Malcolm exclaimed scornfully, turning his back on the other two. ‘This has put the damper on everything. How can we be expected to enjoy the holiday with that sentence hanging over him?’ Then turning back to Jonathan, he said angrily, ‘I won’t let them put him to sleep. I won’t! I won’t!’
‘Be quiet. Keep your voice down. People are looking at you.’ And now Jonathan turned to Joe, and very quietly he said, ‘and there’s a message for you, Joe.’ He paused a moment as he looked into Joe’s straight face. ‘Your mother called to see you yesterday.’
On this Malcolm, too, turned and looked at Joe. He saw his eyes seeming to get larger while his face became thinner, almost pinched-looking.
Joe had to gather some saliva into his mouth before he could ask, ‘Did she leave a message?’
‘She’s written you a letter,’ said Jonathan softly. ‘She wrote it in our house. Mother gave her this address, so you should get it tomorrow.’
Jonathan and Malcolm, standing now close together, watched Joe turn away and walk down the bank towards the river, and they did not attempt to follow him.
‘He’s upset at missing her,’ said Malcolm. ‘I wonder why she came back? Do you think she’s going to stay?’
‘I shouldn’t imagine it from what mother says. I think she’s going to get a divorce.’
‘No…! Oh good Lord! Poor Joe. Although he doesn’t say much he’s been hoping all the time that she’d get lonely and come back…He’s…he’s lonely, Jonathan.’
‘I know,’ said Jonathan. ‘And he’ll be more so if they get a divorce; that’ll be final then.’
They were just about to move forward towards the steps that led down to the river bank when there came to them the sound of yelling and shouting. It was the kind of commotion that they recognised, and immediately both of them looked round about them, but Bill was no longer there. Like two rockets, they made for the steps and there, standing poised for a moment, they surveyed the scene below them: cursing men, yelling women, screaming children, frantic barking dogs and all going round in circles, and in the middle of them a tent that was leaning well to leeward.
Malcolm, bounding down the steps behind Jonathan, yelled with him, ‘Bill! Bill! Here boy. Here boy.’ But their combined cries were lost in the hullaballoo into which they dived.
‘Catch the devil.’
‘He’s eaten the lot…Look at the tent!’
‘Mind the baby! Mind the baby!’
‘All my gentles in the river! I’ll brain him when I get him.’
‘Go for him, Rover! Go for him. Worry him. Go on, Rover, worry him!’
It is doubtful if Bill had ever been in such a commotion in his eventful life. He knew what it was to be harassed, chased, beaten on the nose, approached with a stick, and even kicked, but never the lot at once like this, and he considered it so very unfair. Moreover, he was in no fighting mood. All he had done was to follow the black poodle down the steps and along the river bank, experiencing the strange feeling, a sort of pallyness which was definitely new to him for up till now he had either loved or hated; then into this calm new world there had been wafted to him a delightful aroma, and he had been amazed to find the source within sniffing distance of his nose. When he took his eyes from Dandy’s rump, there it was, a whole furry rabbit, all ready for catching, and without any impediment. He had reasoned that if it wasn’t meant for him it would have been out of reach, and so, diverging from the path behind Dandy, he just quietly picked up the rabbit…And that’s when the quietness ended.
The scare the woman gave him coming behind him like that had shot him into the tent where he came into collision with a number of strange objects, not least a small child who not only screamed at him but grabbed at the rabbit. Now everybody was going mad at once, and all putting obstacles in his way, such as tins full of worms, fishing lines, cans, water jugs, mattresses, primus stoves and frying pans, and when one of the latter, hurling through the air, hit him on the rump he gave a deep yelp and bounded yet once again, this time almost landing in the river which he did his best to prevent for he didn’t care overmuch for water when seen from dry land, and he abhorred what was known as swimming in it. His front paws in the water, his hind paws gripping at the sloping bank, he hung suspended while the comforting voice of Joe yelled above him, ‘You kick him if you dare!’
‘I’ll kick you in an’ all. If I’d a gun I’d shoot him. Look at this place. Look what he’s done.’
‘It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t start it.’
‘We’ll report you. We’ll summons you.’ There were several threatening faces around Joe when Jonathan pushed forward and helped Joe to pull Bill up the bank. Then holding Bill’s collar, he said, ‘He’s my dog; I’m responsible. But he’s done no harm to anyone. He didn’t bite, or anything.’
