Rosie of the River

by Catherine Cookson

  At this point Bill rose, waddled over to them with his hippo roll, stretched out his back legs, and laughed.

  ‘We could try the Poynters; we could say he’s quietened down.’

  ‘You know he hasn’t,’ said Sally.

  ‘We could ask Mrs Chapman.’

  ‘No. Much as Mrs Chapman likes Bill she wouldn’t take him. They’ve only got a tiny garden.’

  ‘The Brunnel Kennels; I’ll try them; they’ve got a good name.’

  The phone phobia was apparently conquered for the moment.

  Away he went, and in less than no time Fred came back. ‘Why,’ he asked his wife, ‘are kennel folk always snooty? Lord, you’d think they boarded earls and film stars instead of dogs. Their bookings for this month were closed in June! Huh!’

  Hope again rising quickly, Sally said, ‘Well, we just can’t go, that’s all. You’ll have to write and tell them. Anyway, we haven’t sent the deposit; we’ll lose nothing.’

  ‘What!’ Every inch of Fred’s five feet five slowly became elongated, and his eyes, as he looked at her, turned from grey to a deep steely blue. This was a phenomenon that had happened in the past. And when it happened she always gave up, for the Gladiator was once more in possession.

  She had a theory about her husband. She was positive that in one of his previous incarnations he had been nothing less than a gladiator, for how else could he achieve the things he did with his five feet five inches and nine stone? He tackled jobs as sidelines that other men took lifetimes to learn, and he always wanted to do them unaided.

  She had suggested before that on each of his achievements he place a plaque inscribed ‘Alone I Did It’. But of all the schemes he had thought out and of all the things he had done, none had, up to date, been so mad or so foolhardy as the idea that she now knew he was about to put into terrifying words.

  And there they were, thrust on to the air, from their very birth portending disaster, bringing countless innocent, pleasure-bent people trouble and worry, letting loose tempers, unleashing elemental desires that would otherwise have lain quietly buried in the subconscious.

  ‘Bill,’ he said, ‘comes with us.’

  Bill was one person’s full-time work when he was hemmed in by a fence; loose on a boat, God help them!

  Sally believed firmly that dogs had a soul, and that a third of it was of human quality, and this was further proved to her by Bill’s immediate response. He looked up at the two beings who were his gods and whose company he would have torn through the entire regiment of Crufts to reach, and at one and the same time his head, ears and tail slowly dropped; and, still with his eyes upon them, his bandy legs sagged until he finally lay down with a plop. Bill knew that his transportation to a boat could mean nothing but disaster for them all.

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ said the Gladiator.

  Bill lowered his eyes from Sally’s. Yes, he and the Gladiator’s wife both knew it was settled.

  For sanity’s sake, over the next three days Sally could not bear to think of the times that Fred confronted her with the list of things to take on board. Apparently everything she tried to pack for herself would not be needed; all she would need would be shorts, two jumpers, a nightdress and a face flannel.

  His own requirements were a pair of old shorts for oiling in, a decent pair of whites for steering in, a pair of something decent in the shorts line to go ashore in. He applied the same system to his shirts, vests and pants. But when his wife asked about shoes, he said, ‘Shoes? The only shoes I’ll take will be what I go in. My camping plimsolls will be all that’s necessary. You don’t use shoes on a boat, dear…rubber! Rubber soles every time.’

  ‘No slippers at all? You’re always complaining about your Achilles heel.’

  ‘Tendon.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, don’t you need your slippers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Very well…Now, about food. Will I pack up what’s necessary?’

  His hand went to his head as he said, with studied calmness, ‘It was agreed we are travelling light.’

  ‘But you said we’d take most of our food…’

  ‘It’ll be better to get the odds and ends we’ll need at the boat station.’

  ‘But I’ve got piles of home-made jams and tinned stuff here already. It would save money.’

  ‘What money? About thirty bob. Is it worth it?’

  ‘Very well. Have it your own way.’

