The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  Bet’s fury was evident, and she took a deep breath before continuing.

  ‘Sorry about the rage, but they’re, on the whole, such startlingly good and worthy people doing a really tough job that to be derided as they are by bankers – or landsmen – is intolerable. Now, we’ve already winded the boat, Polly, and so we’ll head to the lay-by to give you a tiny taste of life on the water. We’re going there because that’s where we receive our orders, as I said yesterday.’

  ‘Winded?’ Polly asked. As she waited for the answer she heard a train draw in, and on the other side of the bank a dog walking with its owner barked as a duck flew off from the cut.

  Bet shook her head, lighting up another cigarette, shielding her match and resting an elbow on the huge tiller, which she had swung towards the bank to make more room. ‘Ah, sorry, to “wind” means to turn it round. Hurry up now, tuck everything away, put your ration book in the drawer, and ten shillings in the kitty jar, then come out on to the counter. I’ll give you a running commentary.’

  ‘Counter?’

  ‘The counter is the deck. Don’t worry, Polly Holmes, you’ll get the hang of it far quicker than you think. Verity, help her, if you please.’ Bet smiled at both the girls. They ducked down into the cabin, unpacked and stored Polly’s belongings, then while Verity began to make cocoa on a Primus stove Bet called for Polly to join her on the counter. Polly put ten shillings into the kitty jar and her ration book into the drawer, then joined Bet on the stern, or rear, deck. No, she meant the counter.

  The doors had been opened wide against the cabin walls, and Polly stood close up to them, looking over the length of the Marigold right to the front of the boat, and then on, down the length of the cut. Bet held the breast-high tiller behind her. ‘Polly, go on to the kerb and let go the fore-end, or front mooring strap, then the rear, if you would, in that order.’

  Bet was tapping off the ash of her cigarette into a saucer lying on the roof and staring up at a flight of birds. Polly leapt for the bank, pretty sure this would be just like releasing the sailboat. She ran to the end of the long narrowboat, unwound the rough wet rope from around the fore-end or prow mooring stud, and threw it back on to the tiny fore-end counter. She ran back and did the same for the stern rope.

  Bet nodded. ‘Just coil it, if you would.’ Polly leapt on to the counter and did so. ‘Well done.’

  ‘It’s much the same as when we sailed,’ Polly said.

  ‘We?’ Bet stubbed out her cigarette, started the motor and they pat-pattered along the cut, steering towards the centre. Polly shrugged. ‘My brother and I.’ She said nothing more, and all Bet said was, ‘Ah, yes. I have no siblings.’

  They were motoring along the centre of the cut, and Bet was staring down the length of the Marigold, over the cabin top and the hold, when she almost whispered, ‘Polly, stand tight against the cabin for the moment, and watch all I do. But while we’re alone – I do hope you can rise above Verity. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I think her – well, what shall we call it – abrasive attitude covers a basic lack of confidence, and a measure of unhappiness. If you find it is too much, then come to me, but she truly is improving.’

  Polly nodded. ‘Each to her own,’ she said.

  She too stared along the cabin and engine roof, and over the huge length of hold where top planks rested on stands.

  Bet said, ‘You can see the headlight on the iron stand erected on the fore-end counter, can you? Of course, because of the blackout, the light is shaded. I hope you brought a hat, woollen or not, because the head is the greatest area of heat loss, and believe me, there will be heat loss.’

  Polly had, and it was still in her kitbag. What would Verity make of the over-large pom-pom her mum had created, determined to use up the whole of the spare wool? Well, let her say what she liked.

  The wind was in their faces as they chugged along, and the water rippled either side; the slapping sound was soothing. Bet said, ‘When steering I like to stand in the “hatches”, here where the slide hatch is.’ She indicated the position. ‘I have my hand on the tiller behind me like this, rather than standing alongside it. Everyone does. It makes sense if you have to suddenly swing to one side or another or you’ll find yourself in the way. I’m in the centre of the cut as well, where it is deepest. I move over, obviously, when there is other traffic.’

  ‘I’m coming up,’ Verity warned them from the cabin.

  Hand on the tiller, Bet stepped away from the opening.

