Love on the Waterways

by Milly Adams

  Harry dodged, and Fran laughed. Granfer whipped off his hat and said, ‘When yer’ve finished, maybe the house’ll still be standing, maybe not, but the dragon just has ter give a puff and that’ll keep us all warm, as well as roast these pheasant. ’Ow about that?’

  He passed by Saul and Polly, hooking Harry’s collar and dragging him along as he did so. They stopped in front of the dragon.

  ‘’Ow do, Missus. This be ’Arry. He’s our runabout for now.’ Granfer handed her another couple of pheasants.

  Fran crowed, ‘Wonderful, we will live like kings for a while.’ Saul had let Polly go, and as they approached, Fran started to say, ‘Ah, Saul, I hear there are some more things to sort—’

  Bet interrupted. ‘Yes, Lettie’s lonely, so it’s good that you’ll be popping into Buckby on your way to or from Birmingham more often. Come on, everyone.’

  Verity saw Tom watching her from the kitchen doorway, and fingered the ring she wore around her neck. She didn’t feel that the crochet wool was as safe as the bootlace Polly used, so she’d have to change it. Or perhaps he’d want it back, after she’d been so mean about Sylvia. She looked again, but he had disappeared with the others, who were being led by Fran into her ‘dragon’s den’.

  Verity stayed in the hall. It was dark and was beginning to feel cold, very cold, and she could taste blood in the water, and hear the rushing in her ears; and she pulled at the boots, pulled again and again, and she heard her mother calling, ‘Don’t be absurd, Verity. That is not the behaviour I would expect. Expect … Expect …’

  ‘Verity, where are you?’ It wasn’t her mother, it was Fran. She opened her eyes and the water receded, as she knew it would, but why was her mother part of the panic? Fran beckoned from the kitchen doorway.

  Verity waved. ‘I dropped something in the porch. I’ll be there in a moment.’

  She opened the door, stepped out, eased it almost shut and stood, her arms folded, staring at the morning. There were still some cobwebs on the lavender stalks. How strange that she hadn’t actually noticed that before. She breathed deeply and finally entered the cottage, almost bumping into Bet, who waited just inside and opened her arms.

  ‘Come here, you.’ Bet held Verity, listening as she whispered that she was mean, and that Tom would hate her. ‘Don’t be silly, he’s in there waiting for you.’

  Verity said, ‘But it’s not just that. I do so wish my family was like you and Fran at Spring Cottage. You’re cosy, warm and you love us. You do, don’t you?’ She could hear the anxiety in her own voice.

  Bet stroked her face, as Tom had the night he had held her, and at a distance she smelt again the scent of camellias, and felt a soft hand tucking her hair behind her ear, and heard someone saying … what? And who?

  ‘Of course we do, you’re our lovely Idle Women – our Polly and Verity, who will be friends for the rest of their lives, and family for one another. Never forget that. Sylvia will be, too, if things go on as they are doing. I wasn’t sure at first, but I do feel she has made progress, and that is because of you two.’

  Verity stepped back, wiping her face and trying to smile.

  Fran called, ‘Coffee is made, and Tom will drink yours if you don’t get a wriggle on. Don’t forget, Bet, we have that letter for Verity.’

  Verity looked puzzled. ‘A letter, here?’

  Bet pushed her ahead. ‘Sandy knows that I live at Spring Cottage, in between trips. I expect she has something to say. Just one thing first.’ She reached up and snapped the crocheted wool, catching the ring before it dropped. ‘There, you said you’d dropped something. So make it this. Put the ring on your finger for now, and only take it off if he tells you to. When he does, I’ll know that the sky has finally fallen in. Head up, now; you’ve had a hell of a time and he’s leaving for war, so you’re on edge, both of you. But remember the love that will remain. Let Polly find out her truth when it happens.’

  At that, Verity turned, whispering, ‘You do know something’s up?’

  Bet tutted. ‘Lettie can’t keep her mouth shut, and for a moment Fran forgot, so I decided to step in and do some fielding, before that particular ball dropped into a cowpat. It won’t happen again. Makes me feel a bit awkward, knowing Saul’s trying, but I can see his reasoning. Best not to upset Polly before he has to, if he has to.’

