A Boy Off the Bank

by Geoffrey Lewis

  Swinging around the long turns approaching Old Linslade, Michael saw the heads across the field before he saw the boats. When the pair, randomly stopped across the canal, came into sight, he slowed the engine to its off-beat tickover, turned to take in the tow as the butty overhauled him. Albert, standing on the gunwale, puffing contentedly at his pipe, took it from his mouth, gestured ahead:

  ‘Looks loike they’ve got problems!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Michael echoed his grin, glanced back to see Ginny running the butty against the towpath to slow it down. He let the motor run slowly on, to within haling distance, then knocked out the clutch:

  ‘D’yer need soom ’elp?’ The woman on the motor had watched them approach; now, she called back, gratitude already in her voice:

  ‘Yes, please! We’re stuck on the mud!’

  ‘Oi’m not surproised, over ther’ – it’s awful shaller on the insoide o’ these turns!’

  ‘Yes, I know! My own fault, I wasn’t paying attention!’ Michael and Albert exchanged knowing glances:

  ‘’Ow we goin’ ter get ’em off?’

  ‘They’ll need snatchin’ back, Moikey. Only way is ter get a line from their starn teh our fore-end, and pull ’em back’ards.’

  ‘Can’t we breast ’em on, do it loike that?’

  ‘Mebbe – boot we could end oop stoock next to ’em, yeh know ’ow bad it is along ’ere. Better teh keep our starn in deep water.’

  ‘H’okay, Dad.’ He turned to the woman, whom he vaguely recognised, called out: ‘Oi’ll put our fore-end boy yer starn – get a loine around moy stud, h’okay?’

  ‘Okay!’ the shout came back.

  He looked back, to see that Ginny had the butty safely by the bank, and was on the fore-end – he threw the tow line off from the stern dolly, waved to her to coil it in, then gently nudged the motor’s bow as close as he could to the other’s stern. Mary threw her rope, missed; she coiled it in, tried again, and got it over the t-stud on the Sycamore’s fore-deck, quickly secured it to her own dollies, then gave Michael a wave. He waved back, and reversed his engine; dropping in the clutch, he wound up the throttle, hearing the engine on the other boat also revving hard. At first, it seemed they were still going nowhere – but then, oh so slowly, they began to move, inching backwards. He pulled out the oil-rod, further increasing the power of the Bolinder, and their progress increased. Moments later, to gleeful shouts from the other pair’s crew, the Sagitta was floating free once more.

  ‘Thank you very much!’ Albert just waved dismissively as Michael set back to pick up the Antrim in the gathering dusk.

  ‘How far are you going? We’d like to buy you a drink for your help?’ Albert looked at Michael:

  ‘It’s gettin’ late – the Globe?’

  ‘If yeh loike, Dad.’ The tow re-attached, they steered carefully past the Grand Union boats; Albert called across to Mary:

  ‘We’re stoppin’ at the Globe – next bridge boot oone!’

  ‘Very good – we’ll see you there!’

  Half an hour later, both pairs were tied outside the pub. Ginny, tired after a long day, had retired to her bed; Albert, Michael and the three women were becoming re-acquainted over beers in the bar:

  ‘’Ow are yeh gettin’ on now, Sylvie?’ Michael asked. She replied with a smile:

  ‘I’m fine, now, thanks. I’ve kind of moved to my Gran’s house, when I’m not here on the boats.’

  ‘Yeh still goin’ teh marry moy lad, then?’ Albert asked her; she laughed:

  ‘Of course! I’ll never forget how he dragged me off to the pub for Christmas Eve!’ This raised a laugh all round, through which Albert said:

  ‘Oi’d better tell ’Arriet when we see ’er, then!’ Michael had the grace to blush at this:

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Oi’ve seen yer, talkin’ to ’er whenever we roon across ’Enry’s boats!’

  ‘We’re friends, all roight?’

  ‘Yeah, o’ course!’ Another friendly laugh, and the talk turned to the dramatic news:

  ‘War could be over boy Christmas, they’re sayin’.’

  ‘Yes – the invasion’s going well, isn’t it?’ Cissie agreed; Mary had some doubts:

  ‘Our lot’s doing well, they say – but the Yanks are having a much more difficult time of it, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll get goin’ soon, you wait ’n see. ’N the Roossian’s are goin’ strong, too – we’ll squeeze ’Itler ’tween oos ’fore long!’

  ‘It’d be great to see the end of it, wouldn’t it?’ Sylvie said.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Mary agreed: ‘No more rationing!’

