The Man Who Cried

by Catherine Cookson

  ”How far is that, Dad? How many days? It was important to know the number of days it would take from place to place for then he knew how long his feet would pain.

  ”Oh, between forty-five and fifty miles. If the weather holds i?

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  we’ll do it in three days or so. But don’t worry” - he patted his f son’s head - ”it’ll be all right; I’m going to buy some cotton wool I ’ and bandages and when we settle in for the night I’ll fix your 1 feet.” I

  ”Will we ever be able to sleep in a boarding-house, like the holidaymakers did in Hastings, Dad ?”

  Abel’s lips moved into a wry smile as he said, ”Not as I stand at present. Once I get fixed up with a job then we’ll see. But we’ve been lucky so far, haven’t we ?”

  ”Yes, Dad.”

  ”Well, let’s brave the elements and see if we can be lucky again.”

  And they were lucky. Two miles out of Brentwood they came to open pasture land and having espied what looked like an old barn in the corner of a field some distance from the road, Abel made for it. On entering, he found it wasn’t as dilapidated as it * • looked; more than half of it was dry and there was evidence of a :!•’* fire having been recently lit in one corner.

  ”Good . . . good. Aren’t we lucky? Rake round for some twigs, we’ll soon have a fire going and I’ll see to your feet.”

  The fire going, the tin can of water bubbling on the sticks - he made sure always to carry a bottle of water with him - he was about to unwrap the bacon left over from their breakfast when a shadow appeared in the doorway of the barn and a voice said, ”Don’t you know you’re on private land ?”

  Abel rose from his hunkers and faced the squat tweed-coated, brown-breeched man and his voice was civil as he said, ”No, sir. Well, I knew it would belong to somebody, but we’re doing no harm.”

  ”Doing no harm ? Tramping my fields, stealing the beet or anything else you can get your hands on!”

  Abel’s face was grim and his voice equally so as he said, ”I’m not in the habit of stealing, sir.”

  ”Oh; then you’re an exception.” The man stepped further into the barn and, looking towards Dick, said, ”You’re on the road with that child?”

  There was a pause before Abel replied, ”We’re on our way North.”

  ”Evidently you’re on your way somewhere, but I should have thought.. .”

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  ”He’s my son and it’s my business.”

  ”Yes, yes, it is your business; and it’s my business to see you don’t destroy my property, so get out.”

  Before his father turned towards the fire, Dick was already packing up their belongings.

  A few minutes later they were outside the barn where the man was standing with one hand in his breeches pocket while with the other he was swiping the fairy clocks from the tops of the dandelion stalks.

  ”I hope you’re never in want, sir,” Abel said as he passed the farmer; then glancing down to where the seed heads of the dandelions were spraying into the wind, he added, ”And your weeds grow plentiful.”

  The stick stopped flaying and the man, now red in the face, said, ”You’d better get a move on before I put this stick to a different use.”

  ”Yes . . . well, I’d get rid of that idea, sir.” They stared at each other for a moment before Abel, hitching the pack up on to his back, turned away, pushing Dick before him.

  They had almost skirted the field when a voice coming from out of a ditch startled them. ”He havin’ a go at you ?”

  Abel looked down on to what appeared to be a bundle of rags with a face in the middle of it.

  ”Don’t want to take no notice of him; wait till’s dark. Bloody upstart him. You’re new on this game, eh ? Never seen you afore. Where you bound for ?” Abel answered the last question briefly, ”The North.” ”Oh aye. Funny going that way. Not expectin’ to find work there are ya ?

  The whole place is emptying itself over to this end, Scots, Geordies, Welshmen, the lot. Got a tab on ya ?” ”No.” Abel shook his head.

  ”Wouldn’t give me one if ya had, is that it ? Aw well, might do the same for you some day.”

  ”I don’t happen to have a tab on me.” ”Okay, I believe you. Broke are ya?”

  Abel smiled wryly to himself. The old fellow was amusing. But was he old? He couldn’t tell what age he was, dressed in that bundle of old clothes. ”You know surnmat ?” ”What’s that?”

  ”Ya’ll lose that pack afore ya get North.”

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  Abel hitched the rucksack further up on his shoulders. ”They’ty have to take me along with it then.”

  ”Aw, there’s ways and means. Ya’ve got to sleep. It looks too new an’ too full; you look wealthy, man. Want my advice ? Get an old coat, raggy, stick your things under it an’ scratch a bit... like this” - he now demonstrated - ”an’ they won’t come near you.” He laughed now, a deep, chuckling laugh. ”They’re all new ’uns at the game. Me, I’ve been at it these thirty years. Do me round once a year. Ask if I can do a job; they gi’me somethin’ to get rid of me. You, ya look naked, sittin” pigeon y’are. Still soles on yer boots an’the kid with ya. . . . Hope to start a racket with him ?”

  ”-7hat do you mean ?”

  ”Well, sympathy, ’cos of the kid. Ya won’t get it, more like _ police after ya if ya try to take him into a grubber.”

  ”He’s got to come with me.”

  Even as he spoke Abel wondered why he was standing there, why he didn’t get on his way ? And he scorned himself because he , had the urge to sit down in the ditch and let this fellow go on talking and to listen, and learn, because he knew what he was saying was true.

