by Milly Adams
Polly felt a surge of energy the moment she and Reggie took to the floor; a sort of craziness seemed to take over them both and they danced until they couldn’t speak, twirling, whirling, over a shoulder and beneath an arm. They danced like this for an hour and then all four of them flopped into their chairs, drank their beer, talked of the band, of the weather, and then danced again.
It was because, Polly thought, they all realised they had nothing more to say to one another, there were too many subjects to avoid. Where the boys flew; the friends they had lost, like Will, who had been Reggie’s friend. The future, the past, the trembling of their hands. After two hours they were all drained of energy and couldn’t even dance, so the lads walked the girls home. Alan kissed Verity on the cheek at the front gate, and Reggie hugged Polly, and kissed her on the forehead.
Polly wondered if it was for the last time. Would he live another day? He should know love, but perhaps for now it was enough to have friendship, because that was what she’d seen in his eyes, as he must have seen in hers. She waved to him, and watched him go with a sense of sadness. He was so young. She called, ‘Be safe.’ How stupid. Verity opened the gate. ‘Come on. They might be all right.’
Chapter 24
Monday 15 November – back on the cut
Polly and Verity walked from Southall Station to the depot singing ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’, adding a bit of a two-step and twirl at the gates. The policeman waved them through, laughing. ‘Go on, get orf that cloud, and get your backs into it again.’
They kept on singing and two-stepping right through the depot. Most of the men ignored them, but some grinned, and one even joined in, making a threesome. ‘With anyone else but me, anyone else but me …’
He peeled off, heading for the blacksmith’s, but not before he’d slapped Verity’s bum. ‘Oh, I say,’ she spluttered, almost dropping her kitbag, which was perched precariously on her shoulder, then laughed.
They reached the towpath, pulled themselves together, and walked sedately beside the moored boats. Then Polly started singing quietly, ‘With anyone else but you, you, youuuu.’
Verity laughed. One of the women sponging down Eastbourne’s cabin roof turned, wearing her weariness like a cloak. ‘You ’ave fun while yer can, lasses.’
Polly waved. ‘We’re trying.’
Verity murmured, ‘Succeeding, too. Your Reggie can swing a girl round like nobody’s business, and what about that friend of his, Alan, once he got the hang of it. I had forgotten what it was like to have a twirl, a proper twirl.’
Polly waited for Verity’s smile to fade as she remembered all that she had said as she talked late into the night about her Tom, on their return from the Palais. But Verity’s smile remained. They passed the Swordfish, the Snowdrop and the Fairweather, all with their tillers removed, all with cleaning in progress, or the washing boiling on the bank, or clothes flapping on the line over the empty hold. Young children played on the bank, running, scooting past them, trying to make up for the days of virtual immobility on the counters.
Polly stopped dead. ‘Oh, what if Marigold’s still in dry dock?’
‘Wouldn’t Bet have telephoned?’
They kept on walking, and now Verity hummed ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’, doing a double-step alongside Polly, who joined in, until they were singing it out loud as they sashayed along, finally seeing Bet on the counter of the Marigold, who called, ‘I wondered who was killing a cat.’
Verity stopped, and shook her head. ‘Jealousy is a green-eyed goddess that does no one any good.’
They were almost abreast. Just past their boats was the Seagull, still moored. Granfer was splicing as he leaned against the cabin. ‘’Ow do, Granfer,’ Polly called.
‘’Ow do, lass.’
He nodded and returned to his splicing. She looked from the Seagull to the Swansong, and her heart was hopping and skipping, but she couldn’t see Saul.
Verity was pulling at her arm, and Polly gave her attention to their own motorboat, and leapt with Verity on to Marigold’s counter. Bet picked up the rope she had been splicing, and handed it to Polly. ‘Dump your stuff and get to work. We have straps to splice while we wait for orders. The engine is fit as a fiddle, but you two need to get back down to earth, you’ve obviously been spoilt by someone’s mum.’
‘Don’t you mean back down to water,’ trilled Verity as she ducked down into the cabin.
Bet shook her head at Polly. ‘That’s the last time you two girls go home together. Can’t be letting you have all this fun, it could make an old maid like me become sour.’
