Hope on the Waterways

by Milly Adams

  The girls looked up. Almost marching through the ward was Steve, his helmet under his arm, his boots crashing down on the floor. ‘Steve,’ breathed Sylvia, feeling faint with disbelief, and then overwhelmed with joy. ‘Steve,’ she repeated, reaching out before she remembered where she was.

  He came, his red hair shining, and stood next to Bet at the foot of Sylvia’s bed, hers. He grinned, eyes only for her, and said, ‘Just wanted to check that the other coppernob was doing all right.’

  Polly called, ‘Oh Steve, we thought––’

  Verity interrupted, ‘We thought you’d copped it, Coppernob. Oh, it’s so good to see you, it really is, and to be able to thank you. Mother, this is the man who saved our lives. This man who only has eyes for Sylvia, and she for him I might add, but then being under rubble does make one bond sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Sylvia automatically, heedless of it all because while the girls had been talking, Steve’s eyes had not wavered from hers, and all the time she felt as though she had been saved from desolation, to arrive finally at somewhere she really belonged.

  Sister Augustine stood up from the chair beside her, her habit rustling, ‘Steve, well I never did.’

  Steve noticed Sister Augustine, then, and clearly the shock made him step back. Sylvia stared from one to the other. Steve tried to smile. ‘Well, I never did, too. Sister, what brings you here?’

  Everyone in the ward was listening, and Polly and Verity looked from him, to Sylvia, to Sister Augustine, who stretched out a hand towards Sylvia, who suddenly knew the answer before she heard it. ‘Sylvia Simpson is one of ours too.’

  Steve looked at Sylvia, puzzled. ‘But I don’t remember you at the orphanage.’

  Sister Augustine smiled, and came to him, taking his hand and patting it. ‘You’re a few years older, and you were in different houses, and different schools, so your paths didn’t cross. But you have my undying gratitude for saving these girls, and all those others whose well-being you have put before your own. Ah, Steve Bates, I always knew that you would shine, always, just as Sylvia does, and will go on doing.’

  Verity drawled, ‘It’s the hair, coppernobs are different.’

  All the women shouted, ‘Shut up.’ Then laughed, and while they did Sister Augustine went on, ‘So, young man, while you’re here, let me remind you about the reunion, since you still haven’t replied. It would be so lovely to have as many old boys and girls as can make it. It’s in a month.’

  While the others talked amongst themselves Steve looked at Sylvia, asking quietly, ‘Are you going?’

  ‘If I can. Depends on our orders.’ But if he was to go, she knew she must, because where he was, she wanted to be. Did he feel the same?

  Bet looked from one to the other, and while Steve came around to the side of Sylvia’s bed, Bet moved to talk to Verity, but all Sylvia was really aware of was his dark blue eyes which were so tired, his smile which was more than tired. ‘Thank you for saving our lives,’ she said.

  ‘It’s my job.’

  ‘But thank you. We heard the explosion, and thought––’

  ‘I got out in time, and just after the lot went up they found the gas valve, and we doused the remnants good and proper.’ He raised his voice. ‘Someone was looking after us all. What do you say to that, Sister Augustine?’

  She smiled, ‘I will give thanks, Steve.’

  Sylvia looked from Steve to Sister Augustine, thinking, Please, Sister, don’t fall on your knees here.

  It must have been written all over her face because Steve touched her shoulder, grinning. He bent down and whispered, ‘She’ll wait until she gets to her home ground, don’t worry. She’s a wise woman, and always has been.’

  She felt his breath on her neck and longed to reach up and touch his cheek. She saw Sister Augustine watching. Sylvia said, ‘I will give thanks too.’

  And she would, for all their lives, but mostly because Steve was here, alive, and she couldn’t think of anything, or anyone, else. All she could do was feel joy. Yes, that’s what it was. Could one want to lay one’s life at another person’s feet in the sheer magic of their being? She realised she was thinking the words of the nuns, about God. Was it the medication? She was watching Steve as he moved back to the foot of the bed and as he lifted his head to smile again, she was aware that her joy must be love, for she could see it in his eyes too and it was the same as in the eyes of Saul and Tom when they looked at their girls.

