The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  ‘Aye, no matter. ’Appen she’ll be as good as one of the young ’uns oop the cut in time.’ He crossed on to the motor the other side of Swansong, and disappeared into the cabin.

  Bet called as she held the tiller, ‘Replace your shaft then, Polly. The young ones Granfer talks of are all of eight years old, before you get too cocky. They can manage a cut-down shaft and much more besides. Now, tie us up with the mooring strap, if you will.’

  Polly heaved the shaft up on the cabin roof. She pressed herself against the open cabin door and was wondering why the other narrowboats had removed their tillers, or turned them the other way round, when a young man came out of the cabin of Swansong. He was dressed in cords, a waistcoat, and checked shirt, its sleeves rolled up. He had a red cotton kerchief tied at his neck, his hair was black and curly, his cheekbones high, and his smile warmed his whole face when he gripped the shoulder of the young boy who followed him. ‘Get to school then, Joe. Learn ’em lessons while yer can. Then come on ’ome, but only at t’end of the lessons, no bunkin’ off early. We got no orders today.’

  ‘Aye, scuttle along now, and no messin’.’ Granfer was now standing on the counter of their motorboat, the other side of Swansong.

  The boy, his cap pulled down, and wearing a worn dark red sweater over his baggy trousers, pulled away from the young man’s hand. ‘Yer din’t go, so why should I, Uncle Saul?’

  ‘Cos the world is changin’, and no talkin’ back. On with yer. Got yer grub?’

  The boy turned as Polly stood facing Swansong, stretching, trying to ease her back. He sneered, ‘What yer gawpin’ at?’

  Polly turned to Bet, who was doing something to the tiller. ‘I wasn’t looking – really, I wasn’t.’

  Bet shook her head, and said quietly, ‘Privacy is all important when we live so close together and you were facing their way, so whether you were looking or not, it doesn’t matter. It will be assumed you were. You turn away, should others be talking or working on the neighbouring boat. You only look if invited, you only visit if invited. I’d never come into your cabin unless I knocked for permission. You will never come into mine unless you do the same.’

  Verity tutted from the gunwale. ‘It comes down to manners, so try remembering yours.’

  Polly stared at her hands, which were rubbed red from the shaft, and frozen. She eased her shoulders, and turned to Verity, who had slipped from the gunwale and was squeezing past her, heading for the cabin. ‘Mind your own …’ Polly said under her breath.

  There was a sudden shout from further down the lay-by, ‘Watch it, you bugger.’

  She heard the sound of a revving engine, as Swansong and Marigold and all the motors and butties began rocking and jostling one against the other. Within seconds the Marigold was sucked from the kerb, by the wash, but as Polly had not yet tied up, nothing snapped.

  Bet jumped on to the gunwale, and then the cabin roof, balancing as she yelled, ‘Cut your bloody speed, you blithering idiot. You’re passing the lay-by.’ A narrowboat and butty seemed to be accelerating past the parked boats, heading for Limehouse. The rocking grew worse. ‘Get down, Bet,’ yelled Polly.

  Verity emerged from the cabin. ‘What the hell?’

  Bet jumped to the counter, revved Marigold’s engine. She shoved it into reverse and Marigold crept astern again, struggling against the wash from the speeding narrowboat, which was now dead ahead. The whole of the lay-by was in turmoil, with boats jerking, and even the washing hung on lines over the hold danced like dervishes. Cries and curses echoed around the lay-by, and the crashing of crockery.

  The Marigold heaved, tossing Polly to one side. She reached for a handhold on the cabin top, slipped, and was thrown against Bet, then into the tiller with a thwack before she crashed to the counter, nudging Bet off the tiller. Bet regained her position within seconds, but Polly lay at her feet as Marigold knocked into Swansong, just as Swansong’s mooring strap snapped.

  Polly scrabbled to her knees, her side hurting, and saw the boy was safe on the kerb. The wash continued to tear at the boats, and now the Marigold swung away to port, while Swansong lurched to starboard. Saul pitched into the gap, whacking his head on Marigold’s fender, then sank into the water.

  Polly screamed at Bet, ‘Stop revving astern. Man in water. Go forward, get out of the way.’