‘Well for you he didn’t. But look at this place. Did you ever see anything like it?’
‘We’ll help you to get it straight.’
‘I don’t want your help, I want this damage made good,’ said a man in a blue jersey.
‘Oh, hold your hand a moment.’ They all turned to look at a man stepping out of a boat called The Fen Fire. He was holding his jaw with one hand and gripping his waist with the other, as was the woman who was sitting in the well of the boat; in fact, she was doubled up with painful laughter. ‘As the boy says,’ gasped the man, ‘the dog’s done no real harm. I saw all that happened. He was walking quietly along and there, level with his nose, was a rabbit lying on a fishing stool. What do you expect a dog to do? Walk past? If your wife hadn’t scared him there would have been none of this.’
‘Go on, blame it on my wife.’
‘I’m not blaming it on anyone,’ said the tall man. ‘I’m only going to say it’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in my life; I only wish I’d had a camera.’
A restless lull settled on the group of campers. Then one of the women made a little sound in her throat, and, looking at the man in the blue jersey, she said softly, ‘He’s right you know, it was funny. Even when I was running round like mad trying to catch our Rover, and you were yelling at him to worry the bull terrier’—she nodded at Bill—‘I kept thinking, I know who’ll be worried if they meet up, and it struck me it was like a comic movie.’
‘Aye, it’s all very well, but…’ The man’s voice trailed away as a number of sniggers developed into laughter, in which he made a successful effort not to join. Instead, still unbending, he nodded at Jonathan, saying, ‘Well, get it away before it decides to eat the baby.’
‘Oh, Stan!’ The woman who had caused the rumpus pushed at her husband and remarked, ‘It’s a funny thing, but I nearly had a fit when I saw the baby grab at the rabbit in his mouth, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when he let it go. You know our Rover wouldn’t do that; he growls at the baby if she comes near him when he’s got a bone.’
‘You’ll be pinning a medal on the ugly brute next,’ said the man, glaring at Bill. Then looking at the boys, he added, ‘Go on, get off, the lot of you.’ He waved them away, but they needed no second bidding.
No-one spoke until they were on the boat, when Jonathan said flatly, ‘There’s nothing for it, we’ll have to find some place quiet and stay there. We’ll just have to keep away from the villages and the towns.’
There was silence in the cockpit for a moment. Then Joe, dropping his head back onto his shoulders, and his eyes ranging over the great expanse of open sky, said, ‘It’s going to be a smashing trip. We mustn’t go through locks, we mustn’t go into towns and villages and we must cut the holiday short to get him back for his sentence. Oh yes, it’s going to be a real smasher, full of beef and adventure.’
Both Jonathan and Malcolm looked at Joe, but they did not make a retort suitable to his scathi
ng statement, because each knew that he was not really thinking about the trip at all. He was not even thinking of Bill’s fate, because he was, at this moment, very upset that he had not been at home when his mother came to see him.
Four
Later that day they proceeded down the old West and into the main river, made a short stop at Ely where they did some shopping, then went on past the beet factory, along the blank, seemingly never-ending straight stretch to Littleport, after which they carried on along the Ten Mile Bank, and to The Ship Inn.
The inn was situated at the point where the Little Ouse, or Brandon Creek as it was usually known, flowed into the main river, and they berthed a short distance up the creek.
The following morning they went on up the Brandon, to discover it was a comparatively wide river, until they came to the Crosswater staunch. This afforded them some excitement and helped to dispel the remnants of yesterday’s tension, because they had to fight their way through it. The staunch was blocked with massive clumps of river reeds that had been cut by the reed cutter into miniature islands to be taken away by the ‘stream’ but had become lodged in the narrow channel.
After several fruitless efforts to get through they welcomed the advice from the man at the pumphouse who shouted to them, ‘Go in full steam ahead, then shut her off and she’ll glide through.’ And she did glide through.
All the way up the river to Wilton Bridge the boys encountered these large floating islands of reeds, and if Joe had had his way they would have gone head on through each pile instead of avoiding them.
It was late evening of the same day when, after coming down the river again, they found a clear space for berthing on the left bank some two hundred yards below an empty house that stood on the other side of the river. The house windows were boarded, and its lower half was lost in a tangle of overgrown brambles and weeds. The place intrigued the boys and they decided that the following morning they would take the boat across to the other side and find a place to moor, then have a look round the house.
Bill and The Mary Ann Shaughnessy Page 5