by Milly Adams
As they finished, the pat-patter of a motor passing disturbed her and the butty rocked in the wake of the speeding boat. There was no ‘’Ow do’. She turned, as she hitched the last of the ties, and there was Leon, standing at the tiller of his motor, with his men on the butty. He was back: his Oxford run had finished.
She felt fear grip her as they passed on their way to Tyseley, but then she remembered Seagull and Swansong moored up at the same kerb, so they were safe. Besides, Leon was heading in the opposite direction. She turned her back on Leon’s Brighton, and called Sylvia to help wring out the clothes that Verity was washing on the bank, after which all three girls walked to the pub because there was the promise of chips tonight, and they were too tired to cook.
They sat at the table by the fire, and waited. Soon Saul and Granfer arrived, having left Joe playing with Jimmy on his motor under Mrs Porter’s eagle eye while she washed clothes. Polly said, ‘But Leon’s not long passed, so is it safe?’ Granfer nodded. ‘’E’d not mess with all the boaters ’ere, and Dog be at the boats, too. She won’t let no one near our boy.’
Saul sat next to Polly, and Granfer took the chair between Verity and Sylvia. They played dominoes, and all five of them ate crisp chips with their fingers. Sometimes Polly’s hand nudged Saul’s and they exchanged a look. There was no need for anything else, no need for special words. It was enough for Polly just to be with him, to see his strong fingers handling the dominoes, to hear his soft singing as the radio played dance tunes.
Over to the right, in the alcove, a darts match was in progress, and Saul nudged her foot with his, saying, ‘Aren’t you playing?’
Verity grinned. ‘Why not, come on, Polly, let’s find some people willing to take us on.’ Sylvia shook her head and said, ‘Honestly, you two don’t improve. Well, it’s not for me, as you know, so I’m off to bed. I’ll lock from the inside tonight, I think.’ She left, weaving her way between the boaters who crowded the bar.
Polly and Verity knocked back their drinks, then winked at one another. Verity nodded. They stood and one of the darts players called, ‘Uh-oh, batten down them ’atches.’ The laughter was friendly and loud, but not too loud for above it they all heard the scream, ‘Fire, fire.’
The room fell silent for a split second, then there was a scramble for the door, with chairs being knocked over, and drinks too. ‘Wood, we’ve wood on the butty,’ yelled Verity. Instantly there were other voices. ‘Oos too.’ ‘Yes, oos’n all.’
They all tore along the path to the bank, looking to left and right, and there it was, a blaze suddenly shooting sparks and flames high into the sky and the noise of hissing, crackling and spitting on the cut. Whose boat was it? Whose? Where were all the children? In bed? In the blaze? No, no. Polly ran towards the flames. There were no screams, just shouts: ‘Call the brigade’, ‘Get some buckets’, ‘Whose is it?’ ‘It’s wood, yer can smell it’, ‘We is all carrying wood.’
Was it their butty? Sylvia was running towards them, dragging a struggling Joe and shouting, ‘It was him, he set it, a man caught him, hung on to him, and told me when I saw them, and all the while that damned Dog was yapping at him. Joe broke free and tried to run away, but I caught him. Look at him, his hair’s singed and he stinks of smoke.’
Joe was wriggling. ‘It weren’t me, course it weren’t. It were ’im, the man, not me.’
Sylvia shouted, ‘It was him. The bloke saw him, and look what else I found. He had it clenched in his hand, and some are gone.’ She held out a small book of matches. Polly stared at the matches, at Joe’s singed hair, while all the time boaters ran past, knocking them as they went. Verity had run on, and now came back. ‘Polly, for pity’s sake, it’s Horizon. It’s our load. Just ours.’
Polly stared from Sylvia to Joe, who stood there, his lips pressed shut. No, not Joe. She looked again at the matches in Sylvia’s hand. ‘Oh, get him to the pub, keep him there safe from the flames. We’ve got to get the motor moved. Go on, and don’t say a bloody word to anyone, Sylvia. Just keep your mouth tight shut for bloody once. Of course it’s not him, ask where he found them. Now let us get on.’
