Daisy Belle

by Caitlin Davies

  Father said I couldn’t risk a trial in the Thames. Under no circumstances was anyone to find out what I was training for and not even Charlie and Tom-tom were allowed near the pool during practice hours. ‘Early to bed, early to rise,’ said Father, as he outlined the coming five days. ‘Regular meals and not too much to drink. Raw eggs for breakfast, haddock for dinner, prunes in between.’

  My preparation would be different from Billy’s. My brother had been kept lively when a race drew near because he was the restless type, whereas I was to remain as calm as I could. I was to swim five miles every morning, followed by a long walk in the afternoon, then a few minutes with the skipping rope in the evening. Each morning I woke determined to increase my speed and every day I felt my strength growing. Like Captain Webb before me I lived at the baths, only now no one told me to leave when the boys arrived.

  By the end of the second day I could swim a mile in twenty-five minutes but my feet were so blistered from walking the streets of Lambeth that I had to soak them in salt water. By the third day I had lowered my time in the pool by three minutes and by the fourth I kept this up for the full five miles. But I was so desperate for water to drink as I paced the streets in the afternoon that Father put a pebble in my mouth and told me to suck on that.

  Then my training was over and the time for the swim was set. I would begin at five minutes to five o’clock, an hour and a half after high water, when five miles with the tide should take me a little over an hour. This was also the busiest time on London Bridge, the time of day when hundreds of thousands of people would be making their way across the river. And there they would be, just as my dream had predicted, ready to witness the first girl in the world ever to try the Thames.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  On September 1st, 1875, at three o’clock in the afternoon, Father and Robert Winkle took me to Westminster Pier. We travelled by hansom cab for no expense would be spared that day, it was the swiftest way to get through traffic and we had to be on time. I sat with my face pressed against the window, watching as a street singer wove drunkenly along the road and a group of soldiers in crimson jackets standing on the steps of a public house turned to gaze as we went past. It was unusual to see a girl in a hansom; my mother would never have travelled in one, she said no self-respecting lady would.

  When we came to Westminster Bridge I thought we would never get across. Its footways were a solid mass of people, it seemed everyone and everything in London had chosen to cross the river. I looked out at them, my mind beginning to whirl with questions. What if something went wrong, what if I had the cramp and was forced to stop, or if I swallowed water and it made me sick? I thought I could do it, so did Father, but we both knew I had never swum in a river before.

  I could hear the creak and moan of the heavy wagons, see the frantic gestures of policemen trying to herd the traffic, but then at last we crossed the bridge. Father called up to the driver that we were at our destination, the doors opened and the cabman whipped up the horse again and was gone.

  Down at Westminster Pier the air was sharp and clear, the river as calm as if oil had been poured upon the water.

  ‘This is it, Daisy,’ said Father, as he drew his arm around me to lead me on. ‘Look, there’s quite a crowd.’

  And he was right, for already onlookers were gathering along the embankment having heard the announcement that a lady would swim the Thames. I felt a rumble in my stomach; I had barely eaten that day and while Father had made me take a pork chop at dinnertime I’d pushed it around my plate, my eyes only on the clock. I had been allowed no exercise at all, told to keep warm and comfortable, even to stay in bed if I liked. But it had not been restful at home. Mother was beside herself, ever since she’d heard the news. She said I would die from the filth in the Thames, to which Father replied, ‘Not if she keeps her mouth shut.’ ‘What good will that do?’ she asked, and then she’d refused to say a word for two days.

  But as usual Father had his way, and when he’d told her to make me a new costume she had: a beautiful rose pink bathing-dress trimmed with white braid and buttons, which I was to keep covered until my swim began. Mother wouldn’t say goodbye to me when the time came. She hugged little Minnie close, saying she could smell roses in the room and that someone would die. I tried to ignore her as I tied up my hair with a ribbon and put on my cloak, not wanting to listen to any of her premonitions.

