A Boy Off the Bank

by Geoffrey Lewis

  Billy had secured the stern ends to the bank; now, his father stepped down into the engine-hole and stilled the Bolinder’s off-beat idling. Emerging once more into the deepening night, he found his wife standing on the towpath:

  ‘Yew gooin’ teh see Alby?’ He asked.

  ‘Yes, Bill. ’Is butty’s joost oonder the bridge, but Oi doon’t see the Sycamore anywher’.

  ‘H’okay, Ma. Oi’ll goo foind Mr Vickuss, tell ’im we’re ’ere, n’ stoppin’ til the mornin’, Oi’ll join yeh in a minute. Yew tekin’ Moikey wi’ yeh?’

  ‘They ortta be interdooced, doon’t yer think?’

  ‘Sooner the better, Oi reckon.’

  With that, Bill turned away, pulling his hat down more firmly over his ears as the drizzle which had plagued them on and off all day began once more to fall. He strode off towards Ben Vickers’ office; Vi turned to the two boys, waiting beside the boats:

  ‘Ow yeh feelin’, Moikey?’

  ‘Tired, Mrs Hanney!’ But she received the brightest smile she’d seen from the boy so far. Smiling back, she told him:

  ‘Coom wi’ me, lad! Oi want yer teh meet Mr Baker, the man ’oos boats yeh’re goin’ on.’ Seeing the boy’s smile take on a nervous look, she assured him: ‘Yeh’ll loike him, ’e’s a really noice fella. ’E’s got a boy of ’is own, Alex, boot ’e’s older’n yew, joined the Navy, fer the war, see?’ Michael just nodded, suddenly feeling as nervous as his expression had suggested; but he followed her as she set off along the towpath:

  ‘Yew coomin’ too, Gracie?’

  ‘Yes, Ma!’ She fell into step with Michael, giving him a reassuring smile. As they turned under the bridge, Vi glanced back:

  ‘Stevie! ’Oo said yew could coom along?’

  ‘Oh, Ma – can’t Oi? Oi want teh see Ooncle Alby, too!’

  ‘Oh – h’okay, then. Wher’s Jack?’

  ‘E went down in the cabin, wi’ Billy.’

  ‘Huh! Oi ’ope the two of ’em’ll keep an oiye on the dinner, then!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Albert Baker was enjoying a fresh cup of tea, when the knock came on his cabinside. That afternoon, they’d lifted his motor boat onto the dock; having watched that process with proprietorial anxiety, he’d gone to take a look at the Envoy’s tired engine, but given up trying to start it with the onset of the early dusk. He thought he knew what was needed – but it would be more sensible to tackle the job with the aid of daylight.

  He got to his feet, slid back the hatch and looked out:

  ‘Vi! Good ter see yeh, ’ow are yeh?’

  ‘’Ello, Alby – ’ow’s things?’

  ‘Oh – h’okay, Oi reckon. Yew coomin’ in fer a coopa?’

  ‘If yeh’ve got the kettle on, Oi will!’

  ‘Coom on, then!’ She stepped over into the stern well, followed him down into the cabin as he beckoned Gracie to join them. Michael went to follow, but Stevie held him back:

  ‘Not ’til yeh’re arst, Moikey!’ Seeing his companion’s puzzled look, he explained: ‘Yeh never step onta soomeoone else’s boat ’til yeh’re invoited – if yeh go callin’, yeh knock on the cabin, then wait - ’n don’t look inter the cabin, neither, that’s very rude!’

  ‘Oh – right!’ Careful, Mikey, don’t get off on the wrong foot! He reflected that there seemed to be rules of etiquette that went with the boater’s life – and he’d need to know them, or risk upsetting people! Vi’s head appeared out of the hatches:

  ‘Yew two – step on, ’n sit yerselves on the gunwales, there, fer now. Tea?’

  ‘Please, Ma!’

  ‘Yes please, Mrs Hanney.’

  They did as they were bid, sitting on the edges of the stern well – moments later, two steaming hot cups of tea came out, and they sipped them gratefully. Michael was back in his own clothes, now that they had dried out, and he felt vaguely out of place: His school trousers were too smart, too well-creased, for these surroundings – and too thin! He envied Stevie the heavier, warmer fabric of his, as the cold of the winter night began to penetrate. And his coat – too long! It had tended to get in his way, especially working the locks. But Vi had taken a look at it, while they were travelling the summit, said that she’d alter it for him to make it more suitable – and she’d promised to find him a few extra things, from Stevie’s wardrobe, to keep him going for a while. Not, he suspected, that any of them had much clothing to spare.

