Love on the Waterways

by Milly Adams

  Tom shook his head. ‘Just thinking, mate. Women, you know.’

  The steerer, an old boy, about a decade younger than Granfer – although burned dark as a nut by the wind, rain and sun, just as Granfer was – nodded. ‘Aye, women, eh. Who knows what they’s thinkin’, ’cept yer done it wrong.’

  All the men laughed. Tom grinned, but he was thinking of these men’s wives, who steered, made lunch, lock-wheeled and then boiled up clothes on the bank while their blokes were in the pub. But the blokes were here, getting the orders, and somehow keeping food on the table, living in a tiny room cos they couldn’t afford to live on the bank. What a team these couples made. He reached forward and lightly punched the old boy. ‘Wouldn’t be without them, eh?’

  ‘Right enough. Reckon yer made things oop wi’ yer Verity then? But telephones foller yer around. Got to make a call, ain’t yer? What to do? Is yer goin’ back to yer sergeant, to ’ave him beat yer balls, or not?’

  Tom laughed again. ‘I reckon my business gets carried on the wind, and while I’m chewing coal dust, you’re all chewing on my doings.’ The whole queue laughed then, as they continued shuffling forward. The old boy gave him a roll-up he’d just made, and set to with another for himself.

  Tom struck a match, then lit both. They inhaled. Above them pigeons flew their clumsy way towards distant woods, and high above them planes flew as well, in some sort of exercise.

  Tom said, ‘I’ll be going on duty now, or maybe when we reach London.’

  The steerer a couple of places in front of Tom turned. ‘London be better. More time wi’ yer Verity, and lunch with Bet. Us didn’t take kindly to them women comin’ on the cut, but they been good, most o’ them. Them that ain’t go on ’ome, cos they can’t be cluttering oop the cut. We’ve cargoes to shift for yer lads in uniform.’

  Before Tom could answer, the queue suddenly got a move on and the steerer disappeared into the office. Tom stared after him, his worries over Verity, her present and her future settling, because she would never clutter up whatever place she chose in this world. Not now, not ever, whatever might come, or whoever she might lose. The same went for Polly, and it was as though a great weight was lifted from his shoulders, because yes, he had helped out Saul just a bit; but if Saul was lost, Polly would manage.

  At last he was in the office. He could have skirted past the steerers, of course, but they wouldn’t have liked it, and he valued his nose and didn’t want it broken. He grinned at the thought, knowing it wouldn’t have come to that, but a few words would have been said and perhaps a foot stuck out. Then the other leg would be in plaster.

  Sydney, the old boy behind the counter, whacked down a piece of paper. ‘Yer the squaddie, ain’t yer? Phone them ’ere and get yer orders, though you’d best be scrubbing that uniform, and how about that plaster? A bit of blanco, I reckon.’

  Tom picked up the phone number and headed for the telephone at the end of the counter. He knew there was no point in keeping his voice low, because whatever he did, the gossip would travel. It was Sergeant-Major Morris this time, who barked, ‘Coventry, yer said. What I want to know is why ain’t you on a deckchair with knots in your handkerchief, sucking a bleedin’ lolly?’

  ‘One word, Sergeant-Major. A woman.’

  ‘That’s two, Soldier. Best you get to Alperton, as we thought. We’re all right till then, but the medics’ll need to see you up here, before we can ’ave you back, so don’t go to the ’ospital. There was a bit of a panic, but it’s gone over. You can put your knotted ’anky on your head at Bet Burrows’s; can’t ’ave you missin’ your Easter egg. You got to be back by the eleventh, if yer please. Can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘Thanks, Sergeant-Major.’ But Tom was talking to himself, because he heard the click as Morris slammed down the receiver. Morris was one of the good ones. The powers-that-be wanted him to take a commission, but he wouldn’t. He preferred to be hands-on with the blokes, to keep them alive, as he said one night over too many beers. And besides, why waste his time worrying about which knife to use in the Officers’ Mess, or any of that bollocks.

  He dug out money for the call, but Sydney shook his head and muttered, ‘I were in the last lot, so keep yer head down and come back and make an hash of yer life, like the rest of us.’

  The boaters laughed and tipped their hats as Tom made for the door. The office smelled like Verity: of coal, dirt and sweat; and like Polly and Sylvia, too, and probably himself. He grinned to himself as he limped back to the loading platform. How on earth did Morris know about Bet? He stopped. The old boy behind the counter, that’s how. He laughed.

