Swimming Home

by Mary-Rose MacColl

  ‘Well, you’ve had a great first day,’ Charlotte said, looking at the coach. ‘But you’ve learned some bad habits that you’ll have to break, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Will we swim in the sea soon?’ Catherine asked.

  Charlotte smiled. ‘We’ve entered the Battery to Sandy Hook in May. We train in the harbour beforehand.’ She looked at Mr Handley. ‘Catherine, for open water we only take the fastest swimmers. And your aunt hasn’t said how long you’ll be with us yet.’

  ‘Yes, one step at a time,’ Mr Handley said. ‘Where did you learn your crawl?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Catherine said.

  ‘You swim a crawl, same as my girls, but it’s different.’

  ‘On the island,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Like I said, she’s from Australia, Lou,’ Charlotte said. ‘She swam there, same as Annette Kellerman.’

  ‘Annette never swam the way this one swims,’ Mr Handley said. ‘It’s interesting. You don’t get as much chance with your legs when you only kick two beats for each arm stroke, although your legs are strong, and I can see it gives you a very good balance position in the water. You get a lot of mileage from slow kicks. It’s those feet.’ He looked down and then laughed at his little joke. Catherine had always had big feet.

  She went to the change room to get out of her swimming suit.

  Aileen Ryan had waited for her. ‘Are you staying with Eppy?’ she said.

  Catherine nodded. ‘Just until my aunt arrives,’ she said.

  Catherine was hoping she’d remember how to get back to Charlotte Epstein’s apartment. She had a piece of paper with directions to the train. She took it out now.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Aileen said. ‘I’ll go with you. I don’t need to be at school until ten today and Eppy asked if I’d mind. I’d love to take you.’

  ‘Oh, would you?’ Catherine said. ‘I’m quite bamboozled here. The buildings make it hard to work out where I am.’ They came back out past the tank. ‘It’s so small.’

  ‘It’s not much fun, is it?’ Aileen said. ‘Still, when we were in Paris we swam in the river and it was really disgusting. And in Antwerp, it was so cold they had to put me in a warming room every time I dived.’

  ‘Were you at the Olympics?’

  ‘Yep. At Antwerp, I was the youngest. I got silver in the diving. We nearly weren’t allowed to compete because they didn’t want women. And then in Paris, we didn’t have anywhere to train. But don’t worry too much about the tank. Once summer comes, you’ll be sick of the water.’

  ‘What’s the Battery to Sandy Hook?’ Catherine said.

  ‘We swim from Manhattan, near Eppy’s place, to Sandy Hook Beach. The WSA is organising it. We’re the favourites, me and Trudy—if she’s in the mood. She did it last year and beat everyone. I didn’t finish because I hurt my shoulder. And, of course, Helen Wainwright, who is our nemesis, because sometimes she’s faster than me. She’s away at the moment, thankfully. But they’re taking three swimmers to the Channel, so it will be the three of us—me, Trudy and Helen. Are you swimming Sandy Hook?’

  ‘Apparently not. I don’t kick correctly.’

  ‘Ah, don’t worry. Mr Handley will get used to you. He really is a dear—such a gentleman, as my mother would say. But he never likes to let anyone do anything except his way. He loves the youngest swimmers best because they haven’t learned any bad habits, he says. So Trudy is his total favourite because he had years with her to teach her his way.’

  ‘I can’t swim the way he says, kicking so much. It feels wrong.’

  ‘Don’t do it. He’ll stop noticing soon. That’s what happened with me. He gave up eventually. Then you can do what you like. He played water polo, so he’s used to the team all doing the same thing. Swimming isn’t really a team thing like water polo. Hey, do you want to come to our beach place at the weekend? We might even be able to dip in the water.’

  ‘Oh, that would be so wonderful,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Cold, okay? It’s going to be cold.’

  ‘I don’t care. I really don’t.’ It didn’t matter if she had to swim through icebergs; anything would be better than that stupid tank.

