by Milly Adams
Sylvia followed suit with her tea, dangling the empty mug from her little finger. ‘Polly and I were talking about it and know what you mean; you believe in him, in yourself, in the decision you’ve both made.’
Verity slipped her arm around Sylvia’s shoulders. ‘You really do know.’
Sylvia said, ‘Polly and I both know – we were talking about it, I just told you.’ She slipped away from Verity.
That arm on the shoulder was a step too far, thought Polly. Albert came and stood by them, rolling a cigarette. Verity dug out her Woodbines and offered him one. He put his own makings away. ‘Thank you kindly. I hears your bloke’s gorn orf, Verity. But, ’e came in the end, that’s the main thing. And it’s all sorted, ain’t it?’
Verity dug him in the ribs with her elbow. ‘The cut is just an old women’s knitting circle; it’s gossip-gossip.’
Polly heard a barrage of shouting down by the Marigold and swung round.
Albert said, ‘I ’ear Polly’s Saul ’as—’
It was just a lorry backing too close to a billet, so Polly turned back. ‘Has what?’ she asked.
Albert was rubbing his ribs, shaking his head at Verity, who simply repeated Polly’s question. ‘Has what?’
‘Been in touch with his Auntie Lettie.’
Verity smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘Lettie knows she can write to him or Granfer, more likely, now the old boy can read the letter.’
The unloading was finished. Coal dust hung in the air and Polly was, as usual at this stage, sick of the sight and taste of it. She set off for the boats, then realised she was alone, and called back to Verity and Sylvia, ‘Come on, stop nattering to Albert, we’ve places to go, people to see.’
Albert nodded. ‘You take care now, you three.’
When Verity and Sylvia caught up with them, Verity looked so sad, Polly said, ‘We could have coped somehow, if you had taken time away with Tom, Verity.’
Verity shook her head. ‘He wanted to be on the boat, and you girls were the soul of tact and left us to it, and he says that now he can picture me about my business, rather than he and I sitting looking at one another, wondering what to say. But now I feel awfully tired, and was just thinking that I could take the leave we all have due, perhaps go and stay with Fran, if she’d have me. Anyway, there must be a place where the air is clear of coal dust and we’re not swabbing out bilges.’
Sylvia was very quiet and simply headed for the butty. Verity leapt onto Marigold, went to the engine cabin and within five minutes got the engine firing. Polly pulled away, and hooted when Albert least expected it, as always. He jumped, as always, and shook his fist, then blew a kiss.
Polly said, ‘I love that old wretch. Oh Lord, I forgot to ask about his daughters, was that what you were talking about?’
Verity eased herself onto the roof. ‘No, just chatting. We’ll catch up next time. I’m right, you know, we really should take a few days off, Polly. If I look as tired and old as you, then I’m in trouble.’
Polly burst out laughing and slapped Verity’s leg as she steered to the centre of the cut, short-towing the butty. ‘Bet was muttering in the pub about the three of us being more than due a break. I could go to Mum, and it’s really tempting. Saul should be so far ahead I probably won’t see him for several days anyway. Why don’t you come? She’d be pleased to see you. I’ll ask Sylvia, too, because we can all bunk up in my bedroom.’
They headed on towards Cowley Lock and then they passed the Bull’s Bridge dry dock, before motoring alongside the yard frontage and the lay-by, looking for a space.
‘There’s a gap, let’s squeeze in,’ called Verity. They did so. ‘Moor up, my hearties,’ Polly yelled.
Sylvia tied up Marigold, as well as the butty, as Verity set off across the roof to the store cabin to pick up the brooms. Sylvia called out, ‘You’re right, Verity, we should take some leave. But I think I’ll stay in London, although thanks for the offer, Polly. You see, I’d like to take in a show, then come back to the butty. It’s just the thought of not having to answer to the cut for a couple of days that appeals. It’s as bad as answering to the bells—’ She stopped.
In the pause Polly said, ‘The orphanage, I suppose.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘I’m really tired.’
Verity agreed. ‘So we’ll try for a week’s leave? We’ve done weeks and weeks without taking what we’re owed.’ She stood at the end of the roof, brandishing the brooms. ‘But we’re not doing anything until we’ve cleaned out the holds, then we’ll march in a body to the office. However, I can share with you that Bet’s already had a word.’