  ‘Eggs!’

  ‘Bacon!’

  ‘Coffee!’

  ‘Big juicy sausages!’ The boatmen listened through this exchange, smiling:

  ‘’N mebbe they’ll start drudgin’ the cut again, ’n fixin’ all them leaky gates!’ Albert suggested.

  ‘Yes – that would be a big help. It’s getting bad in places, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. Even down ’ere, ther’s gettin’ ter be dodgy gates, leakin’ all over the place. The Stratford cut’s in a ’Ell of a state, so top road’s no bloody use; ’n bottom road’s not mooch better!’

  ‘That’s the Birmingham and Fazeley?’

  ‘Yeah – ’n the Coventry cut. Shaller as ’Ell, that is, now.’

  ‘I know!’ Mary exchanged looks with her crew: ‘We go that way sometimes, from Birmingham to load from the coalfields.’

  ‘S’not seh bad if yeh’re roonin’ empty – Yeh daren’t put a full load on, if yeh ’ave ter go that way.’

  ‘It’s all down to the war, I suppose?’

  ‘S’roight. They say ther’s no money fer drudgin’ or oother jobs.’

  ‘It’ll cost a fortune to put everything right, when it’s over, won’t it?’

  ‘Ar. Mek our loife bloody ’ard, fer years n’ years, Oi reckon. Yeh’ll go back teh yer old jobs, will yeh?’

  Mary nodded:

  ‘I expect so – I was a teacher, in a primary school, in London.’ Cissie chuckled:

  ‘I hope you remember to watch your language, then!’ Mary blushed:

  ‘Yes – I was rather letting rip earlier, wasn’t I?’ They all laughed; Cissie added:

  ‘I was a secretary, for a firm of solicitors in the city – they said they’d have me back after the war, if I wanted to go. This has been great fun – most of the time, anyway! – but I expect I’ll go back there.’

  ‘How about you, Sylvie?’ Their third companion looked thoughtful:

  ‘I don’t know – My old life’s, kind of gone, you know? I’d just finished college – then losing Mum and Dad and Jonathan… Maybe I’ll stay, if anyone’ll have me!’

  ‘Soomeoone’d tek yeh on, Oi’m sure, Sylvie – if Gran’ Union’s don’t want yeh, yew talk teh Mr Vickers – ’e’s Fellerses manager at Braunston. Oi’ll bet ’e’d ’ave a place fer yeh!’

  ‘Thank you, Albert – I’ll remember that!’

  ‘I’m getting hungry, girls – how about you two?’ Mary asked; she explained to the others:

  ‘We’d intended to eat after we stopped – but then getting stuck like that’s put us all behind. And now I’m starving!’

  ‘Yeah, me too!’ Sylvie agreed: ‘I’ll be cook, if you like – you two stop for another drink I’ll go and get it ready. Give me half an hour, okay?’

  ‘Okay – thanks, Sylv!’ She got up, left them with a cheery wave from the door.

  ‘Poor kid – losing her family like that!’ Sympathy furrowed Mary’s brow.

  ‘Yeah – ’appened ter lot’s o’ folks, though.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine so.’ A sad silence prevailed while they contemplated the tragedy of war, until Michael spoke up:

  ‘Alex was killed, in the Navy. ’E was… moy big brother.’ The women’s eyes turned to Albert:

  ‘Oh – I’m so sorry!’ Mary said.

  ‘Oh, it was a long whoile back. ’E was on HMS ’Ood, when it was ’it
boy the Bismarck.’ Mary just reached across the table, took his hand in her own:

  ‘Better times are coming, Albert.’ He smiled:

  ‘Oi know. ’N Oi’ve still got Moikey ’ere, ’n little Ginny. They’re all the family a man could want.’ He smiled at Michael, who reached out and took his other hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Harriet Caplin stood in the butty’s stern well, scanning the line of boats tied above Stoke Bruerne top lock. It was bitterly cold, with a steady drizzle adding to the misery, but her heart gave a quick leap as she spotted a Fellows, Morton and Clayton pair; then it sank again – wrong boats! A few more lengths – they’d end up right by the tunnel, if they didn’t find a tying-space soon – then she saw them: Was it? Maybe… Yes! The Sycamore, breasted on the outside of the Antrim as always. He was here!

  Suey Caplin noted the brightness in her daughter’s eyes as they found and filled a space on the towpath, smiled as she guessed what it meant. She slid the Bodmin against the bank, as Henry held the Towcester outside – the old Bognor had gone, taken away after the engine had died in spectacular fashion a few months before, but Henry was more than pleased with his new motor boat. She’d heard, a week or two ago, that the Bognor was back in service, being used by a group of the trainees, now.

