Rosie of the River

by Catherine Cookson

  With a sigh, her husband did as he was bid, but catching her hand as she passed him and looking up at her, he said, ‘You know something? You’re the most wonderful woman in the world, for how you have managed this awful week, and me, I’ll never know.’

  She bent and kissed him on the nose, saying airily, ‘Well, I’ll remind you every day henceforth of those words.’ With this, she put the kettle on; and that was all she could later recall doing until…

  What time was it when she woke with the most odd feeling? Something was pressing against her, pushing her, and she wasn’t lying properly. What was it? She opened her eyes and immediately thought there must be something wrong with her sight. There was the floor, not three inches from her nose. Fred seemed to be pushing her towards it. Not only that, the cups on the hooks above a cabinet at the end of the bunk bed were now hanging in the air. She went to lift herself up and away from Fred but rolled onto the floor and screamed. The noise brought Fred awake as she yelled, ‘We’ve toppled over! We’re sinking!’

  Like two drunkards, they crawled sideways into the cockpit, where Sally screamed again, for Dogfish Three was, quite literally, hanging up on the wall, well out of the water.

  Fred was now climbing the wall and groping at the grass. She could just make him out through the coming dawn.

  When the stern of the boat fell with a crash into the water she screamed again, for now she had fallen into the saloon. When the second crash came she knew it was the end, for when the bows hit the water she was bounced once more into a sitting position, this time with Bill jumping all over her and adding his howls to hers.

  ‘Shut up, woman! Shut up! We’re all right. It’s the tide. It’s going down.’

  ‘W-w-why didn’t you think of that when you moored us to those rings, Mr Big-head? You had your bl-bl-blooming map to go by—swear by.’

  By then they were back to normal. Sally’s voice and Bill’s barking were suddenly cut off by a series of yells and screams. The noise they were making had apparently alerted others to the situation and there was further plop-plopping of boats back into the water.

  The bank was alive with people. Apparently Captain Carpenter wasn’t the only one who hadn’t taken into account the falling tide—and the wall.

  He was now in his trousers and he pulled Sally to her feet saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right now. Look, I’ll get you a cup of tea. And put your dressing gown on, you’re shivering.’ It struck her that it was she who should have been saying, ‘Careful, dear. Mind your back.’ Instead, she was letting him get the tea—she needed it.

  ‘A dramatic finish to the week. What d’you say?’ said the Captain casually.

  ‘A finish that I could have done without,’ his wife replied.

  He did not remark on this but said, ‘Cup of hot tea, eh? I’ll put the kettle on.’

  It was as he did so that they heard a high cry, almost a scream, and were once again on their feet in the stern well, where they ascertained that the cries weren’t coming from the bank but from somewhere along the line of boats.

  Leaning over the bows, Fred saw immediately the reason for the commotion. ‘It’s a little dog in the river swimming down this way, at least trying to.’

  Sally looked along the bank and saw the woman from Dogfish One. She was looking in between each boat, yelling as she did so, ‘She can’t swim! She can’t swim! She’ll drown! She’ll drown!’

  Sally leaned over the bows and saw the small animal struggling to swim.

  Fred grabbed a boathook from the top of the cabin, then hung far out over the side of the boat, saying to Sally, ‘Hang on to me!’

  She grabbed him around the hips, crying, ‘Mind your back! And I can’t hold you, you’ll fall!’

  When, at last, at the third attempt, Fred managed to manoeuvre the end of the boathook into the dog’s collar, a kind of muffled cheer went up from the line of boats, and slowly he drew the little animal towards him. But as he leaned further still over the side to lift the drenched, frightened body from the water he naturally let go of the boathook, which slid silently from his hand and into the fast-flowing stream. Now came the task of pulling him and the animal up together.