  They travelled what Fred called ‘light’, with two large cases, a despatch case, a leather carrier bag, a handbag, and Bill. In the taxi taking them to the station they discovered they had forgotten the tin-opener, and the Broads book had said bring a tin-opener.

  Both felt guilty on that journey about Bill. The poor dear was wearing a muzzle for the first time: it was Fred’s idea to save Sally worry, and it was to be worn in stations only and when crossing London. Bill loved people, but from Hastings to London he found no-one to love but his owners, for although the train was crowded everyone gave them a wide berth, and they had the carriage to themselves. However, apart from a few wisecracks such as that of the taxi driver, who said, ‘Sure you don’t want a cattle truck, missis?’ they arrived at Liverpool Street without mishap, and actually boarded their train to Norfolk the minute it came in, only to find that every seat in their particular section was reserved. It would have been all the same had they all been empty, for the guard turned out to be a man who wouldn’t believe that the muzzle was absolutely unnecessary, so Bill was relegated to the guard’s van; and since his owners flatly refused to leave him, they also were relegated to the guard’s van. As it turned out, this was a blessing in disguise, for every other compartment of the train seemed to house a dog, although it was only when they were nearing Oulton and could still hear the yapping that Sally said to her husband, ‘Where are all those dogs going?’

  ‘What a silly question to ask,’ he said. ‘How should I know?’

  Three hours of squatting in the guard’s van had tested his charm.

  ‘They are not making for the boats on Oulton, are they?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he replied. ‘All those dogs!’

  ‘Well, we brought him, poor soul.’ Sally pointed to the poor soul, for no-one could look such a poor soul as Bill when he felt he was not getting a square deal; and to her mind, to muzzle any kind of a dog was anything but a square deal. If a dog had to be muzzled it was done because it would bite people, not dogs. She felt he was being convicted for the wrong offence.

  The station at Oulton was small, and when they arrived there wasn’t a taxi in sight, only a boy with a home-made, boy-powered truck. And he had already been commandeered by a large man with a large family and six cases.

  When the Carpenters enquired how far the boat station was, they were told, ‘Along there and just over the bridge.’

  Fred, off his hunkers and on his feet again, was once more the jolly sailor boy. He led the way, carrying the cases, and Sally followed with the bags, the despatch case and Bill, whose every extremity was once more feeling the pull of gravity.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ she said to him, ‘we’re nearly there, and we’ll soon have that nasty muzzle off you.’

  ‘Excited?’ Her husband threw the word over his shoulder.

  ‘Not very.’

  ‘Oh, you will be as soon as you see the boats bobbing…“When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbing along.”’

  ‘Fred! Not here…please!’

  His head went back and he let out a bellow of a laugh.

  Fred could not sing; it was the one problem on which he had failed to make an impression; he was tone-deaf. Moreover, although he had an excellent head for mathematics, he could not remember more than one line of any song, hymn or ballad without being prompted. ‘It was a night, Oh what a night it was!’ was more often than not followed by ‘Sons of William Parker’, which happened to be the school song of the educational establishment in which he taught. This could be followed by anything
from ‘Abide With Me’ to ‘We Shall Gather At The River’. It was the last that now floated on to the Oulton air. And it was too much for Sally.

  He stopped, put down the cases and beamed his approval of her laughter.

  ‘That’s more like it! Oh, we are going to have a week; I can feel it in my bones.’ His hand emphasised this statement by administering a hearty whack across her backside.

  Her laughter disappeared. ‘You’re in the street, remember. And stop acting like the Englishman abroad.’

  ‘I’ll act how I damn well like. Come on.’

  Not more than a few steps along the street they were brought to a stop; Fred had an idea. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘give me your bags and things, and I’ll go on to the boatyard, settle up with the chap there and get aboard while you get some odds and ends of eats.’

  ‘What about Bill?’

  ‘Well, you don’t expect me to lug him along too, now, do you?’