  ‘Here you are.’ Verity handed cocoa to each of them. ‘Rest it on the roof, Polly,’ she advised, and disappeared back into the cabin. Bet resumed her previous position, taking a sip and, with eyes on the cut, said, ‘Normally we snatch a piece of toast at five-thirty when we rise, and once we’re under way we’ll have porridge at nine-thirty or so. You’ll put your bowl on the cabin top, if you’re steering.’

  She called down into the cabin, ‘You could give the shelves a clean, and the range bar needs some enthusiastic rubbing, Verity. We’ll keep using the Primus for today, and only put the range on this evening. We need to replenish the coal when we come back through Coventry on the next run. Now, Polly, do you remember the gunwale alongside the motorboat cabin?’

  Polly nodded.

  ‘All right, then nip along it, and have a look in the hold to see just how big it is. You need to know everything about both our boats. You’ll pass the engine room at the rear of the cabin and then the back-end lean-to. Call it the back-end, we all do, There’s also some coal for the range in there, though we keep some in the coal cupboard beneath the bottom cabin step. In the back-end you will find brooms, rope to be spliced, something and everything. Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to splice – join two ropes – if you haven’t done it while sailing.’

  Bet watched ducks fly low along the cut ahead of them. ‘As you go along the gunwale you’ll notice that the cabin sides slope inwards so you shouldn’t fall off, but if you do, don’t scream. Just keep your mouth shut, and we’ll hook you out with the shaft, otherwise called a boathook.’ Bet pointed to the two shafts lying on the cabin top between the water can and the dipper.

  Ahead, a motor and butty were approaching in the centre of the cut, but they began to steer right, just as Bet was doing, so eventually they’d pass left side to left side. Polly set off along the cabin gunwale. The oncoming motor and butty were set low in the water, with a tarpaulin covering the loads, and planks running over the top of the load from the cabin to the fore-end. ‘They’ll have come from the east London Limehouse Basin after loading, heading on to Birmingham.’

  Polly clung to the cabin top with one hand and waved to the man steering the motor. He ignored her, his face shaded by his hat. ‘He’s towing the butty on a long snubber, or in other words, a tow-rope,’ Bet called.

  The woman steering the butty continued with her crochet, the tiller guided by her upper arm. A toddler sat on the cabin roof with a chain running from the chimney to her waist presumably to stop her crawling overboard. Another, older child sat further along, legs dangling down the side of the cabin. He must have been about five. He was doing something with a rope, or was it two? He wore a cap and long trousers. Bet called, ‘He’s splicing the two rope ends together.’

  ‘I wondered – but he’s so young,’ Polly called.

  ‘Go on,’ Bet called back. ‘Get moving, you haven’t even reached the engine room.’ Polly edged along the gunwale, clinging to the edge of the cabin. She reached the engine room and the back-end, then stared into the depths of the hold: apart from the top planks there were others lining the base. They were coal stained. Water slopped beneath the planks.

  This was her new home, her new job, and the hold was so huge she couldn’t imagine loading, unloading, or even handling the boats and getting to Birmingham safely. As for locks …

  Bet shouted, ‘Stop looking so worried. You needed to see the whole thing to sort it in your head. Come back and finish your cocoa.’

  Polly felt her way
back, but before she stepped on to the counter Bet said, ‘Right, now you’re getting the hang of it, stay on the gunwale or sit on the roof, like those children you saw. It’ll give me more room to steer.’

  Polly hopped up on to the roof, as the wind tore through her hair. ‘The gunwale round the holds? When do we use it?’

  Bet smiled. ‘When I tell you. Until then we use the top planks. Now, relax.’ Polly dangled her legs over the side of the cabin, her mackintosh flapping in the wind. On the left-hand side there were views of fields but on the nearside they passed a series of wharves and warehouses, with a range of smells, noise and smoke. She reached for her cocoa, smiling back at Bet, who said, ‘Don’t look so confused, it will all fall into shape.’

  Polly hoped it would be soon. She drank her cold cocoa, which was vaguely sweet.

  Bet said, ‘I have a friend with bees, so we usually have honey.’ She waved ahead. ‘We’re travelling at about five miles an hour, but with a load or towing the butty it will be about three miles.’