‘Good old Bet,’ breathed Polly. ‘You coming, Verity?’
Instead of answering Polly, Verity said to Sylvia, ‘You know, on second thoughts, can I come with you? I fancy a London show, and I know a nice little club near Marble Arch. Separate rooms, quiet, low price, and then I fancy a spell here at the lay-by, just to catch my breath.’
Polly smiled, but felt hurt because she hadn’t been asked. ‘Oh, well, tell you what: I’ll come into London with you, and I can then go to see Mum while you two read here. How about that for a compromise?’
Verity just looked at her and then nodded. Polly reached across, feeling guilty at being so childish, when Tom was who-knew-where. ‘Don’t worry, Verity, he’ll be safe, I can just feel it.’
Verity smiled. ‘It’s something some men feel they have to do. We must remember that. They think it’s their duty, you do understand, don’t you? Are you going to see if Seagull is here?’
Polly shook her head. ‘There’s no point, Saul’ll have gone on. The cut is so busy at the moment.’
Verity just nodded.
Saul and Granfer had reached Bull’s Bridge depot the day before when the office was closed, so first thing on 25 April Saul had headed there the moment it opened, hoping Mr Thompson had written. Bob, the old boy who stood in for anyone not on duty, had been leafing through files, a pencil stuck behind his ear. Saul waited, tapping the counter until Bob muttered, ‘If you don’t stop that tapping I won’t give you the letter that came for you, Saul Hopkins.’
Saul felt as though he’d stopped breathing as Bob reached below the counter, holding up a buff envelope and studying it. ‘Nope, that’s not the one.’
He replaced it, then hooked out a bundle of letters and checked through them. ‘Nope, not these, either.’
Saul could have seized the ruddy bloke across the counter by his overalls and shaken him, as he replaced the bundle and ferreted beneath the counter again. Finally Bob brought out another buff envelope. ‘Aha, here we go.’
Saul snatched it from him and ripped it open.
Bob asked, ‘Good or bad news?’
‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t because he’d never expected to be taken on, not really, not in his heart. Saul ran back through the yard, dodging the workers hurrying in their overalls from workshop to workshop. There were already clattering sounds from the cafeteria, as lunch began to be prepared, and shrieking from the machine shops. He leapt on board their butty, Swansong, brandishing the letter at Granfer through the cabin doors.
‘Bring it on down, lad.’
Saul sat on the side-bed, with Granfer on the cross-bed, knowing they wouldn’t be interrupted because Harry had gone trotting along the lay-by to see his da. Saul drew a deep breath. ‘I’m to go, Granfer.’ He handed across the letter with the instructions from Mr Thompson, and pointed with a grubby finger to the final comment:
Mr Burton has been your advocate. I know you won’t let him down, and I feel that your experiences on the cut might be helpful to our needs in the near future.
Granfer nodded, placing his hands on his knees. ‘I is pleased fer you, lad, but yer has to tell her now – and young Joe. Still intent on an holiday, are you, so yer can tell ’er, in peace? Bet’s set it up, and Verity ’as made plans to take Sylvia orf, so our Polly ’as a free run at leave with yer. You was goin’ to tell her, weren’t yer, whether or not you’d ’eard?
The secret’s got a mite heavy fer us all, yer know.’
Saul nodded and gripped Granfer’s hand. ‘I’m going to hurt her – and Joe maybe. What about you, Granfer?’
‘I’ll worry, but you know I understands yer think yer’s shirkin’, and ’tis what I would feel.’
Saul waited until he saw Polly bringing the motor and butty to the lay-by that afternoon, and then he warned Granfer to stop washing all the pierced plates, prior to packing them up to take to Lettie’s. ‘Put ’em back on t’wall, if yer will, Granfer. Tom has booked a boarding house near Bridport, Dorset; someone he knows who has two rooms, and I knows which train an’ all. Yer sees, I want to give her peace, just for a moment, to sort of get her so she ain’t so tired, and I’ll tell her at t’end.’
Granfer nodded. ‘I feels I coulda been wrong. P’raps we should a brought ’er in on it.’
