by Milly Adams
‘Well, we just keep him safe, is all, Granfer. I’ll fetch ’im today, and keep him under me eye. We’ll be all right once we’re on the cut, cos we can keep an eye on ’im all the time. I’s going to ask ’round Southall shops again if anyone’s seen our Maudie.’
Granfer nodded. ‘I just don’t know how yer sister would’ve just run away from the bugger without takin’ Joe, but the more I sees in the world, the less I damned well know. What with that bloody bomb dropping on yer ma and da as them was walking to the shops, an’ all. We need ’em here, now. Maudie needed them. She needed us, but wouldn’t let oos do nothin’.’
Saul felt the great weight on his shoulders that had been there since his parents had died. But it was Maudie who had it harder, married to Leon who bashed her bad, just cos he liked doing it, Saul reckoned, and hit the boy too. She’d said no, Saul, stay out of it, I’m sorting it. She must of meant she was doing a bunk, and who could blame her, but to leave the lad alone with Leon? That wasn’t Maudie … or was it? Now he was twenty he should know about these things but was it like Granfer said, the older you got, the less yer knew?
Now Granfer said, ‘Anyways, lad, we ’ad to take the boy when we heard his cries. Had to. I reckon that bugger’d ’ave killed him, if’n we ain’t. We ’ad a right. We’s family.’
They’d had the conversation time and again, but they had to, because of the worry about his sister. Where the hell was she, when the boy needed her? There’d be no letter, cos she couldn’t write, like the rest o’ them. Saul drank his tea. His hand wasn’t shaking, no; steady as a rock, it was. Had that girl seen him shaking, she that’d tried to pull him out? He could see her clear as day, as she shouted ‘Take my hand’. He’d thought she’d cared, but she was a foreigner, a landsman, whose children spat from the bridges, and called boaters names, and the landsmen themselves weren’t much better so he didn’t want her in his head, but she bloody well was. She had no right there, neither. He’d do better to think of Leon – that’d keep them safer instead of all this meandering.
Saul remembered the time back in September when they’d left the lock on their way down from Birmingham, just before the gates were shut for the day. They’d seen Leon tied up for the night, his butty and motor abreast, parallel to the bank, waiting for the lock to open come morning as the bugger headed up Birmingham. They’d heard the lad crying and crying above the pat-patter of Seagull, and acting fast Granfer had rammed the Seagull’s engine astern, slowing, and staying on the throttle as Saul had leapt from the motor and run along the towpath.
There’d been the sound of laughter from the pub, which was set back. He bet Leon was in there. He’d run over the bridge, and back down the towpath t’other way. He jumped on Leon’s motor, Brighton, and slammed back the doors. No, no crying in that cabin. He’d leapt across on to the butty, Maudsley, and found the cabin doors chained shut. He grabbed the shaft off the roof and crashed it down, and again, breaking the chain near the padlock, hearing the boy start to scream now. ‘No, Da, no.’
Saul had called, ‘It be me, yer Uncle Saul. It’s just me.’ Silence fell. Inside he found Joe, curled into a ball on the floor, lying in the blood streaming from his poor broken nose.
He’d picked him up and, once on the counter, he’d thrown him over his shoulder and headed off down the towpath again then over the bridge, and back along the towpath. He’d wanted to run but he didn’t want to hurt the boy any more. He could hear Granfer revving the motor, which started moving slowly towards him, then stuck on the mud. Oh God. He’d snatched a look at the pub. No change.
He’d thrown Joe across the gap into Granfer’s arms, leapt the gap himself, grabbed the shaft and shoved the motor off the mud, sweat pouring from him, though it was a cool September evening. Granfer had laid the boy down on the counter and was revving the motor, and they were away, close towed, with no one stopping them. Several though ’ad seen them as they stood on their counters, but they’d turned to watch the pub, their hands on their horns should Saul need warning.
Saul thought they’d stopped Leon. They had a right. Cruelty cut through the code of privacy.
Granfer picked up his mug, saying, ‘Reckon I’ll collect t’lad from school. Yer go and check for orders at t’office, remind ’em we’s here. We needs the pay more’n ever now we’s got him, but at least we won’t have the school ’tendance bloke round again, cos he’ll have been ticked off the list by the teacher today. Yer fetch the rations too, and yes, ’ave a chat around about Maudie and we need some pheasant and a rabbit or two once we’s got going on up.’
