Chapter Three
The next morning everything was plain sailing. They left the haven without a hitch, and for the next hour followed their friends.
It was about ten o’clock when James, in the stern well ahead, raised an arm pointing to the right, and indicating Sally should slow down.
She followed this instruction, Fred sitting in the seat by her side.
Their friends soon turned into a cut, and just as she was about to follow them, she noticed to her horror that straight ahead there were four sailing boats ready to come out, one apparently aiming straight at the left of Dogfish Three. To Sally’s amazement she saw a young woman sitting calmly outside a low cabin on it suckling a baby.
In a lightning move, she turned slightly to her right, and the yacht slid by.
But now, down on her right, another was coming at them, and too close for comfort, so she swung back to the left. It cleared within inches, and was followed by another which bumped them slightly as they passed, the man at the wheel emitting a high noise, whether of triumph or defeat, Sally didn’t know.
Then, at the sight now before her, it was Fred who uttered a cry: ‘I’ll take her.’
Sally bawled at him, ‘No!’ for the large sailing vessel was headed straight for their bow. If she remained on course, he would crash into them: her only recourse was to reverse, but how? How she found the knob that did the trick, she didn’t know, but there was a grinding beneath their feet, which meant that the propeller was answering her command; Dogfish Three moved at least six inches back, and at that moment Sally knew that if the windscreen had been open she could have leaned forward and grabbed the fellow’s sail; so close was his craft to them.
When he was past and she could see ahead, James Watson was standing on the gunwale of his boat, his face full of concern and wonder.
Behind them, there was a great deal of noise, and Fred, putting his hand on the wheel, in a shaking voice said, ‘Look round.’
Sally bent sideways and looked along the cabin side, and there were the four sailing vessels all seemingly lined up and their crews waving, and one of them yelled, ‘Well done! Splendid!’ Another followed with ‘Join us at any time!’
As Sally turned back to the wheel, Fred put his hand on her shoulder. His face looked rather white but he was smiling and his eyes spoke volumes; he did not say a word.
She could honestly say that was the proudest moment in her life: she was admiral of the fleet. Her flotilla had passed her without a scratch. It was the kind of triumph experienced only once in a lifetime.
She followed James and Peter up the creek, until James indicated a berth next to what appeared to be an eight-to-ten-berth cruiser. Immediately she could see the reason for this: it would be easier for them to get out later if they berthed below Dogfish Three.
Both craft were tied up when Peter and James came hurrying to them and dropped into the wheelhouse. It was Peter who said, ‘Lady, that’s the best piece of manoeuvring I’ve seen on these waters,’ and turning to Fred, he said, ‘Wasn’t she marvellous?’
‘No more than usual,’ replied Fred gallantly; ‘only, mind, I was a little nervous when that last fellow came head on at her.’
‘Nervous?’ cried James now. ‘My hair was standing on end!’
Suddenly they all turned to where some argument appeared to have started on the towpath. Coming towards them were two young girls with a baby in a pushchair. The child was yelling its head off; that was, until one of the girls pushed a dummy into its mouth. She looked about fifteen; she had short black hair and a round pert face with a snub nose. Her companion’s head was a mass of permed curls, and she was saying, ‘You shouldn’t do that. If Ella finds out she’ll go mad. The book says it’s wrong to give them dummies.’
The answer she was given by the short-haired girl in a raucous voice was, ‘Bugger Ella and the dummy! And you, Lucy, an’ all. If you go and tell her I keep one in my pocket, I’ll scalp you and your bunch of frizz.’
A shout from the cockpit startled them all, for Peter had called out, ‘Rosie! It is, isn’t it, Rosie?’
‘Eeh, by!’ The dark-haired girl turned to Peter who was leaning over the gunwale, his hand outstretched. ‘What are you doing here?
‘And you an’ all, Mr Watson.’ She was addressing James, who was also holding out a hand to her.
‘It was last Saturday night, wasn’t it?’ she was saying. ‘I’ve thought about you two a lot since, and Whalemouth. Is he here, an’ all?’
