The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  She fried eggs, and bread, and finished her letters after asking Reggie if he played darts for money. She explained that they had won sufficient to buy extras off ration, or off the back of a lorry, then she crossed it out because perhaps the censor was reading it and they’d all be carted off in a Black Maria. She put the food on to plates,placing hers and Bet’s on the cabin roof. Polly then jumped off at a bridge hole, and back on to the butty to deliver Verity’s meal, curtseying as she did so. Verity muttered, ‘Don’t hang about, you’re not good enough for a tip.’

  Polly laughed, but Verity did not. Polly jumped off and ran back to the motor, wondering when the wretched girl would stabilise.

  Traffic became more and more congested and they had to wait for oncoming pairs to come through bridge holes before they could continue. They passed under the branches of trees, and between shrub-covered banks, and pattered through a carpet of leaves in one winding spot. It was here that Bet said, as the wind rifled through her hair, ‘Believe it or not, we’re a mere half a mile, so about half an hour, from unloading this load of rusty billets.’

  Polly didn’t believe her, as there was no sign that they were near such a big city, but steadily as they pattered on the traffic thickened even more, until – there it was, Tyseley Wharf, Birmingham. They were not alone; there were other pairs of boats moored up and waiting, some of which they knew, some they didn’t. Leon was not visible and a great weight dropped from her shoulders.

  The wharf was almost on a level with the boats, rather than looming over them as had been the case at Limehouse Basin, and they tied up for now, waiting to be told where to go. Polly felt almost as though she’d dragged the boats all the way, so dog tired was she as she stood at the tiller and breathed in the sense of industry and commerce, then noticed both horse-drawn and motorboats pulling away, heavily loaded, some with coal.

  Polly said, ‘I thought coal was loaded at Coventry?’

  ‘It is, sometimes, but stop nit-picking and think about your darling Reggie,’ Verity said.

  Polly ignored her, it seemed the least tiring thing to do, so she continued to watch the toing and froing as they waited on the counter of the Marigold, and Bet smoked on Horizon. Instead of trees there were great smoking factory chimneys, and huge mounds of rusty iron. There were corrugated-iron sheds, and stained stone sheds, and men bustling, unloading, shouting, laughing. Some smoked, some obeyed the instructions others gave, others waved their arms and bellowed because someone was doing something wrong.

  Ahead they could see the Venus having steel billets unloaded. Thomo, Timmo and Peter would no doubt be cleaning up Shortwood’s cabin while they waited, and would have another darts match tonight. Perhaps they’d be on better form. Lorries were grinding their gears as they drove into or out of the yard. One lorry pulled up near Thomo’s boats; the crane driver and dockers continued to unload the steel billets from the Venus and lowered them into the back of the lorry. Once it was full the driver roared towards the exit, but screeched to a halt outside the office. Wearing a muffler, he kept the engine running while he jumped out and ran in. Was there an Alf or a Ted in there? Polly wondered.

  Bet was standing on the wharf now, slapping her arms against her sides to keep warm. She said, ‘The lorry will have to go over the weighing platform, and it will be noted down. Over there is another lorry delivering a load – but of what, I can’t see. Machinery of some sort, perhaps. It’s a seamless machine, girls, and we are part of it. Now, time to stop gawping and clean up our little darlings, and then we’ll clean up ourselves, eh Verity?’

  ‘Oh joy,’ said Verity. It had been one of her most overused comments today. Her face was tight, her voice cold. It was as though the closer they got to Birmingham, and journey’s end, the sadder, or more angry, she became. Was it because she felt nothing mattered quite so much while she was on the move?

  Bet said, ‘Miss Clement and Miss Holmes, the hatches will be scrubbed, the floors and the steps of both boats too, while I find out when we’re likely to be unloaded.’

  It transpired that it would not be until the next morning. All three scrubbed and cleaned, as boaters’ wives were doing the length of the wharf; then, not content with that, they polished and Polly wondered if her hands would ever recover; not just from this, but from everything entailed in being a boater.

  Clearly they must never bet on winning the housework race, for they still had work to finish by the time the boaters’ wives were off shopping to find food wherever they could, ration cards in hand, their string bags hanging empty. Bet wondered if Saul had managed to snare any game. If so, maybe they could make him an offer he couldn’t refuse, using their winnings, because they still had some in the winnings jar.

