The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  He came, of course he did. He came and was above her leaning right down, his arm out. She coughed, choked, dribbled saliva. He gripped her hand, prised her fingers from the rope. ‘Let me ’ave t’other.’

  She couldn’t let go of the rope, her hand wouldn’t work. ‘Help me, Saul,’ she whispered.

  ‘Always,’ Saul said. ‘Always I will help yer, my lass, and that ’at of yers. ’Tis still on yer ’ead, yer know.’ His smile was gentle.

  For a moment they looked at one another and something changed in Polly, something became certain, something opened up inside her. He reached down, and gripped her other hand, pulling her free and lifting her from the water, almost throwing her up in the air, then catching her in his arms, to sweep her to the stern counter along the top planks. Bet was holding the Marigold steady as the wash subsided.

  He let her stand out of the way of Bet. Her legs were too numb to take her weight, and she sank down. He caught and held her against his warmth and strength. Bet had idled the motor. ‘I’ll get her into the cabin,’ she told him.

  Saul shook his head. ‘Yer needed on tiller. Shall I?’ He nodded to the cabin.

  Bet said, ‘If you would.’

  He ducked beneath the slide hatch, Polly in his arms, and sat her on the side-bed opposite the range. ‘We’ll get that slide ’atch shut, and the doors, and yer be right. But them boots ain’t right. Yer need these.’ He pointed to his, which were more like leather walking boots. She nodded, her teeth chattering, adding as he went up the steps, bending over to avoid the ceiling and the slide hatch, ‘Thank you, Saul. But be careful of Leon.’

  He turned, and gave a quick smile. ‘He ain’t got a gun, and we be warned now, so that’s that. You keep a lookout too, cos it was yer boat he were aiming at, and that’s down to me, and for that, I have sorrow, and will work more to keep you all safe.’

  As he left, and drew the slide hatch closed, she heard Bet say, ‘You helped us out of a hole.’ Polly took her hat off and threw it into the bowl by the range because it was dripping down her neck.

  She heard Granfer say, ‘It wouldn’t ’ave been no hole, but for Leon. Anyone else woulda stopped, not roared on at yer. We all done summat suchlike across the cut in oos time. No need for no one to take on like that. ’Sides, you done helped my boys.’

  ‘Boys?’ Bet queried. ‘I thought we only helped Saul?’

  ‘That’s between me and yer Polly.’

  Boys? Polly thought, her mind too cold to work. She’d only helped Saul in the fight with Leon – and then she remembered Joe, and the book. It didn’t matter, not really. She had the dedication page.

  She leaned forward, holding her trembling hands out to the range, frightened suddenly. Granfer and Saul were here, so Joe was all by himself on the Seagull. He shouldn’t be. Bet came into the cabin. Polly said, ‘How will they get back to Joe? They’re on the wrong side of the cut. He mustn’t be alone.’

  Bet gestured to her. ‘I want to show you. Quickly now.’

  Polly stood on weak legs. Bet pulled her on to the counter. Together they watched as Granfer and Saul stepped from the fore-end of the Marigold on to the stern of a lighter heading west, then caught a motor going to Limehouse. Then another, further along, going west again. One of the steerers brought out his motor into the fairway, and the two men stepped on to that.

  ‘Like big stepping stones,’ Polly muttered, her eyes fixed on Saul, wondering how she had lived without knowing that he was in the world. She trusted the strength in his hands as he had pulled her from the water, the safety she had felt in his arms, recalled the loss she’d felt when he had placed her on the side-bed and left. She trusted in all of this, because what she felt was love. It was different to Will, of course it was, but it was as deep, or almost.

  Polly shook her head, her teeth still chattering as the wind zipped across the Marigold’s stern counter. ‘I’m sorry, I messed up.’

  ‘You won’t do it again. We all do summat suchlike, as Granfer said, it’s a common mistake with trainees, but most don’t have a madman bearing down on them. I should have taken over sooner, it wasn’t fair of me but I hadn’t quite taken on board the situation. A feud is one thing, but this is absurd. He could have hurt us, or should I say, he certainly meant to hurt us in that moment of time. However he might regret it by now, and there’s no point in writing a report for the authorities, because the steerers and Saul won’t support it. It’s boater business. Still, we must keep an eye on it. You did well.’

