A Sister's War

by Molly Green

  Ronnie pushed the lever and like magic the engine began to thrum. Dora pulled a cable.

  ‘This’ – she tapped it, her voice rising above the thundering of the engine – ‘is the governor rod. Makes it go faster, but we’re not allowed ter go more ’an four miles an hour – tops. So bear that in mind. It’s a safety rule. Yer can be sacked if yer caught speedin’. Another thing ter watch out for is the other boaters. They don’t allus take too kindly to the trainees.’

  ‘We can’t go all day like this without a proper wash,’ Jessica grumbled as Dora disappeared. ‘I shall stink.’

  ‘I’ll be sure not to stand too close to you.’ Ronnie kept her face straight and Jessica raised her eyebrows as though wondering whether or not to take her seriously, which made Ronnie burst into giggles.

  Jessica sniffed. ‘I’m not sure personal hygiene is exactly foremost on Dora’s mind, so I suppose we’ll just have to get on with it.’

  ‘Margaret, yer our hobbler this time,’ Dora shouted at the short, thin girl when the six trainees had squeezed into the engine room. Ronnie couldn’t see at all what was going on. ‘You remember what to do?’

  ‘Um, isn’t it to do with the locks?’ Margaret’s fair skin reddened.

  ‘Yes, but what exactly?’ Dora barked.

  ‘I have to get off the boat and go ahead of you,’ Margaret said, obviously embarrassed that all eyes were on her.

  ‘And then what?’ Dora demanded. She glared at Margaret, who lowered her eyes. ‘And then what, Margaret?’

  Margaret pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  ‘Ter get the lock ready for the boat ter go in,’ Dora said, in an irritable tone. ‘And how do yer do that?’

  Margaret screwed up her face. ‘I can’t remember exactly … something to do with the paddles.’

  Dora clicked her tongue. ‘Lucky Percy’ll be around and he’ll show yer. But what must yer allus remember to take with yous?’

  Margaret stood there shaking her head.

  Dora looked at the small group, her mouth turned down at the edges. ‘Sally?’

  ‘The windlass, Miss Dummitt.’

  ‘Correct.’

  Margaret turned bright red and immediately scuttled off, returning with a two-foot iron rod in the shape of an ‘L’.

  ‘Now yer equipped to do the job, Margaret, we’ll see yer at the lock which yous’ll have prepared. It’s quite aways so you’ll have ter get a move on – unless yer ride that fancy bike of yours.’

  ‘It’s difficult to ride in the mud, Miss Dummitt,’ Margaret said, ‘so I think I’d better walk.’

  ‘I s’pose yer don’t want to get no mud splashes on it.’ Dora turned to the others, a smirk on her face. ‘While Margaret’s doin’ that, I’ll show yer how ter tie the boats tergether – side by side. It’s called “breastin’ up”. Then when we’re travellin’ with empty boats it’ll only take one wench to steer.’

  Dora mentioned such items as the snubber, a very long rope if the next distance between locks – that they were to call the pound – was flat for a decent period of time, the checking strap, which Ronnie immediately forgot the purpose of when Dora went on to explain about shaft poles, which apparently had all kinds of uses such as pushing the boats away from the bank and clearing rubbish in the locks … Dora reeled off the names of other pieces of vital equipment until Ronnie began to feel she could cram nothing more into her brain.

  She didn’t remember a thing from yesterday, and today was no better. She felt sorry for Margaret, yet slightly comforted. Dora hadn’t been getting just at her and Jessica. She wondered how on earth she could get on the right side of Dora without having the rest of the girls accusing her of ‘sucking up’.

  ‘Ver-ron-eek, you take the tiller on the motor!’

  Ronnie startled out of her reverie. This was awkward. None of the trainees had done any steering on their own.

  Dora called out, ‘Take May with yer.’

  That wouldn’t be a lot of help, Ronnie thought. May wouldn’t know any more than she did.

  ‘Can you remember what to do, Ronnie?’ May said, as the two girls made their way to the stern of the boat.

  ‘The one most important thing,’ Ronnie said furrowing her brow. ‘Always turn the tiller towards the thing you don’t want to hit. In other words, the opposite direction you would expect.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember that,’ May said, chuckling. ‘So nothing can go wrong, then?’

  ‘Don’t tempt fate,’ Ronnie said soberly, ‘or we’ll be in deep water – literally.’