  Bet yelled back, ‘I can’t, it’s Saul’s brother-in-law, Leon, dragging his bloody butty past the lay-by at a rate of knots and now it’s dead ahead, I’ll hit it. He’s such a bastard. Get on, girls, what do you think the shafts are for?’

  Polly scrabbled to her feet, and leapt for the shaft, dragging it off the roof. She fended off Swansong as it swung towards them in the turbulence, threatening Saul, who was surfacing, floundering, blood streaming from his head.

  ‘Verity, help me.’ Polly’s shout was high-pitched. The pain from her side caught her. All along the lay-by she heard the clashing of boats, the bellows of the boaters as they cursed Leon. Below her Saul was splashing, his eyes rolling, but then they closed, and he sank again. On the bank the boy screamed.

  Verity scrambled to the counter, grabbed a shaft, and kept the gap open as Polly threw hers back on the roof and lay down, her hand outstretched. Saul reappeared, coughing, his eyes open. ‘Take my hand, take it,’ Polly shrieked. But the Marigold was too high, and Saul disappeared again, then struggled to the surface, thrashing the water, spitting, his face streaming with blood.

  The boy screamed, ‘Uncle Saul.’

  The Marigold swung towards Saul again. ‘Shove it back, Verity,’ Polly, shouted. Verity did.

  Polly was about to leap in, when Granfer tore across from the motor, his shaft in his hands, and held it down to Saul, who clung to it as the wash sucked him towards the fairway. Granfer braced himself, shortening and shortening his hold on the shaft, dragging Saul back and shouting all the time, ‘Damn yer, Leon Arnson. Yer a bloody idiot.’

  The boy was screaming again from the bank, ‘Leave oos be, Da. Just yer leave oos be. Cut yer speed. Uncle Saul he be drownin’. Granfer, ’elp him.’

  ‘I am, lad.’ Granfer kept hauling Saul against the current. Polly got to her feet, grabbed the other shaft, and shoved the boats apart as Verity was doing. She also stared towards the cut. A man yelled, ‘How’s yer like that, you bloody sailors. Yer should keep yer bloody noses out me business and give oos back m’boy.’

  Polly turned back, to see Saul heaving himself on to the Swansong’s counter, where he lay still for a moment, his body heaving as he gulped in air. Cool as a cucumber Granfer picked up the shaft and returned to Seagull, his motor, setting straight the painted water can he had knocked aside, checking the Seagull’s mooring strap, which had held. He used the shaft to keep the Seagull clear of the boat to port.

  Meanwhile, Saul clambered to his feet, water pouring from his clothes, blood dripping from his cut forehead. He rubbed the blood from his eyes with his arm, an arm which Polly saw was shaking. His tanned face looked pale. He looked hurt, frightened, and she reached out a hand.

  He coughed out water, then turned towards the kerb laughing, but it was strained and unreal. ‘Get yoursel’ to school, Joe. Now. Nothing’s ’appening ’ere. Nothin’ cept me ’aving a bath I probably needed. You get on now, quick. Leave everything else to me ’n’ Granfer.’

  Polly dropped her hand; that man was brave, and kind, and he didn’t need her, he had his own kin, but something flickered inside her, and then was gone. Bet called, ‘All clear, Polly?’ Polly nodded. ‘You can go back now, Bet – steady, though.’

  Saul’s butty, Swansong, was floating forward, swinging this way and that, its stern counter on a level with their cabin. Verity was squatting on the roof, fending it off. Saul snatched up a new long rope, secured it to the stud on Swansong, then leapt with the other end coiled over his shoulder on to their gunwale. He rushed along, then down to their counter, brushing past Polly, who was handling her shaft in tandem with Verity.

  He leapt on to the kerb as Bet reverse
d Marigold against it. He let the rope uncoil, catching it round his back, and then began to try to haul Swansong back with both hands, his muscles bulging, the strain showing on his face, calling again to Joe, who was slouching down the lay-by. ‘Stay till t’end of school, yer ’ear. I’ll be there, so don’t come ’ome on y’own.’

  Saul managed to stop Swansong’s forward float, his legs braced, the strain showing in his face as he heaved the butty back to the kerb. Securing the rope round a mooring stud and checking that the motor was secure, he then stood on the kerb astern of the Marigold.

