Love on the Waterways

by Milly Adams

  Verity had always thought she took after her father, because he was blond and blue-eyed, while the woman she had thought of as her mother was dark-haired, dark-eyed and those eyes were now swollen from crying and looked as bruised with hurt as Polly’s had. Something twisted again. Lady Clement held the photograph out to her; her hand still trembled and was stick-thin. ‘This is your mother, dear Verity. You see, she’s beautiful, like you. You are a mixture of both your parents.’

  Verity held it and traced the outline of her mother, who wasn’t in a nanny’s uniform, but a long skirt, with the sun on her hair. She returned it. ‘It must have been so hard for you. What do I call you? Stepmother? Lady Pamela?’

  Her mother did as her father had done and pressed her lips together, but only for a brief moment. She then stood quite straight and looked into Verity’s eyes. ‘Only you can decide that, but I did love you, and I do still, though I have made mistakes, and for that I am more sorry than you can imagine.’ She looked out of the window, as though a great stillness had fallen on her. ‘I just wanted to keep you from harm, especially with Tom. You see, things aren’t always—’

  Her father’s voice from the doorway cut through his wife’s words. ‘I think we’ve been over it enough, my dear. I have apologised, as have you.’ His voice was like ice, but underneath it trembled, as though in fear. ‘All we can do is assure you of our dearest love, Verity. And you had your mother’s love, too; your mother was a fine woman.’

  Lady Clement moved to the window. ‘You must always remember, Verity, that we are who we strive to be. You are beautiful, as she was, and are such a wonderful young woman in your own right. As I said, I have made mistakes and I ask forgiveness, though I know that for you to forget is too hard. But I welcome Tom, if he is good and kind to you, I sincerely do.’

  Verity looked from one to the other, the words of forgiveness and forgetting so similar to Sylvia’s that they resonated more than they might have. She moved to the window, too, looking out over the lawns, feeling that she knew neither of these people – one who stood next to her, one behind her. Perhaps it was no surprise to feel this about her mother, but how could her father betray his young wife and then stand by, while she was unkind to a child? How could he keep the woman who was her real mother in the house, along with his wife? How cruel was that? How utterly awful. And how could Lady Clement stay? Verity wouldn’t have; she’d have swept away, taking the family silver as she went.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve got go. We have work to do, cargo to deliver.’

  She rushed from the room and down the stairs, into the hall where Polly and Sylvia were waiting. She dragged them to the green baize door, then down and into the kitchen, where Rogers was standing, about to deliver tea on a huge silver tray.

  ‘I know,’ Verity shouted. ‘At last I know.’

  Mrs B thrust a piece of paper into her hand. ‘Not everything. Trust me, not everything, for your father would not reveal the complete picture. This is where your mother’s family lived. Perhaps they still do. Go and learn the reality. Go and recover your family – this family, I mean.’ She pointed above stairs.

  Verity nodded, then shook her head. This family, here? No, her family was at this address. She read it; it was close to Poplar, in the East End. Her head was spinning. ‘I don’t even know her name.’

  Rogers said, ‘Jenny Rivers.’

  Verity shoved the address into her trouser pocket, kissed them both and stepped back. ‘I don’t think my father has any idea what he put that poor Lady Clement through. But how she could be so cruel to a young child, and how she could go on being so cold? And, lastly, how she could stay? Has she no pride? I don’t know, I just don’t know any more.’ She spilled out the sorry saga to her friends, standing there in the kitchen of her family home, which now seemed a stranger’s.

  After a long silence, when only the ticking of the clock could be heard, Sylvia put her arm around her. Polly stood in front of her. ‘We’re going home, to Marigold, Horizon and Dog, do you understand, Verity? We’re going home, and we’ll come with you, if you want to try and find your other family. But you have Tom, you are safe. And let’s face it, you have parents who absorbed you into the family, when perhaps others wouldn’t.’

  Sylvia said, ‘But it is a bloody mess.’

  This got through to Verity like nothing else. She stared at Sylvia and said, ‘Language, if you please.’ Their laughter was high-pitched and strained, but it was at least laughter.