  *

  Shortly before four o’clock the steamboat the Volunteer arrived at Westminster Pier, puffing like a locomotive, the sides decked with flags, the band all dressed in smart blazers. ‘What is that girl doing?’ I heard someone ask as I climbed onboard and saw the captain standing on the bridge, wearing a top hat like an undertaker. He nodded at us and I felt a little stab of fear then, but it was too late to turn back and when I looked behind me the embankment was thronged with people, leaning over the walls and climbing up the street lamps. I had no choice; once the steamer pulled off I would be on my way.

  Then the crier sang out, ‘Passengers for Greenwich and below!’ and at last the steamboat cast off, filled almost to overflowing, slowly heading towards London Bridge so I could show myself to the crowds before I began. I stood on the deck and tried to calm my breathing.

  ‘How old is she?’ a man demanded. ‘Does she really know how to swim?’

  Father didn’t reply, only gave a curt nod of his head.

  ‘Will she make it all the way to Greenwich?’ asked another passenger. ‘Look at her; she’s a mere child. She doesn’t look strong enough to me.’

  And I stood there, not saying a word, only conscious of my wonderful costume beneath my cloak.

  Then the call boy shouted down the hatch to the engine room, ‘Full speed ahead!’ and I saw the crowds on the opposite bank waving hands and hats and handkerchiefs, and for a moment I couldn’t believe it, that my dream had come true; they had all come here to see me.

  When we reached London Bridge the sides were dense with people, while on the broad stone stairs leading down to the river there was no room to stand. Then we pulled off from Old Swan Pier and steamed slowly through the arch of the bridge, before the engines stopped and I was told to go below deck to ready myself. I was growing more nervous now, worried by all the passengers’ questions, and as I went past the refreshment room and into the cabin, again my stomach rumbled.

  When I reappeared on deck, Father asked everyone to step back and then slowly he removed my cloak, peeling it from my shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. For a second I felt awkward standing there for everyone to see, but then a great cheer rang out and I felt only pride and eagerness to begin. Father put his arms around my waist, picked me up and passed me over the side of the steamer and down into the referee’s small rowing boat.

  ‘Oh good gracious, she’s getting into the boat!’ said a man leaning over the steamer’s rails. The referee put out one hand to help; he was a cool-headed, grey-haired gentleman whom I knew from the Lambeth Baths and he looked me over cautiously and said, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘She’s going to swim,’ shouted a woman, ‘a girl’s going to swim down the Thames, did you ever?’

  On and on came the comments as I took my place in the bow, waiting as Father and Robert Winkle got on board and checked we had everything we needed: blankets and rugs, my hoop, a basket with bacon and bread and port wine. Billy took his position in the stern, also in his bathing costume, with a belt around his chest and a lifeline attached, ready to dive in should anything go wrong.

  ‘Half a crown she swims the Thames,’ I heard a man cry.

  ‘Sixpence she doesn’t,’ came the reply.

  I stood quite still for a moment, looking ahead at the forest of masts in the distance and the mazy windings of the yellow rippling tide. Any moment now I would be in there myself, I would be at one with the water. Father began to rub me with his hands, his rough palms warming my neck, working their way down each bone in my spine, and my body glowed and came to life.


  ‘Take your time,’ he said, as he gave a final rub.

  I shifted forward until my feet were on the very edge of the boat.

  ‘Slow and steady,’ he cautioned, ‘look up to sight and don’t be distracted by the noise.’

  I felt the boat lurch as the referee stood up, heard him shout ‘Go!’ and then, to the cheers of the assembled thousands, in I plunged. What a shock the water was – never had I felt anything as cold! It was nothing like the tepid Lambeth Baths; there was no porcelain bottom, no pretty tiled sides, and the temperature quite took my breath away. This was more like the sea than a pool, only saltless and smooth, almost slippery to the touch and with a strong pungent smell. I felt my heart tighten from the cold, told my body to breathe, not to panic. I must be fearless; I could not let anything go wrong. I came to the surface and struck out using breaststroke, careful not to swallow water, travelling in the wake of the referee’s boat and giving quick glances up to see where I was heading. I could hear the loose flapping of sails as the wind picked up, the laughter and singing from people on the smaller boats. Oh the freedom of the thing! To swim in the Thames, in the wild openness of a mighty river; never had I been more certain of my success.

