by Milly Adams
At last the meal was finished, the washing-up done, Polly and Verity smoked on the counter, while Sylvia walked Pup along the lay-by looking for the Porters’ boats so that she could pass on the books in the carpet bag she carried.
Each time she passed a boat, it seemed that the boaters were back, just waiting to fuss over Pup, express sadness at the loss of Dog, and their concern about the girls, but also, as she was leaving, the women would say, ‘We ’ears yer ’as a nice young man, we does. Bit of a fireman, we ’ears. Saved yer. Makes a bond, eh? Bet likes him, so she do.’
Long ago the girls had given up trying to work out how the cut telegraph worked, though this time, with Bet about the place, there was little need to look too far. By the time she found the Porters she had ceased to blush, and merely nodded, saying, ‘Yes, we’re all very grateful. His name’s Steve, and I do rather like him.’
In this way she saved Mrs Porter the trouble of asking all the questions the others had hinted at. But this time, Mrs Porter, who had lifted Pup and was tickling her under the chin, said, ‘I ’ears ’e be a coppernob an’ all.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘I ’spect yer and his little ‘uns’ll dodge the hair, but their childer will be the coppernobs. Tends to go like that, it does.’ Mrs Porter was handing Pup back. ‘She’ll be a good ’un. It were Ma Mercy who knew the litter were born a while ago near Buckby, but this ’un weren’t took up. We knows why now, cos of yer need.’
Dazed at the information about any coppernob children, Sylvia was about to carry on when Mrs Porter crossed her arms and stood by the tiller, which had been turned round to make more room on the counter. ‘Yer mark my word, young Sylv, that coppernob be a good ’un, steadfast an’ true. I feel it in me water. Just right fer yer. You be thanking them at ’Oward ’Ouse fer the books, eh?’
Sylvia almost staggered back. Feel it in her water? Could she? Did she? When she saw Polly and Verity on Horizon’s counter, flipping their cigarettes into the cut, she carried Pup over to them. ‘Pol, Dog slept on your feet in bed, so you should have her. If she’s going to pee on anyone it should be her mum.’
Polly nuzzled the puppy’s neck. ‘Are you sure, Sylv? Mightn’t you want her?’
‘A share of her is fair enough, and now I’m going to crash into my bed.’
The other girls were too, but as she was about to step on to Horizon’s counter Sylvia said, ‘Does Mrs Porter’s water tell the truth?’
The minute she said it, she wished she hadn’t, but the girls didn’t turn a hair. Verity, who was half in and half out of Horizon’s double doors, said, ‘I’d believe any of the boaters if they talk about their water. Mark you, if I talked about mine it would be a load of cobblers, because I really don’t know what they mean, and if it’s their bladder I don’t even want to think of it. Here, take the carpet bag. We’ve taken our clothes out; yours remain.’
Sylvia took it and stepped across on to Horizon’s counter, laughing, but inside she was hugging the words to her. Steve and she would not only be happy, but have red-haired grandchildren, and for a wild moment, she wanted to rush back into London to his fire station and hurl herself into his arms. Instead she almost skipped down the steps into her cabin, lighting the oil lamp, and shaking out the cross-bed’s double blankets to give them just another warm. She took his letters from her trouser pocket and slipped them beneath her pillow, hoping there would be another waiting for her at Tyseley, as Bet had hinted.
The next morning, at the break of day, they pat-pattered towards Cowley Lock on the Grand Union Canal. They were on a short tow because it was so cold that the ice would have collected overnight between the wall and the gates when they were opened, leaving no room to enter abreast.
As they reached the winding pound just before the lock, a lock which was the first in the long climb towards Birmingham, they all basked in the release of being on their boats, on the cut, and being back home. Verity was to lock-wheel today – opening and closing the locks – but Steerer and Mrs Mercy were coming through on their way back from Tyseley, so the lock was ready and in they went, the Mercys’ ‘’Ow do’ ringing in the girls’ ears, and their thanks for Pup in hers, they hoped. As Horizon’s tow-rope was detached from the stud, and the butty’s momentum carried it alongside until it nudged the sill, Pup, on the roof of the motor, barked. Sylvia called, ‘Hello to you, too, little Pup.’
To Polly she said, ‘She seems happy enough on the chain.’
Polly answered, ‘Enough of that, young Sylv. Why were you asking about Mrs Porter’s water?’
