by Milly Adams
The kettle was boiling. She made six mugs of tea, as those were all they had. Verity looked into the cabin and said, ‘Chop-chop.’
Polly pulled a face. ‘Go away. Incidentally, today I’m the postman, and you’ve a letter on your bed.’
Verity slipped down the steps and past Polly, picked up the letter, glanced at it, and tore it in half unopened. She picked up three of the mugs and headed back to the counter, calling over her shoulder, ‘Bring up the others if you will, the lads are gagging with thirst.’
Polly called, ‘Hey, why tear it up? You can stick it together. I’ll put it on your bed, shall I?’
‘It’s from Mother, so what else should I do with it – perhaps light the range?’ With that, she was gone, out on to the counter, and then the kerb, handing out the tea.
Polly did the same, returning to the cabin to wipe down each surface, feeling the Marigold tilting more with each load. She headed up, calling to Bet who was already on the kerb arguing with the foreman. He shouted, ‘Calm yerselves, it’ll settle with the rain, look at that sky, Missus. I can’t do more’n we’re doing, and you’re nearly done, anyhow, so let’s put a sock in it, shall us? We’ll give it a quick level at the end.’
For once in her life, Bet was silenced. Verity and Polly looked at each other, impressed.
Another hour and the loading was finished, and levelled, and as the rain started in torrents the three of them laid the planks along the top of the coal, which wasn’t tiered as high as the billets had been. They started to tie up the side sheets but there was no need for the top ones, Bet told them. ‘Coal will always dry out.’
Verity muttered to Polly as they continued lashing the side sheets. ‘Thank heavens for small mercies.’
Just then, they heard Granfer calling from the kerb. ‘I’ll show yer a better ’itch.’ He was up on the planks before they knew where they were, kneeling, showing them an easier knot, making them repeat it twice. ‘That be it.’ He eased himself to his feet. Polly said, ‘Where did you spring from, Granfer? I thought you were way behind?’
‘Well, I knows the cut like the back of me ’and, so we can keep going when t’light goes. Saul wanted to keep––’ He stopped. ‘Saul, ’im wanted to get a move on, is all. We is way back in the loading queue, so yer ladies will be off in front, but don’t yer worry about that Leon, he be a day or more in front o’ yer.’
Verity nipped off with the ration books and a string basket to gather up what she could from the shop, while Polly and Granfer stepped on to the kerb. The rain had begun and was drenching Polly. Granfer said, ‘Still got it, then?’
He nodded to her hat.
‘No one’s offered me anything better. You all right, Granfer?’ Polly had felt herself relaxing the moment she saw him.
They were here. Saul was close. She was safe.
‘Aye.’ He dug his hands in his pockets and Polly and he stared at the coal, which glistened, but at least the rain had damped down the dust. Them men were running around through the rain, just dark shapes, their faces undefined.
Polly wondered how long she and Granfer were going to stand there but it seemed rude to walk away, though she had rather fancied a walk to the shops to try and get Verity to pick something other than rabbit. Surely there was just a nice piece of cheese?
The rain was dripping through her hat, and her bobble could only absorb so much. Will’s sweater was filthy, her trousers were stiff with coal and dirt. ‘I don’t want any more rabbit,’ she said, though she had not meant to.
Granfer nodded next to her. ‘’Aving a lot, is yer?’
‘Seem to be growing ears under this hat. But it’s off ration, so yer know.’
He laughed. ‘Yer talking like oos, just then.’
‘I suppose I was.’
It was cold, she was shivering. She said, ‘Shall I put the kettle on, Granfer? Will you have a cup of tea? It’ll warm us.’
He moved then, tipping his cap. ‘Keepin’ you, ain’t I? Best away back to the Seagull, only I was wondering … you reads, don’t yer?’
Polly kept her eyes on the hawthorns across the way. Did he want her to look at something for him – a letter, a form of some sort? Should she ask? ‘Yes, I do.’
Granfer said, taking off his hat and kneading it in his hands, ‘Only I were wondering if yer read books with pictures, sometimes? Does grown-ups like ’em, or only little ’uns?’
She said carefully, all her senses alert, ‘What sort of pictures, Granfer?’