  The wind was gusting, Polly was freezing. Verity was waving from the butty, putting her hands round her mouth, calling, ‘Are you both all right?’

  Bet replied, ‘We’ll be with you very soon.’ She turned to Polly. ‘Now, change clothes, sit tight for ten minutes to warm through then join me, and we’ll reattach Horizon. We still need to get to Limehouse.’

  Polly changed, splashed cold water from the bowl all over her, then towelled herself dry, and sat for ten minutes, and all the time she could feel the strength of Saul, and hear his words, and see his face, so calm, his eyes so deep, his quick smile … It wasn’t the range that warmed her.

  Chapter 25

  Monday 15 November – at Limehouse Basin

  While the loading of yet more steel billets was under way there was no chance to go shopping for boots. Verity said as they sat on the Marigold with the range oozing out heat, waiting while the butty was loaded, ‘We’re already behind a proper schedule, what with the engine trouble, Bet, so how about Polly and me nipping into town when we reach Alperton. That’s if Polly promises not to hurl herself into any water between here and mooring up.’

  Polly sneezed. ‘Fine by me and besides, I’ve washed my tea cosy, which has dried out nicely, with the pom-pom in full bloom. It could do with a bit of an outing.’ Bet and Verity groaned. Verity muttered as she sipped her tea, ‘You’ve washed it – given it a new lease of life? You say that as though it’s a good thing.’

  Polly sneezed again, and coughed. Verity drew away from her and moved to the cross-bed with Bet. ‘You can keep those germs to yourself, as well.’

  The next morning they were off the moment the dawn broke, with Polly lock-wheeling for the first stage, cracking ice on the puddles as she rode through them on the bike. Her bum seemed to have grown a cloak of immunity, because it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had, though her hands on the handlebars became just as cold, and the windlass on the paddle ratchet just as hard to get going.

  There was a great deal of queuing at the locks, because traffic, both coming and going, was heavy. Saul and Granfer had caught up, carrying the same steel billets as the Marigold and Horizon, but there were a few boats in between them. It pleased Polly to think of her shepherd close by, and that Leon was way ahead, but could not yet have reached Birmingham, so would not be heading towards them for many a day.

  They tied up well before Paddington and huddled round the range, and ate yet more Spam fritters, this time fried in the dripping Polly’s mother had insisted they bring, courtesy of her friendly local butcher; God bless him, Polly thought. She scribbled a letter to her parents, and another to Reggie, thanking him and Alan for such a good evening on her leave, and telling him they were expected to be early at Alperton tomorrow and would do some shopping, before turning north for Birmingham.

  ‘We should be there in five or six days, I hope, then it’s off to the public baths,’ she wrote, adding that she hoped that he would stay safe. She sat tapping her pen against her lips. She never knew whether that was tempting fate, and almost crossed it out, but left it in the end. She’d post it in Alperton.

  Again they were up with the dawn, and now Verity took over the locks while Polly took on steering the motor. They had ordered Bet to remain on the butty and do what butty steerers did, because her cough was raw and frequent. Bet had raised her eyebrows, and given in.

  It was a dull and foggy morning and Polly hooted the horn round every bend and through every bridge hole. She was coughing as she committed t
o enter another, using the electric horn as the London buses drummed over the top. As she pat-pattered along the centre another boat loomed, and how they passed one another she didn’t know. ‘Didn’t yer ’ear me knotting, for ’eavens sake?’ the steerer yelled.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me hooting?’ Polly watched as he whacked a knotted rope on the cabin top. The sound travelled, and it would be even clearer in fog. She called, ‘I’ll give it a try.’ He had gone past, but his wife on the butty called, ‘Yer finished that hat yet?’

  Polly shouted, ‘Oh, I didn’t recognise you. Yes I have, and I’ll leave it at Bob’s pub. It’s red, with a green pom-pom.’

  When they tied up at Alperton Bet sounded tired, and they left her sipping honey tea. They were both wearing their wellingtons. Polly’s hadn’t yet dried out, but she was too tired to care. What were damp and freezing feet anyway? It’s what she was used to by now. The Tube took them into Piccadilly and they walked to Oxford Street, overwhelmed by the crowds but barely noticing the smell of the sandbags guarding the shops. By the time they finally found a shop selling leather mountain boots and workmen’s footwear, the fog was thicker.