Saul took their ration books checked at the office, and headed into Southall, where he collected a couple of eggs, a bit of meat and whatever else he could find, asking, always asking, because one man selling shoelaces from a tray, who’d been lounging against a wall a couple of weeks ago, was pretty sure he’d seen a redhead heading for the station, a big old bag over her shoulder. That sounded like Maudie. Ma Ambrose had said another old chap, Alperton way, had seen a lass like her and all. Did he believe them? He didn’t know, because there was something squirrelling way deep in his heart, but he didn’t want to see it, or hear it. Course she was still alive, just fleeing, for now. Leon wouldn’t have hurt her worse. No, not that.
He bought bread, and a bit of lard that a bloke was selling down a side street, and cabbages, which’d make the cabin stink but was good for a growing boy. No one knew anything more of Maudie, though they wished they had. He hurried back to the lay-by, nodding at those he knew, ignoring them he didn’t, which weren’t many.
Granfer was on the motor when he returned, making toast for the boy. ‘Where’s he gone?’ asked Saul.
‘Just to the lav. Don’t take on, Leon’s not in t’lay-by, and our boy ain’t lost his voice again, like he did when ’is Da ’urt him so bad, so I reckon he’s all right.’
Saul stowed the shopping and cleaned and polished the engine as he waited for the boy to return, walking along the lay-by more than once, but when he returned to the cabin, Joe was there, with the cupboard front down, colouring in some flowers he’d drawn.
‘Where’d you get those?’ Saul asked, looking at the packet of coloured pencils beside Joe on the cross-bed.
‘Teacher gave ’em to me, Uncle Saul.’ The boy sounded sharp. His eyes wouldn’t meet Saul’s but he was shook up, course he was. ‘What d’yer think?’
He showed Saul the flowers. Saul smiled, ‘Your grandma, my mam, was good with paint and you’re like her.’
Joe put his head down, and coloured in a red flower. He had also drawn a castle. All of these were as a boater would do it, an artist boater, that is, Saul thought, wanting to paint the land they passed on their travels, and the way the shadows played on the fields, and the–– But there was no time, never.
‘I’m like you too, not just ’er, Uncle Saul,’ Joe said, his tongue slightly out, his fingers tight around the red pencil.
‘Have you learned your words in school?’
Joe put the red pencil down, and chose a blue one. Saul watched as he coloured over the red and produced a deep purple. Yes, the lad was good.
Joe said, ‘I can’t see letters. I can see flowers, but not the shape of letters. When you talk I can hear you, but I can’t see it, so how can I write it, how can I read it? It just be squiggles, same goes for numbers. I can’t see ’em but I can count off me fingers and in me ’ead.’
Saul nodded. He could understand, cos he couldn’t read neither but he wanted to, he needed to cos the boats weren’t going to last, there were trains and lorries and once the war was over, he, Granfer and Joe would be too.
‘Well, we’re going to have to find a way so that you understand, and I moost too. I just don’t know ’ow.’
‘You know everything, Uncle Saul – don’t ’e, Granfer?’
Saul checked over his shoulder. Granfer was at the stove now and said, ‘Reckon ’e knows a fair bit, but what ’e don’t know is whether you’re bothered at seeing yer da again, wh
at with all that fuss and fandangle?’
Joe didn’t falter in his colouring. ‘Oh no, not with Uncle Saul ’ere, and you, Granfer. You’ll stop ’im getting to me, till she gets back ’ere. I reckon she knew she could go, and yer keep me safe till then.’
Chapter 6
26 October – Bet, Polly and Verity on the same afternoon
Polly steered their butty, Horizon, which was short-towed by Marigold as they left the lay-by for the lock at Cowley almost immediately after the excitement. Verity stood close up to the cabin, as there was no gunwale. Both boats were unloaded, so rose high in the water. The tiller was unwieldy and it was strange to be steering something high and behind her, but Polly was getting the hang of it.