  But then I felt the water swell as a boat pulled up too close beside me and then another; and within moments I was hemmed in by a crowd of small craft that seemed to be coming from every direction, oars splashing, men, women and children shouting as loud as a flock of wild geese. I felt like a pea in a bowl of soup, bobbing in the water, as still the boats clustered around me until there were fifty or more and I couldn’t see a thing. I didn’t know which way to go; any moment I would be hit and dragged under. I heard the dashing of paddles, the hoarse cry of a seaman and the shriek of an engine-boy. The air around me darkened and I thought I could hear the great solemn bell of St Paul’s.

  ‘Take her out!’ someone shouted, followed by snatches of orders for the boats to clear a route, calls for the river police to intervene. But no one paid any attention, such was the deafening noise. I couldn’t see where I could take a stroke; I would kick my feet against a boat if I did; and as I stayed there treading water I knew it was over. I was failing before I had even begun; it was impossible for me to swim. I felt my body growing heavy, the belt of my wonderful new costume too tight around my waist, the sodden cloth dragging down on my legs as if I were wrapped in weeds. I was vertical in the water now, gasping for breath, squeezed in on either side.

  Again I heard the dreadful words, ‘Take her out!’

  I opened my mouth to say I would not get out, that if only the boats would move I would swim, as an oar splashed by my head and I took a mouthful of river water and began to cough and then to retch.

  ‘What sort of father would let his daughter do that?’ asked the shrill voice of a woman.

  ‘She’ll drown herself!’ shouted a man. ‘Throw a rope!’

  In desperation I glanced up to my right; Billy was there in the bow of the boat, one hand resting on the belt around his waist, the other holding up the lifeline. I saw him lean forward; any moment now he would throw the line and dive in.

  ‘Don’t!’ I wanted to cry. ‘Don’t rescue me!’

  I thought of the day Father had failed to save the girl in Margate and of the afternoon Billy and I had seen the body pulled from the Thames, and now with dreadful certainty I knew that Mother was right, that was going to be me. But as my brother bent down towards me I saw to my surprise that he was smiling. ‘Keep going,’ he cried, ‘don’t listen to them, little tadpole, keep going!’

  Then miraculously I saw a clear gap of river ahead; the police were clearing a route and some of the boats had moved, a channel of water was opening up before me. The expanse grew wider and I kissed my hand and waved to the people and from every barge and every boat they waved back. Then I put my head down and I swam, my body working like a well-balanced clock, my limbs moving in perfect accord, drawing me effortlessly on. I could hear nothing but the sound of my breathing as my head dipped in and out of the river, a sigh from my mouth each time I rose.

  The boats were helping me now, keeping the water smooth ahead, escorting me down the river like a queen. I was Cloelia the Roman maiden making my way across the Tiber and nothing could stop me. Still I swam, past the cranes and the shipyards, the people on the riverside going about their day-to-day life. I saw the criss-cross wooden legs of a jetty and a group of mudlarks on the water’s edge, thought I heard the thwack of children playing cricket on the shore. Then I saw nothing but grim walls and a row of portholes, until there before me was the great Tower of London.

  I felt a change in the air then, a breeze on my face. In the distance a sail turned orange in the fading rays of the sun, lamps began to gleam along the shore and lights appeared on top of mastheads. When I looked up again it was to see a full pale moon beginning to rise behind the clouds and ahead of me the waters of the Thames growing green and gold like the scales of a fish.

