Rosie of the River

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Look,’ she said; ‘I’ll close the door and let you loose if you promise to behave. And you can look out of the window.’

  He did just that. Jumping onto one of the seats, he stood looking down into the fast-moving water as if mesmerised.

  Sally finished the ship-shaping and changed into slacks and sweater, and when a hail came from the wheel, she was presentable for the deck. She looked at Bill, who was still water-gazing. He could not be kept in the cabin all the time, that was certain, the poor thing would go mad. So, gripping him firmly by the collar, she opened the door and they both squeezed through and into the well together.

  ‘You know what you’re doing, I hope,’ said Fred, still in his captain’s voice. ‘What if he goes over the side?’

  ‘He won’t. Will you, dear? Now sit. That’s a good boy. Come and sit on this nice leather seat and look at the water.’

  Almost like a lamb, he did as he was bidden, and not only did he sit on the seat, but he lay down and, putting his head on his paws, fixed his fascinated stare upon his master.

  Sally’s spirits rose. He was going to behave. He might even get to like the boat. She dared to leave him and stand beside Fred. Neither of them spoke.

  A cruiser passed, going at quite a speed. In it seemed to be three young fellows, all laughing their heads off. When their wash rocked Dogfish Three from side to side she caught hold of Bill, and Fred yelled, ‘Damn young fools! Five m.p.h. the limit is.’

  Thankfully tempers were cooled when another cruiser passed them coming downriver. The man at the wheel and the woman at his side raised a hand in salute, and Fred responded.

  ‘They’re nice,’ said Sally, ‘aren’t they? Friendly.’

  ‘It’s the camaraderie of the river.’

  ‘It’s nice,’ she said again.

  At this point they rocked violently, and she clutched at the door frame for support.

  ‘Damn fool!’ muttered Fred again. ‘Five miles per hour, you’re supposed to go here. He must be doing ten.’

  The camaraderie seemed suddenly to have got caught in the wash.

  When they were steady once more, Fred said, ‘Get the map, will you?’

  Before she obeyed, Sally looked fondly at Bill and remarked, ‘Just look at him, isn’t he lovely and quiet?’

  Fred did not take his eyes from the river ahead to look at Bill, but he said, ‘Of course he is. I knew he’d be all right, once aboard. It’s you who make him like he is with all your fuss.’

  Quivering under the injustice of that remark, his wife flounced below and flounced back, plonked the map on the cabin top and stood in a deep huff. Why was she always blamed for everything? It was unfair, to say the least.

  With one hand Fred was tracing his finger along the blue river on the map. He was quite oblivious of her hurt feelings. ‘What we’ve got to look for,’ he said, ‘are good moorings. We’ve passed Waveney Hill. There, that on the right. All this is marshland, here.’

  Sally looked reluctantly about her: it was indeed marshland. The reeds were higher than the boat, and once again she was brought back to a good temper by the river and its offspring, for the waving reeds were really beautiful. The moss, green at their base, marked the rise and fall of the tide. Immediately above this mark they changed to a biscuit brown, then to a blue green, and lastly, forming an enormous length of rippling mauve velvet, were their heads. They went on and on, a waving barrier to the water. She sighed, and Fred said, ‘I told you it would be grand.’

  It was, at that moment; but then, they hadn’t yet been introduced to Breydon Water and the nightmare of it.

  The beginning was when he suddenly said, ‘We must find a place to berth and study the map for the tide to get us over Breydon Water.’

  ‘Breydon Water? What’s that?’

  ‘Just what it says—a stretch of water.’

  ‘And the tide goes up and down on it?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ He was speaking now as if to a child. ‘That’s what tides do, they go up and then they come down.’

  There was a long pause before she said, ‘You’d better be careful, Mr Carpenter.’

  He laughed and replied, ‘Well, you ask the silliest questions…Look! Along there! That looks like a place where we might get in.’

  She looked, and replied quickly, ‘There are two palings sticking up, as far as I can see.’