  21

  AILEEN’S MOTHER PICKED CATHERINE UP FROM Charlotte’s apartment block after Aileen finished school at noon that Friday. Catherine had spent the remaining days of that first week travelling to and from the tank twice each day. She’d gone on the Wednesday to the YMCA pool to swim and watch the divers. She’d met Charlotte’s family that night. Charlotte’s mother was an older version of Charlotte, and her father kept calling Catherine Katrina. They told her she mustn’t ever be lonely in New York. She could always pop in to see any of the Epsteins who seemed to live at regular intervals all over Manhattan. They gave her a map showing where all their homes were. Never too far away, Mrs Epstein said. They were very kind.

  Catherine and Aileen sat in the back seat as they drove out of the city to Long Island. Late in the afternoon, they pulled up a long drive lined by pine trees to a white weatherboard house with green shutters and a slate roof. In the soft light it looked magical, the expanse of the bay behind lit up by the afternoon sun.

  ‘You girls must be positively starving,’ Aileen’s mother said. ‘I meant to pack some snacks but clean forgot. Let’s hope there are cookies left over from last weekend!’ She laughed. Mrs Ryan had the most marvellous laugh. Mr Ryan, who Catherine met later that first night, was quiet and very serious. He spent most of the weekend behind a newspaper. But Aileen’s mother—‘Do call me Dotty, Catherine’—was as much fun as Aileen herself, and Catherine loved her immediately.

  ‘She’s a daughter of the American Revolution,’ Aileen said at dinner that first night, as if it explained why her mother went into fits of giggles at her own jokes.

  Aileen’s father looked up over his newspaper. ‘She really is,’ he said.

  On that first afternoon, the two girls helped to unpack the car and went into the large kitchen at the back of the house. It had doors out onto a terrace that overlooked the water. They ate a box of cookies and then Aileen asked if they could go down to the beach.

  ‘Daddy will be up at six for dinner and it’s already late,’ Mrs Ryan said. ‘Why don’t you take Catherine for a walk along the point and dip your toes in? And tomorrow you can have the whole day on the beach.’

  Aileen’s mother had been a runner, Aileen said on their walk, but she’d been stopped by the Amateur Athletics Association. They wouldn’t let women run competitively. Or swim, in those days, Aileen added. When Eppy started the WSA, she said, women were not allowed to swim in competitions at all.

  Mrs Ryan was all for Aileen’s diving, but Aileen’s father thought it was nonsense.

  ‘My father is a lawyer, and his father was a lawyer, and so I am to be a lawyer,’ Aileen said. ‘And if I am to be a lawyer, I must apply myself to my lessons.’ She sighed. ‘I love diving more than I’ve ever loved anything. Don’t you love swimming that way?’

  ‘I never had to imagine not swimming until I left Australia,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s always been part of my life. I do love it, yes.’ For most of the girls she’d met so far at the WSA, Catherine had realised, swimming was a sport, something they’d learned to do in order to compete. For Catherine, swimming was part of who she was. The only other swimmer who seemed to experience the water this way, she thought, was Trudy, who got into the tank every morning and ploughed up and back, up and back, at speed.

  The next morning, Catherine and Aileen ate a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs and fresh bread baked by Mrs Ryan, then set off to explore. They found a cave Aileen had never seen before in the rocks at the point and ate their sandwiches while looking out to the water.

  ‘Eppy says they’re putting off deciding about the Channel swim until after Sandy Hook,’ Aileen said. ‘Trudy might make another try on her own.’ Catherine knew the story now. Trudy Ederle had very nearly swum the English Channel the year before, but nine hours into the swim her coach had pulled her
from the water. He said she was drowning, and the swimmer who was pacing her agreed. But Trudy herself was furious, the newspaper report said. She told the reporters the coach had fed her something during the swim that had made her groggy. She said there was nothing wrong with her and she could swim the Channel any day of the week. She would be back, she said, her father and sister on either side of her. Trudy’s father also came to training, Catherine discovered. He yelled at the girls to swim harder. It made the tank even more unpleasant.

  Mrs Ryan said the newspapers had been unthinkably poor in their treatment of Trudy, who was ‘just a girl really. Swimming gets people worked up,’ she said. ‘There were writers even here in America who said it was unwomanly to swim the Channel. They put Trudy in with the flappers. For goodness’ sake, she’s the butcher on Amsterdam Avenue’s daughter. She’s no flapper.’