  They walked around the shop trying on numerous pairs, and then left, with ones that looked very like Bet’s, handing the appalled shop assistant their wellingtons and tipping her a bob to dispose of them. They were several clothes coupons lighter, but didn’t care, because they were both nervous about repeating Polly’s fall into the cut.

  As the afternoon grew darker they checked the time, and slipped into a Lyons Corner House for a cup of tea. The nippy, so smart in her black dress and white apron, her hair held off her face by her white cap, looked at their sweaters and trousers, their ruined hands and chapped lips. She said, ‘Land girls?’

  Polly grinned. ‘Waterway girls.’

  The nippy shook her head and returned to her station in the corner, keeping an eye on them. ‘She thinks we’re going to do a flit,’ Verity muttered.

  ‘Don’t even think of it,’ Polly insisted, drinking her tea and eyeing the toast and teacakes two women at the next table were eating. The GIs sitting with them were examining their anchovy toast and looking doubtful.

  ‘Shall we?’ Verity asked.

  Polly looked in her purse. ‘I can, if you can.’

  They gestured to the nippy. ‘May we have what table 3 is having, please.’

  The nippy raised an eyebrow. ‘We can pay,’ Polly said.

  The GIs looked up. One called, ‘Hey, put it on our check, all of it; have some of these teacake things too. Any ladies who ask for this fishy thing deserve a medal.’

  He winked at Polly, who was about to demur, but Verity kicked her hard and called, ‘That’s so very kind. We are rather skint, because we help to deliver war materials on the canals, and let’s just say the pay is a pittance, and the hours horrendous.’

  The GI half saluted. ‘We’re all doing our bit, one way or another.’ He raised his eyebrows at the women, who looked, Polly thought, little better than they ought to be.

  Verity whispered to her, ‘Don’t pull that face, darling. You took stockings, as did I, so who are we to throw stones at those who provide a few comforts of the undeniably physical sort.’

  Polly hushed her as their anchovy toast and teacakes arrived. When the nippy had gone she gripped Verity’s hand and said, ‘Just promise you never will, no matter how homeless or penniless you are. Just come to me. I’ll help.’

  Verity grinned. ‘I do adore you, Polly Holmes. Don’t worry, I won’t be tempted, I have a lovely big legacy from Uncle Freddy who was terribly terribly rich until he fell under a bus, drunk as a skunk.’

  ‘He didn’t?’ Polly was deliciously shocked.

  ‘No, of course not. He was killed in Norway, when our lot were buggering about over there at the start of the war, bless him. He taught me to play poker and fleece people in my early teens.’

  The toast, teacakes and tea were finished, and Polly sat back. ‘All right then, Moneybags. You can pay, then.’ But the GIs had been as good as their word, and had it put on their bill before they left, though neither Polly nor Verity had noticed their going.

  On their way to the boat they used their torches to see along the towpath, past washing fires, and the odd pinprick of a cigarette being smoked on the counter. They were just about to board the Marigold when they heard a crash, and a woman’s piercing scream, behind them. ‘Jimmy, Jimmy.’

  They spun round, and in the light from one of the boaters’ washing fires on the bank saw a woman desperately running up and down the towpath, searching in the water around her motor. They ran back while a dog yapped on the end of a tatty rope attached to a stud driven into the bank. As the woman screamed louder, the dog grew ever more frenzied. Verity caught the woman. ‘What?’ she asked.

  They could hear splashing near the stern of the motorboat which, like all of the boats at Alperton, lay alongside, parallel to the bank.

  Polly was frantically scanning the gap between the bank and the motor with her feeble torch. The woman said, ‘Jimmy, he’s fell between the bank and t’boat. ’E’s there, down there, in the cut. Watch for ’im while I gets t’shaft.’ She heaved herself on to the counter and dragged off the long shaft, rushing with it to where Polly stood, peering into the water towards the stern of the boat.