  ‘Yes; but beyond them there is a gap and a green bank.’

  Slowly and steadily he made for the gap.

  When they were within three yards of it he said nonchalantly, ‘It’s a bit muddy. You take the wheel and ease her slowly to port.’

  ‘Would you mind giving your directions in plain English—left or right?’

  ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I will, except whilst we are in dock.’

  ‘No!’ Sally’s voice was loud. ‘That’s the very place I need you to use plain English, even if it shows you up as a dry-land sailor.’

  He swung about, then said, ‘Here! Take the damn wheel and keep her to the left.’

  Sally took the wheel nervously and watched him grab up the rond anchor and the rope, before jumping onto the narrow gunwale. As he gave a mighty leap, she let out a high squeal, for she was certain he would miss the bank. Fortunately, he only half did so. His upper body caught it, but his legs were dangling in a foot of water.

  She had to admire him, for he did not turn towards her but grabbed up the rond anchor from where it had landed.

  After stamping it well in, he turned and did look at the boat. At the same time it struck them both: how was he to get back? The depth of water would not allow the boat to be pulled any nearer the bank.

  His eye went to the top of the cabin and he cried, ‘Turn off the engine!’ Then, pointing, he said, ‘Pull down that wooden gangway affair from up there.’

  The gangway? It must be that plank with pieces of wood nailed across it like a ladder.

  ‘How d’you expect me to get over the awning and onto the roof of the cabin?’

  It was in almost a yell that he replied, ‘By going through to the stern where there isn’t an awning, woman.’

  He knew that the word ‘woman’ always got his wife’s back up. She stalked through the cabin to the stern. There, she had to stand on the seat and heave herself onto the cabin top.

  Unfortunately, there she stuck, staring down at the long thick plank with strips of wood nailed regularly along its length to be used as rungs.

  ‘How on earth am I going to get this off the roof?’

  ‘By sliding one end over the rail until it drops on to that strip of deck. Then get yourself down and ease it along.’

  How she managed it she never knew, but there it was, end up on the deck, Sally clinging with one hand to the cabin rail and using the other and her knee to ease it along the narrow ledge towards the cockpit.

  She had just reached the opening when there was another yell. ‘Keep the top end with you. It has two hooks on it which will hold it to the rim of the boat.’

  The only way she could accomplish this task was first to straddle the plank and let herself down into the cockpit, and from there manoeuvre the damned thing down.

  Looking back again, she had to wonder how on earth she had the nerve to accomplish this—she was petrified by the whole business.

  When the end of the plank hit the bank the Captain came up it at a run and, grinning widely, patted her on the shoulder, exclaiming, ‘Good work, First Mate! You’re a bright lad…when you get out of your skirts.’

  What Sally meant to say to him was never actually uttered, but her look must have expressed her feelings. However, these were swiftly swept away by the sound that came from Bill, who spoke plainly for himself: Bill was not an animal who would obey the command ‘Sit!’ One had to press forcibly on his lower back in order to get him to place his nether end on the ground. Perhaps his tail hurt him; but there he was, his rump planted firmly on the deck and, speaking in his own language, he was telling them he was desperate to relieve him
self.

  ‘Oh, God!’ groaned the Captain. ‘He wants to go out.’ With an impatient movement, he grabbed the lead, fixed it to Bill’s collar, thrust him on to the seat near the plank; then placing his front paws on it, he demanded, ‘Up!’

  It was as if Bill had suddenly gone deaf, for his rump again was fixed to the seat and his eyes were looking straight into Fred’s. ‘You’re not getting me down that plank, laddie,’ he was saying quite clearly.

  ‘Up!’ This order was given with a push.

  ‘He’s not going to walk down.’ Sally’s voice sounded quite calm.

  ‘Well, woman,’ cried the Captain, ‘what do you expect me to do?’

  ‘Carry him.’

  ‘What? Down that plank?’