  Coal dust was everywhere. A child ran past him carrying orders in his mouth, and hooking up his trousers. Tom heard a hoot, and saw the Seagull heading down the loading cut. Polly would be pleased. He hurried. He had five days: four of them with the girls, and the fifth for travel; because he realised that come one, come all three. They were a family, but did they actually realise it?

  Trucks of coal were trundling along beside him, heading for the loading platform or wharf, he supposed. Men sat on top of the loads, smoking. Tom expected the coal dust to ignite at any moment. Others were already loading Marigold and Horizon, and coal gushed down chutes into the holds, as men guided it with the backs of spades. Black dust billowed.

  He heard a bellow, ‘Where’s that tea then, lass?’

  He saw Verity, standing on Marigold’s roof with her hands on her hips, her head thrown back, her woollen hat with its small bobble wobbling, laughing as Polly stabbed her finger at the bloke.

  ‘What do you want, jam on it? I said it’d be ready any minute now.’ Polly’s massive bobble was waving from side to side and would make a weapon in itself, Tom thought, as he heard Verity’s and Polly’s combined laughter soaring over all the noise of coal, men and chaos. He would remember the sound till his dying day.

  Suddenly he realised that enlisting was Saul’s way of fighting for the girl he loved, just as he, Private Brown, would do.

  Chapter 14

  Wednesday 5 April – pre-Easter celebration at Buckby

  The Marigold turned off towards Buckby under the command of Verity, who had already checked Jimmy Porter’s homework. Polly, on the butty with Sylvia on tow behind, had some easy reading books on the shelf, and had chosen several to pass on when they arrived at Bull’s Bridge. It was hopeless to expect his parents to pick up his mistakes, but it gave Jimmy huge pleasure to read to them, and they to listen. It was opening their minds, Mrs Porter had said.

  Sylvia steered as Polly stood on the counter, chewing the end of her pencil, wondering about the wisdom of opening minds, for were they disturbing the traditions of the cut? Sylvia interrupted her train of thought. ‘Are you sure the invitation includes me? I’m not their friend, in the same way you two are?’

  ‘Of course, it’s for all five of us.’

  ‘Five?’ Sylvia looked confused.

  Polly tucked her pencil in her pocket. ‘Dog, of course. Fran now accepts him under sufferance, but any nonsense and Dog’s out on the porch again. But that applies to all of us. One wrong step and out we go.’

  Sylvia was looking at her. ‘Ho-ho, a likely story.’

  Polly said, ‘Just you wait and see. I’m always surprised that Fran hasn’t a ruler to smack our hands.’

  Sylvia sniffed and adjusted the tiller slightly. ‘Now I know you’re being silly.’

  Polly was still smiling as Verity slowed the motor. ‘We’ll be mooring up here, just before Crick Tunnel, Sylvia. Fran might come and meet us with her tricycle and awful cart, but now that we know the way, no doubt we’ll be trusted to find Spring Cottage ourselves. We can’t all fit into the cart anyway, thank heavens.’

  ‘What about Saul, Granfer and Harry? How will they find the cottage?’

  Verity was pulling into the bank. Polly readied herself to moor up the butty. ‘Granfer and Saul visited an aunt here recently, so I expect they’ll know. Buckby’s where a lot of the boaters retire, but t
here must be youngsters hereabout too, because Fran teaches at a school.’

  Verity shoved the boat into reverse, the water churned and Marigold stopped. Horizon slid into the stern hull with a slight jerk, but Verity was already ashore, shouting to Tom, ‘Heave her back, Tom, and tie her up on the mooring ring.’ The rings were placed at regular intervals along the bank.

  Polly collected the brace of pheasant hanging on the back of the store cabin, dropping them into a hessian bag and slinging them over her shoulder. Fran liked the idea of Saul nicking pheasants from the woods, and she and Sylvia would have to argue the toss about that, as the third member of the Marigold crew thought it immoral to add to the ration when others couldn’t. As Polly carried the pheasants along the gunwhale she heard Fran’s yell, ‘Ah, pheasant. The password for entry into the cottage. Not sure we’ve any Easter eggs, though.’

  Bet and Fran were standing on the bank, Bet with her hands deep in her pockets, her short dark hair lifting in the wind. Fran stood beside her, wearing similar trousers and sweaters and the same boater tan. Well, she would have one, having lived with Bet on a narrowboat for several years. What’s more, it was anchored just along the cut, and Polly was sure they were just waiting until the end of the war to head off in it again.