  The train journey seemed interminable, but Polly sat on one side of Verity, and Sylvia on the other. No one spoke. Perhaps, Polly thought, they were all trying to assimilate what they had heard. The Clements had kept the child, brought her up, when Jenny Rivers could have been sent away, disappeared, gone home to the East End in disgrace. Without a doubt, Lord Clement should have known better. How dare he? His poor wife. It was all so odd, and in some ways so gallant of Lady Clement, but why be so unkind to a child and then so detached? Why not just leave? It was too much and they all gave up and sat back, moving with the train.

  They arrived at Waterloo at ten o’clock at night and were hurrying to the Underground when they heard a shout. ‘Sylvia, Sylvia.’

  They turned as one, to see a nun in a black habit, waving and hurrying across the concourse. Sylvia whispered, ‘Oh no, it’s Sister Augustine. Wait for me, you two, please. I won’t be long.’ She hurried over.

  Verity said to Polly, ‘There’s time to telephone your parents.’

  Polly shook her head. ‘Not after today. Who knows what people are really like.’

  They stood while travellers hurried around them. Beneath the clock Sylvia was shaking her head, then standing with it bowed, as Sister Augustine talked and talked. Then she pressed Sylvia’s hand and blessed her.

  Sylvia returned, looking confused. ‘Come on, please.’

  She hurried ahead and the two of them followed. Verity called out, ‘Is everything all right?’

  Sylvia just said, ‘Some people never give up. Polly, you should be pleased that your Saul accepts whatever is pushing at him. Some of us have a voice guiding us, but it’s not necessarily where we damn well want to go.’

  Chapter 21

  Monday 1 May – Confidences and worries – shared on the cut

  Dog was back with the girls, but made it her duty to visit the canteen, before and after lunch the next day, and returned licking her lips. The girls knew that Mary was wooing her to stay, but Polly said, ‘Let’s see what happens.’

  They had cleaned the boat and butty already, but did so again, mostly to keep busy and try to make sense of yesterday, though it didn’t seem to help. Verity insisted that she didn’t want to go to her newly discovered family yet. One revelation a week was enough. What if she didn’t like them? What if they didn’t want to see her?

  They were still on leave, so they lounged about the next day instead, because Polly wasn’t prepared to travel to Woking to have a set-to with her parents, either. They read the war news and their books. Polly brought back a letter from her parents, sent as usual c/o the Administration Office, which she stuck in a book on the shelf and ignored. There was another from Saul, which she devoured. He’d had his hair cut and was being taught to march, though what good that would be, he wasn’t sure. His corporal had said it taught him to walk into the face of the guns when he was bloody well told.

  They avoided the pub in the evening, unable to feel jolly. What’s more, Polly had no idea how she would be received, after yelling and shouting at Saul. All three slept as though they had climbed a range of mountains, so exhausted did they feel. The next day they heard on the tannoy, ‘Steerer Holmes to the Administration Office, immediately.’

  Polly couldn’t face the boaters if she crept along the lay-by on her own, so the other two went with her. Everyone on the lay-by tipped their hats and said, ‘’Ow do’, and the women smiled as they busied themselves with their washing, or cast off the mooring strap and headed off to Limehouse. Polly wondered if she
’d been called to the office because her mother, or Verity’s, was in reception. But no, for old Bob said, ‘We’re so busy, we know you’ve another day of leave, but we need you lasses – we need everyone.’ It was what they wanted, to take them away from all the strangeness, the questions in their heads, the doubts, the anger, the happenings. ‘Nip across then and get yer orders, there’s good girls. ’Eard from Saul, ’ave yer, Polly? Got used to fighting an enemy before he went, I heard. Worse than a sergeant-major yer was, I gather, but good practice for him.’

  Polly felt the heat of her embarrassment, but simply said, ‘So you’d best do as you’re told, or I’ll start on you next.’

  They queued in the Orders Office, where Ted looked over his new glasses. ‘Sorry, lasses, it’s steel again, from Limehouse. I know yer’d like Brentford, cos it’s quicker, but beggars can’t be choosers.’

  Verity said, ‘Just be good to get back into it.’

  Ted laughed. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard that.’

  Polly leaned on the counter. ‘Oh no, it’s not. We all want money after all.’