Polly ran after Verity, who was running faster than she’d ever seen her run before. Granfer and Saul had gone to the left, and were beating out sparks that had reached Swansong’s tarpaulins, beneath which wood was stacked. She saw that the tarpaulin of the Porters’ butty was smouldering, and they were beating at the flames, while another boater used the dipper to throw water on to his load.
The Marigold’s coal tarpaulin was smouldering too, but that could just be the heat from the butty which was roaring now, the sparks soaring into the air and being carried all over the place by the wind; there was crackling, and the cut was alive with the fire’s reflection. It was much too late for the butty, but while Verity wrenched off her top jumpers and beat out the sparks on the Marigold’s hold, Polly released the mooring straps, started the engine, and took the Marigold out into the cut. She moved past other boaters also starting their engines while their wives attached a short tow-rope to the butty. The boaters followed the Marigold. Polly tied up at least a hundred yards along the cut; others stopped before and behind.
Polly ran back to the butty. Verity stood, staring at it, as Polly reached her. They clung to one another, stepping back from the blistering heat, hearing the bells of the fire engine, and more shouts. Saul was taking his load out, with Granfer on the butty. Polly shouted at Verity over the noise, ‘Sylvia said it was Joe. A bloke caught him …’
Verity shook Polly, staring into her face. ‘She’s mad. Joe wouldn’t.’
Polly nodded. Her voice breaking, her eyes and throat sore from the heat and the soot, she said, ‘I know, but he had matches. I told Sylvia to take him into the pub, and to shut up. Why didn’t I just send him to his butty away from here? I wanted him safe, you see. I wanted him on land.’
The fire crew were rolling out the hoses and pumping water from the cut. They directed the hoses on to the butty and water shot like cannons on to the fire. A fireman grabbed the girls by the arm, shouting, ‘You’re too close. Get back, but stay where we can talk to you.’
They backed away, but didn’t go into the pub. Instead they stood holding hands, watching, and all the time Polly could have screamed, knowing she should have told Saul to take the lad far away, because what the hell would Sylvia say? Within half an hour the fire was out, leaving Horizon a stinking, hissing mess, with the fore-end low in the cut, as though sinking.
Saul came to her, pulling her round, his grip hard, ‘Them’s taken Joe. That damn girl, she says he set it. Course he didn’t. Them taken him, cos a man done told ’er ’e ’ad. Or so she said.’ Verity turned. ‘What?’ she exclaimed.
Polly shook her head. ‘Hush, Verity. Who’s taken him? Leon?’
Saul’s wild and desperate face grew calm. He said, ‘Not Leon. The police, but not Leon, so ’e’s safe. That Sylvia told ’em he stole your book, Polly, and the kitty, and dropped the damned brick on yer. Told ’em he had matches. That Sylvia told ’em that, and that some bloke told her he were running from it. Course he were running, to tell us. They asked ’er who the bloke was. She said she didn’t know, but ‘e weren’t Leon …’
Verity muttered, ‘I’ll bloody swing for her.’ She was off, running into the pub. Polly followed. Sylvia was standing at the bar shaking her head at Granfer. Verity ran through the bar, knocking aside the tables and chairs, grabbing Sylvia and swinging her round.
‘You had no right, what have you done? To our boy? To us? Of course he wouldn’t, he was our friend. How could you have said all that about him?’
Polly was close behind, and now she said, ‘I told you to say nothing. I told you.’ Polly was still berating herself for not sending Joe to the motor. What the hell was she thinking of when she should have known the firefighters would get the police to follow them?
In front of them Sylvia was red-faced, with trembling lips. ‘They asked, I answered. They said, was he a troublemaker? Had
he ever caused mischief? I had to tell the truth. And I had to give them the matches and tell them he smelt of smoke, and his hair was singed, and a man had caught him at it. It was the honest thing to do. They said they’d take him in case the boaters took matters into their own hands.’
Polly slapped her then, hard, across the face. ‘The stealing was at the start, he’s a good boy now, you can tell he is, and back then he was missing his mother. Well, he probably still is, but a boater would never set the fire, never put us, or Dog, in danger, and neither would they ever take matters into their own hands where a child was concerned.’
Verity grabbed Polly’s arm. ‘Dog? Where is she?’