  ‘No. But I would rather you were in the vicinity if something happens.’

  ‘There you go again…looking for trouble. What can happen? He’s muzzled. All you’ve got to do is hold on to him.’

  Holding on to him, Sally went into a general store. It was a very nice one, and as she looked round she saw that she needed a lot of things. One of the assistants, an elderly lady, came up to her. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ she asked. Then glancing sideways at Bill, she added, ‘Does he bite?’

  ‘No, no; he’s as gentle as a baby.’

  The eyes of all the customers were turned in her direction, and not one of them looked as if they thought there was any truth in her statement.

  ‘What can I get you, madam?’ asked the assistant.

  She got tea, sugar, butter, bacon, potatoes, milk, bread, Nescafé, grapefruit, peas, oranges, marmalade, apples, cheese, salt, pepper, custard powder, jam biscuits, cake and sausages.

  Bill was lying at his mistress’ feet like a lamb, confirming her description of him and giving the lie to the looks that were being bestowed on him. The stores were mounting up on the counter in front of her, and she began to feel a spark of excitement. Then the assistant asked, ‘Shall I send them to the boat for you, madam?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’

  The woman took a piece of paper. ‘What is the name?’

  ‘Carpenter.’

  ‘Of the boat, madam.’

  Sally looked at the woman. ‘The boat?’ Good Lord! She didn’t know it. At least, she explained in confusion, she had heard it, but forgotten it. She was about to explain how all this boat business had come upon her like a flash of lightning when a tiny snigger from behind made her turn. Two ladies, evidently pukka Broads mesdames, were amused, and a male customer eyed her with what she thought was a funny look, not the kind that she usually received as the wife of a grammar-school master. At this point, Bill arose, wagging his entire body; and there, in the doorway, was Fred.

  Smiling her relief, she cried, ‘Darling, what is the name of our boat?’

  ‘Dogfish Three.’

  He came across the shop laughing, and she could see he was in high good humour: ‘Trust you to forget where you live,’ he was saying; and as he reached her side he playfully patted her behind.

  The two ladies eyed each other, and the exchange spoke volumes. The man continued to stare. But now he was looking from Sally to Fred. Perhaps he was wondering why she should have picked a small man. Sometimes she wondered herself, for this Jekyll and Hyde character made life with him an uncertain business: when she thought she was dealing with the cheerful boy, she was suddenly confronted by the sombre schoolmaster. At this moment she would have preferred the schoolmaster; but the jolly boy was still to the fore.

  ‘What a nice lot of eats! Sausages. Good! Did you get anything for lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you like a chicken, madam?’

  The assistant darted away and returned with a cooked chicken the size of a well-fed pigeon.

  ‘How much?’ Sally asked.

  ‘Fourteen shillings. There’s a lot of cutting on it…it’s compressed.’

  Sally would have agreed with that, but the compression certainly didn’t refer to the price. She was about to decline with thanks when Fred put in, ‘That’d be nice. Get some green stuff; we’ll have chicken salad.’

  She got some green stuff, and they paid the bill…three pounds one and sevenpence ha’penny. By this time the shop assistant was all smiles and referring openly to Fred. This often happened; at times Sally had wondered why he did not go in for snake-charming.

  He further pleased the assistant by dispensing with the services of the boy who was to carry the stuff to the boat and who was undoubtedly very busy. The assistant loaded Fred with a cardboard box piled high and Sally with a carrier bag.

  All this while they were being watched by the tall man.

  As Fred was at his most flippant, Sally had not thought he had noticed the man, until, outside, he remarked, teasingly, ‘That fellow never took his eyes off you. What have you been up to? I can’t leave you alone for a minute.’

  ‘That bill was three pounds one and seven,’ she said crossly. ‘We were going to live on thirty shillings for the week, d’you remember? As for the man, he imagines, I think, that I am either your permanent dim-witted mistress or a pick-up, certainly not your wife, which idea you did your best to confirm with your handplay.’