‘Nice ’uns. Mostly animals, but this’n has a boy in, too.’
Again carefully, she said, ‘You have a book like this, do you? Or perhaps you’ve seen one?’
To the right of them Bet hauled the bike off the butty roof, slung another string bag over the handlebars and pedalled away, calling, ‘’Ow do, Granfer.’
‘’Ow do, Missus.’
She called over her shoulder, ‘Back in five minutes, Polly, then’ll we’ll be ready to press on. Fire up the engine.’
He turned to her. ‘Best be getting back, then. Only our Joe, ’e said the school done give him a book. That’s what he said, only …’
He scratched his head. Polly saw Will, his tongue slightly out, writing. She could smell the ink. Oh Will, she thought, that boy has stolen you from me. How bloody dare he? She felt hot, and seething, and crossed her arms to hide her clenched fists, wanting to rush to the Seagull and rip the book from Joe. He must have sneaked in. He probably took the money too. She stared at the glistening coal, felt the water trickling down her neck.
She swallowed. Granfer had said no more, neither had he moved, but as she looked at him she saw the worry on his face. She asked, ‘Why does he want the book?’
It wasn’t what she had intended to say, which was, ‘Tell him to give it back, the little thief.’
A coal truck passing behind them drowned out Granfer’s reply. She shouted, ‘I didn’t hear you.’ It felt good to shout when she was so angry.
Granfer repeated, ‘’E likes the shapes.’ He stopped, then continued, ‘’E thinks in shapes, but not letters. ’E likes drawings, ’e copies good. He’s been left yer see, by ’is ma, our Maudie. She’s gone, we don’t know where, and ’im, the boy, ’e’s been beaten good and proper by that da of ’is, like ’is ma was, and it makes ’im muddled, and scared. Right scared ’e be. I reckon the book gives ’im summat. We got no books, see. But I’s not sure where ’e got it, and we need to do what’s right, what’s fair.’
Will had written in her book, We will right all wrongs, make unfair things fair, because we are invincible. Forever, and ever.
She felt her throat hurting, her heart aching. We are not invincible, lovely Will, my dearest brother. But then, as she stared past Granfer, thinking hard, a formation of geese flew overhead, circled, one at the head leading them, as always. They came in to land downwind of the busy, noisy cut. How like Will, who led their gang, all of whom had to pledge to right all wrongs, and make unfair things fair.
She said, ‘I had someone, Granfer, who wrote in a book of mine when we were ten. He said that we would right all wrongs, make unfair things fair. We thought we could do anything then, that the world was ours for ever, but we can’t, and it isn’t, is it?’ She wasn’t ready to tell anyone that her brother had died. Bet knew because of her personal details that were on file, but she couldn’t get the words out, even now.
Granfer looked sad, and nodded. ‘Our Joe, ’e be ten. ’E’s never ’ad a book and I’d take it ’ard if ’e died, cos if I’m not mistaken, you said “had someone” so I ’spect your someone has gone. I’m sorry for your loss, my lass. Like part o’ your life goes missing, ain’t it? My girl, Saul’s ma, she died by a bomb. Saul’s sister, Joe’s ma, is gone, running from that Leon. Gets ’ard to bear but we ’as to, cos what else is there to do?’
She said, laying her hand over his, as he twisted his hat, ‘You’ll mash up that hat, Granfer, and that would be a shame. I think, don’t you, that we should make something unfair f
air, I think we should try and make something that is wrong, right. You tell him to take good care of that book, Granfer. Will you do that for me? Because it is precious, it has a place in my heart. Then later … Well, never mind that. Books are precious, tell him, wherever they come from. Who knows, Granfer, he might like to give it back one day, to make it fair, and right.’
Granfer nodded, and his look was one of relief, and gratitude. He tipped his cap at her. ‘We’ll be following on after you, lassie, so don’t you fret. You won’t be alone, our Saul’ll see to that.’
He walked back along the wharf, the coal trucks careering past. Somewhere a factory hooter sounded. She watched that kind old man who was looking after a poor beaten boy, and doing his best for Saul, while Saul was doing the best he could for them, too. She knew she had done what Will would have wanted the gang, and her, to do. She watched the geese that were clustering against the opposite bank. So, Will, it’s done.