  To her surprise, Ronnie thoroughly enjoyed steering the narrowboat along the cut. That was until she realised there was quite a bit of traffic on the canal to negotiate, often accompanied by shouts and cheers and waving arms from the children who stared from the roofs of the passing boats.

  May pointed. ‘Oh, look, Ron, at that man leading his horse to pull the boat – it’s not making half such a racket as our engine noise.’

  Immediately Ronnie worried it was too heavy a load for the horse. But when she dared take her eye off the steering by sending quick glances over to the boater and his horse, she couldn’t see any sign that the animal was suffering.

  ‘We’re coming to the first lock, Ronnie,’ May said. ‘Dora said as it’s right next to the basin we need to breast up before going through it.’

  To Ronnie’s relief Dora appeared, and with the help of Jessica tied the two boats side by side, all the time calling out instructions.

  Ronnie’s heart beat hard. There were two pairs of colourfully painted boats behind her, and men shouting, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. They sounded annoyed. Probably only too aware they’d be held up by a bunch of amateurs – especially women, Ronnie thought, her frown of concentration deepening. Oh, if only she knew all the unwritten rules of the cut.

  A man of about sixty was talking to Margaret and pointing to the paddles on the lock. Margaret was nodding, so Ronnie hoped she was taking it all in. Frankly, she was worried about her. Margaret was so thin she didn’t look strong enough to work the heavy locks, or indeed a lot of the other jobs that constantly needed attention. As she watched, Dora joined the two of them and Ronnie was amused to see that Percy, if that was the lock-keeper, was holding the conversation, not Dora.

  ‘Me and Percy’ll work the lock,’ Dora called out, as Ronnie drew the boats closer. ‘Yous all need ter watch close as yous’ll be doin’ it termorrer.’ She looked up at Ronnie. ‘You and May listen to what I tell yer when the two boats are in the lock.’

  Ronnie held her breath, her pulse racing, as she steered both boats into the lock that Dora had cautioned them against. This was the tricky bit.

  Gently does it. Don’t rush.

  Ready to sigh with relief when both boats were finally in position as far as she could make out, May’s shout startled her.

  ‘Ron, pull away!’

  The warning was too late. Ronnie flinched as a loud scraping noise set her nerves on edge. Then a thump. She’d hit the side of the lock. Furiously, she jerked the tiller.

  ‘Wrong way!’ May bellowed.

  The motor rammed again into the side. Ronnie thought she could hear Dora cursing above the noise of the water pouring into the lock. Biting back tears of frustration, she turned the tiller to the left this time, and miraculously the motorboat pulled away from the edge, Penelope bobbing a few feet away at the side of them.

  Taking what seemed like hours but was only minutes, the pair of boats finally passed through the lock and into the calmer waters of the canal. Ronnie swallowed hard, bracing herself for Dora’s showdown. But surprisingly, when the trainees had formed a group on the towpath Dora merely grunted.

  ‘Yer’ll know better next time, Ver-ron-eek. You in’t the first nor the last wench ter do that on yer first time. So all of yous take note.’ She glared at the others, then struck a match to light her pipe. ‘Both boats’ll need paintin’ but it in’t the end of the world. They never give us lot t
he best boats anyways.’

  ‘Do you need any help, Jessica?’ Ronnie asked as she stepped into the tiny kitchen space that evening. The table was strewn with vegetable peelings, an opened tin of baked beans, a jar of Marmite and a packet of oatmeal. A saucepan of something savoury was simmering on the stove.

  ‘I’m more or less finished,’ Jessica said, her face in full concentration as she turned the page of a cookery book. ‘But it’s been a nightmare trying to find everything I need. I wanted some stewing steak but of course that’s impossible to get hold of these days.’

  ‘What are you making?’

  ‘Goulash.’ Jessica looked up with a tight smile. ‘But I fear for it.’

  ‘So do I,’ Ronnie giggled. ‘I’ve never even heard of it.’

  ‘Really?’ Jessica slightly curled her lip. ‘I thought everyone knew goulash – it’s Hungarian.’

  ‘Well, that’s why. I’ve never eaten anything Hungarian.’ Ronnie gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘Have you done a lot of cooking?’

  ‘Only got my certificate for completing a cordon bleu course in Paris,’ Jessica said. ‘And before you ask, a cordon bleu cook has attained the highest possible standards. Thankfully, I attended before the war when you could get good quality ingredients. It’s almost impossible nowadays to put a delicious meal on the table with everything rationed – or so it feels like. But at least I know how to make a decent meal from nothing.’