  Ted winked. ‘I know, but I ’spect yer girls want to put some space between you and the panto on the lay-by the other day.’

  All three of them groaned. ‘That’s yesterday’s news.’

  They set off almost immediately, heading towards Limehouse Basin, the wind in their hair, the tillers under their elbows. They pulled in overnight at Alperton and sighed as they set off for the pub. It was Polly who went first, bracing herself, pushing open the door into the lobby and then into the cigarette smoke, the rumble of talk, the laughter, the smell of beer. She stood and the room fell silent, as the boaters turned. Steerer Brown lifted his beer. ‘Wondered where you lasses had got to. Leave, was it? We was ’opin’ you hadn’t done a runner, our Polly. Table’s ready by the fire, and the darts are free for the taking.’

  Sylvia nudged her and said quietly, ‘We’re home – you’re forgiven. But while you two are beating your breasts, I will explain why I resent Sister Augustine. I shared with her that I fear God’s will is that I am to be a nun, but though He might want it, I think I do not. Sister Augustine explained that I need to work out if it is His voice, or just my imagination working overtime because I miss my community. Or perhaps I should say “missed”, because when we came back from Dorset, I felt that I was coming home, to the cut, to our community.’ She went to the bar, calling back, ‘I’ll buy them.’

  Verity and Polly watched her for a moment, stunned. Verity whispered, ‘It makes our problems seem almost mundane. And how strange to tell us now, just like that, in a crowded bar.’

  Polly shook her head as they reached their table. ‘No, it’s like running into the sea to get it over with, rather than dithering in the surf. She has opened up when we’re busy with many things in our own lives, so we’re not likely to go on about it. Or that’s what I think, anyway.’ She sat, looking into the fire. ‘It must be really hard to struggle against what you feel you must do, when it’s not what you want. Sylvia must be glad in a way that there are bigger problems, like the war. It delays the need for a decision, because our problems are tiny in comparison to what’s going on.’

  Verity muttered, ‘Well, with the Germans occupying Hungary, the British sealing off Eire in case the Germans get at us that way and, oh yes, Monte Cassino still being an armpit, you have a point.’

  They were both edgy as Sylvia arrived at the table with the drinks. ‘I thought you might be on your way to help me carry these, Polly, but clearly not. Please don’t refer again to what I have just told you. I felt you should know, and now you do. It is between me and … Well, it is my decision.’

  She lowered the three half-pints of mild, which had slopped over the tray. Verity reached for hers. ‘You can’t trust our Polly to be helpful; she’s just a dilly, you know that.’

  Sylvia picked up her half-pint, shaking her beer-splashed hand over Polly, who said, ‘Sit down, stop being useless and drink up. And what’s happened to the sweet sherry?’

  Sylvia pulled a face, and Verity lifted her glass. ‘Cheers.’

  The door opened and Bet came in, with the new trainees Cathleen and Beryl. Bet called out, ‘Ah, the reprobates are here, what a surprise. Calmed down, have you, Polly? Got it out of your system?’

  Polly lifted her glass. ‘Nice to see you, too, Bet. No, you may not sit with us.’

  Bet came over, laughing, taking the spare seat and calling to her trainees at the bar, ‘Same as usual, please, girls.’ She leaned towards Polly, digging in her pocket. ‘A note from Granfer for you.’

  Polly’s heart sank. ‘Oh, a ticking-off?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. Would I read someone else’s letter?’ She looked the picture of innocence as she held out the folded paper. ‘Go on, take it.’

  Polly read it while Thomo called over, ‘Darts in ten minutes, girls? I’ve a team ready to take yer on.’

  Bet replied, ‘Make it twenty minutes and you’re on. I need something to perk me up first.’

  Polly read Granfer’s note, written in pencil and capitals:

  HELLO OUR POLLY. I HEARD ABOUT YER SORROW AND CROSSNESS AND I UNDERSTANDS BUT WE THOUGHT IT BEST IN CASE HE WEREN’T TAKEN. THEN THERE’D BE NO SORROW LIKE YER FEELS NOW.