  Andrew had been up on the train to see Catherine during the week. They’d gone back to the Baltimore Dairy Lunch for sandwiches. She’d asked him about Trudy Ederle’s swim. Trudy’s outburst had won her no friends in England, Andrew said, where they called her a sore loser.

  Andrew said Catherine should be the one to swim the Channel. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Mr Black says you’re a champion, and Mr Black knows these things. You could beat the Americans, the Germans and win the Channel for England, our England.’

  ‘It’s not my England,’ Catherine had said.

  ‘Oh, yes it is,’ he said. ‘If you win, we’ll say you’re English. Of course we will.’

  Aileen said now that Trudy wasn’t aloof. ‘She’s just in her own world. I don’t think she can hear people very well, so she does her own thing.’

  A group of dolphins swam past out in the sea. ‘Porpoises,’ Aileen said, when Catherine pointed them out. They watched them playing in the waves while they shared the last of the soda with cheese crackers.

  ‘Have you ever had a beau?’ Aileen asked suddenly.

  ‘What’s a beau?’ Catherine said.

  ‘A boyfriend, silly.’

  ‘No,’ Catherine said. She thought of Michael. ‘Well, maybe.’

  ‘Maybe what?’ Aileen said.

  ‘Well, not so much a boyfriend, more like a brother.’

  ‘Blech,’ Aileen said. ‘You can’t kiss your brother. Did you kiss?’

  Catherine shook her head no. ‘There’s also another fellow,’ she said. ‘I knew him in London. He’s here now, or in Baltimore. But I’m not sure he’s a beau.’ Catherine thought about Andrew. She was fond of him, and was glad he was coming to see her. It was someone from home, or from London anyway. When she’d first met him, he’d been so sweet, if a little accident prone. She’d liked him straightaway, and his slight awkwardness had been part of his charm for her. Now, though, he’d changed. He was a reporter for Mr Black’s newspaper, smoking those cigarettes and drinking the beer. He’d hardened towards life, she thought, although she wondered if it was just an act. Every now and then his old sweet self would poke through. She wasn’t sure of his feelings for her, and she wasn’t sure of her own feelings. How would she know? she thought. ‘What about you?’ she said to Aileen. ‘Do you have a beau?’

  ‘Well, there’s this boy who lives a few streets away. I’ll take you past his house. He’s twenty-three and he works at the club at the end of the beach. I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on without him.’ Aileen held her palm to her forehead in mock upset. ‘He’s so handsome,’ she said, ‘with the blondest hair that f lops onto his large forehead—lots of brains, I think—and muscles on his muscles. He swims in the afternoons, so let’s hang around all day, just in case.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Daddy hates him, of course, without even knowing him. I don’t dare tell Daddy, actually, for fear he’ll go round there with a gun.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, Catherine,’ she said. ‘My best friend, Marlene, left last term, and I’ve been lonely. But you’re just like Marlene—a real friend.’

  The next morning, they got up early again and headed for the beach. The day was fine and warm, and they decided to swim out to a shipwreck a mile from shore. The water was freezing, colder than the ponds at Hampstead, but so long as Catherine kept swimming hard, she could manage. The bow of the old ship jutted up out of the water, and the rusted keel was visible, covered now in barnacles. Catherine looked around her. This was what she had missed.

  ‘Oh, Aileen, thank you for bringing me here. What a wonderful place.’

  ‘Holy moley,’ Aileen said. ‘I couldn’t keep up with you. Boy, you can swim!’

  They didn’t tread water for long, as they started to feel the cold, so they swam back to shore and dressed quickly, and ran along the sand to warm up in the sun.

  They never did see Aileen’s ‘beau’ that day, but they had enormous fun looking for him. The rest of the weekend was full of good food and fun, none of the speaking properly and dressing properly and acting appropriately that Catherine had hated at school in London. The time she spent with the Ryans, on that weekend and a number that followed, would remain with her. It wasn’t like being with Florence on the island, but it wasn’t like being with Louisa and Nellie either. It was just normal, Catherine thought later. She could have settled in and become part of the Ryan family quite easily. It gave her a notion she’d never had before: that she might be able to live somewhere other than the island and it would be all right.

  The truth was that Catherine was starting to forget the island. She’d try to remember the smells, but it was difficult. You never smelled coconut in London or New York. It was the strongest memory she had, but she couldn’t quite recall it. It was a hot smell, she knew, a wholesome smell that made her think of goodness.