Polly grinned. ‘What do you mean, could make …’
Bet laughed. ‘Go on, Polly, unpack and sort yourselves out. And don’t worry, Leon took off for Limehouse yesterday.’ She called into the cabin, ‘By the way, I like your shorter hair, Verity. The curls are sharper, somehow. Courtesy of Mrs Holmes, one imagines.’
Polly headed into the cabin, amazed all over again at its tiny size. She shoved her clothes in the side-bed cupboard. Leon? For a couple of days she’d been able to forget about him. Verity squeezed past her, and up the steps to the counter. Polly heard her say, ‘Two days away and this world fades, but any minute now, when we’re back to working, it’ll be as though nothing and nowhere else exists.’
Bet replied, ‘I suppose each day is so intense that it wipes out everything, and so we quickly become part of the world. We have to, it’s sink or swim, if I can use that phrase.’
Polly called up, ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ She headed for the counter, but remained on the top step. Bet was sitting on the roof by now, still splicing.
Bet threw her a couple of rope ends. ‘A short splice will do.’
Polly taped the ends, unravelled enough for about five tucks and while she pushed the ends into each other she called up to Bet, ‘My kitbag is stuffed with sweaters Mum has handed on to us all. I’ll divvy them up when we’ve a minute.’
‘Okey-doke.’
Verity slipped from the counter on to the kerb. ‘I’m off to the lav, and I need to pick up another windlass from the blacksmith. I seem to remember we lost the spare on our way back, when a certain someone let it slip.’
‘Thanks for reminding me.’ Polly pulled a face.
Verity waved as she set off down the towpath, while Polly made the first complete set of tucks in the rope, and then another set and realised she had forgotten how sore it made her fingers. The tannoy from the office was blaring threadbare music, and stopping every so often to call steerers into their portals. Just before lunch and when they were taking a break from splicing they heard, ‘Steerer Burrows, to the office. Steerer Burrows.’
‘Make ready the Marigold while I go and sort it out with Ted. Then I have a surprise for you both.’
Verity was in Marigold’s cabin preparing Spam fritters for lunch. ‘We’re well and truly back, Polly darling, and are left with mere memories of your mother’s cooking. It’s all too sad. And what surprise will our Bet bear in her hot little hands?’
‘Who knows?’ Polly headed along the gunwale to the engine room and peered in, hoping it was really in order and giving the engine a pat. Fat lot of use but it made her feel that perhaps it might respond when the time came to start.
They heard Bet’s cough before they saw her running back. ‘Same load as before, so we head for Limehouse right this minute. Well, I say we, but as a lovely surprise you two will captain the old girl and the butty, while I am your slave. Don’t look like that. You just have to tell me what to do, and if you don’t, then I will do nothing. It’s all part of the training, so let’s see how you manage.’ She coughed again.
Polly said, as she heaved the tiller into place, ‘Perhaps you should see a doctor, Bet. That cough’s getting worse.’
Bet shook her head. ‘No need, the wind just caught in my chest. It’s not a problem.’
Verity stuck her head out of the cabin. ‘Are you sure?’
Bet shouted, ‘Stop going on about the do
ctor, because it won’t work, I’m not leaving the boat to sit in a queue and be told I’m quite all right while you two sit about thinking you’ve got away with doing nothing.’
Verity shook her head. ‘Foiled again.’
But the look she gave Polly was serious. Polly nodded, because the cough sounded so much worse.
Bet was in full trainer mode, standing with arms crossed on the kerb. ‘Verity, you’ve done two trips, so should be able to do it with one hand tied behind your back, so we’ll ask Polly to take over the motor. Start the engine and sort it out.’ Bet pulled her muffler tighter and took up a position on the counter, ready to obey orders.
The Spam fritters were taken off the heat, Polly found her woollen hat and dragged it on to her head and then started the engine with the minimum of choke. It ticked over like a bird. ‘Thank the Lord,’ she breathed. ‘And the spare battery is in the hole charging nicely.’
Verity cast off both boats before hopping on to the butty then racing along the cabin roof and the top planks to the fore-end, readying herself to throw the short tow-rope towards the stud on Marigold’s counter when her stern drew level.
Polly eased the Marigold forward as Bet said, ‘I’ll be in the motor cabin, then.’
