Love on the Waterways

by Milly Adams

  As she finished she took off along the gunwale of the motor, collecting a broom from the storeroom as she went. Verity and Polly watched her. Verity grinned. ‘My word, she’s getting just like us. What on earth did Bet say to her. Did you see them in deep conversation?’

  Polly gave her the broom. ‘Yes, but I have no idea, and no time to wonder. I’m off to the lavatory. You can get cracking.’

  Verity pretended to sweep Polly along. ‘I have never known anyone like you for dodging the ruddy bucket. But hurry up, then you can take over and I can go.’ Polly nipped off towards the yard. There was no point in taking soap and the ‘coal towel’, because they’d need it even more once they’d finished their chores. Then they’d annoy the foreman, who ticked them off every time for mucking up the toilets. But he always bought them a drink at the pub, and was gracious in darts defeat, which was just as well, the girls told him, since he had yet to win.

  Orders didn’t reach them until Easter Monday, 10 April, so at least they could go into London with Tom from Alperton, as planned. Verity and Tom had the motor to themselves and talked of things past, things present and things future, as she steered and he packed his grip in the cabin. They clung close on the counter, when all was ready. Tom knew that these past days had been the most precious of his life, and he was bloody well going to come out of this war alive, if it killed him.

  He laughed softly and told Verity. She laughed, too, but her eyes didn’t, any more than his own did.

  They moored at Alperton at four o’clock, their first stop on the Regent’s Canal. They were to pick up steel from Limehouse, and then deliver part of it, to Aylesbury, down the Arm, and the rest to Tyseley Wharf, as usual. Sylvia had said how extraordinary it was, having just talked about the Aylesbury Arm, and what a shame that Tom wouldn’t see it. She had apologised almost the moment she said it, and busied herself polishing the butty’s chimney brass.

  Saul’s delivery was straight to Birmingham, but he wouldn’t rush, he whispered into Polly’s hair when he too moored at Alperton, just a beat behind the Marigold, and came to see if they were going into London to see Tom off.

  ‘Yes, Saul, and you must come, too.’ Verity checked the motor cabin. There was nothing of Tom’s left. ‘All ready,’ she said, her voice totally calm, though her fingernails dug into her palms. Tom picked up his grip from the side-bed. They had taken his uniform to a nearby laundry at Southall, and the moment they arrived at Alperton he had strip-washed in the cabin, while the girls kept the kettle boiling in the butty, so that he looked and smelt smart as a button – almost.

  They wiped down his leg plaster, but worked their way around Bet’s and Fran’s rude messages, and those from Marigold and Seagull and the crosses of the boaters, plus Jimmy’s signature, which he had written in capitals and had dug deep into the plaster.

  Verity said, ‘The plaster looks like a piebald pony. I had one, called Snowflake, but why on earth I named her that, heaven knows. It must have been dirty snow that year.’ She was aware that she was talking, talking, as she stood on the counter – anything to stop thinking and feeling. Tom was beside her, laughing as he stepped onto the bank. He dropped his grip and held out his hand.

  She joined him. He was warm and clean, much cleaner than any of them, but they’d done their best, sluicing themselves and wearing skirts and clean sweaters. The problem was that the smell of the cut seemed to sink into everything. Polly joined them, as Sylvia walked Dog towards Granfer, who was coming to say farewell to Tom.

  Polly grumbled, ‘I’d rather be in trousers. Your eyebrow pencil down the back of the legs isn’t as warm as stockings. We need to meet some nice GIs who are lonely and have stockings to spare. Do you remember … oh, what’s his name? Ah yes, Al of Idaho we met in Regent’s Street on a night out when we’d just started on the scheme?’

  Tom was shaking Granfer’s hand and ruffling Harry’s hair. He squatted and spoke earnestly to Dog, pulling her ears. Saul arrived, clean and dressed in his best trousers and jacket. They set off by four-thirty and saw that Sid had opened the pub door to shake out a cloth, but they wouldn’t be visiting until their return this evening. By then Verity knew she’d need more than a few drinks; and yes, she did remember Al who had helped them across the blacked-out Regent’s Street and then followed them into the London club where she had wanted to meet up with her impossibly arrogant friends. Friends she had soon realised were not her friends at all. She smiled at Polly, thought of Bet and Fran, then listened to Saul talking to Sylvia and Tom. These were her friends.