  ‘So you imagine he imagines that? What a mind you have, woman. But don’t you like being taken for somebody’s mistress? Not many women with a white streak in their hair could be, you know. And stop being so prim; you sound like a sentence out of a book. Anyway, what d’you expect in that get-up?’ He eyed her hat.

  It was a small affair, made entirely of flowers, and Sally knew that, without any false modesty, it became her. Her suit was a plain one, a very plain one: she had paid quite a bit for its plainness.

  ‘What’s wrong with my get-up?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing. But I should imagine you’re the only woman in Oulton with a hat on. Or a rig-out like that. They’re all in slacks or shorts.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed,’ his wife retorted. ‘And they look ridiculous, like female stowaways in a Robert Louis Stevenson novel.’

  He laughed and pointed: ‘Look! There’s the Broad. Wait till you see the boat; she’s a little beauty. Isn’t this a nice little town, everything spick and span?…Here, stop that!’ The last was a command to Bill, who had let out a baritone growl and was standing like a ramrod, tail and nose in line and every brindle hair protesting its individuality. A few yards away, and coming out of what looked a delightful little park and walking with soft, wary, padded steps, was another bull terrier, but a pure white one, and ugly.

  ‘Ssh! Get away! Go on with you.’ Fred moved towards the enemy, who appeared totally unaware of his existence and came steadily on, and Bill, deciding to meet him halfway, took a spring, which lifted Sally clean off the pavement and onto the asphalt fronting the park.

  Holding on for dear life, she yelled, ‘Throw something at it! Hit it with a stick or something.’

  Handicapped with the box, Fred kicked out in a deterring movement. But still the horrible beast came on. And then, with a terrific snarl, he sprang…Both dogs sprang.

  Whether it was by accident or design that Fred dropped the box of groceries no-one could tell, but it saved the day. It must have hit both of the dogs’ heads at one and the same time, for with two different kinds of yelps they sprang apart.

  It was unfortunate that Sally wasn’t quick enough in taking the same line, for meeting the retreating force of Bill, she sat down suddenly in the gutter; and whether the groceries rained down on her before, simultaneously, or after, she did not know. But bags, tins and packets struck her at all angles. And there they were, spread around her, as were also a number of kindly residents.

  But she was still in charge of Bill; and that was everything.

  Once more on her feet and being dusted down, she watched her husba
nd restore the groceries to the box. She noticed one person who did not offer his assistance. He was the man from the shop. He must have witnessed the humiliating scene from across the road. And now there was an entirely different look in his eye.

  Whatever she may privately have thought of Fred she would not stand for anyone pitying her for being saddled with him; and there was undoubtedly pity in the man’s eye. There were scores of people who imagined that her husband was wonderful, such as the worried mothers of little boys at school, who sought his advice, and stopped her in the street to tell her what a wonderful husband she had. And, whatever her private opinion, no tall, lean, hungry-looking individual was going to pity her. She returned the man’s stare with hauteur—he had the grace to move on. After thanking their helpers and trying to vindicate Bill’s character, the Carpenters too moved on—there was only one thing Sally wanted now and that was to get them all safely onto that boat.

  Fifteen minutes later they were aboard. Bill was tied to the iron leg of the adjustable table, and the cabin was full of Sally and the baggage…As for Fred, he was everywhere.

  She sat down on a nice Dunlopillo seat and surveyed what was to be their home for the next seven days. To be strictly truthful, she was agreeably surprised. The main cabin was eight feet four inches long; the table dropped to form the centrepiece of a double bunk; beyond was a galley and small dining area in which the seats let down to make a third bunk. Further on was a lavatory and washbasin, then a door leading to the open stern area.

  From where she was sitting two steps led up to what she supposed was called the wheelhouse. It was covered with a canvas awning or hood.

  She bent down and patted Bill. ‘Nothing is so bad that it couldn’t be worse,’ she said. ‘If all goes well, we may even enjoy ourselves.’