One day she’d have a talk with Joe. If he’d taken the book, which of course he had, he’d have taken some of the kitty too, but the money didn’t matter any more. The boy mattered, his safety mattered, and the safety of Granfer and Saul, and Bet, Verity and her. The boy must feel some joy in the book, until he found it in some other way, but only when he was ready.
The geese were already leaving, their leader pointing the way. They flapped and almost ran along the cut, lifting, lifting, almost, and yes they were airborne, climbing, following their leader, free of earthly bonds, soaring, circling, and away over the treetops, heading who knew where. But they had been here, just as Will had.
She stood for several minutes as the ripples they had made died, but then began to walk towards the motor. Soon Bet, Verity and she would move on down the cut. The cut–– She stopped, felt her forehead. The boy who had chucked the brick had run off when she chased him, off to the left, towards the cut, and it was the Seagull that had gone through the bridge hole before them. Was that Joe, too? No, of course it wasn’t. There was no reason on earth why he’d do that to her. It was some other boy, a banker.
She looked around at the men, who were so busy, and at the boats without her team. The geese were gone. For one moment she felt totally adrift, half a person. ‘Will,’ she whispered, but heard only the rain in reply.
She shook her head and heard running feet. It was Verity, who slipped her arm through hers, drenched just as Polly was. ‘Guess what I’ve got?’
‘Rabbit.’
Verity’s face fell. ‘Oh. Well, that’s that then.’
‘It is indeed,’ Polly agreed. ‘Ooops, there go my ears, growing again.’
Verity roared with laughter. ‘And, and, I have bacon, lots of it, so there. Someone’s just killed a pig, but we’re to say nothing to anyone, because I have worked my womanly wiles.’
Polly smiled. ‘Bacon? Oh, wonderful girl. I can almost smell it cooking.’
Bacon, she thought, as they clambered back on the motor to fire up the engine, ready for Bet’s return. She could still feel Verity’s arm slipped through hers, linking the two of them together. It was a beginning, and as Granfer said, though it’s all hard to bear, what else is there to do. Go on, like everyone else was doing. With that, the despair eased, because she really and truly was not alone; others were struggling too.
Verity was chattering about getting the range going, keeping the slide shut, and by the time they moored up along the cut for the night, the rabbit and bacon would be cooked and they could sit in the warmth and dry out at last.
‘Sounds good,’ Polly said. ‘But are you sure you won’t read your mother’s letter? It might be torn in half but it’s still possible.’
Verity said nothing as she threw the shopping on to the side-bed from the cabin doorway before following Polly down the gunwale to the engine room, where they primed the engine, pulled the choke, and fired it up as Bet called from the counter, ‘Back to the butty, girls. Let’s crack on, chop-chop.’
As Polly followed Verity back along the gunwale her friend said, ‘No, I don’t want to read it. She can say nothing of interest to me. But what about you?’
Polly had forgotten about Reggie and her parents’ letters. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘After I’ve got the motor range going, the rabbit on. Incidentally, Saul’s behind us. Granfer said Leon’s still a day or so ahead, and they’d follow along still shepherding us.’
They cast off, attached the tow-rope to the stud and as they felt the slight jerk of Marigold taking up the strain, the two girls grinned at one another.
‘Cocoa or tiller?’ Verity asked.
‘Tiller,’ Polly said.
‘Done.’
Verity disappeared into the cabin. The rain had stopped, and now they were passing the Seagull and Swansong. Granfer nodded at Polly, lifting his hand in a sort of salute. Saul and Joe were wiping down the cabin roof and sides. Saul straightened, nodded, smiled, and called, ‘’Ow do.’ Beside him Joe looked up at Saul and said something. Saul nodded and put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. It was then that Joe looked full square at Polly. He didn’t smile, or nod, or wave. He just looked and the sadness almost reached out and touched her. Then she was past and they were heading south.
Chapter 21
9 November – still heading south
They had reached Fenny Stratford, north of Leighton Buzzard, by 9 November, two days later, and Polly felt utterly spent, but so did the other two. Each evening they had washed some of their clothes on the bank, still trying to remove the coal dust and oil, and the smell. The coal dust made their hands even more sore as it scratched and cut when they wrung out the clothes. In the morning, in the heat of the range, they were dry, and slightly cleaner, but by no means perfect.
