by Milly Adams
They turned left, and the next right, and heard singing and a cheer and knew that they were close to the pub. They followed the noise, and there was the Bull and Bush on the corner. Inside there was the usual fug of cigarette and pipe smoke, the rumble of male voices, and the looks of surprise and distrust as they, three women on their own, entered. Three women, however, who clearly weren’t on the game, or didn’t know how to play it, dressed as they were in trousers and sweaters, not to mention one in a woollen hat.
A man called, ‘Reckon my old lady’d like yer ’at for her teapot, yer with the whopper of a bobble.’
Polly snatched off her bobble hat and waved it at him. ‘It’ll cost you a round of darts later. Winning team has the hat, and a bob on top of that.’
His mate nudged him. ‘Favour the lady, why don’t you, ’arry.’
There was a shout of laughter.
Bet was forcing her way through to the bar. Once there, she shouted over her shoulder, ‘Sausage and mash, you two, or mutton stew?’
‘Stew, please,’ Verity added. ‘Don’t forget the beer.’
Bet leaned on the bar in deep conversation with the barman. She called back, ‘It’ll be sausage and mash, the stew is off.’ She gestured over to a table near the fire. ‘Sit there and behave,’ she ordered.
The men parted for them and as they sat Harry called, ‘Yer on for a game, lassies? We’ll play yer, Chris, Archie and me.’
Polly took one of the pints of beer that Bet brought over even before she had put the tray on the table. Bet said, ‘The barman thought we might be a comic turn at the theatre, as we’re staying at Mrs Green’s. He wasn’t impressed when I told him we were off the cut. Now they know we’re staying at the boarding house, don’t fleece them, or poor Mrs Green might get it in the neck.’
Verity sipped her beer. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be kind.’
Polly muttered, ‘Well, there’s a first time for everything.’
Verity stared at her, slammed her tankard down and turned to Bet. ‘You go on at me, but she’s got a tongue like a lash and you never say anything, but come down on me like a ton of bricks.’
Bet nodded, looking from one girl to the other, then burst out laughing, shaking her head, trying to stop. She waved her hand in front of her face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she spluttered at last. ‘So sorry, don’t know what’s the matter with me. Verity’s quite right. You must not lash your tongue so much, Polly, it causes a draught and both of you, please remember I am not running a kindergarten. Seriously, don’t, Polly. It’s not helpful.’
Polly sipped her beer, knowing she’d say it again if she was pushed, so there. The food arrived borne by an elderly woman whose cigarette, held in the corner of her mouth, had an inch of ash. The three women snatched the food off the tray just as the ash fell where Verity’s plate would have been. Bet started laughing. Polly kicked her, but then Verity was laughing, so it was, for heaven’s sake, thought Polly, all right again.
The sausages were mostly bread but the gravy was thick and brown, and the mash surely had some butter in. Polly hoped that was all there was, and poked around for ash. Bet leaned forward. ‘Don’t fuss, just think where we’ve been, the water we’ve travelled on, the filth we’ve just washed off, the bucket …’
Verity stared at Polly. ‘Bet Burrows is a mad and cruel woman. Here we are, finally clean, sitting in front of a fire, eating food we’ve not had to cook on a tiny Primus stove or a miniature range, and she brings up the ruddy bucket.’
They were all laughing and Polly ate in the warmth, and the light from the flickering fire, absorbing the strange steadiness of the ground which had made her feel quite sick when she walked from the public baths to the Bull and Bush. She said, ‘I’ve only been a trainee for a few days but I can’t quite remember what life on the land is like. It’s just been so busy, so different, so far away from––’
‘The war,’ interrupted Verity.
‘Not to mention, your lives,’ added Bet. They finished their meal. There was still half a pint left in their tankards. Bet offered her cigarettes. Polly and Verity shook their heads, Verity saying, ‘There’s enough smoke to breathe without puffing on a fag. Why don’t you save them for the cut? Not sure it’s helping that cough of yours.’
Bet nodded, swinging round in her chair. ‘Perhaps you’re right. The dartboard looks as though it awaits, ladies. Now, we must be gentle, it’s their first experience of the Terrible Trio.’