  Verity walked into the light of the kitchen, where most of them sat around the large pine table, chatting and drinking coffee or tea, while Fran busied herself at the Aga with Tom, his coffee in his hand and a spare mug in his other, his stick over his arm. ‘Did you find it?’ he called.

  She held up her hand and the ring, and the wool. ‘Amazing how far a ring can roll.’

  Tom grinned. ‘Come and get your coffee, or I swear I’ll drink it. Is there any more in the pot, Fran? I’m a wounded hero and I’m sure I deserve another.’

  Fran was bending bum upwards, basting the lamb in the oven. ‘Pass me those sprigs of rosemary, then you and your lady love can go and pick some more, canoodling as you go, no doubt. And no, you broke your leg when some silly bugger on a motorbike hit your transport, so it’s nothing that deserves a reward.’

  From the table Harry could be heard saying, ‘Yer know, that missus is fierce enough to be a bloody dragon, Saul.’

  Polly corrected him. ‘Fierce enough to be a dragon, you mean. No need for swearing.’

  Fran didn’t straighten, but just continued to baste and muttered, ‘No lamb for clever bugger’s monkeys, that’s what I say, Polly Holmes.’

  Tom downed his coffee, and Verity hers, before they foraged in the garden for rosemary. As he nipped the tips off, he said, holding it to her nose, ‘I remember the gardener, old Matthews, doing this at Howard House when Mrs B was fiddling about with lamb. Funny how you remember scents, isn’t it?’

  She told him about the scent of camellias. ‘I think it might be Nanny’s scent, but she died.’

  Tom put his arm around her as they walked around the flower beds towards the hives. ‘As I said, you need to ask questions when you go home next. And you must go, if only to sort it out, especially if the camellias are a nice memory.’

  Verity didn’t want to think of home; didn’t ever want to go back. Instead she led him to the hives. ‘The bees’ll be resting for the winter,’ she told him. ‘But when it warms up there’ll be a frenzy of activity, because Fran and Bet have planted the garden to please them.’

  She walked on a little, wondering about Saul, and worrying suddenly about Granfer. ‘It’ll be bad enough for Polly, but what about Granfer and the boats? And what was all that about Lettie being lonely?’

  Tom said quietly, ‘Fran whispered to me that if Saul goes, the boats will be returned to the company and Granfer will stay here with Lettie, so don’t worry about him. You’ll have two families to visit then. But remember, you must say nothing, just as everyone else has decided to do. It’s so improbable it’ll come to anything, after all.’

  They wandered through an orchard in leaf with just a hint of blossom, so held back had it been by the cold spell. Every day it seemed there were more lies to bear, or perhaps secrets was a better word. The remains of last year’s apples and plums lay on the ground. ‘Fran likes to leave some for the wildlife,’ Verity said. Then, while she looked up at the branches to the sky, she went on, ‘I was mean about Sylvia. I was jealous. Why did she tell you what she hadn’t told us? Aren’t we kind enough? Is she after you? I just seem to be all over the place.’

  ‘You are kind enough, but she doesn’t know me well, and it’s often easier to tell a stranger something, because they don’t hang around. She knew I’d tell you, so she was making it easy for herself. Sylvia isn’t interested in me; and if she was, I’m not interested in her. Never ever think I am attracted to anyone else. You are my girl. We will forge a life together. Do you understand me?’ His grip on her shoulders was so hard it hurt. ‘Tell me, because I leave once we get to Alperton, and I won’t have any doubts plaguing you, is that clear?’

>   His kiss was hard, and his arms around her almost stopped her breath. ‘Don’t you have any worry that I will find anyone else?’ Verity managed to say.

  ‘Of course not, I am perfect.’ He kissed her again. Then they walked back together. He said quietly, ‘Yes, I worry, because you are so wonderful and I was a chauffeur, but I have to believe or I will be lost. And I can’t be lost, if I am to come out of this war in one piece. The one thing I ask is that if you ever stop loving me, you tell me. Just don’t betray me.’

  The shoulder of lamb was so tender it fell apart. Fran held back on where she had acquired it, and Sylvia forbore to ask, so all was peaceful. Saul and Polly talked and laughed; and Harry fell asleep with Dog on the sofa in front of the inglenook fireplace, when the eating was done. Fran said nothing, just slipped an old blanket under Dog, and a knitted one over Harry. She and Bet served brandy and coffee, refusing Saul and Granfer’s request for tea. ‘Certainly not, you can’t have brandy in tea.’ It was as though they had asked to eat something they had found under their shoe.