Saul felt the hollowness in his stomach, because he didn’t like pretending to his Polly, but neither could he have borne to bring her more pain than she had to feel; and as Tom had said to him, they needed good memories. ‘It’s too late to think that now, Granfer. I know my Polly – she’ll know I did it out of caring. She’s seen our Tom go, so she’ll know that ’tis something men does.’
He helped Granfer hang up the plates again, though he knew he would never see ’em on these walls once he came back from Bridport, because Granfer would already be gone. The old man didn’t do goodbyes.
Saul sat on the side-bed. ‘Not sure how to feel on an ’oliday, Granfer. What does we do, d’yer reckon?’
‘You’ll find out, won’t yer? Tek it easy, I reckon, but you’d best find yer lass and make sure she ’as some clothes for yer three days, and is willing.’
Chapter 18
Wednesday 26 April – Dorset
Saul had his good clothes on, and Polly hers. They travelled by train and bus, heading for Waterloo, and he thought his heart would wear itself out with all its beating, cos there were so many people, cars and buses going this way and that. So, too, there was the hooting of horns when there were no bridges to check – so why the hooting?
Sweat ran down his back as they walked between the traffic to get to the other side of the road and then onto the next bus, with a tired old conductor who put Saul in mind of Granfer, and who took the money and gave them a ticket and a tip of his cap to them. This holiday thing weren’t to his liking, but Polly’s dark eyes were shining like the sun and her whole body seemed to jig with excitement. She knew how to get to places too, because here they were, getting off the bus and into a great hall, which was Waterloo Station, full of people scurrying like the rabbits in Mr Elias’s fields. They bought tickets that would bring them back, too. Would she know by then? When would he tell her?
‘Come on, Saul, if we run we’ll make it.’ Well, if there was one thing he could do, it was run, so side by side they wove in and out of people, as a tannoy like the one in the depot yard called out trains and times, and the people moved like the boats at Tyseley Wharf, jostling to get in, or out.
They showed their tickets to the bloke in the box at the rear of the platform. ‘Get a move on,’ he said. ‘Guard’s got his flag out.’
They ran onto a long lay-by with a train moored alongside, and smoke or steam gushing from its chimney. They tore past the guard, who was bringing up his green flag. ‘Get yourselves in, for Pete’s sake. There’ll be more ’n enough stopping and starting on the line – so many troop transports it’ll be bloody bedlam, so who knows what time you’ll reach wherever you’re going.’
Polly pulled at Saul’s sleeve, pointing to some seats in a carriage. But a soldier was leaning out of the window of the door, holding hands with his missus, who was crying.
‘Next one then,’ Polly yelled and ran on.
They stopped at the next door. Saul twisted the handle. Steam and smoke were everywhere, smuts too, and the whistle was blowing. He opened the door and Polly flew into the corridor, dragging her grip. He followed and slammed the door shut just as, with a screech and a grind, the train jerked, juddered, then drew away.
Polly laughed into his face. ‘We caught it. Oh, Saul, two whole days together before we have to come home.’ She hugged him.
Along the corridor the soldier who’d been leaning out looked at Saul and shook his head in disgust. Sailors and soldiers lined the corridor. One jerked his head into a compartment. ‘Seats in there for shirkers and women.’
Polly spun on her heel. ‘He’s got a damaged leg and is carrying canal cargo to keep you lot in guns, so you can just be quiet. It’s a Reserved Occupation and he can’t leave, so there.’
The soldier shrugged, and braced himself as the train jerked again. Another soldier said, ‘Lucky bugger – good work, if yer can get it.’
Polly wrenched open the compartment door, but Saul shook his head. ‘You sit, Polly. I’ll stand, cos I keep tellin’ yer, my leg is better. We’ll be stopping, and others will need to be sittin’.’
Polly shrugged, the sunshine gone from her eyes, and the holiday excitement with it. Would it come back? He hoped so, but for himself he didn’t know what it was about a holiday that caused all the fuss. It was just a mess: rush, noise, strangeness. They both stood, for the three hours it took to reach Dorchester, which is where the train finished, for some reason.