She already knew that if you steered right, the boat turned left; Will had shown her that much but the sailboat was quicker, this was a carthorse … Polly stopped the thought. She must move forward with this canal, these women, and the strange boaters.
Verity said, ‘It’s a straight run through to Cowley. Bet does it with all her trainees, though usually with just the motor unless it’s a fine day. You don’t actually need to steer very much because the butty will follow the motor on such a short tow. So you’re superfluous, but I would think that’s not an unusual situation for you.’
Verity hauled herself up on to the cabin roof and edged away, sitting looking at the view. For two pins Polly would grab Verity’s leg and flick her into the cut. The thought made her smile, and she said, ‘Oh come on, you can do better than that pathetic insult.’
Verity ignored her, and sat reading her book, The Thirty-Nine Steps, but then Polly felt a screwed-up handkerchief hit her. She brushed it aside, leaving it lying on the counter. ‘Hope that was clean?’ she asked.
‘Spotlessly so, darling,’ Verity said, ducking her head down to her book again. Polly had read and enjoyed it a couple of years ago. ‘I know the ending,’ she called, ‘I’ll tell you “whodunnit” if you don’t perk up.’
‘You won’t live to work the lock if you do – you’ll suffer a miserable and vile experience, the planning of which I will spend time perfecting.’ Verity gave a faint laugh.
Silence reigned while Polly wondered what on earth was really going wrong in this girl’s life. She said, ‘Saul and Granfer sound as though they’re from Birmingham, or a bit like that, anyway.’
Verity lifted her head. ‘I know, and you’re right, it’s a funny accent the boaters have, a bit of a mixture.’ She returned to her book.
Polly looked at her. That was the first proper conversation they had had.
In no time at all, the Marigold slowed, heading towards wider water where beech trees lined the cut. ‘We’re tying up to walk to the lock,’ Verity said.
The Marigold dawdled through the wide still water, disturbing the reflection. They finally stopped when the lock gates were just ahead.
‘You could turn a boat around here, with this width of water, couldn’t you?’ called Polly.
Verity leaned back on the roof, her weight on one elbow. ‘It’s called winding, idiot. Not turning around. Go on, tie up. The lock’s been left ready, so you’re lucky. Left by someone who came through heading towards Limehouse.’
Polly leapt to the bank, feeling that at least she could tie up but horribly aware of the uphill lock just ahead. The lower gates were open and the water was at the same level as their cut. Verity followed her, checking the butty mooring strap, then handing her a windlass. ‘This is yours. You’ll lose it, we all do, and the bottom of the cut must be full of them, rusting quietly, but try not to. Stuff it in the belt of your trousers. We’re taught to wear them down the front, like mine.’
Bet joined them, and they walked along the towpath to the top of the lock and looked down into it. The slimy walls reflected the sunshine of the cool day. The top gates were massive, and seemed to sit on a sill looming over the lower level; Polly imagined she could hear them groaning as they held back the water of the upper cut. Their balance beams stretched across the towpath, with a narrow platform running along the top of both. Polly stared, not knowing the first thing about opening the gate, or filling the lock to lift the boats so that they could continue up the hill. Alongside the lock was a small building, with an Office sign above the door.
Bet stood beside her, a cigarette behind her ear. Polly’s mum would be appalled. Bet said, ‘You’ll be nipping along that platform, but not yet, and there’s a railing – see? – which will keep you safe.’
There was more of a breeze up here, and it rustled the beech leaves. She continued, ‘Paddles are very small gates, I suppose. The paddles are below the water, by the hinges of the gate, can you see them?’
Bet pointed them out. ‘In order to fill the lock, you must bring in your boats, and then shut the lower lock gates behind them. Then you need to open, or raise, the paddles by winding up the ratchets – over here on top of the top gates – using your windlass. This will let the water through in a controlled way and lift the boat to the height of the upper cut. You will be climbing a staircase, by taking a step at a time – can you make any sense of that? – then you open the gates and Bob’s your uncle, off you go.’
Verity stood the other side of Bet. ‘You don’t need brains, you just need brawn, darling, so that shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘I’ll learn from you,’ Polly shot back.