  The two boys sat in companionable silence for a few moments, sipping their tea, hands clasped around the cups for warmth. Then, their eyes met through the rising steam; a twinkle surfaced in Stevie’s as he asked:

  ‘Well? ’Ow’re yeh loiking’ the boatin’ then?’ Michael hesitated, trying to find words to express his feelings:

  ‘It’s – brilliant! Hard work – I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tired – but it’s still brilliant!’ Stevie laughed:

  ‘Better’n goin’ ter school, then?’

  ‘Heaps better!’

  ‘Goin’ ter be a boater, then, are yeh?’

  ‘Yeah! If Mr Baker’ll have me. But there’s so much to learn!’

  ‘Oh, yeh’re getting’ the ’ang o’ things a’ready! Moy Dad says yeh never stops learnin’, on the boats – when yeh think yeh know it all, soomat cooms along n’ catches yeh out, shows yeh ’ow mooch yeh doon’t know!’

  ‘That’s good advoice, Moikey, even if Oi didn’ think moy son ’ad teken it in! Coom insoide, lad, n’ meet Mr Baker.’ Vi gave him an encouraging smile from the open hatch, beckoned him forward. Nerves fluttering in his tummy again, Michael rose and followed her down into the cabin’s bright interior. Looking around inquisitively, he found himself in familiar surroundings – apart from slightly different decoration, a different set of hanging plates on the wall, different curtains over the bed-hole, he could have been on board the Acorn or the Angelus. His gaze went to the occupants – Vi and Gracie were squeezed in side by side on the sidebed, and a man who must be Mr Baker sat facing him, on a stool the far side of the table-cupboard.

  The two studied each other for a moment – Michael saw a man, not unlike Bill Hanney in height and build, maybe a few years older, his hair greyer, his eyes also a dark grey in colour, with the creased, weatherbeaten, but somehow ageless complexion of someone who spends his working life out of doors. The man rose to his feet, held out a hand, as Vi spoke:

  ‘Moichael – this is Mr Baker.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’ Michael took the proffered hand and shook it; Albert Baker smiled at his new recruit:

  ‘Mr Baker’ll do! Moichael – is that what folks call yeh?’

  ‘Yes, sir – Mr Baker – but… the others have been calling me Mikey…’

  ‘Oothers?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Hanney – and Gracie and the others.’

  ‘Oh. D’yeh prefer that, then?’

  ‘I… I think so, yes, s… Mr Baker.’ The smile widened:

  ‘Moikey it is, then!’ Albert returned to his seat; Michael stood there feeling slightly embarrassed under his continuing gaze. The boatman turned to Vi:

  ‘Yew were roight, ’e’s’ a bit on the skinny soide – Yew sure ’e’s oop to the work?’

  ‘Oo-ar, Alby, ’e can do it! ’e meks oop in determination what ’e ent got in strength!’

  ‘That’s roight, Ooncle Alby! Yeh should’a seen ’im, today, coomin’ oop Bugby – ’e wouldn’ let me ’elp ’im wi’ the paddles or nothin’!’

  ‘Joost ’oo arst yew, Stevie ’Anney?’ Albert grinned as the boy subsided in the open doors, having spoken over his new friend’s shoulder. His smile shifted to Michael:

  ‘Sit down, boy – on the step, be’ind yeh. ’N yew’d better coom ’n join oos, bein’ as yeh’ve a’ready poked yer nose in, Stevie!’ The younger boy did as he was told, sitting beside Michael with a cheeky grin:

  ‘’E’s a scholard ’n all, Ooncle Alby!’

  ‘That roight, Moikey?’

  ‘I’ve been going to school since I was five, Mr Bake
r.’

  ‘Ah! Yeh can read ’n wroite, then, can yeh?’

  ‘Of c… I mean, yes, I can.’ Michael stilled his initial, indignant reply as it occurred to him that the man facing him quite probably, himself, could not.

  ‘Ah – Yew could wroite a letter fer me, ter moy son, if Oi told yeh what ter say then, could yeh?’

  ‘I – yes, I could, Mr Baker.’

  ‘’E’s away in the war, see, boy – in the Navy.’

  ‘I know – Mrs Hanney told me.’

  ‘’Ow’s ’e doin, Alby?’ Vi asked

  ‘Pretty good, Oi reckon! They won’t let ’im tell me wher’ ’e is, what ’e’s doin’, boot Oi know ’e’s on oone o’ them destroyers. ’E wroites ter me when ’e can – that’s wher yew coom in, Moikey, yeh see?’ Michael nodded:

  ‘I’d be glad to help, Mr Baker.’ The boatman turned to the girl sitting beside her mother:

  ‘’Ow about yew, Gracie – yeh’re ’appy to coom wi’ me, ’elp me teach this ’ere lad the ropes, are yeh?’