  For a moment she paused because it was different to what she felt for God, which was a belief, a trust, and, yes, a love, and she understood, as she had not before, what Sister Augustine had said and what her friends reinforced – there was no need for imaginary obligation.

  She leaned back on the pillows, so tired, and with a mind clearer than it had been for months, years. God had led them to one another and saved them both and her conflict and confusion drifted up into the ether, and away.

  Sister Augustine inclined her head towards Sylvia, her smile gentle, knowing and understanding, and there was a world of acceptance in that action. Sister Augustine whispered, ‘Now, you must recover and take up your life, dearest Sylvia, free of its muddle of worries and obligations.’

  Within twenty minutes, the mothers had gone, and Bet, and Sister Augustine too, but all would return for a short while the following afternoon. It transpired that the mothers were staying in Wembley. Steve remained, sitting where Sister Augustine had, and held Sylvia’s hand. He ran his finger over her callouses, learning from the girls about their work and they about his. He could only stay for half an hour, as he had to leave then to get back on shift.

  He stood at last, looking from one to the other, and said, ‘I’m glad you’re safe,’

  ‘It’s because of you,’ Polly told him.

  Steve said quietly, ‘I repeat, it’s our job. You remember that when you think of Dog, because she felt it her job too. We all do this because we need to, and want to. It’s what we’re trained for.’ He turned on his heel and left. Sylvia watched. How odd. Did he not think that they knew how wonderful Dog was, and how glad they were she was having a rest with Fran? How could they possibly forget that in the short time before they saw her again? The double doors swung closed behind him. The girls talked together until exhaustion crept in. As they began to feel drowsy, Polly and Verity asked if Sylvia was nearer making a decision about the convent and her life.

  Sylvia smiled. ‘I think I’m beginning to understand that there are different kinds of love, so yes, I am nearer, or in fact, already there; now that Steve has survived. I felt so dreadful at the thought of him dead; guilty for thinking of him, not God, so sad too, sort of lost, and then he appeared, and suddenly it was all so simple.’

  Verity nodded. ‘It’s what I felt for Tom. I saw him and I knew, and it was pretty much the same for you and Saul, wasn’t it, Pol?’

  Polly smiled, her voice soft. ‘Oh yes, but could it be the war? We are under such strain that when we see someone and there’s that “something” we are bold enough to grab at it, just in case …’

  The others nodded, understanding what she was saying and happy to be together, knowing that somehow they had to stay this close for ever.

  The next day Timmo, one of their favourite boaters, came outside visiting hours, by which time Sister Askwell had given up on them all, because Sister Augustine, Bet and the mothers had already reappeared and were sitting by the beds. As Timmo clumped down the ward in his boater’s boots they all smiled. He was now the steerer, or captain of his boats, after the death of his brother Thomo and would want to know when their darts-throwing arm would be back in action, Polly guessed.

  ‘’Ow do, lasses,’ Timmo said, his hat under his arm, his face ruddy from the cold and his hands even more calloused than the girls’. He was wearing a bulky jacket, which was unusual for him. Normally it was a thick jumper, but he brought the boater smell with him, and with it the ripple of the water, the hiss of the oil lamp, the hoot of the owl and t
he flash of the kingfisher. ‘’Ow’s yer throwin’ arms, that’s what them on t’cut need ter know. Cos we got to win our losses back off yer, so chop chop, and take ’eart.’

  They all laughed, but then Polly wondered what he meant by take heart because they had survived and weren’t badly hurt. She said, ‘It’s not too bad at all, Timmo, we’re just bashed about a bit, and Bet’s given us two weeks off, after which we’ll thrash you.’

  The girls laughed again, but the women didn’t. Instead they shifted uncomfortably and Polly didn’t understand. Neither did the others as Bet glared at Timmo, who didn’t notice but said, looking puzzled, ‘I ’ad thought to find you sadder, and I does feel that t’is good to be brave. But to take Dog’s place, the boaters ’ave found you this little ’un.’ From beneath his jacket he brought a little mongrel, white and grey, with a chaotic coat, and ears that pointed upwards.

  The girls stared at Timmo, while the older women sat as though frozen. At last Polly said, ‘What do you mean? Dog’s with Fran at Buckby, only for two weeks.’