  Verity called from the cabin, ‘It’s not in the least fun clearing out the hold after a load of coal, let me tell you, or clearing grain. We have to get every little piece of coal out, and as for the grain … If we leave any, we start to sprout wheat, for goodness’ sake.’

  Bet laughed, and continued, ‘So, to get from Limehouse where we’re loaded to Birmingham we head uphill most but by no means all of the time to the Midlands and finally Birmingham via approximately one hundred and fifty locks. Just think how you will enjoy opening and closing, not to mention filling and emptying, them.’

  One hundred and fifty? Polly was unable to absorb the number. Bet was running on, ‘We pick up another load immediately we return. Not glamorous but necessary. This, Polly Holmes, could be your life for the next few years or however long it takes to end this bloody war.’

  The motor pat-pattered onwards, there was the slap of water, the sound of shouting from the bank, a jackhammer whacked down, a saw screeched from a multi-storey workshop with very dirty windows. Or was it a factory? Polly was feeling pulverised by the sights and sounds. Would she ever get used to this?

  Bet said, ‘If there’s no chance of being given an order by the depot today we’ll maybe head out to Cowley Lock. It will give you a bit more of an idea before the long run.’

  Verity called again, ‘You did put your ration card in the drawer and your share into the kitty? Ten shillings. We’ll be shopping at the depot. Everyone contributes the same, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Polly lifted her face into the wind. She was here. Her mum would be queuing for rations that had arrived at some shop or other. Her dad would be at his Stores Department in his overalls, trying to stay awake after being up all night. So, there they were, and here she was, sitting on a cabin roof, her shoulder-length hair whipping her face, sipping cocoa instead of typing for Mr Burton. It hadn’t been what she originally wanted, which was to be in a uniform doing something more obvious, but it was something, and already she thought it might be a very good something.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday 26 October – approaching the Grand Union Canal Depot

  ‘Coming into sight is the depot you visited yesterday,’ Bet called. ‘We’re mooring Marigold at the kerb of the concrete lay-by. I’m cutting back the throttle now, slowing steadily.’

  Bet looked alive, fizzing with a sort of joy as she fixed her gaze ahead, over the Marigold’s length, the tiller almost a part of her. The sun had come out, clouds scudded, the wind was increasing. Leaves that had fallen early were floating on the cut. Polly’s dad would have those out and on the compost as soon as look at them.

  Bet kept Marigold to the right as a laden motorboat and butty headed past them slowly in the opposite direction. This time, the man at the tiller of the motor nodded, and called, ‘’Ow do.’

  ‘How do you do, Steerer Ambrose,’ Bet called back.

  The woman steering the butty continued with her knitting, and merely nodded.

  Polly saw the dry dock, and the same three narrowboats tied up parallel to the frontage. Men were busy on the hardstanding which fronted the workshops, while the tannoy was still playing tinny music. Sparks flew from a workshop with an open front. The men in boiler suits wore goggles. She heard a sound like chalk on a blackboard. ‘So, now we’re passing the dry dock, the slipway and oil store; in a moment you might just see the Enquiries office where Alf will be huddling in his lair. Ahead is the lay-by.’ Bet raised her voice. ‘Verity, out of the cabin, keep an eye out for Horizon.’

  As they pat-pattered along Polly saw what seemed like even more narrowboats emulating sardines, moored up in the lay-by, their sterns towards the kerb, their fore-ends into the fairway of the cut. In a way they looked like the Venetian gondolas she had seen in pictures, all in a row, bobbing up and down.

  ‘Verity, I repeat, out of the cabin now and on to the gunwale, if you please, and find Horizon – there’re more parked than earlier. Polly, you’ll find that the lay-by is constantly changing, with arrivals and departures, but more of that later. Now, I need you to jump down from the roof and grab a shaft to shove Horizon aside when I reverse into the space. Wait until I tell you.’

  ‘Shafts?’ Polly shouted, in a panic, slipping down from the roof on to the counter.

  ‘Sorry, Polly, remember – they’re the boathooks you’ll find lying along the roof. Still can’t see Horizon.’