  ‘Oi am, Ooncle Alby. Ma ’n Dad ’ave got enooff ’elp wi’ Billy ’n Stevie ’n Jack, they can manage foine without me.’ His gaze went from the girl to her mother; Vi nodded her agreement.

  ‘H’okay, as long as yeh’re all sure. That’s settled, then.’ A knock sounded on the cabinside: ‘That yew, Bill? Coom on, join the crowd!’

  The butty rocked as Bill stepped into the well, leant in through the open hatch; looking at the crowded state of the cabin, Vi spoke up:

  ‘Yew two, go on back ter the boats, wi’ Billy ’n Jack. We’ll sort out yer things in a whoile, Moikey, h’okay?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hanney.’

  ‘Oh, Ma!’

  ‘Go on, Stevie. Yeh can coom ’n see Ooncle Alby later, when we’ve eaten.’

  There was a resentful droop to the youngster’s shoulders as he obeyed his mother, which lifted under the challenge as Michael said;

  ‘Come on Stevie – I’ll race you!’ Vi chuckled at her husband’s raised eyebrows as he stepped down into the space they had just vacated:

  ‘Two minutes ago ’e was wore out! Ent it great ter be a kid?’ The grown-ups and Gracie shared a good-natured laugh:

  ‘Sit down, Bill. Tea?’

  ‘Oi could use a coopa, thanks, Alby.’ Moments later, the steaming cup in his hands, Bill asked:

  ‘What d’yer think o’ the boy, Alby?’

  ‘’E seems loike a good kid, Bill. A bit on the skinny soide, boot Vi says ’e’s oop ter the job, got a bit o’ grit to ’im. Wher’s ’e from, though? What about ’is family?’ Bill laughed:

  ‘’E woon’t tell oos! We fished ’im out o’ the cut, boy Galleon bridge…’ he went on to tell Albert the story, from the moment Billy had spotted the boy diving into the canal: ‘’N now ’e still won’t tell oos ’is surname, or anythin’ about ’is folks. Boot as Vi says, if ’e was so keen ter git away from ’em as ter troy ’n drown ’isself….’

  ‘Roight… it’s a sad state ter be in, ent it? ’E’s keen ter stay on the boats, is ’e?’

  ‘Seems so, Alby. Yeh goona tek ’im?’ Baker nodded:

  ‘Reckon so. Wi’ Gracie’s ’elp, we’ll mek a true boater out of ’im! Boot, what Oi suggest is…’ he told them of the plan for the boy to stay with them for the trip to Birmingham and back: ‘That way, ’e’ll ’ave learned a bit more than ’e could standin’ around ’ere, ’n moy motor’ll be back in the water.’ Bill and Vi exchanged glances:

  ‘Yeah… Sounds loike sense, Alby. Mr Vickuss is ’appy wi’ that, is ’e?’

  ‘’E is, Bill. If only ’cause ’e wants me ter look at the Envoy, troy ’n sort out ’er injun!’ They laughed again; Gracie suggested:

  ‘Dad – ’ow about if Oi stay ’ere wi’ Ooncle Alby? Oi could ’elp out, do ’is cookin’ ’n the loike – ’n yeh don’t really need me, do yeh? Not wi’ Moikey as well the oother boys?’

  ‘What d’yer reckon, Ma?’ Vi nodded:

  ‘Meks sense, Dad. Give oos more space in the cabins, ’n all.’ Bill hesitated, reluctant as any father to let go of his only daughter any sooner than he had to; but at last he gave in under the girl’s imploring gaze:

  ‘H’okay, all roight, if yeh want, girl!’ Boot no ’obnobbin’ wi’ that Joey Caplin when they coom boy, oonderstand?’

  ‘Yes, Dad!’ A cheerful silence held sway, until Vi turned to Albert:

  ‘Oi’m so sorry we missed Rita’s buryin’, Alby. ‘Ow are yeh copin’?’

  ‘Oh, not seh bad, thanks, Vi…’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning saw the Acorn and the Angelus on their way North once more. Gracie had left the adults chatting, Vi and Bill enquiring sympathetically about Rita’s funeral, and gone back to their boats where she’d fed the children. When her parents had come back for their meals, the two boys had returned to the Antrim to see their ‘Ooncle Alby’, taking a still rather nervous Michael with them.