  What moment of bravery urged Sally to bend almost as far over as he had and take the sodden little beast from his grip she never knew. She was aware only that there were other people in the stern well. One was a woman, and she had her arms about her, pulling her back on to terra firma while two male figures hoisted Fred aboard. And there they all were. Sally found herself sitting clutching the shivering animal to her, with its owner staring down at her, and Fred was half lying on the forecastle seat gasping as their friend from Dogfish One and his son bent towards him alternately talking at him. Sally heard Fred say now, ‘I’m all right, I’m all right. Only don’t touch my back.’

  The woman was speaking to Sally now as she held out her hands for her pet, who seemed reluctant to leave her rescuer. She was saying, ‘She’s terrified of water. She can’t swim; we’ve tried to get her to but she can’t. I don’t know how she got that far. I can’t thank your husband enough. I don’t know how it happened, I just don’t. Perhaps she jumped because she was afraid of the boat capsizing again.’

  Sally smiled to herself. So they were another pair of idiots who hadn’t read the time of the tide going down.

  ‘She’s old, you see, but we love her.’ The woman hugged the animal to her as if she were a child, and likely she was to her as Bill was to Fred and herself, Sally realised. She heard herself say shakily, ‘We are dog people too. We love Bill although everyone thinks he’s ugly.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not. He’s not. Look how my Sue took to him.’ She laughed. ‘She was quite brazen, wasn’t she?’ Definitely she was their friend indeed now. They were all their friends. How funny. How really funny. Sally had to suppress the desire to laugh. But then the realisation came at her: if Fred had slipped right over he could swim, he was a good swimmer, yet with that back and the tide running down fast, if he had then caught hold of the dog, what might have happened? You never knew.

  She heard herself say quietly, ‘I should take her home and give her a warm bath and some hot milk.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ The woman was smiling and nodding, ‘Yes, I’ll do that right away.’ She turned to her husband, saying, ‘I must get her back and give her a warm bath.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, my dear.’ But it was the son who helped her out onto the bank, while the man turned to Sally, and they looked at each other eye to eye for a moment before he said quietly, ‘Sorry for all the fazzle there has been. Pity we didn’t get to know you sooner. Our fault. Oh, yes, our fault. Thanks. Thanks all the same.’

  ‘It’s I who should be thanking you, for suggesting to Dr Wheeler that he should look in on my husband. Otherwise, Fred would have been in hospital.’

  The man answered with a nod, saying, ‘Oh, that was nothing. Nothing.’ Then he turned to Fred and said, ‘We’ll have a word later, but I must see to my wife now. Thank you. Thank you.’

  As he jumped ashore, the boy, who had come back, now stepped into the boat and, looking at Fred, he said, ‘Thank you, sir. My mother would have gone crazy if she had lost Sue. And about the other evening, sir: I’m sorry for my manner towards you.’ And then he admitted, quite humbly, ‘We are new to the river and, like all newcomers, we imagine we know it all, but we’ll learn.’

  ‘Get along now, son, and see to your mother.’

  ‘Thanks, sir. Thank you, Mrs Carpenter.’ He nodded towards Sally then stepped out onto the bank again.

  After a moment, Sally looked at Fred and said, ‘Your back’s paining, isn’t it? Come on!’ She took his arm and they went down into the cabin, where she said to him, ‘Sit yourself down. There’s no need to rush; we’ll get home today, some time.’

  ‘You’re right. You know, I love boats, and I’ve loved the river, you know I have, but I’ve never longed to be at home so much as I do at this minute.’

  PART TWO

  Aft
erwards

  Chapter Five

  The Carpenters arrived home that Saturday night after an awful journey of taxis, porters, trains—taxis, porters, trains—taxis, porters, trains. In the last train, because of Bill, as on their journey out, they spent it in the guard’s van.

  As usual, the house was like an icebox. It consisted of eight large rooms with no central heating in any of them. It had belonged to an old aunt of Sally’s mother, and Sally herself had lived in it for twenty-one years, bar the war evacuation, and Fred for eighteen of those years, and the only heating they had ever had in the kitchen was a small covered-in coke stove that gave them hot water—the old kitchen range had been taken out. At one time most of the cooking must have been done in the scullery, but the range there also had been removed. Under the window was a shallow sink, with a draining board attached. All the cooking was now done on an electric stove.