  YER MUST NOT BE HARD ON YER MA SHE WANTED TO TELL YER AND FELT BAD NOT TELLING YER BUT I THOUGHT IT BEST. AND SO IT IS THAT SAUL THOUGHT THAT WAY SO DON’T BE HARD ON HER OR HIM. SHE HAS BEEN A GOOD WOMAN FOR US AND IN YOUR HEART YER KNOW THAT.

  She passed it to Bet, who barely read it, which meant that of course she had already done so, because this woman would not have passed on anything that would upset her. Polly stared into the fire. That’s it: her mum was protecting her. Everyone was protecting her. Verity snatched the note, and then Sylvia. They scanned it, and Sylvia handed it back to Polly, tapping her arm. ‘You know he’s right.’

  Polly looked around the pub, at the boaters and then at her friends. Cathleen and Beryl were heading towards their table with half-pints of mild. Polly patted Verity’s leg. ‘Drink up, we have a darts match to win. And, Sylvia, you can come on the team, and with Bet that’s four. Thomo can bring in one of the other steerers to bulk up his lot.’ Sylvia grimaced. Polly laughed. ‘No, don’t pull that face. It’s the only way to learn, and enough of this soul-searching; we need to put everything aside for a while, because we don’t know what the hell any of us are going to do about our lives.’

  As she walked to the dartboard, she felt more at ease, because of course there was a measure of protection involved. But she still didn’t trust her mum, and again the rage surged and she preferred it to the pain of missing him. Saul should have been here, safe.

  The month of May merged into loading and unloading cargoes, and visits to soothing public baths and comfortable beds at Mrs Green’s, and the hauling of the butty through the Brum Bum. Not to mention the winning and losing of darts matches, and Sylvia developing a good throwing arm.

  They chewed on coal dust, cleared out bilges and missed Saul’s pheasants and rabbits, until Thomo started to leave them on their roof whenever they coincided. They saw an endless trail of military vehicles and troops crossing bridges. They read newspapers and studied headlines that shrieked war news; Cassino had finally fallen, the Allies were approaching Rome, and progress was being made in the Far East.

  They listened to rumours that Allied bomber pilots were fair game for lynching by German civilians if they were captured, and they feared for Reggie, Polly’s bomber-crew friend. There were rumours of an imminent Allied invasion. Was it true? Was Tom with them? Would he live? And what about Saul?

  Tom’s letters stopped as the end of May drew near. No one had heard from their sons, husbands and friends, either, the girls were told as they travelled the cut. Suddenly there were no more troops to be seen, marching or being transported. What was happening? They all felt they were holding their breath: both those on the cut and those on the bank. Was this the beginning of the end of the war?r />
  Saul’s letter finally came through on 30 May and it was clear that he was still training. May became June, the days ticked past, and the boaters worked into the long summer evenings, working, working to play their part. It was the thought of what lay ahead for Britain that drummed through the girls’ heads, not the need to sort out their own lives. And so the letters that all three received from parents and nuns were ignored. Their minds were not ready, their decisions not made.

  Chapter 22

  Tuesday 6 June – D-Day

  Tom felt even more nauseous than he had done in the ship that had transported them over the Channel, as the landing craft bucked and corkscrewed in the surging seas, circling in convoy towards the beaches of Normandy. He muttered, ‘The Channel has been rough enough; couldn’t we have a break, you bastard weather.’

  His pack felt too heavy, his gut was churning too much and, to make it ruddy worse, he hated the waterproof waders they had to wear, which were like a ghillie’s massive fishing trousers. Were they so big because they had to fit all shapes and sizes? Whatever their size, rumour had it they were to protect against gas. Forget about gas, he thought, what about the bloody waves?

  He knew he was rambling as he stood next to Paul and Don, who were lurching all ways, just as he was. In the lull in the shelling and gunfire coming from the land there was the sound of someone vomiting. Tom was in the front rank, behind Sergeant Humphries, and yelled, ‘Brings back Dunkirk, does it, Sarge?’

  ‘Too bloody right, it does – only we’re heading the opposite way, and about bloody time. Now, you lot, no stopping to brew a cuppa once you get on land; and you’d be surprised at how many will. Get yourself off that bloody beach. Keep going, whatever happens, or you won’t make it. If your mate goes down, leave ’im. You ’ear me?’