‘No; he’s staying with friends in London.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘You went off him, didn’t you, Rosie?’ Peter said.
‘Off him! You should have heard what I said to him.’
A voice crying, ‘Rosie!’ boomed over them, and she looked back to the deck of the high cruiser, and shouted at the young woman standing there, ‘All right! We’ll take him for his run. Why don’t you do it yourself for a change? He’s your baby.’
‘Don’t you give me any mouth; I’ll tell your ma.’
‘Tell her what the hell you like; and you can both go for a walk there, and take your time.’
‘Eeh, Rosie! Rosie. You’ll get it in the neck.’ This last came from Miss Frizzy-head.
James and Peter were shaking with laughter, and Peter said, ‘Look, Rosie, slip along later. We’d love to have a crack. But make it soon because we must be off. Our friends here will be staying till late this afternoon. We’ll make the introductions later. But go on, now, and get your dummy walk over; else I can see you being locked in.’
‘Oh, that won’t be the first time,’ said Rosie. ‘They’ve tried it before.’
The four returned to the cabin of Dogfish Three, and Sally said to Peter, ‘You know her?’
‘I feel I’ve known her for years, but we met for the first time on Saturday night. We had got away early in the afternoon and stopped at a place near Acle. We had a meal and sat around listening to Pontoon Mouth’s latest history while he slugged back whisky like water.
‘We had decided to stay there for the night when this very large motor cruiser moored alongside us, and the whole crew, all ten of them, spilled into the bar.
‘They were definitely from Birmingham. What we noticed was the hairdo of three of the women. They were all about the same height, but the biggest-made one looked as though she had a mop of permed blond wire. The hair of another, younger, one was dyed bright red; the third was a perm of grey and white.
‘My first impression was of three witches; and, when she opened her coat, I saw to my amazement the big one was wearing an old-fashioned bib pinny.
‘The red-headed younger woman of about twenty was carrying a child—you saw her just now. Then there were also two girls, one of whom I took to be fifteen or sixteen, with short-cropped black hair; the other, slightly younger, had permed curls down to her neck.
‘The youngest male was a boy of about thirteen.
‘The three men stood together at one end of the bar, the women, except for the short-haired girl, were grouped at the other end, some sitting on forms along a wall.
‘The short-haired girl was walking down the room, and as I passed her when I was carrying two lagers back to our table I must have nudged her.
‘She turned on me quickly and I said, “Oh, I am sorry. I hope I haven’t spilled any on you.”
‘For a moment she looked at me; then in a broad Birmingham twang, she said, “It could only have improved it if you had. Take something to spoil this rig-out.”
‘Being gallant, I now replied, “Oh, you look very nice,” but then was amazed at her retort: “The hell I do! And I know it. So don’t waste your nice words on me.”
‘I began to laugh and she said, “Look! You’re spilling your beer.” Then I dared to say to her, “Come and sit down for a moment,” and practically collapsed when she answered, “What! Come and sit down with you? Do you want to see a bloody riot?” she jerked her head back to the female members of her family sitting in a corn
er—“Those three Amazons—me auntie, me mum and me cousin—would lynch you.”
‘I glanced back at the three women now staring towards us, and she did too. Then I almost did drop the lager when she said, “Oh, what the hell! Come on; where’re you sitting?”
‘I cannot begin to put into conversation form what followed. We laughed as we haven’t done for years, didn’t we?’
James said, ‘Indeed we did. We had never come across her like. She was a one-off. And everything was running smoothly until our friend appeared and joined us. His new lady-friend whom he had picked up earlier that evening must have had more than enough of him, because we saw her leave the inn by herself. Of course, Pontoon Mouth could only glare at our new acquaintance, at least for the first few moments, and that we seemed to have picked up with such a plain and nondescript individual had kept him silent for the longest period since he had first joined us for the holiday. And when he spoke, it was to ask the question we should have asked earlier on. And she, too, looked at him silently before she answered, “Rosie Stevenson; what’s yours?”
“Oh, mine, I’m Charles Victor McHannen.”