  ‘Gosh.’ Ronnie blinked. ‘I bet you could show my French mother a thing or two. She’s an awful cook. I have to do most of it and I’m not really interested.’

  ‘Strange your mother is French and can’t cook,’ Jessica commented.

  Ronnie didn’t bother to tell her that they used to have a cook in their old life. What would be the point?

  ‘Maybe you’d become interested if you knew how.’ Jessica raised an eyebrow.

  Ronnie shook her head. ‘No, but I do love growing vegetables. Nothing from the greengrocer’s tastes as good as the ones you grow yourself.’

  ‘You see, you’re already halfway there if you have beautiful fresh vegetables.’ Jessica studied Ronnie. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t join the Land Army if you like being outdoors so much.’ She didn’t wait for an answer but frowned. ‘What on earth can I use instead of the steak?’

  ‘What about corned beef?’

  ‘Ugh. Dreadful stuff.’ This time there was a definite curl of Jessica’s lip. ‘Can you imagine the chefs in Paris cooking with it? They’d rather die.’

  ‘We won’t expect you to go that far,’ Ronnie said, laughing. ‘But it’s a whole lot better than nothing, so why don’t you try it? There’s bound to be a tin in one of the cupboards.’

  ‘It goes against all my principles,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Not mine,’ Ronnie grinned. ‘And I bet it doesn’t go against any of the other girls’ principles either – or Dora’s … especially Dora’s.’

  ‘If she’s ever had any,’ Jessica shot back.

  Ronnie lowered the table cupboard and peered at the shelves. Triumphantly, she grabbed hold of a tin of corned beef. ‘Just what Chef Jessica has been looking for. I think you’ll do very nicely,’ she said, addressing the tin.

  Jessica looked doubtful. ‘I suppose I’ll have to give it a go, though I’ll know who to blame if it tastes like a dog’s dinner.’

  ‘My Rusty would be delighted with it, then,’ Ronnie said, grinning. ‘It’s his favourite – a really good dog’s dinner! But there’s no need to say anything to the others. After all, there is a war on.’

  ‘That’s one thing we did learn,’ Jessica said. ‘When something goes wrong with a dish, never apologise and never explain. But I’d be grateful if you don’t mention that I’m a qualified cook. This is not going to be one of my successes.’

  Dora wiped her mouth from the remnants of Jessica’s goulash on the sleeve of her jumper and Ronnie grimaced inwardly, thankful her own jumper had now dried and she was wearing it. The trainer gave Jessica a sharp look. ‘What did you say it was?’

  ‘Goulash.’

  Ronnie stifled a giggle. It sounded awfully grand for what she’d have termed ‘corned beef stew’ but everyone had cleaned their plates and said it was delicious.

  ‘Hmm. Sounds a bit foreign ter me,’ Dora said, looking at her empty plate as though she couldn’t believe she’d eaten every scrap. ‘But I’m sure yer did yer best.’

  Jessica rolled her eyes, making Ronnie turn what threatened to be a burst of laughter into a cough.

  ‘Anyone fancy the White Swan?’ Dora said as Sally and May rinsed the plates and set the saucepan to soak. ‘I don’t know about you lot, but I’m dyin’ for a pint. It’s close to Denham where we’ll tie up and The Green Man where I’m puttin’ my head for the night.’

  ‘I’m up for it,’ Jessica said immediately. ‘And wouldn’t a glass of decent wine go down a treat?’

  ‘Do you think she’s gone to change?’ May said when they’d moored and Dora had gone to fetch her overnight bag.

  ‘Oh, yes, definitely. She’ll be in evening dress and full make-up, no question,’ Jessica chuckled. ‘Which is what I now propose to do.’

  Everyone looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘Are you really?’ Sally said.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Jessica’s eyes were full of mischief. ‘But it wouldn’t hurt us to freshen up a bit if we’re going out. I just wish I hadn’t been so worn out last night that I didn’t put my hair in curlers. It looks awful.’

  ‘It doesn’t at all,’ Ronnie protested. ‘It’s such an unusual colour – like a fairy story princess.’

  ‘Thank you, kind lady,’ Jessica chuckled.

  ‘When you’ve both finished yapping about Jessica’s hair,’ Angela cut in, ‘maybe we can find out who’s going.’ She paused. ‘I’ll say yes.’

  ‘And me,’ Sally said. ‘What about you, Margaret?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘May?’ Sally turned to her.

  ‘I thought it was a foregone conclusion,’ May laughed, ‘seeing as how I used to work in a pub.’