  ‘Give us your strap then,’ he called. Bet threw it to him without a word. He tied the rope through the iron ring embedded in the lay-by, then checked Horizon’s mooring too, before leaping back on to his motor, springing on to the cabin roof and running down the hold planks, almost swinging round the uprights, to the fore-end, watching Leon disappearing along the cut towards Limehouse Basin.

  Slowly the waters were subsiding. Granfer nodded across the Swansong’s counter to Bet, before hurrying along Seagull’s planks to the fore-end, also watching the departing butty and motor.

  Suddenly, all was calm. Polly turned to Bet. ‘Not even a thank-you?’

  ‘He tied us up. What more do you want? That’s a big thank-you in this world. Now let’s get the kettle on while I check for orders, and if there’s nothing for us yet, we’ll head off for the lock at Cowley. Use the Primus again, Verity. We won’t light the range.’

  Verity heaved her shaft on to the cabin roof. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because I want to check Polly’s ribs before I go; that was a cracking collision with the tiller, not to mention the counter. What’s more, I thought she was going to be christened in the cut on her first morning. She almost had to leap in, but you reacted well. Both of you were quick and efficient; it was good teamwork. Well done.’

  Verity slammed into the cabin. Bet was reversing the tiller. ‘Why do that with the tiller?’ asked Polly.

  ‘Look at the extra room it gives us on the boat. Some actually remove it temporarily but this suits me, especially if we might be off. Let’s have a look at you, then.’ Bet poked and prodded but found nothing cracked or broken, though it hurt Polly to breathe.

  ‘So, you’ll have the first of your many bruises by tonight. I’m heading for the office to see how the orders are looking. Don’t relax, either of you. We’re off one way or another.’

  Then she left. The boy had gone, the red, white and blue colours of the Grand Union Canal Carrying Company boats gleamed in the sunlight, the flowers and castles of the water cans on the cabin doors were riotous; so, too, the wooden helms and sides above the high-water mark. It was as though nothing had happened.

  The weathered women from the other boats were heading along the lay-by with shopping bags as they had yesterday, or washing clothes on the bank, the water boiling in the large pans on grills which rested on brick sides over fires. Some were cleaning, and turning to shout at their children or husbands, their washing already hung out, flapping gently. Bet bustled back, calling from the lay-by, ‘No orders today.’

  Polly nodded. Leaning against the cabin, she was looking only at the towpath, trying to calm down, as well as making sure she did not turn to watch Saul and Granfer returning over the roof of Swansong after cleaning their hold.

  Bet smiled at her, leaning back against the cabin too. Dragging out her cigarettes, she offered one to Polly, who hesitated but then accepted. Her mother wouldn’t approve. But what would she like here? She cupped the match Bet held out, sucked in on the cigarette and coughed, because she hardly ever smoked, but she needed something. ‘What on earth was that all about?’ she said, before coughing again.

  Bet dragged deeply, then exhaled. ‘It’s none of our business. These people live in their boats year in, year out. They travel all the time; feuds occur.’ She gestured to the boats. ‘Generations ago, in the canal’s heyday, they lived on the bank, as they call it, and ran their cargo boats. Then times got hard, they couldn’t afford the rent, so they moved on to the boats. The cabins are small because the load is their livelihood and they need the biggest holds they can get. It’s a different world to that of the land. You will be away from your “real” world, Polly, for a while, but you will one day go back to that world.’

  Polly nodded. Bet continued, ‘So you won’t gawp, you won’t question, you won’t pry. Neither will you expect thanks, because they don’t give it except in very exceptional circumstances. But what you do to help won’t be forgotten, and will be repaid, never fear, as we’ve just seen.’

  Polly inhaled; the end of her cigarette glowed. This time she didn’t cough but neither did she like it. Verity called, ‘Three mugs of tea down here.’

  They squeezed out their cigarettes, put them in their pockets for later, and ducked down the steps into the cabin. Polly and Bet sat on the side bench, and Verity on the cross-bed. Verity pointed to the small bookcase up above Polly. ‘Why have you brought Winnie-the-Pooh and The Water Babies? They’re children’s books, and Pooh looks as though it’s ready for the dustbin.’

  ‘How about minding our own business, eh, Verity?’ Bet said wearily.

  ‘Because I like the books,’ Polly answered. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  Verity flushed. ‘Of course not. I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just making conversation.’