  Then Father was waving his arms and I realised he was shouting, ‘Switch to the other side! Now!’ So I did as I was told, making my way determinedly through the boats, taking full advantage of the strong tide and avoiding a bend in the river. As I did the passengers on a passing saloon steamer roared their applause and the tugboats blew their whistles and I could feel the water carrying me past the docks as if I was flying. I felt the euphoria that comes when the rhythm is right, and I thought I would never stop. I would continue through London, I would swim all the way to the sea on the grandest highway in the world.

  Then I heard the boom of a firing cannon, held up my head to see a floating steamboat pier and I knew we had nearly arrived at Greenwich. ‘Three cheers!’ shouted the people on the riverside and the band onboard the Volunteer began to play the opening strains of ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’. I saw Father standing in the bow of the boat, palms upwards to give the prearranged signal, and I stopped swimming for a moment, waiting for Billy to throw me the hoop. I caught it easily, grasped the metal and did a somersault right there in the Thames. Then I set off on the last few yards, still with the hoop in my arms, doing turns and dives along the way, until the salute was fired again. I stopped to catch my breath before making a final somersault and as I did I saw a woman by the edge of the pier with a baby on her hip. It was Mother! She had come after all. She had changed her mind and was here to witness my triumph. But when I looked up again I knew I was wrong, for however would she have got to Greenwich before me?

  The referee’s boat drew close and Father leaned down and with his strong swimmer’s arms lifted me out of the water.

  ‘You did it, Daisy,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘I knew you would.’

  ‘One hour, seven minutes,’ said Robert Winkle and he shook my hand as if I were a man.

  Then Father’s arms were around me again as he lifted me up to the Volunteer and I was pulled over the sides of the steamboat, wrapped in blankets and ushered down to the cabin. Inside the silence was shocking as I took off my costume and changed into my ordinary clothes, all the while my ears buzzing and my heart racing because I had done it, I had swum the Thames just like I’d said I would. Then Billy knocked on the door to say I was wanted outside.

  ‘Do you feel tired Miss Belle?’ a reporter shouted as we climbed off the steamer and onto the pier, beginning to make our way through the crowds. Father was waiting for me, chaired by dozens of men, carried high on their shoulders like a giant, waving his hat in one hand and a cigar in the other. I thought I recognised a figure amid the people outside the Ship Hotel, a girl with neatly parted hair and frowning brows, but as the crowd jostled forward she was lost to sight.

  ‘Miss Belle,’ the reporter cried again, ‘are you tired?’

  I had never been questioned by a journalist before and, heady with my success, I told him, ‘No! I could have swum another five miles.’

  ‘What about the cold?’

  ‘I’m warmer now,’ I lied, ‘than when I got into the Thames.’

&
nbsp; At this there was much laughter.

  ‘Do you not consider it a dangerous feat for a girl?’ he asked.

  ‘It depends on the girl,’ I replied. ‘If you are properly trained then it’s no more dangerous than trying to cross Westminster Bridge.’

  The reporter smiled and wrote down my words, then a little girl came up and handed me a bouquet of violets.

  ‘Professor Belle,’ I heard someone cry, ‘you’ll be a rich man by the end of today.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Father; he was standing on his own two feet now and striding towards me. ‘She’s a credit to my way of teaching. I’m glad I brought her up a lady swimmer.’

  ‘What was the wager again?’ asked a man.

  ‘It’s not about the money,’ said Father, ‘it’s about the skill.’

  At that the people laughed some more.

  ‘I bet your pockets are well lined now, professor,’ a woman called and I wondered, was it true? But I was also annoyed because what did the money matter? That was not why I had swum the Thames. I had done it to be the first girl and to show the world that I could.

  Still Father walked towards me, stopping to shake men’s hands and lift his top hat to the ladies. Then one came running up and brazenly linked her arm through his and I heard Robert Winkle roaring with laughter.

  ‘Miss Belle,’ called the reporter, ‘did you take any refreshment at all?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ I replied.

  ‘Nothing was handed to you while in the water?’