Later, at closing time, they left the pub with six shillings in their pocket but no woolly hat, because Polly had felt guilty and let Harry have it for the missus. She had told him to be gentle with it, because it had probably saved her from having her head bashed in by a brick thrown from a bridge, but at least it was free of gob, because she’d washed it. He’d looked from her to the hat and placed it on the table, quickly. ‘Little buggers, them kids are. We ’ear of such things, but it ain’t right.’
As they set off down the road, they heard the sound of someone running behind them. It was Harry. He thrust the hat at her. ‘Can’t take this off yer. Yer need it on the cut and make sure yer dodge ’em bridge missiles and don’t fall in.’ He walked back, coughing. The door opened into the pub.
Polly said, ‘That’s so kind. But hey, I thought it was closing time?’
‘Not for the regulars, don’t you know anything? It’s a lock-in.’ Verity was searching for the key beneath the stone in front of Mrs Green’s boarding house, just down from the pub. The sign in the window said FULL.
Polly followed Verity and Bet as they crept up the front steps. ‘How do you know about lock-ins? I wouldn’t have thought you spent your time in pubs, only clubs.’
Verity stopped turning the key in the lock and said, ‘You know nothing about me.’
She sounded angry again, but this time there was something else, something––
The door swung open. It was Mrs Green, who smiled, and looked quite different without her white coat. She gestured up the stairs. ‘Waited up for yer, after all. Seemed polite. I changed my mind and ‘ave given you the best ones as you left your baths so clean. So it’s rooms three, four and five.’
Bet dug into her pocket, and held out the six shillings they had won. ‘We want you to have this. We won it at darts tonight, at the Bull and Bush. Really, save it for your children, for when they come home from the war.’
Mrs Green looked at the money for a moment, and took three shillings. ‘For the children, then. Thanking yer, so now each of yer take a bob for yourselves.’ She let three shillings drop into the large pocket at the front of her wrap-around floral apron. ‘Only for the children, mind, and I thank yer. I lit the fire in your rooms. Breakfast at six? Time for yer to get to t’wharf for unloading. My old bugger says yer’ll be early on. Go on to the second landing.’ She pointed the way. They traipsed up the stairs.
Verity stopped at number three, opened the door, and slammed it in her wake. Polly and Bet stared at each other. Bet nodded, that was all, and took number four. ‘See you in the morning, sleep well.’
She shut the door quietly. Polly opened the door to number five and entered into the dry warmth and the soft light from the fire, and the silence. There were no owl hoots, no sound of the wind, or a child’s cry from another boat tied up close to them, no sound of a man talking to his wife, no pat-patter of a fly-boat at all hours of the night as it transported beer, or whatever it was this time, down to London non-stop. Most of all, the room didn’t move. Neither did it have Verity, snoring.
She pushed the thought of Verity from her, and bounced on the bed; the mattress was soft, the bed seemed so wide. It was a lost world of comfort and luxury, and quite strange to her, as though here she was, out of place on the land, alone in a room. Alone.
She stripped off her clothes, scrambled into bed, and slept immediately, waking only to a knock at the door and Bet saying, ‘Breakfast in ten minutes. Chop-chop.’
They made their way back on the tram, hopping off near the wharf, with Ver
ity buying The Times from the newspaper stall, rolling it beneath her arm and running to catch up as Bet and Polly reached the policeman at the entrance. ‘Good morning,’ they said, in unison. He flicked a salute. ‘Nice one, too.’
They hurried through the yard, dodging the puddles left by the overnight rain which they had not heard. Behind and around, chimneys were belching dark smoke, men were hurrying as they did at the depot and Limehouse. The women scrambled on to Marigold undoing the tie-strings, gathering up the tarpaulin, getting drenched with its stained water. Verity swore and almost sobbed, ‘I hate this life. I bloody hate it. We were so wonderfully clean for a moment.’
Polly looked away, saying nothing. Bet was starting on the planks, calling to them to hurry, and Polly could see the crane lifting out the remnants of the steel billets from the hold of the Letchworth’s butty, which was tied up just in front of them. It was then that she looked behind, and there was the Seagull moored behind Horizon. It must have come just before the last lock closed. Bet saw her looking. ‘They arrived early morning, the foreman said.’