  ‘Ronnie, are you coming?’ Jessica said.

  ‘No, I won’t, thanks. I’m going to have a proper wash. I feel really grimy. Then I’m going to bed with a book.’

  ‘I’d prefer to go to bed with a man meself,’ May chimed in with a scream of laughter.

  Ronnie felt the heat rise up her neck and into her face. She looked away.

  ‘Sorry, Ronnie,’ May said, her laughter dying. ‘I didn’t mean to offend.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Ronnie mumbled. ‘Not in the least.’

  She couldn’t help liking May, but she did sometimes say things a bit close to the mark. Maman would definitely not have approved of some of the company she was keeping.

  Please let them all just go and leave me in a bit of peace.

  She wasn’t used to being around so many girls all the time and in such proximity. At home she could just jump on her bicycle, Rusty in the basket, and go off wherever she pleased. Or simply stay in her bedroom with him. Have time and space to think.

  At the thought of Rusty her eyes welled.

  ‘What’s the matter, Ronnie?’ May put her arm round her. ‘Come on – I was only teasing.’

  ‘I know.’ Ronnie bit her lip. Why wasn’t she like the others, all happy to go off to the pub?

  ‘Dora didn’t say a time so we’ll give ourselves twenty minutes,’ Jessica declared. ‘That should give her plenty of time to complete her transformation.’

  ‘Don’t be bitchy, Jess,’ Sally said with a grin.

  They’d gone. Ronnie took in a few deep breaths. No voices in her ear. No shrill laughter. No Dora ordering her what to do – making her look and feel small.

  To have the whole cabin to herself was sheer luxury. Longing for a bath but making do with a full wash, she dried herself on the same mean-sized towel from yesterday, then slipped into her pyjamas. Her hair felt gritty but it would have to wait a few days more. She c
leaned her teeth and delved into her rucksack for one of her books.

  It was strangely quiet except for the faint crackle of the coal burning on the fire. It was a homely sound as its warmth spread through the boat, and for the first time in the last two days she thought she might have made the right decision to become a boatwoman. She allowed herself a small smile. Who would have thought it? For a fleeting moment she wondered how Maman was. Dora had mentioned they’d all get three days off when they’d completed their training. Maybe after those weeks away she and Maman would get along better. She just hoped Rusty wasn’t missing her too much.

  The cabin was quite dark. She looked round for the oil lamp – anything to give her enough light to read, but there didn’t appear to be one. She opened all the cupboards and fumbled inside but found nothing except a box of candles. Well, that was all they had in the old days, she told herself. Now where would a candlestick be hiding? Ah, there was one on the shelf above the bed. The candle was on the thin side and wobbled in the holder but it would do. Pleased with herself for finding a box of matches in one of the drawers she lit it. Immediately, part of the cabin glowed with the flickering light. Carefully setting it back on the small shelf she hopped into bed, immediately feeling soothed by the unexpected peace in the cabin and the bed she didn’t at the moment have to share. Hopefully, she’d be asleep before Jessica and May returned.

  She opened the book Mrs Hunter had recommended, The Water Gipsies, but after a couple of pages of squinting at the tiny print she gave up. Maybe she wasn’t in the right mood. She reached for her other book: Little Women. Suzy had lent it to her, telling her she must read it because she was just like fifteen-year-old Jo. Ronnie eagerly turned to the first page and was quickly absorbed in the goings-on of the March sisters, four American girls whose father was away fighting a civil war. It made her think of Raine and Suzy. She swallowed hard.

  After half an hour she felt her eyelids begin to droop. She’d just finish the chapter and snuff out the candle. It was Ronnie’s last thought before falling asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Ronnie shot up in bed, blinking in the darkness, her heart beating in her ears. A fire in the shed! Rusty! She had to save him! She tried to get out of bed but she couldn’t move. Her limbs were solid as concrete. She swallowed the long seconds. And then she calmed, her breath settling to its natural rhythm. She told herself not to be so silly. It was just a bad dream. She was on the boat – perfectly safe, and so was Rusty at home, even if Maman didn’t give him the cuddles he was used to. But the air around her … She sniffed. Then her eyes went wide, her chest tight. She could still smell burning! Her hand flew to her mouth to bite back the scream. The coal stove? The Primus? But there wasn’t even a glow. The fire must have already gone out. The candle! What had happened to the candle? She jerked her head upwards to the shelf. Oh, no! That was where the smell was coming from.