  They’d eaten, coming along the six-mile from Cosgrove – now, a quick wash and brush-up, and they’d head back to join the celebrations in the Boat.

  Christmas Eve, once again – Albert’s hopeful prediction hadn’t come to pass, the fighting still going on in Europe and the Far East. The war in the Pacific seemed too remote to generate much interest, even if the news of American successes added to the general feeling of hopeful, even eager, optimism. But the approach of the allied armies to the borders of Germany itself was discussed at great length:

  ‘Whoy don’ they joost give oop? It moost be obvious they’ve ’ad it, moostn’ it?’

  ‘Seems crazy ter go on loike this, don’ it?’ Joey Caplin concurred, with a glance down at Gracie, sat quiet in the corner by the bar.

  ‘Yeah. But ’Itler’s a bloody nutcase, ent ’e? ‘E won’ let ’em surrender, from what Oi ’ear. ‘S what the papers say, any’ow.’

  ‘Moikey got a new oone, ’as ’e?’

  ‘Yeah – ’e picked oone oop the oother day – arsk ’im, ’n ’e’ll read it to yeh, Oi’m sure.’

  ‘Wher’ is ’e, Alby?’

  ‘Oh, ’e’ll be along in a whoile. Ginny din’t feel loike coomin’, she’s very toired, so ’e’s staying with ’er fer a bit.’

  Michael looked up as a knock sounded on the cabinside. He gave his sister a puzzled glance, stood up and put his head out through the hatch.

  ‘Ello, Moikey.’ Harriet sounded her usual shy self.

  ‘’Arriet! Noice ter see yeh!’

  ‘Yew coomin’ fer a drink, fer Christmas?’ Michael looked down at Ginny:

  ‘Go on, Moikey – Oi’m goin’ ter bed, Oi think.’

  ‘Oh, coom on, Gin – joost fer oone?’ He’d been trying to persuade her anyway.

  ‘Oh – all roight, then. Joost oone, okay?’ She got to her feet, slipped her bonnet back on, followed him as he climbed out onto the towpath:

  ‘Ello, ’Arriet – ’ow yeh bin?’

  ‘Foine, thanks, Ginny. Ow’s yerself?’

  ‘Grand! Oi’m joost a bit toired, we’ve ’ad a long day.’

  They set off; Michael threw an arm around each girl’s shoulders, eliciting a shrug from Ginny, and a shy smile from Harriet. Singled out once more, they crossed the lock gates to the Boat Inn, pushed through the door into the bar.

  ‘Coom on in, ’Arriet – Mum ’n Dad ’ere too, are they?’ Joey asked.

  ‘They’re joost gettin’ changed, they’ll be along in a minute. ‘S good ter see yer, Joey!’

  ‘Yew two, Sis!’ He grabbed her into a warm embrace; Gracie got to her feet, gave her a hug too:

  ‘Oi’ve got soom noos fer yeh, ’Arriet!’

  ‘What’s that, then, Gracie?’ She laughed:

  ‘Oi’ll tell yeh when yer folks get ’ere!’

  ‘Wher’s your Mum ’n Dad, ’n Billy ’n Stevie?’

  ‘Oh, they ent ’ere, they’re oop Birnigum.’

  ‘Beer, Moikey?’ Albert asked: ’N what would yeh loike, ’Arriet? Ginny?’

  ‘Please, Dad.’

  ‘Could Oi ’ave a shandy, Ooncle Alby?’

  ‘Lemonade, Dad, please.’ He turned to the bar, waved to the lady behind it:

  ‘When yeh’re ready, Zoe!’

  ‘Coom ’n sit ’ere wi’ me, Moikey, Ginny – ’aven’t seen yeh fer ages!’ Gracie suggested, hotching along the bench; then she chuckled to see the doubtful look in the boy’s eyes: ‘Oh-ho, loike that, is it? Yew’ll join me though, won’cher, Ginny?’ the girl smiled, squeezed in beside her.

  Albert had procured their drinks; he handed a glass of lemonade across to Ginny, passed a pint of ale to Michael, a half-pint of bitter shandy to Harriet:

  ‘Appy Christmas, everyone!’ They raised their glasses to his toast. Michael looked over the rim of his, at his companion, was suddenly struck by a realisation: She is very pretty, isn’t she? Teks after ’er Mum! Suey Caplin was a handsome woman, on the short side as were most of the boat people, but without Vi or Gracie’s roundness. Strong and robust of figure and feature, with a ready smile and big dark brown eyes; now, her daughter was growing into a younger, lissome echo of her. On impulse, he slipped his arm around her waist, was rewarded with a flash of her eyes, a repeat of that warm, shy smile.