  As if the man had read his mind, he said, ”Stick along of me if ya like . . . show ya the ropes.”

  Abel hesitated for a second, then said, ”Thanks all the same; I’ll learn as I go. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for your advice.”

  ”Here! have a tab.”

  He watched the dirty hand diving into a pocket, then the packet of Woodbines was being held up to him.

  ”Go on, take one. They’re clean; I bought them just a little way back. A fresh packet; look, still five in.”

  Abel reached out and took one of the cigarettes, then said, ”Thanks very much.”

  ”. . . Good-bye.”

  He had turned away before the man in the ditch answered, ”So long. Look out for yer bits and pieces.”

  He turned his head on his shoulder. ”I will, I will.” , ”Funny man, Dad, isn’t he?” Dick half turned round and smiled, and when the man waved he lifted his hand tentatively and waved back; then on a laugh, he said, ”He waved to me, Dad. He is funny; makes you want to laugh.”

  ”Yes, I suppose he is funny. He’s an old stager and he’s wise in 20

  the ways of the road. It looks as if we’ve got a lot to learn, doesn’t it?”

  They exchanged glances, then walked on in silence until Dick spoke, and then the question he asked was a personal one. ”How much money have you got, Dad?” he said.

  ”At the last count, twelve and threepence.”

  ”That seems a lot.”

  ”It’ll do until we get more.”

  But from where was he going to get more ? He wouldn’t admit to himself he was worried. From now on he must look for work, any kind of work as long as it provided them with food.

  It was odd but this necessity to get food was in some measure obliterating the ache and pain which had consumed him during the past days. The times were now fewer when all he wanted to do was to throw himself on the ground and to beat it with his fists, and to cry, cry, and cry. He was ashamed of his weakness and he managed to throttle it during the day, but at night whenever he woke himself up calling ”Alice! Alice!” his face was always wet with tears.

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  During the three days it took them to reach Cambridge the professional tramp’s words had been proved true more than once. First, there wasn’t any work to be had even of the meanest kind; and secondly, his pack had acted as a form of temptation to others not so well off as himself.

  He had once before many years ago visited Cambridge, and so he remembered the layout of the town, where the colleges were, the Backs, the river . . . and the station. It was towards the station he made his way now, and when his step quickened Dick said to him, ”Where we going, Dad?”

  ”To the station.”

  ”Going to get on a train, Dad?”

  ”No, no.” He gave a short laugh. ”No; going to meet those coming off the trains. There must be a lot of people come here even now for holidays and to do trips on the river; they’ll want their bags carrying. When we get there I want you to sit on the rucksacks tight and don’t leave them, not for anything. Understand?”

  ”Yes, Dad.”

  ”Good.”

  At the station Abel saw that Dick wouldn’t be needed to sit on his rucksack because for every passenger coming off a train, if a porter was not already carrying his luggage there were half a dozen men waiting to oblige.

  ”Come.” More slowly now they walked back through the side streets towards the river, and there they sat on a green bank and watched the swans. Away to the right of them along the bank a fleet of hired boats were berthed. That was the boatyard; he remembered the name, Banham’s.

  Saturday was the usual day that the land-locked sailors took the boats out. Would it be any use go-

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  ing along there and having a try ? No, no. He shook his head at himself; and again he said,

  ”Come on.”

  They had crossed the river and were about to take the road that would eventually lead them to Huntingdon when Abel slowed his step and, drawing Dick back into line with him, looked down at him and, nodding his head, said, ”I wonder, eh ? I wonder.”

  Dick looked ahead of them. Two young women were each carrying two suitcases and finding the job heavy going. He grinned up at his father, saying, ”You could try, Dad. But you’ve got your own pack.”

  ”But me arms are still loose, aren’t they? Here goes.”

  ”Can I help you carry your cases, miss ?”

  The two young women stopped simultaneously and one of them gasped, ”Oh! if you would I’d be ever so obliged. Wouldn’t we, Mary?”

  ”Oh, yes. Aye. Me arms are snappin’, we didn’t think it was this far from the station.”

  ”Where you bound for?”

  ”The boatyard, Banham’s boatyard; it’s somewhere round here. The man said it was just along this road and down the second turning on the right.”

  ”You’ve come a long way round, you know. Well, I can manage two of them. Give them here.”

  He picked the two largest cases and while he strode ahead, with Dick having to run now by his side, the girls walked along behind, giggling and talking.

  ”We’ve never been on a boat before and we didn’t want to waste money on a cab because they said it wasn’t very far from the station.”

  ”Where you from?” ’ •”..’,-

  ”Manchester.”

  ”Manchester!”

  ”Yes, we’ve been looking forward to this for months. Do you think it’s going to keep fine ?”

  ”Oh yes, I should say so.”

  ”It was pouring when we left. . . . Flaming June!” They giggled and Dick turned and looked at them; and now they said, ”You on a hike ... ?”

  ”Sort of.”

  When ten minutes later they entered the boatyard it was to a scene of almost gay activity.