Verity muttered, ‘Who the hell cares.’
Polly untied the last of the top sheets on her side and threw them back, with Bet the other side, folding and folding them. She helped Bet stack the top planks while Verity rolled down the side sheets, leaving them tied up in pipe-lines tight on the gunwales. Together they stowed the top sheets away in the Marigold’s cratch, or store at the fore-end, just as the Letchworth moved off with the usual pat-patter. The crane was already swinging into position over the hold. Gulls were calling though they were miles from the ocean.
Bet yelled, ‘The unloading will begin any minute.’
‘All done,’ called Polly.
Just then, three dockers jumped on to the top of the steel billets and the crane swung into position. Within two minutes the unloading began. Polly followed Verity and Bet to the butty and tackled its tarpaulins, the planks. In front of them the Marigold was rocking as the billets were removed by the men who were unloading from the fore-end far side. Polly looked again, because the motor was still heavy with billets against the wharf side, and surely the weight was dragging Marigold down, sinking it?
‘Bet,’ she called, but just then the foreman yelled, ‘Take from the nearside too, you silly buggers. Keep her level, for Gawd’s sake. You’ll have her over.’ The men rushed to fix the chains to nearside billets, while the girls rushed to loosen off the mooring straps. The crane began to take billets from the nearside as Polly walked towards the butty. As she did so, a boy ran past, coming from the yard. It was Joe.
‘How do, Joe,’ she said.
He just looked at her, then away, heading full tilt for the Seagull. As she carried on, Saul overtook her, with that long-legged loose stride, his hands in his pockets, his wide leather belt shining. There were loose vegetables in a string bag over one shoulder. He had a yellow kerchief on today. She called, ‘How do?’
He turned and nodded in reply, and for a moment she thought she saw a smile, but then it was gone. His hair was flopping over his tanned forehead and he looked so young; too young to be looking after an old man and a boy. She said, as Marigold began to settle, ‘It’s a nice day.’
He looked at her again, and nodded, again, and now there really was a smile. ‘Good wind across the water. It cleans t’air summat grand.’
Verity was with her now. She said, ‘I’ve a newspaper in the cabin, Saul. Perhaps you’d like to read it? Oh, I forgot, that’s not something you can do, is it.’ It wasn’t a question.
By now on the butty’s top planks, Bet lifted her head. ‘Get down here at once, Verity,’ she ordered. There was a terrible rage in her voice that mirrored that of Polly, who for a moment couldn’t breathe, she was so furious at Verity’s cruelty. Saul looked at Verity, and then Polly, the smile gone, his jaw muscles tightening. He glared at them and strode on towards the Seagull, his head hard down, his windlass in the back of his belt. Verity muttered after him, ‘Well, don’t thank me, whatever you do. We only saved you from Leon, after all.’
Bet shouted again, ‘If you don’t get down here now, and into the butty cabin, I will come up there and get you. You too, Polly.’
Polly gripped Verity’s arm and hauled her on to the butty counter while Verity struggled, shouting, ‘Let me go.’
Polly did, thrusting her away, scared she would shake her if she held on to her any longer. Verity stepped back. Polly ground out, ‘How dare you be so rude, so cruel, to anyone? How bloody dare you?’ Bet was on the roof, sitting on her heels, a cloth in her hand. ‘Indeed, Verity, I’ve finally reached breaking point, I––’ Verity glared from one to the other then said, ‘You have no idea what I’m going through.’ She swung away, and lost her balance.
Polly reached forward. ‘Care––’ It was too late. Verity fell into the dock, screaming as she went. Some dockers walking past stopped, but seeing Bet jumping down on to the counter, they walked on.
Polly rushed to the counter edge, reaching out a hand. Bet snatched a shaft off the roof, and held it out to Verity who was splashing, coughing and spluttering. Verity ignored the shaft. ‘Take my hand,’ ordered Polly, ‘and keep your mouth shut.’
Bet murmured, holding the shaft close to Verity, ‘You might like to add, Polly, keep it shut the rest of the time too, if what’s going to spew out is so vile.’ She raised her voice. ‘Come on, Verity, calm down, don’t swallow the water, grab the shaft or Polly’s hand. Your choice or we’ll go about our business.’