  Granfer said he’d keep an eye on Dog, and that Harry would walk him. Granfer had even found an old cricket ball back at the depot for the lad to throw; it had almost lost its colour, but Dog was in heaven.

  They took the Piccadilly Line to Piccadilly Circus, which was cluttered with men in uniform seeing the sights, just as they had been the last time she and Polly had been there.

  Thoughts of Al of Idaho had helped Verity decide where they were to go, and she ordered a left turn down Regent Street. She nodded at Polly, who followed, an unspoken question in her every move. Tom identified Polish, Canadian, Australian and American servicemen passing them or walking alongside. At every doorway sandbags were still piled high. Tape was pasted over the windows. Verity slipped her arm through Tom’s as Saul carried Tom’s grip and walked with Polly. Once they reached Jermyn Street, they turned into it.

  Polly called, doubtfully, ‘Is your club a good idea? Will it even be open at five-thirty?’

  Verity said, ‘It prides itself on never closing, so let’s put it to the test, shall we?’

  Polly caught up with her, pulling Verity back from the steps. ‘Think, Verity. I repeat: is it a good idea? What if your friends are rude to Tom? Besides, they could report back to your parents?’

  Tom’s look was keen, but he squeezed Polly’s arm. ‘It’s something she needs to do, and I’m happy with it, Polly. Perhaps it draws a line, a no-going-back line, for her.’

  Verity smiled up at him and then at Polly. ‘I don’t need a no-going-back line, but I want everyone to see that I love Tom and we aren’t hiding any more. If they’re rude, we will leave. And as for reporting back, Lady McDonald is already blowing the gaff by writing to my parents. Have a word with Saul and Sylvia, though, would you? I don’t want them to be uncomfortable, so if they say no, then no it is.’

  Saul merely shrugged when Polly explained how posh it was, how snobbish, how rude, and that the night they had come there had been dancing, and a band, and women in cocktail dresses, and officers in uniform who had been less than kind. He said, ‘We are who we is, and they is who they is, so we’ll rub along. We could give them a tune, Sylvia, if there’s a band.’

  Tom roared with laughter. ‘Oh, this I have to see and hear. For heaven’s sake, get knocking, sweet Verity. This will be a memory I take into the fiercest battle, or when standing in front of the surliest sergeant.’

  Verity skipped up the steps and knocked. The shutter opened. There was a brief pause before the doorman put a name to the face. ‘Lady Verity, this is a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘Hello, George, we’re on a day’s leave. All right to come in for a cocktail and bite of something?’

  The door swung open. They entered. George, in his dicky suit, showed no emotion at their attire. The hat-girl was not the same one as before. She took Tom’s grip without comment and the girls’ mackintoshes. They climbed the stairs. Dance music oozed from the ballroom. They entered. There were only a few people sitting at the small round tables scattered about. Though it was early in the evening the men were in ‘black tie’ or officer’s uniform, and the women in uniform or cocktail dresses.

  Verity ordered beer for Saul and Tom, gin and tonics for the three women and whatever food was on offer, ignoring the raised eyebrows of the waiter at their jumpers and day-skirts. She put the refreshments on her account. Polly noticed the slight quiver of Verity’s hand as she signed the chit. The waiter bore it off.

  Veri
ty grimaced at Polly. ‘I’ve just thought: Daddy might have stopped my account so drink and eat up the minute it comes.’ Smoked-salmon sandwiches and several rounds of beef ones arrived.

  Sylvia whispered, ‘Beef, I don’t believe it.’

  Polly muttered, ‘I’ll have yours, if you object on principle.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Sylvia, eating quickly. ‘Hurry, everyone, in case they take it back.’

  They all dug in. The drinks arrived and more sandwiches, unordered. They began to relax and drank more, with Verity cavalierly signing chits while the others worked out the tip that would be required. Verity and Tom danced together. Saul shared himself between Polly and Sylvia, until an RAF officer asked Sylvia to dance. Would she or wouldn’t she? For a moment Verity thought she wouldn’t, but then Sylvia quick-stepped around the floor with the best of them.