  ‘’Arriet?’

  ‘Yes, Moikey?’

  ‘Could Oi… Oi mean, would it be okay, if…’ He broke off, not sure how, or even if, he should continue.

  ‘What is it, Moikey?’ She put her own hand over his, on her waist, squeezed it gently. He cleared his throat, tried again:

  ‘Can Oi… see a bit more of yeh? Oi mean, we’ve got the boike, Oi could coycle along, when we’re toied oop soomewher’ close…’ Harriet dropped her eyes from his face:

  ‘Oi’d loike that, Moikey.’

  ‘Yeh would?’ He sounded almost surprised.

  ‘Yeh’ll ’ave teh arsk moy Dad, though.’

  ‘Arsk me what, girl?’ The door had opened behind them; both turned, embarrassed:

  ‘Dad! Mum!’

  ‘Good evenin’, Mr Caplin.’

  ‘Ello, kids – what was it yeh wanted ter arsk me, then, Moikey?’

  ‘Er – Mr Caplin…’

  ‘Go on, Moikey!’ Harriet’s whisper was all too audible.

  ‘Mr Caplin – would it be h’okay if Oi coom ter see ’Arriet, soometoimes?’ Henry glanced at his wife, chuckled:

  ‘’Ow old are yeh, Moikey?’

  ‘Near sixteen, now.’

  ‘Our ’Arriet’s fifteen, boy. Yeh’re still too yoong teh be gettin’ too mooch in tow, Oi reckon.’

  ‘Oh, Dad! Please?’

  ‘Let ’em see each oother when they can, ’Enry!’ Suey put in her views: ‘They’re only yoong oonce – it moight coom ter nothin’; boot then, ’oo knows, eh? ’N they’re sensible kids, they’ll not get oop ter nothin’ silly.’ He turned to his wife, nodded, a smile creasing his weather-beaten features:

  ‘Yew ’eard yer mother, ’Arriet – no moockin’ about! Boot yes, then Moikey, we’ll be pleased ter see yer, from toime teh toime.’

  Michael looked down at Harriet, gave her waist a gentle squeeze; her brown eyes smiled up at him:

  ‘’Appy Christmas, Moikey.’ Her voice was quiet, but happy.

  ‘’Appy Christmas, ’Arriet.’ He bent, kissed her cheek, then looked up in surprise as a round of applause echoed around the little bar, grinned in embarrassment as he acknowledged it. Gracie got to her feet, went to stand with her husband:

  ‘We’ve got soom noos fer yeh, ’n all! ’Aven’t we, Joe?’ He nodded, smiling down lovingly at her.

  ‘Well, out with it, then!’ Suey was smiling too, guessing what was coming.


  ‘Oi’m ’avin’ a babby!’

  A chorus of congratulation broke out; everyone trying at once to give her a hug, to shake Joey’s hand. Suey embraced her daughter-in-law:

  ‘Oh, well doon, loovey! D’yeh know when?’

  ‘’Bout May, Sister Mary reckons.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, loove! Oi’m so pleased fer yeh!’

  Henry took her in his arms too, gave her a tight hug, kissed her cheek:

  ‘A grandsoon fer me, eh?’ She laughed:

  ‘Moight be a grand-daughter, Dad!’

  ‘Oi don’ care, girl, either oone’ll be grand!’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The war was over – and yet it wasn’t. Hitler’s thousand-year Reich had vanished amid the dust and rubble of the destroyed city of Berlin, its dictator dead by his own hand before he could be taken by the advancing Russian army. The celebrations of what they’d called VE Day had lasted rather more than a day, in the end. Both Albert and Bill had been at Catherine de Barnes that day, on the ten-mile pound between Knowle and Camp Hill, and the festivities in the pub had lasted well through the night.

  But around the Pacific Ocean, the fighting was still going on. Allied forces, British, Australian, New Zealand, and others, but primarily American, were knocking on the door of the Japanese home islands; but, like Hitler before him, the Emperor Hirohito wasn’t about to give in. Now, towards the end of May, there was a growing sense that it couldn’t go on much longer, that the Empire of the Rising Sun would have to accept its approaching dusk sooner or later.