  Over the next hour, he’d found himself developing a deferential liking for the older boatman. Baker was clearly a man who expected children to be respectful of their elders, but he could still enjoy their company, laugh with them at their fooling, amuse them with his own japes and tales. Later, they had settled to their beds while the adults, with Billy in tow, had walked back to Butchers Bridge and up the hill into the village, to enjoy the hospitality of the Old Plough.

  Michael had felt an odd emptiness at waving goodbye to Gracie, but consoled himself with the thought that he’d be seeing her again in a week or two; she had settled easily into her role as his big sister, taking him under her wing just as she did with her own brothers, and he had developed a deep affection for her. But the prospect of boating all the way to Birmingham and back with the Hanneys filled him with anticipation at the same time, as he and the two younger boys settled themselves on the gunwales around the butty’s stern well. Vi leant on the massive wooden tiller; Bill and his elder son were, as usual, together on the motor boat.

  The two heavy-laden boats swept around the turn, under one of the two elegant iron bridges which span the triangular junction between the Oxford and Grand Union Canals. Two hours would take them to Wigrams turn, and so onto the Northern part of the Grand Union, and the first locks of the day.

  Over the days which followed, all the members of the Hanney family threw themselves into teaching Michael as much as they could about the art and technique of running a pair of narrowboats. He found himself involved in, expected to cope with, everything from working the locks to breasting the boats up, from steering the butty to mopping down the cabinsides:

  ‘A real boater won’t go nowher’ wi moocky boats. Alwes keep ’em clean, ’n the brasses shoining, Moikey!’

  Not all the locks were the same, either. He had to tackle the huge new locks of the Northern G.U., which Vi called the ‘Candlesticks’, including the impressive flight of 21 at Hatton; and then, at the other extreme, the narrow locks of the Birmingham canals, where they had to bow-haul the butty through separately. By the time they reached their destination, he was getting beyond the exhaustion he’d first experienced at such constant exercise, and was feeling fitter than he’d ever known; and then came the back-breaking work of unloading, lifting the ingots of aluminium onto the dockside, within the factory walls. It had come as a shock to him when Bill had swung the pair in through a narrow aperture under a towpath bridge and actually inside the building, where a private dock allowed materials to be discharged, and finished products loaded direct into waiting boats.

  A message had been waiting for them at the factory, ordering them to load at the Coombeswood Works with steel tubes to go to Brentford; and so, once empty, they had set out to cross Birmingham, navigate the Netherton Tunnel and so onto the Dudley Canal. Loaded once more, they began the return trip – it was now that Michael was surprised, and Stevie seriously put out, when Bill told him to come onto the motor boat:

  ‘Boot Dad, yeh’ve never let me steer the motor, ’cept in the locks!’


  ‘’E’s older ’n yew, Stevie – ’n any’ow, ’e needs ter be able ter ’elp Alby Baker all ’e can, roight?’

  ‘O-oh! Oi s’pose so – boot can Oi ’ave a go wi’ the long loine, soon?’

  It was mid-morning when the boats turned once more under the iron junction bridge and ran down to the Stop House in Braunston. They’d tied overnight at Birdingbury Wharf, just above Stockton Locks; Michael hadn’t slept too well that night, knowing that the time was rapidly approaching when he would have to leave his enthusiastic tutors, say goodbye to his new friends. He was looking forward to seeing Gracie again, and only vaguely apprehensive at going boating with Mr Baker – his self-confidence had grown out of all proportion during the Birmingham trip, as had his skills, and his knowledge of the canals.

  He had had little time to think about his life before that fateful night, about his own family; but now, as another upheaval grew closer with every mile, he found himself wondering how they were, what they were doing. His Mum – did she miss him, or was she relieved to have one less to worry about, to be able to focus her attention on Andy? Andy – happy, loving Andy – he’d be missing his brother, for sure, but he’d probably soon forget him. And Ginny: His heart gave a lurch as he thought of his sister, a feeling of guilt creeping over him at the thought that he’d run off and left her, the only one who’d really loved him. Was she all right? Was she managing to avoid her father’s anger, now that he wasn’t there to be the target?

  Bill, standing on the gunwale at his side, reached over and grabbed the tiller, straightening his course as his attention wandered from the job in hand:

  ‘Yew all roight, Moikey?’

  ‘Yeah – it’s just – I was thinking about my sister…’

  ‘She’ll be ’ome, with yer folks, will she?’

  ‘Yeah – what day is it?’

  ‘Toosdy, Oi reckon.’

  ‘She’ll be at school, then.’

  ‘’Ow old is she?’

  ‘Five, nearly six. She only started school in September.’

  ‘Yew got any more brothers ’n sisters, Moikey?’