  Timmo was confused, until a dawning realisation made his eyes widen. He looked at the older women, helplessly, then at the puppy in his arms. Mrs Holmes stood, saying gently, looking from one girl to the other, ‘Dog is indeed with Fran, buried in the orchard, my dear girls. She saved you but was too badly hurt to survive. Steve carried her to the cab of his engine, and Bet wrapped her in her jumper and Ma Mercy took her to Fran. We didn’t quite lie, but we couldn’t tell you, just yet.’

  Lady Clement continued, ‘No one could bear to, all quite cowardly because we know how she was your fourth Idle Woman, so we must thank you, Timmo, for doing it for us.’

  Polly was running the words through her head. Dog? No, not Dog? Sylvia was crying, Verity too, but Polly wasn’t because of course it wasn’t true. They had heard her bark when they were under the rubble. Ma Mercy had taken her to Fran’s. She’d be there, sniffing about, missing them. It was Sylvia who said, her voice full of tears, ‘Remember how Steve stood here and said when we thanked him, “It’s our job. Remember that when you think of Dog, because she felt it her job, too. We all do this because we need to, and want to. It’s what we’re trained for.” He was preparing us, and he’s right, Dog was doing what she has always done – which is to look after us.’

  Polly’s throat was too thick to speak, but she had no words even if she had been able to. She watched Timmo lay the puppy on Verity’s bed, but Verity wouldn’t touch her, she just cried. The puppy yelped, disturbed. Sister Askwell came rustling up. ‘Not on the bed, even given the circumstances, young man, if you please.’

  Sister Augustine lifted the puppy, which nestled in her arms, as though calmed by the nun’s goodness. Mrs Holmes said, ‘We will make other arrangements for her, and when you come to Howard House, girls, you will get to know her. Until then, grow stronger. We will meet you tomorrow at Sherborne Station if you will insist on making your own way.’

  Polly sank her head in her hands, and just nodded. Her mother said, ‘You will telephone us from Waterloo Station to tell us your expected time of arrival, and we’ll work it out from there, because delays will occur. Do you understand, Polly?’

  Again Polly nodded as she sensed Timmo coming close to her bedside. She looked up at him, barely able to see him through the mist. He was turning his hat over and over again in his hands. ‘I am sorry for yer loss, for I remember the lass coming to me at the lay-by when Thomo had died. She did just sit by my side, and she did make it bearable for me, at that minute. I is sorry ’t’were me that brought to you the truth of her loss.’

  He walked away through the ward, to calls of, ‘Nice thought, lad’, ‘Don’t you take on, they’ll thank yer for it.’

  At the doors he turned, and Polly called, ‘Timmo, please thank the boaters. And thank you very much, but you see, Dog was our …’ Her voice became a sob, and Timmo left with Bet hurrying after him, to take care of him.

  The mothers and Sister Augustine waited, holding their girls’ hands until they were again asleep, while the puppy slept on Sister Augustine’s lap. They then walked down the ward, with the puppy, and the other patients watched. One called, ‘We’ll look after the lasses, don’t you fret.’

  Chapter 8

  Tom and Saul heading for the Rhine

  Tom and Saul were dug in with the rest of their infantry platoon at the edge of a copse, near a village west of the Rhine. The ground was frozen hard but the company had managed to channel out trenches the day before for cover, while those ‘above’ who decided things bloody well got on and decided, or so the men hoped. The night had been painful; cold and long, and now it was nine in the morning, and there’d been no sun to warm their cockles, or that was how their pal Geordie had put it.

  Tom muttered to Saul, squatting with his back pressed up against the side of the trench while Geordie took his turn on watch, ‘To think you could have been in your nice warm lorry, Saul.’

  Squatting next to him Saul drew the bolt on his rifle, fearing it had frozen in the cold. ‘T’lorry be a bit too warm, Tom. It were up in flames last time I saw it, when I bailed out, just in time. Scorched me pants it did.’

  Geordie looked down. He was chewing tobacco and spat, his spittle staining the snow a few inches from Tom’s feet. ‘Aye, man, I reckon I could do with a bit of scorching.’ His voice was little more than a whisper, for Lieutenant Morris had said the German tanks could be coming, forcing their way through to the Rhine, and home, and there might be Nazi infantry fanning out ahead of them. What was certain was that there were Nazis hunkered down in the village and best they didn’t know there were Tommies about with a load of chatter carrying across to them.