Polly turned to Sylvia. ‘You find out where they’ve taken Joe and we’ll go and sort it, but first we have to find Dog – and stop your damned snivelling.’
They tore out of the pub, Polly shouting, ‘Saul, stay there, make sure she finds out where they’ve taken him. Don’t leave that idiot girl for a second. Dog, Dog.’
Polly thought she couldn’t bear it. First Joe taken, then Dog missing. Please no, not in that heat, those flames. Saul rushed after her, calling, ‘Granfer’ll stay, let’s find Dog or that’ll wound our boy too.’
Steerer Ambrose caught hold of her as she and Verity ran along the bank one way, while Saul ran the other. Ambrose said, ‘I saw a bloke with a dog. Had her tight under his arm. He were going on over the bridge. The dog were barking, and I think gave him a bloody nip. I’d forgotten, what with the fire …’
But the girls were running now, panting and racing for the bridge, up the slope that the horses would have taken. They reached the road, and Saul was with them now, before rushing ahead of them, calling, ‘Dog, Dog, where you be, lass?’
They found her at the middle of the bridge, lying on her side, her rear haunch bloody and ripped open. Polly sank to her knees, weeping, gathering her up. Saul pulled her away. ‘Let me.’
He probed Dog by the light of the moon with gentle hands before picking up the animal. She yelped. Verity clutched Polly’s hand and said, ‘Our darling’s alive. She is. Oh thank God.’
Saul laughed softly. ‘She’s a boater’s dog, so o’ course she’s alive. Bet she gave the bastard a bit of a gnaw too.’ He carried Dog down the slope to the towpath, past a few boats which had been moored near the bridge out of the way of the fire. Wives were preparing children and themselves for bed. Every one of them called softly as they passed, ‘So sorry for your trouble, all on yer.’
They each nodded, and carried on to the Seagull, which had been run well past the original mooring. Saul stepped on to the counter without pause. Polly opened the cabin door, and waited for him to pass down the steps, then Verity, and finally she followed. ‘You light the lamp, my lass,’ said Saul. ‘Missus Verity, bring down the cupboard table.’
They did as asked, Polly using the Swan matches. The lamp cast a soft glow over all the woodwork, the painted cupboards, the plates, as Verity closed the doors and the slide hatch. ‘We’ll look after her,’ Polly insisted. ‘You need to find out about Joe.’
Saul laid Dog on the cupboard table, leaned round and kissed Polly’s forehead. ‘Granfer will be about that. Let’s see to Dog, and then we’ll sort it. ‘’E’s with the police, so he’s safe.’
Saul bumped up the range to boost the simmering kettle, and snatched out the bowl from beneath the side-bed. ‘You lay your hands on Dog to let ’er knows yer there, cos I’m going to ’ave to hurt her, but she knows it’s for her own good.’
Within a minute he had poured boiling water over the needle and gut he had taken from the top shelf of the cupboard. Verity sat on the side-bed to keep out of the way but never took her eyes off Dog. Polly watched Saul’s preparations, a question in her eyes. He nodded. ‘We need the gut sometimes, so best to have it. You should an’ all. You hold your Dog, at her head, Polly. You, Verity, slide along the side-bed. Hold t’other end.’
They did, while he poured antiseptic in the wound. Dog did not flinch, though she lay with her eyes open, fixed on Polly. Saul sewed. Dog whimpered, but held still.
At the end, Polly leaned down and kissed Dog. ‘Who would do this to you?’
Saul put the catgut away, poured boiling water over the needle. ‘I been thinking. You know, course you do, Leon, or his men. That’s who the bloke was, trying to catch our lad, I’ll bet my life on it. But we needs to find them buggers and get ’em to the police, cos ’e’s not going to any borstal, my boy ain’t.’
Chapter 38
Later that night – at the mooring
They seemed to be wearing a path to the pub, but as they entered Delphie Higgins was coming out of the kitchen with tea. Sylvia trotted along behind her with a plate of biscuits, and the publican, Frank, hurried just behind the pair of them. ‘Baked this morning,’ Delphie said. ‘We has rooms up top for guests, and they likes a biscuit.’