Polly shouted, sweat pouring down her back in spite of the freezing wind, ‘No you won’t. You’ll stay right here and catch the short tow-rope when Verity throws it, and put it on the stud, if you don’t ruddy well mind.’
‘Language,’ Bet murmured, but nodded approvingly, and stood braced, as the Marigold eased forward. Polly snatched a look to the left and right. Granfer was standing on his cabin roof, watching. For goodness’ sake, didn’t he have anything better to do? Clearly not, and what’s more she realised that many others had taken up position on the roofs of their cabins. Her hands were shaking as the engine pat-pattered and Marigold moved on, and on into the fairway.
‘Get ready with the rope,’ she yelled to Verity, ‘then I can tow you. A short tow, remember.’ The depot lunch hooter sounded. Had Verity heard anything she’d said?
‘Oh shut up,’ screeched Verity from Horizon’s fore-end, as the Marigold’s stern counter came abreast. ‘Now,’ screamed Polly. ‘Catch the rope, Bet.’
Verity threw it. Polly kept Marigold steady, and checked behind her that Bet had slipped it over the stud. There was a jerk as Marigold took up the slack, and then they pulled away together. Polly smiled but then another, much sharper jerk, or was it a jolt, thrust Polly forward, into the slide hatch as the fore-end dug into the opposite reed beds. Just then Horizon whacked into Marigold’s stern, and Bet fell, skidding into the cabin side. She lay there, looking up at Polly. ‘I didn’t like to say that you should try steering her as well.’
‘Oh, no, no.’ The engine was revving, churning the mud of the opposite bank.
‘What now?’ Bet asked before answering herself. ‘Maybe you need to get forward to shaft while I …?’
‘Yes, yes, so stop lying about and take over the steering, and I’ll go forward. Keep an eye on the engine.’
As Bet finished saying this, Polly was on the roof picking up the shaft, her mouth dry with embarrassment and nerves. She ran along the top planks until she reached the fore-end. She thrust one end of the shaft into the muddy bottom, pushing with all her weight. Her hands slipped. Behind the Marigold she could see that the butty’s rear end was swinging round. She shoved again. ‘Come on, come on.’ The Marigold wouldn’t move.
Then she realised that she’d never move it, because the butty was in the way of any backward motion and here she was trying to shift their combined weight. She laid her head against the shaft. How stupid she’d been, how utterly embarrassing, and now what to do? What the hell to do? Then, as she pushed once more, she realised that, even worse, she hadn’t given Bet the order to change gear to reverse, so the Marigold’s motor was still driving forward.
She groaned, dropped the shaft and leapt on to the top planks, yelling, ‘Bet, ease it into reverse, gently, gently go back. Verity, as Marigold backs into you, shaft Horizon, keeping her as straight as you can.’
Bet called, ‘Well done, Polly. Quite right. Are you going to shaft now?’
‘Of course I’m going to,’ Polly yelled, furious at herself, no one else, as she jumped down to the fore-end counter again, pushing the shaft deep into the mud with all her might. Sweat prickling her back, she gripped tighter and shoved, and again. The Marigold barely moved in spite of the propeller now churning in reverse at the stern. The butty, Horizon, was swaying from side to side despite Verity shafting first one side and then the other and they were still blocking the cut. They needed more people. Polly rubbed her forehead, hearing the steerers laughing. She snatched a look, then wished she hadn’t, because more had gathered. She didn’t know what to do. She pulled up the shaft, and turned, shouting, ‘Bet, what do …?’
But she was drowned by Bet calling, ‘Polly, look to the east. See, it’s Leon’s motor and butty with a load on, but surely he’ll slow?’ Polly stared and saw him in the distance, heading back from Limehouse. Bet yelled, ‘Damn the man, he’s not slowing at all. I think he’s increasing speed, aiming for us. That’s it, Polly, I’m sorry but I’m taking control. Shaft us back straight. Verity, shaft Horizon back straight as you can because I’m going to bump you – that’s if between us, Polly, we can get the old girl out of the mud. Quick now.’
Polly was staring, mesmerised, at Leon powering towards them, and there was no way he could miss them, stranded as they were right across the cut.
‘Polly, get going, shove that shaft, get us off.’ Bet was screaming the order, panic in her voice, and there was no laughter now from the steerers, who were looking from Leon to the girls’ boats. ‘If it doesn’t work, get ready to jump – you too, Verity, and swim for your lives. One more try now, come on. Now, now.’