  A friend of Sally’s, once, seeing this set-up, said to her, ‘And you don’t have any help? Well, all I can say is that the Archangel Gabriel, the organiser up there, must send down a gang of off-duty angels to give you a hand because nobody else could turn out the meals you do on that thing.’ And sometimes Sally thought that some help, heavenly or earthly, would have been very welcome.

  Now, on their return, Bill was delighted to be back, in spite of the cold, and she and Fred had dumped all their gear in the hall. Within half an hour they had made a pot of coffee and some bacon sandwiches, and now the three of them were sitting as close to the little electric fire in the study as they could get, with Bill’s nose almost on the bars.

  After two cups of coffee and his sandwiches, Fred sighed and said, ‘Just leave these things as they are. We’re going to bed.’

  ‘What if Rosie should phone? She said she would.’

  ‘Well let her phone; you’re not coming down those stairs tonight.’

  ‘How’s your back?’ Sally asked.

  ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘let’s say I know I’ve got one, and I suppose I shall have pain for some little time.’

  Fifteen minutes later Bill was tucked up in his basket in the corner of the bedroom and his owners were lying under three woollen blankets.

  ‘Goodnight, Captain.’

  ‘Goodnight, First Mate,’ Fred answered, and they both laughed.

  That was all Sally remembered until the following morning when she awoke to Fred standing by her side, saying, ‘Would you like this?’

  ‘Good gracious! What time is it?’

  ‘Twenty-five minutes to ten.’

  ‘What! Have you been up long?’

  ‘About twenty minutes,’ he said.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, dear,’ he said, ‘all I can say at the moment is, I’m glad to be back. How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Tired. May I stay in bed all day?’

  ‘No; you may not, woman; there’s work waiting for us both downstairs. Now drink that tea while it’s hot…’

  The day passed quickly. They cleared the gear in the hall, and brought in enough logs for Fred to get a good wood fire going in the drawing room. It was one of the two rooms that had a large fireplace, the other was the hall; but that was only ever lit at Christmas time or if they had visitors.

  Fred spent the day mostly in the drawing room preparing his school work. Sally had her time filled with creating a makeshift lunch out of the tins they had brought home with them, and preparing the washing for the following day—they did not have a washing machine or drier. It was now just turned six o’clock. They had finished tea and Fred was sitting beside her on the sofa opposite the blazing logs. Bill was curled in front of the broad hearth; everything was peaceful, they were back to normal and were now waiting for Rosie’s phone call.

  It never came. It wasn’t until Wednesday evening, just after their meal, that they heard from Rosie of the River, as Sally liked to think of her.

  ‘Is that you, Mrs C?’

  ‘Yes, Rosie; it’s me. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, Mrs C…Oh, Mrs C, you won’t believe it. This is Paradise. I can’t believe I’m going to live here for good; and me granny’s lovely. Sharp-tongued, you know, like me, but she’s lovely. And there are three servants—well, I mean there’s a cook and a maid and a lady; ’cos she is a lady. They call her Miss Collins and she looks after Grandma—that is, when she needs her; other times she sees to the housekeeping. I would say she’s like a glorified housekeeper. And she’s been so nice to me. Me dad’s so happy, too. I’ve never seen him like this before. What d’you think he’s gone and done, Mrs C? Go on, have a guess.’

  ‘I couldn’t guess, Rosie. I haven’t an idea in my head what you or your dad will do next.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you. He made an appointment with the head of a ladies’ school. Aye, he did; and he came back full of it; and me granny said, “Oh, my! You would aim high, wouldn’t you? That’s a very posh place.” I don’t mind telling you, Mrs C, that made me have the jitters, because I know how some of those bitches would look upon the likes of me, especially if I came out with a mouthful…Is Mr C there?’