Sylvia came straight up to Saul. ‘I’ve apologised to Granfer, and now I apologise to you. I only said what I felt was the truth, but I expect you’re all correct about the boy, but, then, well, it is a bit odd, having those matches, isn’t it? Why did he have them, if he hadn’t used them? Then that man told me it was him.’
Verity was standing at the fireplace shaking her head as though she was about to explode. She shouted as Sylvia finished, ‘You almost pulled off that apology, Sylvia, but you never know when to stop. So a word of advice, just don’t start.’
Sylvia looked affronted, but had the sense to stay quiet. Frank said soothingly, ‘Let’s all have a cup of tea and decide what we should do. Is that a plan, my lovelies?’
Saul was sitting at the bar next to Granfer, their heads together as they talked. Polly made her way over. Frank put thick china mugs of tea in front of them as Saul slipped his arm around Polly and pulled her to him. ‘We was just saying, we leave our Swan matches by the range, and only have the one box. So we need to see the ones our boy had. Was they Swan, or what? If they was Swan, we saw them in the cabin just now, didn’t we, Polly and Verity? – and you can come too, Sylvia, to check I ain’t cheatin’. So was they Swan or what?’ He was calling this last to Sylvia, who tossed her curls, shook her head and said, ‘I can’t remember, but they were not a box, they were one of those little books you get in clubs, or perhaps cafes.’
Polly’s mind was ticking. ‘Yes that’s right.’
Sylvia nodded.
‘Do the police have it?’
Frank who was leaning on the bar said, ‘They took everything the lad had, and the matches were about all, except his handkerchief. They was kind, you mark my words, but they took everything from his pockets. I think they was concerned because he said he wanted his mam but she had gone missing. I knows the sergeant and he treated him right. Has kids ’isself, but they’ll be looking to put him in a ’ome, I reckon, or even back to his dad. They’ll be fretting at his history of stealing, and throwin’ the brick. They think ’e’s running wild, p’raps.’
Granfer shook his head, and muttered, ‘Yon Leon deals in the dirty end of things. I reckon he might supply to clubs. We needs a look at that book, that we do, and then to find where the place is, and get ’em to say it weren’t our boy who were given the matches, then we need to get ’im back. No way he’s going to Leon. Did the bloke thrust the matches at ’im?’
Frank said quietly, ‘You got to have a solicitor, you have, to talk the beak’s language, and the constabulary. Everyone’s twitchy about sabotage. There’s a ruddy war on, let’s face it.’
There was a heavy silence but then Polly pulled herself together. She leaned forward. ‘Can I use your telephone please, Frank. My dad’s an ARP warden and he’s on shift with a solicitor, my old boss. But I think Mr Burton will charge.’
Verity nodded. ‘I’ll get the winnings kitty. That can go towards it. Mother’s stopped my allowance so I can’t help at the moment, and Uncle Freddy’s Trust has been blocked by some nonsense she’s cooked up. We have our pay, Polly. Sylvia, you can damn well cough up.’
Polly made her way to Frank’s back office, and placed a telephone call to her mum because her dad would be on shift. She checked the clock. It was midnight, and to hear the telephone ring would frighten her mum, but needs must. Perhaps her mum would get a message to Mr Burton and he could make a call to the police?
She braced herself as it rang and rang but there was no reply. Disappointed, she replaced the receiver and then, wondering if it was worth trying again, dialled the operator once more, who put her through. This time it was picked up immediately. ‘Hello, hello.’
‘Hello Dad, why are you at home?’
‘Oh, Polly, are you all right? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you all right?’ he repeated.
In the background she could hear her mum’s voice, and the receiver was snatched from her dad. ‘Polly, we received your letter. We love you too, yes we do. It was all so silly and I shouldn’t interfere and you shouldn’t get so upset because it’s only that I love––’
Her father snatched the receiver back. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked again.
She replied, ‘Yes, and I’m sorry to telephone so late but I need your help, Dad. Well, Mr Burton’s help. We need a solicitor.’ She explained the circumstances, but Verity had entered the office now, mouthing, ‘We have six pounds ten shillings, and the boaters have come in with money they’ve just raised. You know how word spreads. So we have eight pounds ten shillings, or thereabouts. Sylvia is claiming she has no money.’