  On her last afternoon on Long Island, Catherine watched the sun set with Aileen. They held hands. I could be happy, she thought. I could be happy with these people, with swimming in New York. No one was more surprised to discover she felt this way than Catherine herself.

  She fell into an easy routine of swimming morning and evening and spending her days exploring New York. She liked the library on Fifth Avenue, where she could stay all day if she wanted and read newspapers. Outside the library was an ice-cream vendor. The worst of the cold weather was over and there were tiny buds on all the trees. Sometimes she’d get one of those ice-creams—vanilla or chocolate—and go and sit in the park and eat it while she watched the people go by. Soon Louisa would come. She’d put off her trip twice now, but she’d wired Catherine that she was finally getting away. When Louisa came, Catherine would leave Charlotte Epstein’s apartment and she and her aunt would move into a hotel together. Louisa’s last telegram was typical Louisa. MAD HERE STOP SAIL 26TH STOP. That was all. LOVE or even REGARDS probably wouldn’t have cost any more, Andrew observed when he saw the telegram. Catherine couldn’t imagine Louisa using those words.

  All the same, Catherine found that she was looking forward to seeing her aunt again. She was glad to be swimming, she really was, but the tank wasn’t what she’d expected. It was so small, like trying to swim in Louisa’s bathtub. Catherine would hardly start out before she’d have to turn around. And Mr Handley still said she wasn’t swimming properly. The American girls kicked more frequently, while Catherine kicked in rhythm with her arms. She tried hard to do as he said, but it didn’t feel normal, and then she would lose speed and he’d tell her to swing her arms higher. She only had one way she could go forward, she told him, and that was the way she was going. He smiled. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘One way forward.’

  Charlotte had been lovely, and Charlotte’s and Aileen’s families had made sure Catherine felt welcome. She also saw Andrew every week. He came up on the train. Mr Black didn’t come, and Catherine found she was disappointed. She told Andrew she’d hoped Mr Black might help her meet her American family but Andrew said he’d hardly seen Mr Black either. There was some trouble with a shipping company he was involved in. Andrew didn’t know the details.

  Aileen came with Catherine to meet with Andrew one day. After he’d
gone back on the train, Aileen said Catherine definitely had herself a beau. As he’d been leaving, he’d shaken hands with Aileen to say goodbye and then he’d leaned in to embrace Catherine. But instead of kissing her cheek, his lips brushed hers. He pulled back immediately and apologised, leaving them quickly.

  ‘He’s a dish,’ Aileen said. ‘And he speaks like a prince. Oh, oh, oh,’ she said. ‘I love him even if you don’t.’

  Catherine just laughed. ‘Oh, Aileen, Andrew’s like a big brother. He’s not a beau.’ But afterwards, she wondered too what his feelings were, what her own feelings were. It was confusing.

  Catherine had come to know Charlotte Epstein better. Her experience of court cases trained her well for the many battles she’d fought to get the Women’s Swimming Association up and running. Like Louisa, Charlotte was always doing something. She came to swimming training at six o’clock every morning and then left the girls at eight to go to work. She came back in the evenings for training and then went home to work some more.

  The girls all wore WSA suits to training. They were more revealing than the suit Catherine wore in England, with straps over the shoulders and cut off higher at the thigh, Catherine told Louisa in a letter. You will hate them, she wrote. They don’t even have a skirt! They were more like the suits the men wore, Catherine thought, more like what she herself had worn at home. Charlotte said if they all wore them to meets, there would be no problem. The girls were used to one another in the new costumes, but some worried they’d be in trouble once they were swimming competitively again on the beaches, which still imposed strict dress codes, policed by beach officers.

  ‘If we get arrested, we’ll all get arrested,’ Aileen said bravely.

  Catherine had laughed. ‘They can’t arrest me. I’m not even an American.’

  ‘You think that will stop the police?’ Aileen said. ‘Hah! They arrested Ethelda Bleibtrey on Manhattan Beach, and all she did was take off her stockings. They’ll deport you back to Australia, or wherever they like. You might have to become Canadian.’ They’d arrested Annette Kellerman too, for wearing a suit just like the WSA suits, but that was before the war, Aileen said.