  Fran was beckoning them with a broad grin, ‘Come along, chop-chop, it’s nearly midday but not too late for coffee. Real coffee. I ground up the beans myself.’

  Verity had already launched herself on Bet and Fran, hugging them and introducing Tom to Fran, who said, ‘Have the girls been beating you up already and breaking bones, Tom? Naughty-naughty, you’re no good to man or beast like that. Bit grubby, too, so I’m not signing the plaster and writing kind words, no matter what you promise me.’

  Sylvia was hanging back on the butty counter, waiting nervously. Polly dashed into the cabin, banked up the fire with coal and ash, then snatched up the book she was going to pass on to Jimmy Porter, for Fran’s opinion. She bounded onto the counter. Sylvia nagged them, ‘We should lock.’

  Verity snapped from the bank, ‘No need, with Leon in custody.’

  Polly took hold of Sylvia’s arm. ‘If a boater sees you, they’ll be offended that you even dreamed they would steal. And don’t be nervous of Bet and Fran. Believe it or not, Fran doesn’t bite, or not often. Dog, get onto the bank.’ Dog had been sitting on the top of the cabin, her tongue lolling out, and with one bound she was onto the towpath and snuffling into Bet’s hand.

  Verity shook her head and Polly heard her say, ‘The rule is no feeding, but I’m talking to myself, Bet, aren’t I?’

  Polly shut the cabin doors, while Sylvia shifted her weight from foot to foot. Polly sighed and locked the doors, but saw Fran shrugging impatiently.

  When Polly finally reached the towpath she was scooped into Bet’s arms, while Fran stopped stroking Dog long enough to pat her on the back. ‘Nice to see you, Polly.’ Then she muttered, ‘So Leon still hasn’t been tried. It could mean they haven’t found any evidence, other than the German’s confession, and the club manager’s. Always a bit worrying, in case the witnesses change their stories.’

  Sylvia held out her hand to Bet, who wasn’t having any of that nonsense and gave her a hug instead. But Sylvia wrestled herself free and gripped Fran’s arm, saying, her voice high-pitched and cross, ‘But they can’t let him out. He might have killed his wife as well. She still hasn’t turned up, you know, and Saul watches the water all the time in case she’s there.’

  Fran merely said, squatting to look into Dog’s eyes, ‘That’s enough of that, young Sylvia. It doesn’t do to worry about things until they happen. I would think you should have learned that, after even a few months on the cut. A bit more of a stiff upper lip needed, if I might say so.’

  Verity and Polly snatched a look at one another, slipped their arms through Sylvia’s and walked her along. Polly almost sang, ‘No, you may not say so, Fran. And stop being so bossy, or no pheasant for you.’ Anything to avoid an issue with Sylvia, because a day with Bet and Fran in the warmth and cosiness of their cottage was a treasure not be spoiled.

  Bet echoed them. ‘Indeed, Fran is bossy, and grumpy. It’s because she knows there’s coffee, but has had to stare at it all morning waiting for you. We’ll throw her a lump of raw meat while we’re waiting for the kettle to rev up, and she can gnaw on that.’

  Behind them Tom limped along the lane beside Bet and Fran, trying to avoid the farmer’s tractor ruts and potholes, his stick clicking on the stones. Polly called back, ‘Are you all right to walk, Tom? It’s almost a mile, if not more. We can always send Grumpy to Spring Cottage for the wooden cart that she tows with her trike.’

  There was silence for a moment, then Tom said weakly, pointing to the ruts with his stick, ‘I think that even if it was ten miles, I’d rather walk, thank you. I’m not partial to being bounced from here to kingdom come. It’s as bad as being in a tank, let me tell you.’

  Polly saw Verity snatch a look at her, a query in her eyes, and Sylvia double-checked, too. Polly smiled and shook her head. It was all right. Yes, her twin, Will, had died in a tank, but her joyous memories had steadily overridden her grief; and besides, she had Saul to fill the gaping void. As they walked she felt the ring, which she wore on a bootlace around her neck. Soon she would have it sized and they could work out a wedding date.

  Either side of clumps of spent snowdrops, daffodils were still in flower. Dog dashed in and out of the shrubs along the verge, and Sylvia murmured, ‘I do make such a fool of myself.’