  ‘He’s not at Tyseley, yet,’ said Polly.

  ‘Been watching for him, have you? What would Reggie say about that?’ Verity snapped, her blonde hair streaked with dirt and sweat.

  Polly stood back to check the shine on the range bar. ‘I can see my lovely face in it, so all is well, grumpy chops.’ But was that the problem? That she had someone to write to whereas Verity never wrote to anyone? She had no more time to think about it, because Bet came to inspect their work, running her finger along the bookcase, opening the range oven. ‘It’ll do, this time,’ she said. ‘Now for ourselves.’

  Mystified, Polly followed the other two, who insisted she brought her clean trousers, pants, socks and shirt on to the wharf, having locked the cabin doors. She asked, but they wouldn’t share their secret. Instead they hurried to the tram stop near the entrance to the depot. A tram came and they jumped on. Polly had to stand, along with many others, and it seemed so strange to be here, in a city, bumping and lurching along, with so much noise, so many people, so much traffic, and to top it off, surrounded by the accent of Brum. It was even more obvious that the boaters’ speech owed much to this region.

  They arrived at a stop near a smoke-stained red-brick building and Bet hopped off, with Verity pulling on Polly’s arm. ‘Do hurry, can’t you.’

  In the foyer they paid ninepence each and were given a towel and soap by the woman in the payment booth. She pressed a bell, and a plump grey-haired female attendant in a white cotton coat pushed through swing doors, beckoned, and led them back the way she had come, walking down a white-tiled corridor. This opened on to a large white-tiled hall divided into cubicles. It echoed as Polly asked, ‘So, it’s a swimming pool? But we’re filthy, we can’t––’

  ‘It’s a public baths,’ Bet said.

  ‘We’re spotless,’ the attendant said. ‘But yer not, because yer off the boats.’ She looked at Bet. ‘You was ’ere before, Missus, and you too, Blondie, I recognise yer. I had to scrub the baths right hard afterwards. Slimy, yer left ’em.’

  The woman’s forehead corrugated into a scowl.

  The three of them looked at their feet, and shuffled. But the woman then said, ‘Good work yer do, so I don’t begrudge yer. Couldn’t do it meself, bloody hard.’

  She opened the first cubicle door and the women crowded round as she unlocked the taps and filled first this bath, then the baths in two more cubicles, with piping hot water. ‘I won’t chain ’em taps oop again, so yer can let it out and top ’em up for a second time. It’ll be my part towards ’elping this whole mess of a war. My old chap says you women are doing well. ’E didn’t think yer would, but yer does. He’s on the cranes, ’appen you saw ’im. Felt bad t’other day, chains broke, sack o’ wheat fell, killed a boater while ’er children watched. Don’t leave yer feelin’ good, it don’t.’

  She left. Verity said, to no one in particular, ‘Well, it wouldn’t. I expect the wife, husband and family didn’t feel that marvellous about it either.’

  The women were quiet for a moment, imagining the scene, the aftermath, and knowing that the boater family would somehow carry on, just as the crane driver was doing.

  ‘Oh hell,’ snapped Verity. ‘I’m not wasting this hot water. We’ll tip the attendant as she’s given us two for the pric
e of one. Last time she didn’t and just gave us five inches.’ She looked into the cubicle. ‘Just look at it – must be a foot. Maybe dropping a bag of wheat on some poor sod should be factored in to every visit we make.’

  She slammed into the cubicle. Bet and Polly looked at one another. Bet whispered, ‘I thought she was over the hump of whatever it is that’s dragging at her, but clearly not. If we knew we could help, perhaps. Maybe you could try and find out, Polly. She won’t talk to me.’ She raised her voice, ‘I’m heading for mine, too. No singing in the bath, anyone. I want to lean back and relax. I don’t need foghorns bellowing out.’

  Bet chose the cubicle to the right of Verity. Polly was left with the one on the right. She entered, shut the door and leaned back against it. A bath? A heavenly bath, and no nonsense about five inches either. Verity was right, it was a good foot. She undressed as the steam rose. The attendant called, ‘Everything all right, ladies?’

