*
John had dropped lucky hitching a ride to Wednesbury. As he helped out on the boat, his excitement rose. He sent up a prayer that his brother was still in the town and that he was safe. He manoeuvred crates into a more secure position and accepted the cup of tea handed to him. Catching his breath, he looked around. The countryside was beautiful in the sunshine and he thought about his brother’s ambition to own his own boat. Moving to the man steering he said, ‘Mind if I watch?’
Moving aside the man pointed to the tiller. ‘Keep ’er straight, lad, and yer’ll have no problems.’ Watching with a keen eye he added, ‘You’m a natural. You got ‘cut-rat’ blood in yer?’
John smiled and nodded. ‘I think I’d like my own boat one day.’ He realised at that moment he shared his brother’s ambition.
‘Yer’ll ’ave to work a bloody long time for the money then,’ the man laughed.
‘I’m not afraid of hard work,’ John said joining in the laughter.
‘I saw that lad when you shifted them there crates about. Well, I say good luck to yer. Wednesbury basin is just up ahead, fancy taking ’er in?’ the man asked.
‘You trust me?’
‘Aye, lad, I do. Besides, I’ve got the buffers on the sides!’
Sharing a laugh once more, the man gave instructions and John followed them to the letter. Before long John executed a perfect mooring. The man clapped the boy on the shoulder and John beamed his pleasure.
‘Thank you for the ride and the tuition,’ he said as he made to leave.
‘Welcome, lad, any time. Well done,’ the man replied as they shook hands.
Jumping down onto the towpath John looked around him. His elation of a moment before disappeared and his heart sank. His brother was not immediately visible. Shaking his head, he chided himself. What, did he think Frank would be there waiting for him? Walking on he found himself standing on Coppice Bridge where, unbeknown to him, his brother had stood that very morning.
Looking out on the expansive heathland a moment, he then closed his eyes and concentrated his mind solely on Frank. Instinctively he knew his brother was on a boat headed north. That could only mean he was on his way to Birmingham.
*
In the meantime, their father Bill, ran himself ragged on the towpath at Bilston. No one was going anywhere, they were mooring up for the night. Staring out he saw the Bradley Field Iron Works. Casting his eyes to his right he glanced at the huge buildings across the canal. Where had his boys gone? Which direction? Suddenly despair gripped him and sitting on the ground he dropped his head into his hands and wept.
‘Hey up, lad, whatever’s the matter?’ a woman’s voice asked.
Looking up, Bill tried to explain the situation amid sobs of desperation.
‘Young lad, blond ’air, blue eyes?’ the woman asked.
Bill nodded as hope rose in him.
‘Saw ’im this morning. He was on the ‘Annie’ bound for Wednesbury.’ The woman smiled.
‘Oh thank God! Thank you too, very much!’ Bill stood to shake the woman’s hand. Looking around him he dragged his hands through his hair. ‘Oh… how the hell do I get there?’ he muttered.
‘Twins you said?’ the woman probed. ‘Both missing?’
Bill nodded as his tears of frustration seeped from his eyes.
‘Come on,’ the woman grabbed his arm, ‘if we go now we can moor up afore dark.’ Holding up a hand she added, ‘I know a ‘cut-rat’ when I see one. Get some more coal on and her’ll soon build up enough steam again.’
Bill released the mooring ropes and jumped aboard deftly and before too long the boat moved out onto the waterway.
‘Bill Mitchell,’ he introduced himself, ‘and I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
‘Betty Johnson, and you can thank me by driving this old tug while I go below and make a cuppa.’ Her smile was infectious and Bill returned it with one of his own.
Settling into steering the boat Bill felt he was back where he belonged, on the canal, and he revelled in the feeling.
Once again, the ‘Black Country’ spirit of camaraderie shone through. This woman had taken a stranger aboard without a second thought. She had seen his problem and reached out to lend a hand. Bill smiled as he manoeuvred the boat along the ribbon of canal as the daylight began to fade.