In between them Bet smiled. Polly had no idea how on earth she was going to move the balance beams to open and close the gates. Did she shove with her bum? But wouldn’t that, in time, wear a hole in her trousers?
She sighed.
They seemed to be waiting, and she wondered why, but then a lad of about thirteen ran along the towpath and stood by the lower open gates. She heard a pat-patter approaching, and swallowed as Bet winked at her. At last she understood. Round the bend came a pair of boats and now both Verity and Bet laughed. Bet said, ‘No, relax, not you this time, but watch the lock-wheeler; the lad who’s run on ahead of his boats, just as you will cycle ahead of ours. Well, just as we’ll all take turns doing.’
The motor reduced speed and glided slowly into the lock, keeping close up against the wall, its fender nuzzling the sill of the top gate. The butty followed on a short tow. The motorboat steerer lifted the short tow-rope from its stern stud, throwing it on to the fore-end counter of the butty as it glided slowly, slowly alongside until it too nudged the sill. Now, with the boats parallel, the steerer of each, one a man, one a woman, clambered up the narrow steps of the lock wall, each carrying a mooring strap attached at one end to the stud of their boat. They secured these to mooring studs along the lock kerb. The boy shut the lower gate on his side, then ran up to the higher front lock gate, crossed by the platform, and closed the other lower.
The lad then used the windlass he flicked from the back of his belt to raise the paddles on the top gate. Polly fidgeted with hers, down the front of her belt. She might move it to the back as it felt so awkward. Water gushed into the lock through the opened paddles raising the level. The woman climbed down the wall and on to the cabin roof, and then the counter. She disappeared into the cabin and they heard a clatter of pans.
Bet said, ‘Not a moment is lost. She’s cooking while the water does the work for a change.’
‘We haven’t eaten since breakfast,’ said Verity.
Polly realised she was ravenous. Bet murmured, ‘Sandwiches back on board, or you can always eat your fists.’
Verity frowned. ‘She always says that.’
Ignoring her, Bet said, ‘Watch the office, Polly, if you please. You too, Verity.’
The door of the office opened and the boater handed the officer some paperwork, which was ticked, then reclaimed.
Bet said, ‘The lock-keeper’s noting that they’ve been through the lock. It’s a way of keeping tabs.’ The lock was filling. As the boats rose with the water, the steerer waited on the lock kerb, shortening the mooring strap, while the lad altered the strap on the other side. When the cabin roof was le
vel with the steerer, he stepped on to the roof of his motor cabin, and then the counter, waiting until the lock water was on a level with the upper cut.
Once this happened, the boy looked down the cut the way they had come, then at Bet, who nodded. Whatever message passed between them was one Polly hadn’t understood, but she knew better than to ask. She would wait to be told.
The boy leapt on to the motor, the steerer reattached the tow-rope to the butty and revved the engine, as the lock-keeper opened the gates. ‘Leading his duckling,’ Polly breathed.
Bet nudged Polly, ‘See what’s coming.’ A motor and butty appeared round the bend from the Limehouse direction, wanting to travel up the ‘staircase’. Polly said, ‘The lock’s full. They’ll have to empty it first.’
Verity sniggered. ‘Wrong, darling. We’ll have to do it.’
Bet said, ‘I told the lad. Didn’t you see?’
Polly shook her head. ‘That’s what the nod meant?’
They shoved the beams with their bums until the top gates closed. Then Verity, her windlass at the ready, helped Polly to fix the windlass on the end of the paddle spindle of one top gate, before doing her own. Together they half turned the ratchet. They snatched off the windlass as the paddle dropped down, blocking any more of the top water from entering the lock.
‘Now to let the water out of the lock, ready for the approaching boats,’ Verity yelled.
The three women hurried to the bottom gate. Polly fitted her windlass on the spindle by herself this time, and wound as Verity ordered, huffing and puffing and struggling. It was hard but she got her paddle to open fully, and the water started emptying out of the lock into the lower cut. Polly watched the swirling, turbulent surface as the water drained through the lower gate paddles. Finally all was still. In the lock the water was at the lowest it could go, on a level with the lower cut.
‘What now?’ called Bet.
‘Open the gates,’ answered Verity, just behind Polly.
‘Why?’ called Bet.