  Tom laughed quietly. ‘One day you’ll hit me with your spit and I’ll have to shoot you, so no need to worry about the Nazis cos if they don’t get you, I will.’

  Saul stood, then, staring around. No birds sang, there was no rumble of tanks but he bet there were some rabbits or a partridge out there he could trap. He thought of his Polly: was she bashing Marigold out of the ice before setting off for Tyseley, Birmingham, with a load? Or higher in the water, and lighter, motoring to Limehouse? There was them damned rockets over London now, so he hoped with all his heart she didn’t linger.

  He whispered, ‘’As you ’eard from yer Verity, then Tom? I sees there was a mail drop, or a drop of something anyways at the last stop.’

  Tom shook his head, still hunkered down, and said, ‘Nope, but what I wouldn’t give for a fag.’

  Geordie, his place taken by Tony Moore, dropped down with them. ‘Have a chew?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Not the same, but I suppose the lieutenant’s right, the smoke could be spotted.’

  Saul laughed quietly. ‘Don’t matter whether ’e be right or not, our Tom. We does as ’e says.’

  Tom grimaced. ‘Talking of letters, bloody miracle, isn’t it, that any comes through at all? We don’t know where we are, so how do they?’

  He was fingering his packet of Woodbines, his rifle stock resting on the ground, the barrel leaning on his shoulder. They were all shivering, their heavy khaki woollen gloves worn two thick, except for their trigger fingers, which poked through the holes they’d made. Saul slapped his hands together; Mrs Holmes had knitted the gloves, so it was extraordinary that they were one colour.

  Tom shifted slightly, and his shoulder nudged Saul’s. ‘I remember being at Mrs Green’s guest house in Birmingham, just me and the girls while you waited with Dog and Granfer on your boats at Tyseley. Mrs Green said to carry a white handkerchief, but only bring it out to surrender, or it’d be spotted and you’d be shot.’

  Saul grinned. Tom had told him before, but they both liked to talk of times with their girls. Saul said, ‘I just does ’ope them rockets is leaving ’em be.’

  Geordie muttered, still chewing, ‘Aye, that’s what it comes down to, bonny lad: hope. We only know folks’re all right when we ’ear. So best we leave that be, an’ all.’ He shifted his weight, as
Tom muttered, ‘Heads up, sarge is on ’is way.’

  They eased up, and leaned against the trench wall, joining Tony on watch, their breath billowing. Tom looked up as Sergeant Williams approached bent double, giving a quiet word to his lads. When he reached them Tom said, ‘Look at all this breath, Sarge, might as well be fag smoke.’

  ‘On the other hand, lad, it might as well not, or you’ll be on a charge, and that’d be worse than any ruddy tank, if I have my way.’ He winked and moved on. They watched as he continued along all the men until he reached a couple of pine trees where Lieutenant Morris stood, poring over a map. He was smoking.

  ‘Course he ruddy is,’ muttered Tom.

  Saul laughed slightly. ‘I’d be smoking me ’ead off if I be ’im. Who wants to give an order and it be wrong? ’E were a farmer, so ’tis said, so ’tis my thinkin’ ’e’ll be right glad to be back on ’is land bothering about poachers like me.’

  Geordie nodded, then said quietly, ‘I lost Mam in the bombing at Heaton, Newcastle, so I come out o’ the mines to get back at ’em. Now they’re sending conscripts into the pits fresh from Eton and Gawd knows where, and I’m ruddy out ’ere. Right mad the conscripts are too, and the pitmen aren’t that happy to have a load of likely lads doing naught but getting in t’way.’

  Saul thought of Sylvia, who’d come from the convent orphanage, and been difficult for Polly and Verity when she had joined the boats, and no one knew why. It wasn’t until she’d suddenly told Tom about trying to decide whether to be a nun that anyone understood. It was so like Geordie to suddenly say what he had just said about his mother, just like that. There was silence as they absorbed it.

  When Sylvia had told Tom when she first knew him, and then said she didn’t know why she’d told him, and not the others yet, Tom had said that people sometimes told a stranger, someone who wouldn’t care, and wouldn’t remember. But, thought Saul, he and Geordie and Tom were friends, and did care.