*
Whilst Bill was heading for Wednesbury on Betty’s boat, his wife sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea which had gone cold. Her thoughts roamed around her mind. Frank had left, John had followed and now Bill had chased after them.
Had this all been her doing? But surely Bill would be home soon. It was unlikely he would find the twins today so for tonight he would be home. Another thought struck her – he would lose his job at the railway if he just took time off with no explanation. Then how would they live? How would they find the money for food? Bill would just have to find another job if he was sacked. All this was secondary to him finding her boys and bringing them home to her though.
Her thoughts turned to Margy and Abner, Bill’s parents, and she scowled. It was their fault all this had happened. If it wasn’t for them turning up on her doorstep, they would still be living a pleasant life. Clamping her teeth together she muttered into the quiet kitchen, ‘I just hope we don’t meet again, Margy Mitchell!’
Eight
Darkness began to descend as Bill Mitchell expertly manoeuvred the boat into its mooring place in the basin at Gospel Oak in Wednesbury.
Betty, the woman who had given him a ride said, ‘Yer won’t find them boys in the dark so yer’d best sleep up top for tonight; what would folk say if they thought I’d taken meself a younger man?!’
Nodding Bill said as if in feigned horror, ‘What if it rains?’
‘Yer’ll get wet!’ Betty laughed at her own quip.
‘Betty, thank you so much for your kindness. I’ll be away first thing in the morning. I feel so bad about you losing work to help me.’ Bill looked at the woman who watched him closely.
‘Don’t you worry none about that, I can allus find a back load.’
Once a ‘cut-rat’ himself, Bill knew the importance of securing another cargo once the boat was emptied of its previous load. No cargo meant no money. No money meant no food or coal to feed the boat’s steam engine.
Over their evening meal they talked quietly, telling each other of their lives. Bill said how he missed being on the waterways and the people who lived on the canal.
Betty Johnson explained she’d been widowed a year ago and had managed, with the help of other canal folk, to keep her boat working. ‘I ’ave to say though, lad, I’m finding it a struggle now I’m getting on in years. I ain’t got the strength no more and I ’ave to rely on others far too much. I can’t feed the coal for the boiler and steer ’er so I ’ave to keep pulling over and I can’t afford to ’ire help. I’m thinking it might be time to quit. I don’t want to be dying at the steering and crash the old tug!’
Bill smiled at her sense of humour but realised she was right in what she said. He saw the sadness in her eyes.
‘What will you do if you quit?’ he asked.
‘I ain’t got a clue,’ she answered shaking her head, her grey hair escaping its pins.
Saying his goodnight, Bill settled himself on deck with a pillow and blanket. Lying there, he looked up at the stars twinkling their brightness on a dark velvet background.
Betty had retired to her bed and all around them was silence.
He sighed as he wondered where his sons were now. One thing was for sure, if they were on the canal they would be safe. His thoughts turned to the kind woman who slept in her cabin beneath him. He realised she would have to sell her boat in order to have money to live on, but then she’d have no home. A thought wormed its way into his mind but he pushed it away.
Watching the stars glitter and shine overhead he felt at peace being once more on the waterway. Sighing deeply Bill closed his eyes and drifted into a peaceful slumber.
*
Waking to the familiar sounds of people going about their business in the basin, Bill stretched out before rising and folding his blanket. He hadn’t slept so well in years; since the last time he’d been on the canal in fact.
Hearing Betty in the cabin below he stamped a few steps to let her know he was up too.
‘Bill, tea’s up and breakfast is ready!’ she called out.
Opening the hatch, he stepped down into the cramped cabin.
Seeing the plate placed before him he said, ‘My God, Betty! You feeding the five thousand?’
Laughing she replied, ‘Get it down yer, lad, it’ll do yer good; set you up for the day right and proper it will.’
Picking up his knife and fork his eyes roamed over the plate and he licked his lips. Bacon, egg, sausage, mushrooms, black pudding and fried bread awaited him, and he devoured it greedily. Taking his empty plate to the sink to wash it, he grabbed Betty’s hand and kissed the back of it. ‘Meal fit for a king and I thank you.’