  It was over coffee that Bet gave Verity the letter. She didn’t recognise the postmark or the writing. She read:

  My dear Lady Verity

  I am writing to thank you most sincerely for your remarkable actions in saving my daughter Alexandra’s life in that godforsaken lock; and your actions also saved her legs. She has told me so much about that day, now that it is clear enough for her to sort out in her own mind. She told me how you went into the very cold water to save her, and how your friend Tom called out instructions about tourniquets, and your friends Polly and Sylvia were on hand to help, one to telephone, the other to aid Bet.

  We returned from the Argentine in 1942, where my husband was in the diplomatic service for His Majesty’s Government. On arrival, one of my daughters wished to nurse to help the war effort, and Sandy, as we call her, decided upon work on the canals. We applaud her endeavour, her willingness to put aside her privilege and muck in. I doubt that she will be able to return to you, but she will do something else. That option is available to her, because of you.

  I will be writing to your mama, now that my husband has managed to trace your family through things that our beloved Sandy has said. You and your friends – your team – have our undying gratitude. Please, I beg of you, tell them so. And my husband wishes me to forward his assurance to all of you that if, at any time, there is anything it is in his power to help you with, during or after this war, it will give him the utmost pleasure to do so.

  With sincere thanks

  Lady McDonald (Celia)

  Verity handed the letter round.

  Polly looked up. ‘I know, let’s ask for lamb every day.’

  Sylvia shook her head. ‘Oh no, brandy and coffee.’

  Tom laughed, and handed the letter on to Bet. ‘A corporal’s stripe.’

  Bet read the letter. ‘That we all survive, and Harry grows up in freedom.’

  Verity smiled, but wondered how on earth a letter from Lady McDonald would be received at Howard House; a letter intimating the news of Lady Verity Clement labouring on a canal boat, and what’s more, that their ex-chauffeur was involved? But then she leaned against Tom. Perhaps it would actually soften her mother’s attitude, to think that another titled girl had chosen the same life, with the approbation of her parents. Perhaps the Clements would even approve of her marriage. She half laughed, and stared out at the early-evening sky. Were pigs flying tonight?

  She looked around the cottage sitting room. Saul and Polly sat on cushions on the floor, Polly leaning back in Saul’s arms. Bet and Sylvia were in desultory conversation while they played ‘Snap’. Harry still slept, his arm around Dog now. Fran and Granfer were in close dialogue, but what about? How hurt would Polly be that her best friend had known something about Saul’s plans and said nothing? How betrayed would Polly feel that Tom had accepted Saul’s choice and, when asked to help, had listened and expressed his ideas?

  No, that wasn’t for tonight. That was for whenever it happened. She looked again at Sylvia, who was one of them now, part of the trio, whether she liked it or not, and however much she fought against it.

  Polly raised a toast: ‘All for one, and one for all.’

  Verity nodded at Sylvia. ‘You see, you’re part of us, in this pause.’ No one else understood, as the girls smiled at one another.

  Verity laughed slightly. She had drunk just enough beer but not too much, and then brandy, and this was the best day she thought she had ever had. She smiled, and as Tom put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, he whispered, ‘I’ll remember today, when things get busy out there. And we’ll remember it together, when I’m finally home.’

  Granfer left to call on his sister, and the others set out for the boats half an hour later feeling relaxed and at peace. Fran had signed Tom’s plaster, along with all the others, to wish him good luck. Sylvia walked with Harry and called, ‘This has been a good pause, a full one. One to remember.’

  Chapter 15

  Thursday 6 April – en route to Bull’s Bridge

  The day dawned fine, and the clock alarm sounded at five-thirty. In their butty cabin the girls rolled over and slept on, until Polly heard a violent knocking at their cabin door. She struggled awake. Sylvia checked the alarm clock, pulling out her earplugs and sitting bolt upright.

  ‘It’s seven o’clock,’ Tom shouted from the butty counter. ‘Saul went ages ago. In the words of Bet, chop-chop.’

  Sylvia was already scrambling into her clothes. ‘We’re coming. Get the kettle on, let Dog onto the towpath.’

  Verity pulled herself up on Polly, who hauled her out of bed. Polly was laughing, ‘Come on, Verity, we’re a disgrace.’