  ‘Yes; unless you mean to throw him overboard. That’s the only other solution.’

  ‘Don’t be funny, woman, you know the weight of him.’

  ‘You call me woman just once more, Admiral, and you’ll find yourself over the side.’

  They glared at each other. Then with a swift movement, he hoisted Bill into his arms. The poor fellow put his back legs as far round the Captain’s waist as possible, and his forelegs around his throat; so tightly that Sally heard a gasp from the Captain, who was now standing on the seat, one hand gripping the iron stay supporting the end of the awning, the other thrust out, aiming for balance as he stepped onto the plank; then he endeavoured to look down the plank, and what he saw did not encourage him to take it slowly, but to get it over at a run. He took three large leaps and landed on the bank on his hands and knees, by which time his burden had jumped aside and was now standing shaking himself.

  Sally watched her husband get slowly to his feet, grab the lead and prepare to tug his offended dog along the bank, when Bill himself, tugging sideways, made for the stump of a willow tree, which he proceeded to honour copiously.

  This was not Bill’s usual procedure: normally, he would have tested a number of trees before deigning to lift a leg. On this occasion, however, he also proceeded to manure its roots. Poor Bill; by now it was hours since his last time on dry land.

  After attempting to dig a hole, he gave up the impossible task, and returned quite quickly to the foot of the plank, and again sat down. The Captain exclaimed loudly, ‘Oh, no, fellow! Oh, no! You’re going up that plank under your own steam.’

  Bill’s attitude said plainly, ‘The only way I’m going up there is as I came down.’

  There was about to be a long discussion, between master and stubborn bull terrier, so Sally suggested, ‘Look! I’ll lie as far as I can over the side and hold my arms towards him. Lift him on to the bottom rung and give him a push.’

  Fred stared at her for a moment; but then, following her instructions in part, he lifted Bill’s forelegs onto the end of the plank, and with a force she had not seen him use before, he brought the flat of his hand down on Bill’s rump, which caused him to bring his forepaws a further two rungs up the plank; then looking at his mistress’ arms outstretched down each side of the ladder, he not only leaped for them but for Sally as a whole, and brought them both with a crack against the cabin side, down which they slowly subsided onto the deck.

  ‘Blasted dog!’

  There was a dull pause in her head; then she heard the Captain say, ‘Are you hurt, darling?’ There was real concern in his voice, and it struck her this was an opportunity she was rarely given, so she managed a gasp and a little moan and found herself being led into the cabin and placed gently on the seat with a cushion at her back, his voice saying, ‘Sit still, my love; I’ll get you a drop of brandy.’

  ‘Sit still,’ he had said, and ‘my love’. Sally had no intention of going anywhere, but certainly what she was going to do was to make the most of this very comforting situation…She drank the brandy, and when asked, ‘Do you feel any better now, dear?’ she merely nodded.

  This was followed by ‘Is your back hurting?’ to which she merely gave a slight shake of her head.

  When this was followed by her feet being gently lifted onto the seat and a cushion at her head, and Fred’s fingers stroking her face while he muttered, ‘I’m a thoughtless fool,’ the thought came to her that it was better not to make too much of a good thing, so she muttered, ‘I’m all right now. It was just a shock.’

  ‘You are not all right, I know the weight of that damned dog. He’s lying with his head well down now; he knows what he’s done.’

  Poor Bill, she thought, but thank you for the respite. It had been very nice; they must do it again some time. She wanted to laugh, but that would have spoilt it.

  As she now raised her eyes to the window, the Captain was looking out and saying under his breath, ‘It’s our friends; and they’re all looking this way. They must be idiots, because it’s just after eight and they’re making for Breydon now. And the book says one of the better times to cross it is one o’clock tomorrow. The tide is bound to be right out now.’

  Sally did not, at this point, enlighten him that some places have two full tides every twenty-four hours, the Thames for instance, something to do with the tide from the Atlantic dividing at Cornwall into two parts, one to go up the west coast of England, round Scotland and down east, the other up the Channel. She had learned this from the shipping talk that went on in her grandmother’s kitchen during her childhood.