  Verity wore her engagement ring – too large for her finger though it was – and within an hour her friends of yesteryear began arriving. They did a double-take as their gaze swept the room, and locked on to Verity. For a moment it seemed as though each would pass the table without acknowledgement, but Verity greeted the first arrivals, just as Saul was beckoned over by one of the band. The saxophonist had spoken to him in the men’s room, worrying because their singer had been called away. Saul sang for them, and gestured Sylvia over for ‘Begin the Beguine’.

  While they sang Verity introduced her fiancé to her passing acquaintances. ‘You remember Tom – he drove us to Ascot one year.’

  Each of them did. Several of the officers weren’t sure what to do, since Tom should presumably have acknowledged their rank, but finally they shook hands. The women gave air kisses or smiled, wafting their cigarette holders and gliding on, whispering to one another.

  The moments passed and Verity knew the time was coming to say farewell, because Tom had said he needed to catch the train for Catterick at 21.00 hours. They sat close together for the last hour, talking of nothing, but talking nonetheless, knowing that they had been offered the chance to redress their love, to come together and be given time, and to be enclosed by friends who cared. They had also been given the confidence to lay to rest their ghosts, here, amongst Verity’s former circle. It was a declaration, and what these people did with it was their own affair.

  As Saul and Sylvia sang their last song of the evening, a request was received from an Air Transport Delivery girl for ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’. She was a friend of Verity’s from the old days and looked exhausted, with streaks of grey in her hair. Verity, Tom and Polly pooled their cash for a tip to leave the waiter, while Saul and Sylvia sang. The tip would clean them out, but it had to be a large one, if Verity was to hold up her head.

  The head waiter hovered behind the table, and for the first time that evening Verity felt flustered, but then she heard him say quietly, ‘Please accept this evening as Blue Room’s thanks to your guests for entertaining our members, and make sure they receive this.’ He pressed an envelope into Verity’s hand.

  He stood straight, then turned to gesture Saul and Sylvia to the table, as a ripple of applause accompanied them on their walk from the bandstand. ‘Our thanks. You are welcome as honorary members, should you ever visit us again – all of you. And, sir,’ he turned to Tom, who waited at Verity’s side, ‘I wish you all good fortune. And you, Lady Verity, a happy and successful life, once Private Brown has returned. Please visit us again.’

  He bowed them to the door. Several of Verity’s friends looked the other way, but some waved. ‘Come again, Ver,’ one called. ‘I’ve missed you.’ It was the Air Transport Auxiliary girl.

  Verity hurried across to her and gripped her hand. ‘You keep safe, Gloria. I read in the obituaries about your husband, Clive, and I’m very sorry.’

  Gloria smiled. ‘War’s war; things happen. Be happy while you can. God bless.’

  She turned away, but not before they saw the tears spilling down her face.

  Tom left them at the top of the steps leading down to Piccadilly station. ‘Let me go on alone,’ he insisted. ‘Goodbye is too hard.’

  He hugged Sylvia and Polly, then shook Saul’s hand. Polly said, ‘Don’t forget your white handkerchief, or Mrs Green’ll have your guts for garters, even if the Germans don’t.’

  Verity waited as her friends walked across to study the Criterion Hotel as though they had never seen it before. Tom turned her to him and held her, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her mouth. ‘I’ll write. I’ll never stop loving you.’

  He picked up his grip and ran down the steps without a backward glance. But then he stopped, turned. ‘Go and see your parents. They will hear of this evening, as you intended. What’s more, they will, as you know, have heard of us from Lady McDonald. It can’t go on, can it? Get to the bottom of what seems so wrong between you and your mother, and try to kill the pain that’s in you. It’s not just about us, I’m sure. For your sake, my darlin’ girl, just in case I …’ He left the rest unsaid, but ran down the remainder of the steps and out of sight.

  He’d gone. Her Tom had gone, and though she loved him, Verity had no intention of seeing her parents. The others joined her and she couldn’t bear to see their sorrow for her, so instead they all talked about the money Sylvia and Saul had found inside the envelope. ‘A tenner,’ Saul breathed. ‘That’s five trips.’