The clothes situation had become trivial by 11 November, by which time they had been through Leighton Buzzard, and through lock after lock to arrive at Marsworth Junction, because the engine, clearly feeling as exhausted as they were, had begun to cough and splutter. They drew in to the cut edge so that Bet, bottom up in the engine house, could fiddle and sort out the problem. She cursed, and finally kicked. Verity said, ‘It’s fed up, caught it from us.’
They laughed. Bet shouted, ‘Shut up.’
She kicked again, which didn’t help, but it obviously made her feel better. She fiddled again, then, covered in grease, gave it a go. It started again, and pat-pattered for another mile, then stalled. This time it was Polly up to her armpits in engine grease, following Bet’s instructions, pulling, pushing and finally kicking as Bet had. And so it went on, as they limped through the locks to Berkhamsted, though they had found time for one minute’s silence at 11 a.m., which had reminded them why they were doing what they were doing.
Hourly, it seemed, they waved past those they were slowing down, including the Seagull and Swansong. Granfer nodded, and called, ‘’Ow do?’
Bet yelled back, ‘The engine is buggering about, but will get us back.’
Granfer continued on, towing the coal-laden Swansong, which in its turn drew alongside the Horizon. Saul, at the tiller, nodded at Polly, tipping his cap, the wind lifting and tossing his dark hair. ‘’Ow do?’ he said.
‘’Ow do,’ Polly called.
Saul smiled, and for a moment his face was alive. He called, ‘T’ day be fine.’
She shouted, ‘Indeed it is.’
‘Yer need oos?’ Then the butty was past and Polly saw Joe emerge from the cabin to stand beside Saul.
She called, ‘We’ll make it, Saul, but thank you.’
He turned, tiller at his elbow. ‘We might be at t’ pub, come evenin’?’ There was a question in his voice.
Polly grinned. ‘If we get that far we might be too, but if not there are other pubs, other evenings.’
He waved his hat, then turned back, as Joe tugged at his jerkin, said something, then ducked into the cabin, leaving his uncle at the tiller. Polly watched the butty as the water rippled in its wake. Saul turned, looked at her and smiled again. She lifted her hand. He faced forward. Ve
rity called from the roof, ‘He never smiles at me. I really should apologise.’
Polly found she was still smiling, still watching as the Swansong carried on. She said, ‘Well, we might all catch up at the pub.’
She wondered how it would be. Would he sit with them, or just nod and say ‘’Ow do?’ Did he smile at everyone once he knew them? Did he …
Verity said, ‘Have you written to Reggie yet?’
Polly said, ‘I should but what do I say? That we have boiled our clothes again, the wind is cold, I have chilblains on my toes, corns on my hands.’
‘You could say something nice about how you feel.’
She looked at Verity. ‘The thing is, nothing seems real that isn’t on the cut. I’m not sure that Reggie ever did, except he was one of our gang. I didn’t have a boyfriend, and he’s very nice – very suitable, Mum thinks.’ She paused. ‘Thank you for helping me when I cried.’
They had never mentioned it since that time. Verity swung round, looking forward. ‘Polly, to help is what friends are for, idiot. If they don’t help, then they’re not friends. It’s something I’m beginning to face up to, at last, especially when I think of our evening in the club …’
They fell silent, but it was a good silence. Polly stood, her elbow on the tiller, her woollen hat pulled hard down, enjoying the quiet of the butty. On either side were fields beyond the towpaths, and a gun emplacement. Did they expect the enemy to charge the cut? Well, why not; they were transporting cargo, so the enemy could too. Rooks were in the fields. What were they looking for? The farmers used to shoot them. Did they now, or were all the bullets for the war?
She thought of Saul. What had Joe wanted of his uncle? Was he reading her book? Of course not, he couldn’t, but perhaps he was copying the pictures. She’d find out, one day, because she trusted Saul and Granfer. The Swansong had disappeared under the upcoming bridge, and Verity eased off the roof. She thrust her newspaper into the cabin, grabbed the bike off the roof ready to disembark as they edged through the hole. She murmured, ‘Our shepherds have gone.’