‘Get away with yer,’ Betty said with a grin. ‘Pour the tea and tell me what yer goin’ to do now.’
Sitting at the tiny table Bill voiced the thought that persisted at the forefront of his mind.
‘Well now, that’s a possibility but yer’ve got to find yer boys first,’ Betty said with a nod.
*
Whilst Betty and Bill were getting to know each other over in Birmingham, Frank had no idea his father and brother were so close.
So, this was Gas Street basin. He stared at the size of it and all the boats settled into their berthing places and could only wonder how people managed to manoeuvre the crafts without causing chaos and destruction.
Suddenly his excitement evaporated and a strange feeling took its place. Raising his eyes to the sky he said a silent thank you. Instinct told him his twin, John, was coming. He knew he had to wait exactly where he was and John would find him.
Sitting down on the edge of the towing path he munched on the sandwich given to him before he left the kind woman and her boat. He watched the activity around him, of crates of cargo being loaded and unloaded. He heard men whistling little tunes as they worked, and the laughter of gossiping women sharing their news. He enjoyed the spring sunshine as the aroma of wet fish reached his nose. He stared in fascination as a massive Shire horse walked along the towpath dragging a boat behind it by a long thick sturdy rope and he nodded a greeting to the man who led the horse.
Frank knew life on the canal was hard, but only now did he realise how poor some of these people were. His sandwich finished, he leaned back on his hands and stretching out his legs he crossed his feet at the ankle. Now he would wait and God willing he would see his brother soon.
*
John Mitchell walked the towpath of the basin in Wednesbury begging a ride to Birmingham. A boy of around fourteen years old yelled down to him. ‘Me dad’s off to Brumagum. I’ll ask ’im for you.’
John nodded and smiled at the colloquial term for the town of Birmingham. A moment later the boy appeared again. ‘Dad sez to come aboard,’ he shouted.
John clambered onto the boat and introduced himself to the boy’s father saying, ‘I can’t pay, but I’m willing to work.’
‘Fair enough, you stoke the boiler for a full ’ead of steam then we’ll be away.’
Once the firebox was full of coal and roaring away nicely, John sat on the deck with the young boy who was trying to teach him how to knot rope. They laughed together as John’s knot unravelled itself even before it was complete.
As they travelled John kept the boiler stoked and the boat chugged its way towards its destination.
Eventually arriving in Worcester Wharf, John gave his thanks to the man and his son before leaping from the boat. He had no way of knowing he was only a stone’s throw away from where his twin waited for him.
Looking around him, John was astounded at the amount of boats and barges packed tightly into the basin. His eyes searched greedily for sight of his brother, but somehow he knew Frank wasn’t there. Climbing up the bank he stood on the bridge overlooking the massive goods depot and the many wharves which were surrounded by a network of streets.
Turning in a circle, he pushed his fair hair back as he tried to decide which way he should go to find his brother. Sighing heavily, he shook his head. He was beginning to realise how foolish he’d been.
Turning he walked away and presently came to a street the sign proclaimed to be Commercial Street but a sudden heightened feeling of loss had him stop in his tracks. He was going the wrong way! It was like a voice calling to him in his head. He retraced his steps back to the bridge and as he continued on he felt the invisible thread pulling him along.
Scrambling back down the bank he cut down the side of the saw mills which brought him to another massive basin. He blew quietly through his teeth at the sights and sounds. A great cacophony of noise echoed around as people laughed and bantered. A grinding assaulted his ears and he ducked as the overhead crane behind him rolled into place. Wooden cart wheels rattled over cobblestones as they went on to their final destination. He heard the clatter of tons of coal being shovelled into wheelbarrows from the coal boats and he watched the men sweating as they worked.
He began to walk towards the melee. As he wandered along he heard a shrill and familiar whistle which rose above the surrounding noise. Looking in its direction he saw Frank languishing on the towpath.
With a smile he walked towards his twin brother and saw Frank stand and move forwards. Unable to contain themselves any longer the boys rushed to each other and hugged tightly.