  Verity whispered, ‘We all have to learn. Some of us just take an interminable time.’

  There was a silence. Sylvia gasped, then laughed as Polly reached past her and beat a giggling Verity with her oversized bobble. She then thrust it into Sylvia’s hand. ‘Go on, beat her.’ Sylvia did, joining in the laughter. Verity winked at Polly over the girl’s head. Crisis over.

  They entered the rear garden of Spring Cottage via the ancient white picket gate, and walked down a crazy-paving path edged with lavender that had been cut down for the winter. White beehives were dotted about in a side-garden that was freely planted with bee-friendly plants. ‘Ah,’ said Sylvia. ‘This is where our honey comes from.’ She slipped free of Polly and Verity and spun on her heel. ‘Thank you for all your honey. It makes such a difference.’

  Polly picked up the amusement in Fran’s voice. ‘My pleasure, my dear. I think we should use what gifts nature provides, rationing or not.’

  Ouch, thought Polly. What can Sylvia say now about Saul’s poaching of pheasants? They were at the porch. Bet’s voice carried from the gate, where she had slowed to keep Tom company, ‘Boots off, then enter. Kitchen is on your right, Sylvia, if you are leading the charge. Towel in the porch for Dog’s paws. She’s allowed in, but not on the sofa.’

  Sylvia clicked her heels and saluted. The others gaped, then roared with laughter. Fran called, ‘You’ll do.’ Sylvia flushed and smiled.

  Polly opened the door and entered. ‘Bliss,’ she sighed.

  Sylvia squeezed her arm. ‘It is rather, isn’t it? This is another pause, Polly. You see, I’m trying to get it right.’

  Polly hugged her. ‘Just like the rest of us.’ For a moment Sylvia allowed herself to be held, but only for a moment.

  In the porch, Verity made Tom sit on the side-bench above the neatly parked boots. ‘Let me help. I’ll undo the laces of your boot and take the waterproof tarpaulin off the other, and you can get into the warmth and wiggle your toes in front of the range.’

  He grinned at her, as she knelt before him. ‘I like to see you on your knees before a higher being.’ He leaned back out of swipe range. Sure enough she missed him.

  She began to unlace his boot, saying, ‘That’s the last time I fiddle about replacing nursey’s tarpaulin for anyone, especially a toe-rag like you. The least you could have done was allow yourself to be whacked.’ She pulled off his boot, placing it next to its peers, with the tarpaulin sock at its side. She helped him
to his feet, concerned because he looked so pale and drawn.

  Tom grasped her hand, kissing it. ‘I love you, Verity Clement, with all my heart, but I rather think I’d swap you for a coffee, if push came to shove.’ He dodged her swipe again and followed her into the hall, tap-tapping on the flagstone floor and saying, when he reached the thick runner, ‘So warm and cosy, and it makes me realise how tiny the cabins really are.’

  Verity smiled grimly. ‘Especially when there are three of us sleeping in one.’ The door into the kitchen was open and shrieks of laughter were emanating from it, along with the smell of lamb roasting. ‘Oh dear, lamb and pheasant,’ she whispered to him. ‘The guardian of our rationing – as well as every other conceivable moral – won’t approve.’

  At that moment there was a rap at the front door, but as Verity started to turn, Tom blocked her, held her close and this time it was he who was whispering, ‘Be tolerant towards Sylvia. She was brought up in a Catholic orphanage and has no memory of her parents.’

  Verity absorbed the words. Why had Sylvia told this man her life story, when they had known her for so much longer: what was she playing at? Jealousy flared and she snapped, ‘Lucky her; that’s a damned sight better than remembering far too well.’ She stamped her way to the door, then opened it. ‘Saul, you made it. Someone we know will be thrilled. And Granfer, you’re here, too, not to mention Harry. Come in, but boots off first.’

  Harry held his up. ‘We done it already, cos Saul guessed, cos Polly told ’im what a … did yer say “dragon”, Saul?’

  Fran’s voice boomed down the hall. ‘I was going to say, “Welcome to our humble abode”, but perhaps I’d better just eat you all instead.’

  Harry dropped his boots and stepped behind Saul. Polly ran into the hall and then to the front door. ‘Come in, come in. We’ve made you tea, because you don’t like coffee, but we’ve beer, too. Quick, shut the door behind you and keep the warmth in.’ She flung herself into Saul’s arms and he swung her round.