‘The reply he received startled him: “Well, you’re none the better for that.”
‘It was now that one of the witches, the blonde one, her mother, passed us. She did not cast her eyes in our direction, but she said one word only, and there was deep meaning in it, “Ro-sie!”
‘But Rosie did not turn her head. She looked from me to Peter here and said, “It’s been nice talking to you.”
‘“And to you, Rosie,” we both answered.’
‘At this she got up and followed the blond-haired woman down the passage which led to the ladies’.
‘I said, “It’s about time we were getting aboard and settling down, eh? It’s been a long day.”
‘We placed our mugs on the counter and were thanking the landlady when we heard a yell and a high screech and someone jabbering at the top of their voice.
‘We looked back at our table. Pontoon Mouth wasn’t there.
‘When we reached the passage, we saw what the commotion was about. Two men, one elderly, one young, were pulling Rosie away from our whisky-sodden friend who was leaning back against a wall, one hand placed across the front of his trousers, the other cupping his cheek, and the elderly man turned on me and bawled, “You’d better get your friend aboard your boat while he’s still able to walk.”
‘We asked no more questions, but hauled Pontoon from the wall and to the boat and threw him fully clothed onto a back bunk; and Peter warned, “Move from there if you dare. I’ll throw you overboard. I swear to God I will.”
‘Although it was getting dusk, we started the engine, cast off, and made our way back over Breydon, intending to go into dock the next morning and curtail the trip. But he woke up full of apologies, even if not completely sober, and begged us to go on as we had originally planned.
‘And so we again made our way back to Breydon. Of course, by now we hadn’t taken the tides into account. So that’s where you saw us, stuck on the mud.’
The sound of voices, seeming to come from Dogfish Three’s wheelhouse, startled them all for a moment until Sally said, ‘They must be having a to-do next door.’
Then quite clearly they heard a man’s voice say, ‘If she wants to go and talk with the fellas, she can go and have a talk with them. And it’s me that’s saying it…You say she’s getting beyond herself. Well, all I can say is, it’s about time she did. What has she to gain among your lot? Once it used to be, she’s breaking up the family, stepping out of her place. But where’s the family gone now? As far away from you as they can get. And what have we got? All your damn nieces and nephews, all on the scrounge, or asking for loans that they never pay back.’
A female voice came now: ‘They’re all I’ve got. As for her, she’s going into the factory as soon as she leaves that school. I’ll see to that if it’s the last thing I do.’
‘It likely will be.’
A new voice joined in, saying, ‘Shut that bloody door. D’you want the whole river to know your business?’
The voices still continued, but now faintly, and Sally turned and looked from one to the other. It was James who spoke, saying, ‘Poor Rosie.’
‘Well, there’s one thing,’ Fred put in: ‘that seemed to be her father talking. And he’s certainly for her. Anyway, I bet she’ll be along in a minute.’
‘Yes,’ said Peter; ‘I bet she will. I’ll bring her in here…may we?’ to which Sally answered on a laugh, ‘I’m dying to hear more from Rosie.’
It was more than fifteen minutes later and Rosie was about to pass Dogfish Three on her way to the boys’ boat, as Sally still thought of them, when a hiss from Peter and his hand outstretched brought her over the gunwale and down the steps into the cabin, where she immediately bent down to Bill and, patting his head, said, ‘Hello, old fellow! What’s your name?’
‘Bill,’ Sally said.
‘We have a dog back home,’ said Rosie. ‘He’s a mongrel—Heinz fifty-seven varieties—he’s called Stinker. He’s been left with me granny. And I know the poor fella will be kept tied up in the yard. He hates me granny, that’s me mother’s mother. And he’s not the only one.’
‘Sit down,’ Sally said, ‘if you can squeeze in; and as your friends don’t seem to be about to introduce us, I shall. This one’—she pointed to Fred—‘sitting pale and weary-looking is my husband Fred. He has a very bad back, brought about by attempting to fly over Breydon Water.’