  But it wasn’t conversation, it was point-scoring and, what’s more, Polly’s ribs hurt and she’d had enough for the moment. But then she shook her head. The girl wasn’t to know that that copy of Winnie-the-Pooh was her most prized possession.

  Bet gulped down her tea, reached across the eighteen inches of floor space and placed her mug in the painted bowl on the range rest. She stood, as though restless.

  ‘Drink up, and off to Cowley we will go,’ she said. ‘You, Miss Polly Holmes, are about to have a lock-wheeling lesson.’

  Polly drank her tea to the dregs, wondering what on earth lock-wheeling was. She felt determined to somehow break the difficulties with Verity, and announced, ‘No, first I have to use the depot lavatory, and I bet you did, Bet, while you were checking orders? What about it, Verity?’

  Bet looked from one to the other and roared with laughter. ‘I think we’ll make a team of you two yet. Off you go. See you in ten minutes.’

  They left the Marigold together, not quite walking in time, but close to it.

  Chapter 5

  26 October – Saul and Granfer at the depot on the same afternoon

  On Seagull, as the kettle simmered on the range, Saul sighed and poured water into the bowl on the hinged-down cupboard door in front of the cross-bed. He’d been born in that bed, his mum before him, and probably Granfer too.

  Already there was clean water from the water can in the bowl. It had to be clean to wash the smell of the canal from him, as well as the shame, and while they were near the water tap, why not? He’d hit his head as he fell and that’s why he couldn’t sort himself out, that’s why his hands were shaking. He hadn’t been scared, course not. He dragged the red check curtain his mother had made across the porthole, just in case them on Marigold forgot to keep their eyes on their own boat. Bloody foreigners, didn’t know what was what. He stripped off and stood naked on the towel. He sluiced himself, then scrubbed himself dry with the second towel, which was ragged but enough.

  He dressed in his only other pair of cords, a shirt and a leather jerkin, slinging the stinkers into his towel. Ma Mercy, from the Lincoln motorboat, had said she’d boil ’em up nice with her own, as she had her washtub brewing on the kerb already. He’d pay, course he would. The kettle was still simmering, always was. He strapped up his boots, which were still wet and cold, but when weren’t they, as autumn loomed?

  Granfer called down, ‘Sling me them dirts. I’ll trog ’em down to Ma.’

  ‘Yer all right, Granfer. You make oos tea.’ Saul picked up the bowl, closed up the table, running his shaking hand over the flowers he had painted, and the castle
on the cupboard front. But the shaking would stop. It must, he had a water can to paint for the Headingly. He stopped, and called up the steps. ‘Ma Mercy could want some paintin’ doin’, Granfer, ’stead of paying. Yer could sluice the bowl for me, if’n you don’t mind.’

  He sprang up the steps and bounded on to the bank, taking the clothes to Ma, who tipped them into the simmering bucket. Her old chap had made up the brick surround but mortar was never used, so it could be taken down and put in the back-end to be brought out at the next stop.

  ‘Granfer’ll set oop our own on the run back from Coventry if’n we ’ave an order for coal,’ he said. ‘D’yer need a kettle to be painted, Ma, as yer obliging me?’

  Ma wore the long skirts and wide belt like a few of the women, though no one wore the old black bonnets. Granfer said Grandma had worn ’em but she’d died when some sort of cold was going round the world after the first war.

  ‘No, lad. I needs nothin’,’ Ma said, drawing out a skirt from the tub with her tongs. ‘Yer shafted the motor oot of the mud for us before Alperton, ’tis enough.’

  Saul smiled. She said, ‘Yer watch that Leon, nasty that one is. He be after yer now, but yer done right by Joe. Your dad and mam woulda done same.’

  ‘Aye.’

  He dug his hands into his pockets and strode back to Seagull, still shaking, but less so. Granfer was making tea and they sat in the motor cabin, he on the side-bed where Joe slept, Granfer on the cross-bed where Saul slept. Granfer had the butty cabin; it was where he and Saul had lived while Mam and Da had the motor.

  Granfer slurped his tea, pulled the cupboard front down again, then placed the enamel mug on it. He looked up, cleared his throat, and asked the question neither knew the answer to, ‘What we to do ’bout our lad? Got to keep ’im safe from Leon. He only just be talkin’ again, sort of matching the going of his bruises, yer seen that?’