‘I knew you’d come,’ Frank said at last as they both sat on the ground.
‘I had to, Mother blames me for your leaving,’ John said sadly.
‘What?! Oh mate, I’m sorry you caught the blame.’ Frank felt wretched.
‘It doesn’t matter now. We’ve found each other and that’s all that is important. Anyway, any news about the couple you’re looking for?’ John asked.
‘No. Not seen hide nor hair of them, but then they could be anywhere!’ Frank answered.
‘All right then. What do we do now?’ John asked.
‘Buggered if I know!’ Frank answered shaking his head.
Their hearty laughter drew smiles from the people around them. Shouts, whistles and cheers sounded as the identical twins rolled around on the towpath thoroughly enjoying their wrestling match, so happy were they to be back together again.
*
Back in Bilston, Sarah Mitchell spat fire as she made her morning tea. Her husband had not come home the previous night. Bill had stayed out looking for their sons and he was still not back.
Bill had set off in the direction of the canal. It was evident he hadn’t found the boys there, so what would he do next? Sarah scowled – he would hitch a ride on a boat. He had found a way back to his heart’s desire, the canal. Bill could be anywhere, as could her boys. All that was left to her now was to await their return, and when they did they would get a tongue lashing they’d never forget.
Her anger mounted as her thoughts swirled around to the visit from Margy and Abner, Bill’s parents. Bloody people! Why couldn’t they just stay away? After all, they had never bothered much about getting to know their grandsons.
Sarah was aware of their lifestyle when she married Bill and when the twins were born she had thought Margy and Abner would have been at her house every waking hour. How wrong could she have been? They had continued to work on the inland waterways only dropping in when they visited Bilston, which was infrequently.
Bill had never spoken of not seeing his parents these past years; not until a day or so ago when he said he had thought them too busy making a living to spare a visit.
Sarah clamped her teeth together flexing her jaw muscles and drew in a breath through her nose. They would all be better off if Margy and Abner Mitchell were dead!
Nine
Abner Mitchell threw more coal into the fire box and holding a rag against burnin
g his fingers on the hot metal, he closed its door. Hearing a hiss and tapping the gauge, he was satisfied the steam was building up nicely again as the ‘Pride of Wednesbury’ chugged along. Hearing the constant thump of the working engine he shook his head. He missed the quiet days when their home had been pulled along by a Shire horse. All this new-fangled technology – the steam engine – was faster, but it certainly made enough noise and mess! Climbing up top again he checked the steam was puffing out through the tube-shaped chimney.
Margy relinquished the tiller to her husband and made her way forward to the hatch that led to their living quarters. She saw Rosie replacing crockery in its rightful place having been washed clean after breakfast.
‘Penny for yer thoughts?’ Margy asked.
‘I was just thinking if I’d kept the horse I could have bought a small boat and—’ Rosie began.
‘That ’orse wouldn’t have been no good, yer would need a Shire to pull a boat. Besides, yer couldn’t walk a horse and steer the boat, it’s a two-man job.’ Margy saw the embarrassment cross the girl’s features and tempered it with, ‘Let me and you ’ave a cup of tea and yer can tell me what’s on yer mind.’
With tea made the women sat at the small table and Rosie said, ‘I’m very grateful to you and Abner for everything you’ve done for me, Margy, but I have to think about my future.’
‘I guessed that was what yer were fretting about and I can understand, but just so as yer know, we both love ’aving you ’ere with us.’ Seeing the girl’s smile, she went on, ‘It’s as though yer’ve become the daughter I never’ad.’
‘I’m sorry you lost your baby, Margy,’ Rosie said quietly.
The older woman sucked in a surprised breath then said, ‘Ar well, it was a long time ago.’
‘Maybe, but the pain remains.’
‘So what am yer plans?’ Margy asked trying to change the subject.
‘I had decided I’d like to have my own boat, but as you say, it’s a two-man job.’ Rosie shrugged.
The Girl on the Doorstep: from the bestselling author of The Workhouse Children (A Black Country Novel) Page 6