‘Mind your own business,’ Sylvia answered, dodging down into the cabin to pour an enamel mug of tea each. She brought them up, passing them to Polly, and said, ‘Put them on the counter. Pup will knock them over if you leave Verity’s on the roof.’
Polly did so as Verity wound the paddles and the water gushed in and lifted the boats. Polly wouldn’t let it rest and threatened to ask Mrs Porter, if Sylvia held out. So Sylvia told her, mostly because she wanted to share it.
Polly sipped her tea, looking over the top of her mug at Sylvia. ‘I didn’t need my water to tell me that,’ she said. ‘Crikey, it stands out a mile. He’s such a good man with eyes only for you. In this day and age, unless you grab the moment, Sylv, it could all be gone. All those fires, the damned rockets. He’s as much on the front line as Tom and Saul.’
Sylvia just stared at her, the tea suddenly losing any appeal. As the boats reached the high-water mark she said, ‘Well, thank you for all of that. Now how do you expect me to sleep at night ever again until this war is over?’
Verity was shoving on the beams, opening the gates, and as Polly pat-pattered from the lock she leapt on board and grabbed her tea, getting ready to grab Horizon’s prow tow-rope, and sling it on Marigold’s stern stud. Sylvia called as she threw it, ‘That friend of ours, Miss Polly Holmes, has just been explaining how every day could be Steve’s last, and I should make every second count.’
There was a jerk on the butty as the tow caught, and out they all went. Verity stood on the cabin roof, alongside Pup. She cupped her mouth and yelled, ‘Honestly, Sylv, Polly has no tact, unlike me. What she means is don’t mess about. If you like him, spend time with him. As for every day being his last, he’s a professional, he knows what he’s doing. But yes it could be his last, but probably not. Have I helped?’
Sylvia seldom swore, but now she did. ‘No you ruddy haven’t.’
Verity’s laugh soared, and joined that of Sylvia, who finished her tea, knowing the girls were trying to tell her to grab love because, after all, they were all in the same boat, and the two of them had done just as they were advising. She smiled. She’d sleep. They were adults, after all, and this was their life.
Chapter 15
Good time is made as they head for Tyseley Wharf
That same day they pat-pattered all the way through the rising locks of Watford and Kings Langley, with Verity lock-wheeling the first half, and then Sylvia the second until they reached the peace of the pound, which lasted until Berkhamsted. It was along here, on the towpath, that Polly jogged Pup, slightly overtaking their boats and lifting Pup when a cross old bulldog tried to eat her, alongside some allotments.
The equally old and cross owner, who closely resembled his dog, looked at Pup huddling in her arms, then at Marigold and Horizon. ‘Young woman, aren’t you the one who usually has a different dog – Dog I think was her name? Samson likes that one. He doesn’t care for nippers.’
Polly looked down at Samson, and vaguely remembered him now. ‘Our lovely Dog died in a V2 blast that buried us three girls a couple of weeks ago. Though she was hurt she sensed where we were and tried to dig us out. The firemen and Rescue Squad took over when she died on the job.’ She tried to keep her voice level but wasn’t at all sure she succeeded.
The old boy stooped, pulling Samson’s ears gently. ‘You were on your way to Limehouse, I expect?’
Verity sounded Marigold’s hunting horn, two blasts, whi
ch translated meant ‘Got a problem?’ Polly waved to show she was all right. The boats chugged past, stlll on a short tow. ‘We were,’ Polly said, ‘but we had to fetch Dog who’d taken off after something, and then had to find a telephone box, and so on; you know how these things go. You keep thinking, could we have done it differently, and perhaps she would still be alive?’
The old boy said, ‘I did a lot of that in the last war, and the answer is – perhaps, but perhaps not, so it’s fruitless. It happened, and now you have this little pup.’
He looked from Pup to Samson. ‘Now, Sammy, be a gentleman and teach this youngster how to make new friends, if you please.’ He held up a finger, then dug in his pocket for a small piece of toast. This he gave to Samson. ‘Try letting the youngster sniff about Samson while still on the lead. What do you call her?’
‘Pup.’
‘Ah, as original as dear old Dog.’
Pup, now supposed to be sniffing around as instructed, started to be silly, leaping at Samson, who growled, then snapped. Pup sat still. ‘There, you see, she’s been told by her elder and better.’ His chortle was disarming. He gave both dogs a piece of toast. This time Pup approached Samson more carefully, and they both had a good sniff around one another until finally Pup came to sit between the old boy and Polly. ‘You’re one of those lasses who’s filled in for the boaters gone to war, I suppose. Bit of a change for you?’