  The woman shafted the boat, with Polly and Verity shoving at the hull from the bank. Other women came to help and just then they heard a child’s terrible cry, a groan, splashing. ‘Who’s Jimmy?’ Polly shouted, using her torch to track along the widening gap at the water’s edge.

  ‘My little ’un, five ’e be. Jimmy, Jimmy.’

  There was more splashing, and a sort of gurgle. ‘Jimmy,’ called Polly. ‘We’re all coming.’

  Verity leapt into the woman’s cabin without a by your leave and came out with the hurricane lamp, holding it over the water. There were even more women now, and the noise from a pub was all anyone needed to know about where the men were. One of the women called, ‘Watch that lamp. There be blackout.’

  Verity was on the bank now, scanning the water. ‘Not when there’s a child lost, there isn’t.’

  Polly was trying to track the noise. Where was he? ‘Silence,’ she roared. ‘Let’s listen.’

  Silence fell. It was a real silence, not a sound. His mother started to call. Nothing. Polly shouted, ‘Push this bloody boat further away, come on all of you, get your backs into it. Shove. Verity, look again over the stern. Is he near the propellers?’

  Several other women arrived with hurricane lamps, and as the boat was shoved further away the wives helped to light up the water. From a distant boat a child cried. Near the rudder there was another splash, a sort of groan, then nothing.

  As Polly moved, staring into the dim light cast by Verity’s hurricane lamp, the dog lunged once more, broke the rope, bounded past Polly and leapt into the cut. The boat was so laden it was low in the water, which meant the propellers would be deep, but if the dog thought Jimmy might be there … Polly sighed, handed the torch to one of the women boaters, and slid down the bank into the water, half walking, half doggy-paddling frantically round the stern then along the hull. She turned, and came back.

  As she did so, she kicked something. She ducked down. Nothing. She surfaced, knocking the dog, which was paddling around her and barking. There had to be something there. She dived again, and this time grabbed a coat and hair and hauled, and hauled, but it was a dead weight and wouldn’t budge. Was it snagged on the blades? Still beneath the surface she tugged again; the weight moved. Oh God. She surfaced again, spitting out water, shouting, ‘Verity, quick, he’s here, but stuck. And someone get those bloody men out of the boozer. We need their strength.’

  She dived down, trying to see in the murk, the filth stinging her eyes. Verity was in the water now, and both took a breath and sank down below the surface, feeling around the propellers bumping into each other. But no, nothing.

  Down they went again, but the seconds were
ticking away. He’d been under a minute or so, but it was cold, bloody cold. There. There – material. She grabbed a little coat, and pulled.

  Verity was with her now. Their cheeks bulged as they fought to hold their breath and pull. Someone else joined them, a man. He pulled too, until finally the resistance eased, and they yanked the boy up as one, ripping his coat apart where it had snagged. He was above the water, limp and lifeless. Jimmy’s mother screamed. Polly, Verity and the man fought their way to the bank and handed him up to the waiting men and women, one of whom couldn’t bear to look. ‘Lay him on his front, and pull me up,’ Polly demanded as the dog leapt out on to the bank and shook itself.

  Verity and the man shoved her from behind as a boater, smelling of beer, pulled her. She was out, dripping. She knelt, her knees either side of the child. What had her dad said?

  Head to the side, pump the ribs, pump out the water. Once, twice. Once, twice. Again. Again. Push, push, knowing it was too late, tears streaming down her face, because she had a young child beneath her hands, one dressed in weeds, white, unbreathing. Perhaps someone had tried to save Will. But no, there was nothing left of him, but the boy was still here.

  She looked up into Verity’s face. She was crying too, and the man, who watched, had sorrow etched into his face and was saying over and over again, ‘Jimmy, my last little boy, my Jimmy.’ The mother clung to him, silent now, and defeated. But the man was still saying it. Polly pumped again and again. She said, ‘My dad said to do this before we started to go to sailing club. He showed us how, just in case.’

  She was panting, and now Verity elbowed her to one side, and took over. Then back to Polly, and now it was the father, and then Polly again, and then the mother. All around, in the light of the hurricane lamp, the boaters, men and women, waited, their breath visible in the lamplight. It was Polly’s turn again and she pumped, and pumped, and just as Verity knelt to take her place they saw water dribbling from Jimmy’s mouth into the frosted earth.