  Bet called, ‘More than all right, it’s well past perfect. We can’t thank you enough. It makes such a change from sluicing off the worst with cut water, and fiddling about with a little bowl. I fear we smell.’

  The attendant said, ‘Ye fear right, but then, that’s not the worst sin in the world.’

  Polly lifted her arm and smelt herself. Her mother would die if her daughter was anything less than fragrant.

  ‘I’ll leave you for an hour. Give yer time for two baths, and a brisk towel down. I’d be ’appy if you’d give the bath a swirl round after the last lot of o’ water goes down plug ’ole. There’s a bit of a cloth behind the taps which I can choock away after. Makes me job of cleaning a bit easier.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bet and Polly said. There was silence from Verity.

  Polly listened to the squeak of the attendant’s wellington boots on the tiled corridor floor, then lowered herself, wondering why she had never realised the sheer luxury of lying full length in piping-hot water. For a while she almost floated, as the water took on the colour of the mud into which she had repeatedly fallen when the bike skidded, not to mention the oil from the engine when it was her turn to clean it, or the cabin roof … She closed her eyes and fought to stay awake.

  Reluctantly, she stirred when she heard Bet swear, ‘Damn and blast.’

  Verity called, ‘Are you in trouble, boss woman?’

  ‘No, the soap skidded out of my hand, on to the floor so I’ll have to get out and find the damn thing. It has a life of its own.’

  Polly called, ‘Life is unbearably hard.’

  They all laughed. Polly hoped Verity was coming round again. After a good soaping Polly let the water out, standing as the slime slid over her feet and accumulated near the plug. She was disgusted with herself. Her mum would pale, and fuss and talk about germs.

  She sluiced the slime down the plughole, fitted the plug, ran the tap for a moment until there was an inch in the bottom, before letting that out also. She picked up the enamel mug Bet had advised them all to bring, and washed her hair over the bath. That water too was disgusting. She sluiced it, and finally ran another bath, but only up to the five-inch mark, then sank into the water, rinsing herself again and again, scrubbing her nails with the brush she had brought with her.

  Her father had been in the first war, and ever afterwards had a thing about shiny shoes and clean nails. He’d been a stretcher-bearer, one who refused to bear arms but had saved a life or two, he once told her as he sat at the kitchen table polishing the household’s shoes to a high gleam and dabbing the twins’ plimsolls with Blanco to start the week clean and tidy. It was his Sunday evening chore, while her mum listened to the Home Service on the wireless.

  She sluiced off the last remnants of the soap as a buzzer sounded and she heard the returning squeak of wellington boots on tiles. She stood, pulled the plug, and watched the water disappear with a final glug.

  The attendant called, ‘Are all you ladies awake? Your time is over.’

  ‘Just dressing,’ Polly called back, and knew from the flurry of noise from the other cubicles that the same was happening with Bet and Verity.

  The attendant wasn’t finished. ‘I rung me old chap at the wharf office. We feels so bad about the boating woman we wants to do something to make oop for it. The boater wouldn’t take nothing, cos he ’ad family at Buckby where them go to retire on land, but we has a big ’ouse, cos we has a big family, only they’s at war. Why not use their beds as you won’t be loaded until tomorrow? They’s freshly laundered, cos we put up the theatre folk when they comes doing plays, and there ain’t one this week. One room each. Bathroom at the end of the corridor.’

  ‘How much?’ Verity snapped.

  Bet called, ‘That’s a really nice idea but we just wonder how much? I’m sorry about our friend, she’s very tired, and sometimes forgets how to put things nicely.’

  ‘We was thinkin’ that it’s just something we’d like to do, something we’d like to give. It’d make my old bugger feel better. Never killed no one before.’

  Polly said, not sure she had enough money, ‘He mustn’t feel bad. It was an accident, but we must pay something.’

  Bet took over again. ‘We can’t keep shouting through the door, it’s so rude. Give us ten minutes and we’ll come and find you, if that’s all right.’

  ‘I’ll be at end, in the ’tendant’s cubicle. You ’as a chat about it. You needn’t stay, just thought it a nice rest from the boat, and the noise. Them fly-boats carrying the beer come and go all night. Them’s on a quick-return schedule. And … well, up to you.’