‘You could say that, and for the boaters. They’ve been kind; well, more than kind.’ The wind was getting up. Polly snatched a look at the sky. Would it snow?
The old man was shivering. He had no scarf. She snatched off hers. ‘Here, wear this; alarming colours but not too grubby yet. It’s one of Mum’s new ones. Fair exchange for Pup’s lesson.’
She now noticed his threadbare coat and woollen gloves with holes. He refused the scarf, blushing, but tipped his hat. Polly insisted, ‘Please, take it for my sake. I have a whole carpet bag full of them in the cabin and can’t wear them all. Mum knits even more when she is worried, so over the last two weeks while we three’ve been recuperating it’s been an avalanche of strange-coloured wool which has been clickety-clicked into something that at least keeps one warm.’
At this he half bowed, and said, ‘Then, how kind, I will.’
Polly wrapped her scarf around him, and his rheumy eyes twinkled. He said, ‘My wife knitted, it’s one of the things I miss more than I ever thought possible. My name is Reginald Forsythe.’
Polly introduced herself and waited, but Reginald said no more. They just nodded. Polly stuck out her hand, covered in her own holey woollen gloves. ‘We’ll pass one another again,’ she said.
‘I do so hope so, and please, Miss Polly Holmes, and your two friends, don’t waste time wondering, as regards Dog, whether you took the right turning, as it were. Who knows what taking another one might have brought. Celebrate the memories. It’s that which keeps us going, isn’t it, Samson, old man?’
Polly ran on with Pup, who leapt at the lead until Reginald’s voice reached her. ‘Tell her no, my dear, you must take control. Always remember that: take control.’ Polly did, working with Pup until she overtook Marigold and entered a bridge little further on; snatching up Pup, she jumped on board as Verity steered alongside the towpath.
Pup was put on the side-bed and slept immediately in the warmth of the cabin. Polly made cocoa for the two of them; Sylvia called that she had just had one. ‘I’ll fill you in later,’ Polly called back to Horizon. ‘By the way, not sure Coppernob would approve of your cocoa moustache.’
Sylvia’s laugh reached her.
Polly told Verity all about Reginald, then dug out another scarf for herself. She would telephone her mother from Tyseley and see if she could find something made of a more subdued grey or brown that she could re-knit for Reginald.
Polly lock-wheeled on the rise to Tring, which was easier because several of the locks were ready. Steerer Wise and his missus had passed through, heading for the south on July and Midsummer. The Wises had called ‘’Ow do, had to lay back for Timmo, who be ahead o’ yer and so be Steerer Mercy. Them’ll be mooring up at Leighton, so get yer throwin’ arms at t’ready, cos they’ll expect to beat yer at darts. Been too long without yer.’
Once through the Tring locks they pat-pattered past the entrance to the Aylesbury Arm. It was Maudie’s, Joe’s mother’s, favourite part of the cut and where she had finally been found, having escaped from Leon; out of her mind, and badly battered, without memory, but alive. She had been taken to a psychiatric hospital until a vestige of herself returned, and Granfer had received notification. Verity was smoking, hunched on the cabin roof, Pup beside her, covered by one of Mrs Holmes’s scarves to head off the bitter cold. Verity watched the wind take the cigarette smoke, dispersing it almost immediately.
‘Darling, I don’t think I can bear to see Dog’s burial place yet, beneath the apple tree in Bet and Fran’s orchard. Call me feeble, but I just can’t.’
Polly guided the tiller with her elbow, flicking her own cigarette into the cut. ‘I feel the same, Ver, and I dare say Sylv does as well. Why don’t we leave that for the return trip? We can mix it with seeing Maudie at Granfer and Lettie’s. We do just need a quiet word with Granfer about Joe’s story in the newspaper, and we must warn him to be extra vigilant on Maudie’s behalf.’
Verity looked up, shaking her head, ‘But …’ But Polly waved that away. ‘I know, I know Bet’s told Fran, who will have told Granfer all about the newspaper, but I want to make sure he really understands that there’s a vague possibility Joe could be traced. We must reassure him about the precautions our families are taking.’