To Polly, talking quietly again, she said, ‘I fear she must go home. I can’t have this. She’s only got the return trip to pull this around, and why would she?’
Polly stared down at Verity as she dog-paddled to the butty, her mouth tightly closed, real fear and despair in her eyes. It was the despair that caught at Polly’s heart because in it she recognised her own after Will’s death. ‘Not yet, Bet,’ she whispered. ‘Let me talk to her, I think I might know what some of it is about. I was writing to Reggie and that’s when she started. There’s a good girl under all this, perhaps. Besides, we can’t let her loose on society without trying everything. It wouldn’t be fair on it.’
The two women smiled at each other. Bet nodded. ‘All right, but only one more chance. I can’t have the boaters upset. That sort of remark does great damage.’
Verity had reached the hull. Bet dropped the shaft, and together she and Polly dragged Verity on board, hauling her to her feet, where she dripped, and coughed. Verity said, shivering, some straw caught in her enamel hair slide, ‘How bloody dare you, Polly Holmes. He’s a rude, common little man. He’s never thanked us, and I know the boaters don’t but they damn well should. It’s time people like this learned some manners and stopped just taking.’
Bet had been replacing the shaft on the roof but at this she turned, reached forward, gripped Verity’s arm. Verity flinched, staring wide-eyed at their trainer. Bet said, ‘You listen to me, and listen well, you silly child. That young man has held back, and tucked in behind us, shepherding us all the way – guarding us, in other words – for daring to help him escape damage from Leon. Why the hell else would a boater give way to a bunch of bloody women, one so rude and bullying she deserves a damn good spank. Now, I’m leaving you to Polly because I can’t do this any more. And don’t think Polly did anything to you. You overbalanced, and that’s that.’
Bet turned to Polly. ‘Get her back on that wharf, dripping or not, and both of you cast off the mooring straps because I need to run the Marigold ahead now she’s unloaded, and tow the butty forward. You will moor up Marigold again, and do the same with the butty. Then, when the unloading begins, loosen off the ties.’ She set off walking on the billets to the fore-end of the butty, and jumped on to the Marigold before disappearing into its cabin.
Verity wailed, ‘But I can’t go on the wharf looking a fool.’
Polly said, ‘But you are a fool, so get up there, and later we’re going to sort this out, once and for all.’
> Polly and Verity had cast off and tied up again in stony silence. They obeyed Bet and traipsed to Marigold’s counter, while Bet stayed with the rocking, clanging and banging of the butty’s unloading. Verity stood dripping and shivering on the counter.
Polly said, ‘Stay there while I put your newspaper on the floor for you to stand on, while you wash.’
Verity said nothing, just leaned against the cabin, shivering, hugging herself against the wind with her head bowed. Polly poured clean water from the water can on the roof into the bowl and put The Times on the floor of the cabin. ‘In you come,’ she called.
Verity came, and stood on the newspaper. Polly said, ‘We’ve been here before, when you mucked up and came in at dawn. This time, you wash yourself, and dress, and then we talk.’
It was Polly’s turn to stand on the counter, in the rising wind. She gave Verity fifteen minutes, but after ten Verity called, ‘I’ve finished.’ She sounded like a child. ‘I’ve made a drink for us as well.’
Polly joined her. They sat on their beds clutching mugs of tea. The silence continued. Finally, Polly spoke. ‘There’s something wrong, we all know that. You’ve talked of loss and I can recognise despair when I see it, and rage, so we need to talk about it. I don’t want you to leave. I want to work with you, and come to know you.’
Verity looked down at her tea. At last she said, ‘Just drink your tea and leave me alone.’
Polly didn’t know what to say. Verity’s real world was not one of which she had knowledge. Wealth and privilege and spoilt to the gunwales … It was all so different. Perhaps it wasn’t despair she had seen?
Verity said, ‘Why should I be despairing, you idiot? Even now, in spite of the war, my family and I have servants. I have a groom to look after the horse I love. We have a cook––’
‘But you can cook so why pay someone, when you don’t need to?’ Polly interrupted.