  He re-counted the one-pound notes. He and Sylvia decided it should go into the darts kitty, for emergencies. Verity and Polly sat together, friends as always. At Alperton they walked down through Southall, and Verity dropped back as Sylvia and Polly sang ‘Begin the Beguine’ quietly. Walking alongside Saul, she muttered, ‘How can you think of going to war when you don’t have to, because that’s what I think you are trying to do?’

  She saw that Sylvia had dropped her purse and was groping for it, as they approached. Saul said, ‘Something in me – something I can’t control – says I must, and this feeling is bigger than me.’

  Verity just shook her head and strode on. ‘You men are such fools.’

  Sylvia picked up her purse and ran after Polly, who hooked her arm through hers, and together they sang ‘It Had to Be You’, beckoning the other two to join in. Verity caught them up and, after a moment, Saul did, too. All four walked abreast to the pub, then filed into the fug and the chatter, and their own world. The table was reserved for them, as usual.

  Chapter 17

  Tuesday 25 April – nearing the completion of another trip

  Marigold and Horizon pat-pattered south, passing the Aylesbury Arm where they’d offloaded a partial load on the way up. Saul was ahead of them, but Bet and her two new trainees, Cathleen and Beryl, followed a short way behind. Cathleen was a darts player and made up a four with Bet, Verity and Polly. Polly had made sure they played as often as they could, to keep Verity’s mind off Tom and to fill the kitty, which had to be divided between the two crews.

  Verity lock-wheeled past Berkhamsted and whistled as she cycled, and laughed with the lock-keepers. Sylvia and Polly on their counters watched her closely, as the pair dropped with the water in the last lock before Kings Langley, but finally Polly wondered aloud, ‘I think she’s happy, even though Tom’s gone, because at last she trusts their love. She knows what could be in store, but she “believes”.’

  Sylvia didn’t reply for a moment, but then muttered, ‘How wonderful to have no doubts, to trust …’ She petered out and said abruptly, ‘Tea, I think.’ She disappeared into the cabin.

  Polly looked after her. Doubts, Sylvia? Doubts about what? Was it about what to do with her life once the war was over? Who knew – it was all guesswork with Sylvia; but if you were an orphan, perhaps it made you solitary, and that was so sad. Polly realised, now more than ever, that her own parents were the foundation of her life. What’s more, they encompassed others like Verity and Joe. She called after Sylvia, ‘You have us, never forget that.’ There was no answer.

  They carried on descending towards Watford and then past it, and soon red buses were passing o
ver the bridges, a train whistle blew, houses proliferated, some bombed and others not, factory windows were open and Music While You Work blared out of the wireless. They reached their favourite paper factory and pulled into the loading platform. Verity blew Bet’s hunting horn.

  Albert, the foreman, appeared and called back over his shoulder, ‘Where’s that blasted tea, Brian? Them baggages are here, dirty, tired and gagging for summat hot. Ain’t that right, my girls? Leave us to take off the planks and tarpaulin, like the ruddy angels we are. But don’t you be telling the other trainees, or the boaters, or there’ll be ’ell to pay.’

  They stepped wearily onto the wharf, taking the mugs from the tray that Brian brought over. Polly muttered, ‘Thanks, Brian, and you, Albert, are such a dear. But we’ll do it when we’ve had a slurp.’ He’d been kind to them ever since they’d stood up to him when he was rude to them as trainees.

  He put up his hand. ‘Together, then.’

  The men took down the top planks and between them all they untied the side-sheets, rolled them up on the gunwale, and then the top sheets and stowed them in the store on the forward counter. The girls kept up with the men now. But so we should, thought Polly, we do it so often. They tramped up from the factory wharf while the men began the unloading, and stood to one side, the factory towering over them, cutting out the sun. Polly watched as Albert directed his men. Saul had been ahead of them on the cut and he and Granfer had probably had their new orders by now and were gone, but at least they’d spent a couple of evenings together, with Granfer and Saul eating in the Marigold’s cabin, or they in Seagull’s.

  She asked Verity, ‘How are you doing?’

  Verity tipped the dregs of her tea onto the yard. ‘Surprisingly, all right. Perhaps because I have the certainty of love, even though nothing else in the whole benighted world can be called certain. Oh, I don’t know, I can’t quite explain it.’