  Polly listened to the fading squeak of the wellington boots, then the shutting of a door. She sluiced the bath, finished dressing, dragged a comb through her hair and all the time she thought of a bedroom to herself, a bathroom down the corridor, and no bucket. Oh glory be, no bucket.

  Bet knocked softly on the cubicle door. ‘May we come in?’

  Polly shot the bolt, and opened it. ‘You may enter my domain.’

  The three of them huddled together. ‘I can’t bear the thought of some ghastly old dive,’ Verity said. ‘We’ll have to walk out, and I don’t care if it’s rude. At least my cross-bed is full of my dirt, my smell and not some jobbing actor’s, who hasn’t made it.’

  ‘Do you have to be so unmitigatedly difficult and unpleasant? It’s such a kind thought,’ Bet snapped.

  ‘But only to ease a conscience, so no – it’s not kind. It’s not that easy and neither should it be.’

  Polly stared at Verity. What had gone on in her life? What? Had someone hurt her? Was that the loss Bet had spoken of at the beginning of everything? Perhaps he left her? She thought back. She’d been writing a letter to Reggie when Verity started to get in a bate, so could it be … She said nothing, but pulled out her purse. ‘I could offer five shillings. We must pay something, and Verity, if you don’t want to give it a try, I’ll come with you back to the boat, and then meet Bet wherever the house is. That’s if Bet wants to stay in a warm room. Or I hope it’s warm, or at least aired.’

  For a moment there was silence, the only noise the sound of a knocking in one of the pipes that ran along the back of the cubicle, through a hole and into the next one. It was probably the water heating up again, Polly thought.

  Bet crossed her arms. ‘I most certainly do, Miss Polly Holmes. It’s manna from heaven and I’ve never known it to happen before. It’s worth a look, anyway. So that’s two of us. What about you, Verity? You’ve made it clear it’s not up to your usual standard, but who the hell cares. A bed, not a board with a skimpy bit of flock pretending to be a mattress to lie on.’

  She opened the door, ushering the girls before her. ‘Verity, make up your mind before we reach the attendant’s cubicle, and watch that sharp tongue of yours, if you please, or even if you don’t.’

  By the time they’d reached the end of the corridor Verity murmured, ‘Well, if you are game, you needn’t think I’m standing guard on the Marigold on my own. Leon could be hanging about, just waiting, for all we know.’r />
  Polly did know that he wasn’t. He had been at least a day ahead, and was probably on his way to Coventry to pick up coal by now. But if it saved face for Verity to blame her acceptance on safety concerns back at the wharf, it didn’t matter.

  Mrs Green, for that was her name, insisted that no money must change hands because that would mean that her old bugger wasn’t paying penance. ‘It’s for oos, not yer. For oos. That poor young lady.’

  She gave them the address, and told them of the hidden key. ‘There’s a nice little pub where y’can eat sausages and chips on the corner. Just you lets yoursel’ in after your tea and pop on oop to yer rooms since we’ll likely be asleep. Top floor, rooms one, two and three, there’s brass numbers on the door. There’s coal and wood in the grate, my old bugger gets it off the wharf when it’s dropped by the carts and lorries.’

  ‘Or even off the lorry when no one’s looking?’ Verity said. Bet sighed, and dug her in the ribs.

  Mrs Green looked at Verity curiously. ‘That’d be something my old bugger wouldn’t do, ever. The priest wouldn’t like it, and neither would God. Perhaps you’re another that should make penance, or is it summat else hanging over yer, or someone who done yer wrong, to be so sad and nasty?’

  Verity coloured. Bet stepped between her and Mrs Green and said, ‘We’ll be up really early but will creep out. We’ll leave some money by the beds.’

  Mrs Green said, ‘No you won’t. Or we won’t be giving it as a gift. I said before, so yer got to understand?’

  Polly said, ‘Yes, I’m sure we do understand.’

  Chapter 17

  4 November – evening, Birmingham

  They headed through the blackout towards the Bull and Bush, the pub Mrs Green had suggested. Searchlights probed the skies as they skirted bombed-out buildings. Somewhere nearby a beam crashed to the ground, and rats ran across the road ahead of them. ‘Flushed out, but they’ll just go to another,’ Bet muttered, keeping her torch with its reduced beam directed to the pavement which was also damaged here and there.