  ‘Yes; I’m here, Rosie.’ Fred was now at his wife’s elbow. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Well, Mr C, I’ll tell you how they are. And they’re all through you and what you said to me. It made me think. You know, Dad cannot see me as other people do. To him I’m a bright spark, and he would expect that headmistress to see me as such. So, you know what you said? I should be coached and be prepared for a good school by having a sort of private tutor. You remember?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I do.’

  ‘Well, it was no good putting that from me, but I thought he might take it from…well, somebody…I’ll tell you what I did. I made up me mind to go and have a word with that headmistress before Dad got at her and let her actually see what she would be taking on.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did, Mr C. It was like this. I did what you said and I found my own way to the school, and the first person I spoke to was a tall reedy miss, who, after looking me up and down, decided I had come to the wrong place; and what did I want?

  ‘“I want to speak to the Headmistress,” I said.’

  ‘“I am sorry, the Headmistress is busy,” she said.’

  ‘“She’ll see me,” I said.’

  ‘“The Headmistress is busy,” she snapped back at me, and in very distinct English, Mr C.’

  Fred laughed; and Rosie went on, ‘“Busy or not busy,” I said, “you tell her that Rosie Stevenson wants to see her, whose father has an appointment with her this afternoon about me coming to this school…”

  ‘I didn’t get any further, Mr C. You wouldn’t believe it. She looked at me amazed and said, “What?”’

  ‘I said, “Yes, what! You heard what I said, miss. Tell her that I am Rosie Stevenson who is coming with my father this afternoon about…You know what she said next? “I think you have come to the wrong school.”

  ‘“No, Miss,” I said; “I haven’t come to the wrong school.” And you know what I did then, Mrs C? I thought about you and how you stand and how you speak, so I pushed my head up, pulled my chin in, thrust my shoulders back and in as near your voice as I could attempt I said, “Will you kindly go to your headmistress and give her my message, and bring the result back to me here, please!” I stressed the please. She now stared at me as if I were something from another planet. But she did what I said. And you know? You wouldn’t believe it. If she had been kicked in the’—she was chuckling now—‘the nether regions she couldn’t have been back quicker; but I’ve no words to describe the look she gave me. Anyway, the next minute it seemed I was sitting in a seat opposite the Headmistress, and after we’d exchanged long weighing-up glances, she said, “You wish to see me about the appointment you and your father have with me this afternoon?”

  ‘“Just that, Miss,” I said.

  ‘“Well, go on,” she said, “I’m waiting.”

  ‘“Well, it’s like this, Miss. I’ll put
me cards on the table. I know I’m not fit yet to come to your school and a schoolmaster friend of mine put it plainly to me what I should do.”

  ‘“You have a schoolmaster friend?” she said.

  ‘“Aye, I have,” I said; “and he teaches maths in a grammar school.”

  ‘“Oh. And which grammar school is that?”

  ‘“In Hastings, ma’am. And he’s been to Oxford.”

  ‘She smiled, and I think she almost laughed. I didn’t know whether you’d been to Oxford or Cambridge but I knew you must have been to some big university, so I picked on Oxford.’

  Fred was laughing again as he said, ‘You did right there, Rosie, you did right there. Go on. Go on.’

  ‘Well, she said to me, “And what idea has this schoolmaster put into your head about your education?”

  ‘“Well, Miss,” I said, “he advised me to have at least six months’ tuition in English and learning how to…” Well, you see, it’s like this. I got all flummoxed here, Mrs C, and I had to be meself, so I just blurted out, “I’ve got the habit of swearing. I read a lot, oh; I read piles and I’ve got all the words in me head and I know where they should go, but when people get nasty or look down their nose at me I get ratty, and so I use my own language at them.”

  ‘“And your own language is what?” she said.

  ‘“Well, you could say bad language, ma’am,” I said.

  ‘“You use bad language?” she said.

  ‘“Oh,” I put in here, “I don’t mean four-letter words—I never use those—it’s just bloody, bugger, damn and blast, and things like that, and they come out instead of the words I want to use.”’