  Holidaymakers were stowing their

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  belongings on board their particular craft; others were carryi^ boxes of groceries from a side shed; workmen were cleaning some boats while others were explaining the simple mechanism of the steering to the amateur sailors. There was laughter and chatter and an air of bustle everywhere.

  ”Will you wait here until we see which boat we’ve got?”

  The taller of the two girls now brought her companion’s attention away from Abel, saying,

  ”Don’t be silly! we know what boat we’ve got. It’s the Firefly. We’ve just got to pay our bill.”

  They were giggling again as they went towards the office.

  Abel stood looking about him, and when one of the boatmen passed him, he touched the man’s arm lightly and said, ”Excuse me, but is there any chance of being set on, I mean temporary like for an hour or two ?”

  The man looked at him somewhat sadly before saying, ”Sorry, mate, not a hope.”

  ”Thanks.”

  On their return the girls were accompanied by one of the workmen. He was leading the way to the quay, and the girls as they passed grabbed up their smaller cases and followed him, and indicated by their laughter and nods that Abel should bring up the other cases.

  The Firefly was a two-berther; next to it was a larger cruiser, and sitting on top of the cabin was a woman dressed in a short skirt and white sweater. Glancing at her, Abel noted the look of disdain on her face as she watched the antics of the new arrivals.

  The workman now took the cases from Abel and disappeared into the cabin, and the girls, looking up at Abel, said almost simultaneously, ”Ta. Thanks.”

  He stared at them, and as he did so the smiles slipped from their faces and one of them nudged the other. Going down into the cabin, she hissed to her companion, who was still standing openmouthed in the cockpit, ”He wants a tip.”

  ”Oh!” There followed a rummaging in a handbag, then a coin was handed up to him; and he left it on his open palm as he looked at it. It was a penny. Slowly he picked it up between his first finger and thumb and, handing it down to the girl again, he said, ”You’ll need that likely before I do, miss.”

  As he walked away, his hand on Dick’s shoulder, the words, ”Well, I never! Did you see that!

  What did he expect? He asked

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  to carry them, didn’t he? The cheek!” followed him.

  Some of the humiliation his father was feeling seeped into Dick as they walked along the towpath by the side of the river. A penny was nothing, and his father had carried those cases a long way. Why, his father never used to give him less than threepence a week pocket money.

  Things weren’t going right; he was worried. . . .

  It was quite some time later when they stopped by a lock. It was the boy who drew his father to a halt, saying, ”The boats look bonny, don’t they, Dad, all lined up. What they waitin’ for ?”

  ”To get through the lock.”

  ”Oh.” He didn’t know what a lock was and from his father’s tone he knew that it wasn’t the time to ask. His father had hardly spoken a word since they left the boatyard.

  ”Can we stay a little while and watch them, Dad?”

  ”I suppose so.”

  He watched his father slip the rucksack from his back; then he did the same with his own small one; and then they sat down side by side on the bank beyond the towpath.

  There was a boat coming down the river and they watched it make for the bank. A young girl was standing in the bows with a rope in her hand, and a woman was at the wheel. The wind that was blowing offshore and the current running over the weir to the side of the lock were giving her trouble, and twice she had to go out into mid-stream before she could eventually turn the bows straight towards the bank.

  When the girl jumped off the boat on to the bank and pulled on the rope the wind took the stern and slew it round.

  Dick felt his father hesitate for a moment before getting to his feet; then going to the girl, he took the rope from her and pulled the bows into the bank and pushed against them, and when the woman on board quickly thrus
t a boat hook towards him he slipped it into a cleat and gradually brought the boat alongside.

  He was holding the boat steady when the woman, leaning now into full view over the side of the cockpit, said, ”Thanks. Thanks very much.”

  ”You’re welcome.”

  ”I ... I saw you down in the boatyard, didn’t I?”

  He had taken his eyes from her. Now he looked at her briefly again as he said, ”Yes. Yes, I was down there.”

  There was a pause before she said, ”It’ll be a time before we get 25

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  through, do you think we should anchor?”

  ”I don’t know, that’s up to you.”

  ”I think we should. Would you knock the rond anchor in for me? Here Daphne, hand the gentleman the rond anchor.”

  Dick felt an easing of the tension in him. She had called his father a gentleman. She was a nice lady.

  He watched his father take first an iron hook, then a wooden hammer and with it bang the hook into the ground. When he had done this the young girl tied the rope through the loop in the piece of iron.

  When the same thing had been repeated at the other end, the boat rested quietly against the side of the bank; then the lady stepped from the boat and approached his father. She stared at him for seemingly a long time before saying quietly, ”Could I ask you to ’see us through the lock ? I’m not quite up to handling a boat on my own. The last time I was on the river was some years ago with . . . with my husband.”

  It seemed another long moment before his father answered, ”What am I expected to do ?”

  ”Oh, just hang on to the ropes and keep her steady while the lock is being emptied.” . ;

  ”Very well.” ’J

  ”Perhaps your son would like to come aboard?”

  When she turned towards Dick his face lighted up and he looked from her to his father and said,

  ”Oh, can I, Dad ?”

  Again there was a pause; then his father said, ”How’s he going to get off?”