Rosie looked at Fred and laughed as she said, ‘Why didn’t you just swim?’ and he answered her, ‘Because I’m a big-head, Rosie, and I’ve always wanted to fly. My doctor here’—he pointed to Peter—‘will tell you all about it.’
Looking at Rosie, Peter said, ‘You’ve been having a shindy next door. We couldn’t help overhearing.’
‘Oh, that was nothing; just a practice do,’ she said. ‘Look at me!’ And she looked from one to the other. ‘Can you see me stepping out of me place, when it’s written all over me, and I just have to open me mouth and it comes out in headlines? It’s all because I found out there are different people in the world, besides me mum’s stinking family, who haven’t a penn’orth of brains between them, and so she queens it over them—“Go to Aunt Florrie, she knows,” or “Go to Aunt Florrie, she’ll help you out,” or “She’ll make him do it.” Well, she found out some time ago that I could see through her. Her and her pinnies! Believe it or not, she goes to our factory with that pinny on, just to prove to them, she says, that she’s not getting above herself and doesn’t need any fancy clothes.’
‘You have a factory, then?’ said Peter.
‘Yes; and fifty machinists in it. She was one of them at one time.’
‘What d’you make?’ he asked.
‘Oh, all kinds,’ said Rosie. ‘Cheapish things. No fancy goods. Dad goes up to London three days a week, and picks the cloth and such. But really that’s just an excuse; he goes to visit Gran, his mother. He has a good manager, a Mr Jackson. Me mum hates him, because he knows all about her; and he loathes her. He wants to improve the style of things; she’s all for keeping to pinnies and aprons, and the plainest of frocks. Well,’ she looked at Peter and laughed as she said, ‘as I told you, you couldn’t spoil that one I had on the other night when you thought you had spilt the beer over it.’
‘Oh, about Saturday night,’ James said. ‘What happened around the corner to make all that hubbub?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t tell you, would he?’ Rosie said. ‘I was coming back from the ladies’ and another lecture from me mum about talking to strange men’—she nodded to Peter and James—‘and there he was, waiting for me, Whalemouth. He grabbed me by the arm and made a proposal that shook me for a minute. And when he wouldn’t leave go of me I told him what I’d do with my foot.’ She giggled now. ‘I promised him that I would insert it straight up his’—and now she was actually laughing as she went on—‘nether regions until it came so fa
r out of his big sloppy mouth that he’d be able to tie the laces. And when he still hung on to me, I kneed him in his delicate region, and I didn’t slap his face but I punched it.’
By this time, her four listeners were bent double. Sally had heard the saying before about a boot being put up the nether regions, and in plain language, but it had never been expressed quite as forcibly as it had by Rosie.
Then bobbing on her seat, Rosie pointed out of the window. ‘Not again! Here comes the starchy brigade.’
They all looked to see Dogfish One passing up the creek towards the berth at the top.
And now she explained to their enquiring faces: ‘If we happen to berth where she is, her crew’s up and off like a shot. But if she berths near us, without having first seen us, then the wind is in her tail and she’s off again. One day I tried to get pally with the lady by patting her little dog. She told me its name, in a very polite voice. But she looked at me as if I was something the cat had brought in. Then she picks up the poor little thing, hugs it to her, and marches off. Our Phil, that’s me young brother, says they always blow their noses loudly after passing us. It’s to get rid of the smell of us.’
Peter said, ‘Oh, my! Do you think they’re as bad as that? They have their good side, you know, as Fred, our friend here, will tell you. He had a bit of a do with them before he left the bay—it was to do with a Latin quotation. So on the way to Yarmouth when he had his experience with a roller canvas cover, then found he couldn’t move, Mrs C, here, had to take the dog out, which made them guess that something was wrong. They couldn’t very well approach her; but they had heard through our loud-mouthed friend that we were berthed next to them. He was addressing me as Doctor, and so they came to me to see if I would look in on Dogfish Three to see if anything was wrong. This I did.’
Peter was now nodding towards Fred, who said, ‘And I’ll always be grateful you did, Peter. Otherwise, I know I would have ended up in hospital.’
Rosie of the River Page 7