Out they all got, and Saul felt that eyes were boring holes in his back, though the soldiers had talked over shared cigarettes about the cut’s cargoes, the life and their families, as though nothing had been said. But it had, and it was still there, and perhaps it would make Polly realise that he had a right to take up arms, now that his leg wasn’t that bad any more. Yes, that was it; it was his right.
They now headed for the bus to take them to Burton Bradstock, a village near Bridport that Tom had said was pretty and within walking distance of the sea, and where they had rooms.
They arrived by the evening, and a coastal breeze was blowing. They had to walk up Shipton Lane to a house on the top of the hill, pressing themselves against the side of the hedgerows and banks as military jeeps, lorries and motorbikes roared past. The house was owned by someone Tom knew from his time as chauffeur to Lady Clement, and he had got a message to her. It was a Mrs Lamb and she had promised that they could have the two rooms that her young children used, saying that this once the kiddies could bunk on the cot beds in her bedroom.
They handed Mrs Lamb their ration cards, and were shown into two small rooms at the very top of the house. ‘You’re lucky,’ the plump landlady in her well-washed apron said. ‘There’s troops everywhere, but these rooms are still empty, although for ’ow long, who knows. We got commandos and GIs, and Lord knows what cluttering up the place and doing exercises.’
The rooms were in the roof and were tiny, no bigger than the Seagull’s cabin; and in Saul’s there was an oil lamp too, and for the first time that day he felt calm and unthreatened as he sat on the narrow bed. It was quiet, it was small; it was what he knew. He clenched his hands around his knees. ‘Get used to the world, Saul ’Opkins,’ he whispered to himself. ‘You’ll be out in stranger places soon enough.’ He swallowed, glad that he had brought Polly away; and glad for himself as well, because he wouldn’t feel so peculiar when he finally left.
There was a knock on his door and it was her voice, his beautiful Polly’s voice. ‘Have you seen the sea? Can I come in?’
‘Yes, o’ course yer can.’
She opened the door and peered round. Some strands of her brown hair were wet where she had washed her face; the sunshine was back in her eyes, and the excitement. She gestured him over to the window, which sloped in line with the roof.
‘Look,’ she breathed, clutching his hand and kissing it. ‘Look at the sea.’
In the distance was the sky and, beneath it, grey water, the colour of the clouds; and beneath that, and larger, were bloody big slopes down to the village, and smoke that rose from the chimneys of the cottages of Burton Bradstock. He stared over the straw-type roofs to the sea
. He’d never seen so much water, and how odd it was that the far edge, where it met the sky, was curved. He said, ‘It bends, look.’
‘That’s the horizon, and it shows us that the world is round.’
He stared. Yes, he could see that, and he realised how little he really knew, or had seen, and was scared for a moment of the people he’d meet, and the places he’d go to when …
Polly said, ‘Let’s nip downstairs. I don’t know if Mrs Lamb will feed us, but if not, perhaps the pub will.’
Mrs Lamb only did breakfast, so they walked down the hill, laughing together because they knew they’d have to walk back up. ‘So best not to drink too much,’ Polly said. She had brought her torch for later and Saul shook his head at her in wonder. ‘Yer think of everything.’
‘Only because I’m more used to it, but you know much more than me about the cut.’
He walked, holding her hand. Owls hooted as dusk fell, and the stars were as bright as they were on the cut, cos of course it was the same sky. He felt better with that thought in his mind. The breeze had fallen. There was a stillness. Yes, she was more used to it, and he would have to become so, too. They reached the bottom of the hill and walked through the village, which was full of strolling troops; some were larking about, while others were smoking in small groups.
They took the narrow lane by the church, heading south, following the noise. Troops spilled out onto the lane and stood around outside the pub. Saul braced himself as they threaded through the men to the bar. ‘Two pints o’ mild, if yer would be so kind,’ he said.
The girl replied, ‘Cider tonight, all right?’
Saul turned to Polly. She murmured, ‘Made out of apples, and strong.’
He nodded. ‘If yer would, please, and d’yer have food? We’re on ’oliday.’
‘Not leave, then?’ she muttered. He shook his head, wanting to say: not yet. Instead he asked for the only thing on the menu that she pointed to, saying to Saul, ‘Sausage and mash, but mostly mash.’