Verity agreed. ‘Good, we don’t want him and Lettie in a flap, and we also need to see how much better Maudie is, and whether we can tell Joe about her yet. But dare we tell him until the business of Leon is confirmed one way or another? If Leon … ?’ Verity sighed now, glancing behind her. ‘Damn and blas––’ She stopped. Then half laughed, ‘That always reminds me of Solly, and the blast. I do hope the old devil is driving Jacob and his wife round the twist, because it’ll mean he’s getting back on top of things.’
The girls were still chuckling when Verity leapt off the boat to manage the locks on the descent to Leighton Buzzard before mooring up for the night. It was dusk before they made it, and wolfed down Spam fritters for their evening meal. Sylvia merely poked at hers. ‘I was totally surprised when the nurses and doctors mopping us up weren’t drowned by this stuff gushing out of our every nook and cranny. I’m so sick of it, more so after two weeks without.’ She shoved it away. ‘Oh come on, girls, let’s get to the pub and thrash Timmo at darts.’
The pub was warm and bright behind its dimout blinds, the fire roaring as wind sucked the flames up the chimney, and the windows rattling. The table by the fire was theirs as usual, a reward for saving Jimmy’s life what seemed a long time ago. Polly got in the half-pints of mild as Timmo called from the dartboard, ‘Get t’beer down yer, for ’tis time t’be beaten. Bernie’s do be taking t’bets tonight. But we do ask yer to be gentle with us.’
There were guffaws all round, and steerers stopped by the table to tell them they had been missed, and all were right glad they was back. Pup sat on Sylvia’s lap until they finished their drinks, and then Ma Wise came and stood before her, saying Pup could sleep on her. They changed places, and Ma cuddled Pup close. As Sylvia was about to follow the other two girls, the boater caught her sleeve. ‘Right sad about Dog, she felt like all of ours she did. But Pup should see you better from yer pain,’ she said. ‘So, too, yer fireman, eh?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘It’s set in stone now, isn’t it Ma, the whole cut knows that Ma Porter felt it in her water?’
‘Course ’tis. Some things is, ain’t they, they just is.’
Ma Wise settled Pup on her voluminous lap, brought out her crochet from her bag and stretched out her legs before the fire. Sylvia grinned, letting the boater’s words run through her head: ‘… they just is
.’
Happiness soared as she joined the other two, who were tossing with Timmo for who should throw first. The girls won the match, beating Timmo, his brother Peter and his uncle Trev easily. As Polly said, accepting a Woodbine from Timmo, ‘It’s like taking candy from a baby.’
‘What’s candy?’ Timmo said, grinning, and lighting both cigarettes.
‘Ah, Verity and I learned that from some GIs we met in London ages ago. Sweets, those rare things these days, Timmo.’ She dropped her voice, holding his arm. ‘How are you without Thomo?’
Timmo’s face grew sad. ‘Fair to middlin’, our Polly. We does miss ’im something sore, so when we heard a damn rocket might ’ave got yer three lasses, it were just too much. Yer ’appy with Pup?’
She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘More than happy. It’s given us someone else to love but we do still miss our Dog. We’re calling in on Fran on our way back to see where she is, and then on to Granfer and Maudie.’
Timmo blew his smoke up into the air. The ceiling was stained almost brown between the beams. ‘I had heard tell the bastard might be back in London. I also heard tell there might ’ave been summat in a newspaper. If’n you need the boaters at yer back, girl, yer only ’ave to say. Saul ain’t ’ere to fight fer the boy, and Maudie, but we is. All of us is.’
The pub had fallen silent, and behind her Verity and Sylvia came close as the men lifted their glasses to them, their faces grim. Steerer Wise said, ‘He were never one of us, that Leon Arness, just turned up on the cut when a youngster, and t’was clear ’e were black to ’is ’eart and worse. What’s more ’e ’urt Maudie and Joe frequent, ’e did, and they is ours. We says nothing to no one about where Maudie be. But we is ’ere, should he start his games again, yer ’ear us, lasses?’
They said, together, ‘We hear you, and thank you.’
As though a conductor had moved his baton, things fell back to where they were, and there was laughter, talk, and now the piano was being played. If Saul was here, Polly thought, he would be singing, perhaps with Sylvia who had the voice of an angel. Against this background, the bets were divvied up. The girls won nearly £2 for the darts kitty but put it over the counter for drinks all round. Bernie, the publican, was pleased. Everyone was pleased, and the girls had a further pint or two.