Polly shoved, her own panic tearing at her. He was mad. He could kill them, he was just like a battering ram with his load on. But then she heard Saul shouting, and she looked around. He was roaring along the Marigold’s top planks, shaft in hand. Behind him on Horizon, Granfer had leapt from Swansong’s fore-end on to Horizon’s stern counter, also with a shaft. Saul was beside her now. He said quietly, his hand on her arm, shaking her slightly, ‘Yer stay calm, my lass. Push with me when I sez.’
He was watching Granfer, who took the opposite side to Verity. ‘Now, my lass,’ Saul said, quite calmly. ‘Yer push with all yer got, an’ we’ll all do it together. Gives t’whole thing more thrust.’ He roared now, ‘Bet, yer keep ’er engine in reverse.’
He leapt to the opposite side of the counter to Polly. ‘Now,’ roared Saul.
They all shoved, Polly feeling as though her eyes would pop out of her skull with the effort, and at last the motor was moving off the mud, and there was a jolt as the butty was bumped straight back with such force it tugged at the Marigold for a moment, but then the weight of both was too much, and the butty banged them forward. ‘Again when I say,’ Saul roared, drawing out his shaft. They all did the same, weeds and mud dripping off the end. Saul roared again, ‘Now.’
All four shafted. The motor was free of the mud, backing, backing.
Saul yelled, ‘We ain’t got time to get both back.’ He roared to Granfer, ‘Cast off Marigold, then shaft the butty back to the lay-by kerb. Bet, keep yer Marigold in reverse. Polly, yer stay ’ere, and steady ’er. I’m going back with Bet to shaft ’er round.’ He shot a look down the cut. Polly followed his gaze. Leon was close; too close, surely. Saul shouted, ‘Still no way that bugger’s stopping, so we’s got to get ’er abreast t’reeds, this side, and lie in tight, even though we might ground. Don’t you let her fore-end swing out. Got it. Remember, we gotta keep ’er tight in.’
Polly nodded and watched him run like the wind, balancing on the planks like an acrobat.
She waited for Saul’s call, and when it came she stopped the fore-end from swinging back into the fairway as he shafted the Marigold abreast the side, just as t
he butty was half into a parking space being kept open by some steerers who were shafting Seagull and Swansong apart. Polly snatched a look to the east as Leon’s engine sounded louder and louder, then at the Horizon which was moored now, with Verity running along the top planks, calling, ‘Stay abreast, Polly. Oh Bet, stay abreast. He can’t steer to you, it’s too late for him to change course. Look, he’s going straight past.’
On the lay-by the boaters were shaking their fists at the Brighton, as Leon steered it, and his men the Maudsley, straight along the cut, their speed rocking all the boats.
Saul held the Marigold shafted tight into the side, with Polly stalling the swingback. Brighton’s wash rocked the Marigold but Polly hung on grimly to the shaft, keeping Marigold abreast the bank, struggling against the wash, and the rocking. But her hands were numb, the shaft slipped. As the motor tipped and swayed she felt herself falling into the water, the shaft crashing on to her, sinking as she sank, towards the mud.
She struggled, but her wellingtons had filled with water and weighed her down. The shaft trapped her against the hull as one end caught on a fender, while the other dug into the bottom mud. She couldn’t move. She shoved at the shaft. No good. She closed her eyes as the mud churned and stung her eyes. She kicked and struggled, her lungs bursting but she must not breathe. She longed to. No. No.
She kicked, and shoved at the shaft, but the Marigold was swinging out, away from the bank into the shaft, squeezing her. She must breathe. No. She couldn’t fight, not any more, and so became quite still … for a moment the Marigold’s hull eased back as the turbulence shifted, and she raised her arms, slipping down and free of the shaft, and with one final effort kicked to the surface, gasping, dragging in a breath and then another.
She reached for a fender, panicking, scared the motor might lurch over her. She dragged in more air, her eyes stinging from the mud. Her hands were too numb to hold on to the fender and she was slipping, but then she caught hold of the rope that held it. Her body was a block of ice. ‘Saul,’ she whispered. ‘Help me.’