  Verity was muttering as she scrambled into her trousers, ‘It’s Easter, we’re entitled.’

  ‘It’s not Good Friday until tomorrow, so don’t pull that one.’

  It was only once they were dressed and washed that they realised they should have done all that in the motor cabin. Sylvia was brushing her hair, as she sat out of the way on the side-bed.

  Polly folded up their blankets. ‘I’m really sorry. Back to normal tonight, Sylvia, I promise.’

  Sylvia just stuffed her hairbrush under the side-bed, in the box she kept for accessories. ‘No, we’ll do as we did this time. I can’t have you trotting about in your pyjamas – it’s silly. Leave your blankets folded at one end of the cross-bed. It’s not for long.’ She stopped, her hand to her mouth. ‘I’m really sorry, Verity. I didn’t mean to remind you.’

  Polly smiled as she hurried up the steps, sliding back the hatch and shoving open the doors, because Sylvia had never said anything like that before. Tom stood on the counter. ‘Tea.’ He pointed to the roof. Toast was heaped on a plate, larded with honey. ‘It’ll help the headaches, of which I have the worst, I do believe. I’m off to see a man about a dog, and will leave you ladies to the bucket.’ He limped back along the towpath, whistling to Dog, who bounded up to him and then away.

  ‘What will we do without you, Tom?’ Polly called, then met Verity’s eyes as she emerged from the cabin, and it was her turn to apologise.

  Verity grabbed her tea and called to Sylvia, ‘Come on, loads of toast to cure our tiddly little hangovers.’ She stroked Polly’s arm. ‘Don’t be daft, Polly. We all know Tom’s going, and he’s one amongst thousands. We all have to do whatever we feel we should.’ Her look was so intense that Polly was confused, but then Verity tore a slice of toast in half, folded it over and ate. Her cheeks bulged.

  Polly stared. ‘You look like a hamster, but their excuse is that they’re storing food. I am appalled.’ She handed a piece to Sylvia. ‘Get that inside you, for goodness’ sake, and let’s potter on, shall we?’

  ‘In a moment – ablution time.’ Sylvia edged along the gunwale to the bucket. ‘I’m coming back as a boy.’

  By midday they had been through the Norton locks and welcomed the darkness of the Blisworth Tunnel, which eased their headaches; the
y wanted to reach Fenny Stratford if they could. They couldn’t, because all the locks were against Polly, who was lock-wheeling and hating the bike, as it jerked and tossed her, and her hangover, in and out of potholes along the towpath. She did the afternoon shift as well, so that Verity could spend every second with Tom, and so that Sylvia could recover as she draped herself over the tiller, moaning that all she wanted was to lie in a darkened room.

  In the afternoon Dog ran at Polly’s side, and by three the sun was out, her headache was gone and she knew she’d be more than ready for the leftover lamb, which Fran had packaged up for them in greaseproof paper.

  As dusk descended they moored up near Cosgrove and ate the meal, which Tom served with carrots and potatoes, with not a squeak from Sylvia, who merely mentioned that Bet had made the point that one mustn’t look a gift horse – or, indeed, gift lamb – in the mouth. It was such an unexpected joke that Verity choked on a potato, and caused general revulsion when bits of potato flew across the table and landed on Polly’s sweater.

  Polly swore, then said, ‘A bonus for Dog.’ She flicked the bits onto the floor, which Dog ate.

  Tom muttered, ‘That it should all come to this …’

  On Good Friday they kept on going, stepping down through the locks to Leighton Buzzard and then to Marsworth Junction, where the Aylesbury Arm turned off. It was only six miles long, and led to Aylesbury town and a dead-end. Tom looked at the opening to the narrow canal and asked Polly, who’d come aboard for a cup of tea, ‘Do you ever deliver cargo down there?’

  ‘We have a couple of times; it’s lovely, isn’t it, Verity?’

  Verity was sitting on the roof reading the newspaper, and was probably miles away, but she nodded and said, ‘It was Saul’s sister’s favourite place on the canal, apparently. She used to dream about it. Something to do with the lack of villages; just nature and countryside, as though it was a path leading to a house, as though it was going home.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I can see what she meant. On the Grand Union we just go on and on. At Aylesbury we go to a town, and there we are. To leave, we have to turn in the basin. It’s as though we’ve taken time out of the endlessness of travel.’