  Polly looked and saw two shafts. Which one? Her panic increased.

  Verity shoved past her and eased herself on to the right-hand cabin gunwale. ‘There she blows, our Horizon, next to Granfer Hopkins’s butty, Swansong. They’re probably having a chat. Oh, if only butties could talk, what tales they’d tell.’ She shouted to Polly, ‘Nice old boy, is Granfer. Always says ‘“Ow do”, which is more than can be said for his grandson, Saul.’

  Bet peered ahead. ‘Yes, good idea, Verity. Polly, when we’re closer I’ll be steering across the fairway of the cut, and then reversing, forcing a parking space, as it were, between Swansong and Horizon. Going astern there are no brakes, and one’s steering is minimised, so the boat is prone to swinging. Therefore I need you girls shafting. Verity, down to the fore-end now. If you please.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Steerer.’

  Bet sighed, laughed, then raised her eyebrows and shouted over the engine, ‘Well, that’s a damn sight better than Sailor, so let’s be thankful for small mercies.’

  Verity grabbed a shaft from the cabin roof, scooted along the cabin gunwale, and then almost danced along the top planks over the hold, skirting the central uprights to the fore-end while Polly grabbed the remaining shaft. It was heavy. She dragged it off the roof, and stood with it, the boathook at the top. Bet nodded at her. ‘Get ready. I’m now steering her across the cut. Don’t worry, just listen to me.’

  Bet was straddling the main channel or fairway. She roared, ‘Verity, watch it, fore-end’s swinging.’

  Verity, down at the fore-end, shoved her shaft to the bottom of the canal, leaning into it, correcting the motor. They could hear her language from the stern as she hauled up the shaft, changed sides and plunged it deep down, to stop the boat from swinging back the other way.

  Bet yelled, ‘Save your breath, just don’t let it swing too far. Polly, take a grip on your shaft, stand firm. I’m reversing in.’ Polly braced herself, seeing the Marigold swinging again, reversing towards the mass of boats. How on earth had Verity spotted Horizon amongst all the others?

  She took the right-hand side. Bet roared, ‘Polly, spread your legs, if I can be so indelicate; push against the butty your side, I’m inching back, there’s Swansong on our right. As you’re on the right too, create a space. Don’t fall in. I don’t want to have to fish you out.’

  They inched back, swinging again. Polly shoved at Swansong’s fenders, her heart pounding, and heard Verity shouting from the fore-end, ‘Not many of us women can park a boat first time, Polly, look and learn. Bet’s a diamond.’ There was real admiration in h
er voice, and for a moment Polly saw a different Verity.

  Bet yelled, ‘Keep us straight, Verity. Come on, Polly, get bloody on with it, one poke’s not going to do it.’

  Polly braced herself again, legs apart, pushing again at the fender on the fore-end of the Swansong butty. She kept her weight behind the shaft and shoved, shoved, and Swansong edged away, into the motorboat the other side, which also moved slightly. Bet slowly, slowly backed Marigold into the gap between Horizon and Swansong. Polly’s arms ached, her shoulders too, and her hands slipped on the shaft. She took a breath, and tightened her grip as Marigold eased further and further into the gap.

  Her thighs strained as she pushed harder, and the small of her back ached as they eased more and more of Marigold’s seventy feet between the two butties until Bet pushed the throttle to neutral and let Marigold glide the rest of the way. With a jolt, their fenders hit the kerb. Verity danced back along the planks, then dropped down to the cabin gunwale, slapping her hands on the cabin roof. ‘My word, the girl might have managed it, Bet, but why, for the Lord’s sake, didn’t she go to the left and shove Horizon, instead of poking and prodding someone else’s butty?’

  Bet chuckled, ‘She landed on the right-hand side, so I didn’t like to mention it at the time. But something to consider, Polly, eh?’

  An old man popped his head out of Swansong’s cabin. ‘’Ow do,’ he nodded at Bet. ‘Yer new boatee, she giving oos a push ’n’ shove?’

  ‘She is indeed new, Granfer, but willing. Shafted quite well, given it’s the first time. Next time she’ll choose Horizon.’