  People on the other boats, she suspected, must be thinking, ‘That lot are quite mad to berth near broken stakes with their stern sticking out in the river…’

  Later, they were actually preparing for bed when the sound of loud voices came over the water. They went out into the cockpit, and from there could see the three cheerful young men, or at least two of them, talking loudly to each other, then shouting down to the third member who must have been still in the cabin, while the boat, at full tilt, made its way towards Breydon Water. This brought from the Captain the exclamation, ‘They’ll land on a sandbank! You’ll see. I’d like to bet that’s what the one below is objecting to, crossing at this hour.’

  ‘Well, what about our other friends?’

  ‘Oh, they passed more than an hour ago, and if they keep to the middle of the channel, they’ll likely make it. But I myself wouldn’t risk it; not when it’s getting dark, anyway.’

  On this he turned about and went below.

  Bill was already tucked up in his blanket; but was not yet on friendly terms with either of his owners. The indignities of the day had been too much for him.

  Chapter Two

  The following morning, everything inside the boat was ship-shape and ready for the journey. The tins in the cupboards were all stacked close together; there was no crockery loose anywhere; the gas had been turned off tight; the kettle emptied of its water in case some other boat’s heavy wash should shake it from the stove.

  Sally pulled on her woollen cap and a short waterproofed coat, because it was still raining, as it had been all night. Then she had realised the necessity for the canvas awning that covered the top of the wheelhouse. But as she made to go up into the cockpit she thought she heard voices and imagined Fred must be talking to someone on the bank. When she emerged it was to see he was in heated conversation with the map and booklet.

  ‘Call themselves cartographers!’ he was saying. ‘I wonder where this one was when he set out the map, certainly not facing a week on the Broads. And why can’t he write plain English?’

  His wife could not resist putting in, ‘You mean right or left?’

  He looked up at her and his tone was very tart as he said, ‘No, madam; I don’t mean right or left; I mean ebb tide or full tide. What does he mean by slack water?’

  She could not miss emitting a ‘Huh!’ before replying, ‘If he says slack water, he means slack water.’

  ‘Oh, does he? Again, madam, what do you know about slack water?’

  Sally’s tone was now very precise and full of aggravation, as she meant it to be: ‘I mean, slack water is a kind of resting period. The ebb tide likes to take its breath before st
arting out on its return journey; and even when it reaches its height it takes another breath, by the name of slack water, but not so long this time before descending again.’

  She now had his full attention. His mouth was slightly agape and his eyes had that dangerous gleam in them when he asked, ‘Who, may I ask, informed you of this great piece of nautical wisdom?’

  ‘Oh, I was born to it,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget I came into this world in the north-east, not ten feet from the dock wall at South Shields, and an equal number of yards beyond the wall were a number of berths, where boats tied up when they managed to get into the dock from the North Sea at slack water, or were waiting to leave it. It all depended on which end of the sea was slack at the time to allow them to come up or down the river.’

  Last night and his love talk were apparently forgotten, for Fred now banged his fist against the wheel as he said, ‘Have you looked at this map?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she replied politely. ‘I have glanced at it.’

  ‘Oh, you have. Then you will have noticed the number of places that this expert tells you you can visit in a week. That is, when you get over Breydon Water. It’s equivalent to driving a car from Lands End to John O’Groats without taking the time—’ He stopped here; then, as if searching for words, he brought out some which to Sally were surprising: ‘To get out for even a pee.’

  Fred normally had a great reticence about anything to do with body functions, and that he, the schoolmaster, the exponent of English, should come out with the word ‘pee’ and not be precise and say ‘voiding’, seemed hilarious to Sally. She howled with laughter, so much so that she had to turn and go down into the cabin and drop onto the seat until this spasm slowly passed, and Bill stopped scampering around the place as if he, too, were laughing his tail off.