by Milly Adams
They reached Fran, who was ringing her bell. ‘You two, get a move on and hop in.’
‘Hop in where?’ Verity asked.
‘The cart, silly.’
They moved to the back of her, to a wooden cart in which lay two cushions. ‘Put your derrières on those and hang on tight. It’s on a downhill slope so we’ll get a good lift-off. Dog can run alongside.’
Polly sighed, and murmured, ‘I’m rather afraid we really will get a lift-off – right over the side.’
Verity nodded. ‘You fly out first and I’ll land on you.’
Fran pedalled the tricycle round and set off, and even Polly’s teeth jolted as they rattled over stones and into potholes while Dog ran alongside. Verity clung to the side of the cart, her knuckles white. The beer bottles clashed together, and Polly hauled the bag on to her lap. There was no way she would allow them to break. After what seemed forever but was actually only fifteen or so minutes, they were at the gate she remembered from their previous visit.
‘Out you hop.’ Fran leapt from the trike.
Verity sort of slid over the side, saying, ‘My legs have gone. Never have they been so jolted in their life.’
Fran laughed. Polly handed the hessian sack and the bottle bag to Verity, and slid over the side too, fearful that her legs wouldn’t carry her and that her spine would never recover. They followed Fran down the path, at the side of which grew lavender. Further over, at the edge of the garden, were two beehives. Ah, thought Polly, smiling. So the honey from the friend that Bet brought to the boat was her own and Fran’s. Now Fran was calling over her shoulder, ‘You might remember from your last visit that the road is on the other side, and this is the back garden. Bet would really like it to be on the bank but, who knows, one day we might move. Bring Dog in, I know you come as a package.’
They traipsed behind her into the old farmhouse kitchen. Bet sat at the table peeling potatoes. The room was hot from the range, and the smell of goose lingered. ‘We have coffee, don’t ask how,’ Bet said, putting down her knife and holding up her arms. ‘Come and give your old boss a hug.’
They did, in turn. Bet said, ‘You’ve brought the smell of the cut, and the cold of the outside. Perfect.’
The two girls relaxed, and so did Dog, curling up by the range and getting in the way of Fran, who didn’t seem to mind, giving her a sly stroke from time to time. The girls joined in the preparation of the meal, sipping coffee laced with brandy. They were to eat at five, which would give them a chance to linger, before going to bed early, to rise at five in order to return to the cut. Polly sat back in the Windsor chair, the potatoes and onions finished, the sprouts too. There was some celery and they had made stuffing out of herbs and the awful British loaf. The goose would cook for hours on a low oven, and provide goose fat for weeks to come.
Sitting around the kitchen table they talked of the war and Italy’s unconditional surrender, of the U-boats withdrawing from the Atlantic as a result of the Royal Navy’s efforts. They talked of the cut, to Bet’s unmitigated delight, of Sylvia who Bet had heard might be giving it another go because the arm seemed to have healed, or so the office had reported. Polly and Verity tried to smile. Bet nodded. ‘She probably won’t stay the course, I fear she hasn’t a strong enough core, but she insists on a third try. They will allow it, as the absence can be put down to an injury. If nothing else, it means young Joe can go home. From what I hear, he’s been a boon?’
Polly agreed, saying, ‘He has, bless him. He’s so quick, so knowing. We love him, don’t we, Verity? Verity is teaching him his numbers, I’m sticking with the reading and writing. How do you know all this, anyway?’
Bet settled herself more comfortably in her Windsor chair. Fran hurried to her, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, telling her, ‘You’re to lie down when you’re tired. No heroics, if you don’t mind.’
Bet patted the hand that Fran placed on her shoulder. ‘Fran’s a first-class nurse, if a tad bossy. Now, there is a school where some of the boaters send their children. I’m not sure if it costs money, but it might be an idea for Joe. It’s boarding, of course.’
‘I don’t think he’ll go until he knows what’s happened to Maudie, or she comes home,’ Polly said quietly, the heat making her sleepy.
Bet shook her head. ‘Still no news, then?’
‘Nothing, but I don’t know what that means. Was she the sort of woman who’d go off and leave her child?’
Fran was standing by the range, smoking a cigarette. ‘I suppose she might, if she was in fear for her life, as she was with that oaf, from what Bet tells me. After all, as you very well know, Polly, Saul is a reliable uncle, someone she would trust to protect her son. And no need to blush. The whole cut knows that there’s a bit of a spark between you two.’
Polly had blushed, and expected a lecture about this not being her world, but all Bet said was, ‘It’s a hard life, and won’t carry on too much longer, but I dare say the boaters will find other work near the cut, and some on it, still. Could be that there will be a call for holiday boats. That’s the way Fran and I are thinking, aren’t we, love? I couldn’t leave the cut for good – or not move far from it, anyway.’
Bet put her hand to her forehead, and paled, quite suddenly. Fran gripped her hand as Bet murmured, ‘But for now I will have to go and have a lie-down, or I won’t make the meal. Why don’t you girls enjoy the bath, and hot water, and I know, Polly, you will head straight for the lavatory, if I remember rightly.’
Fran helped her to her feet and Bet said, ‘By the way, to answer your question, Fran is my conduit for news. She picks up a lot from the boaters who head past Buckby en route for Leicester and beyond. We moor our boat, Blossom, on the cut, so Fran’s always checking on her.’
The day drew on, and after their baths they moved into the sitting room, which was still doubling as Bet’s bedroom. The inglenook fireplace held a roaring fire, and with Bet asleep Polly and Verity stretched their legs out in front of it, leaned back, and they too slept until called to eat. The goose meat fell off the carcass, the stuffing was sublime, the Christmas pudding had been made months before and steeped in hoarded brandy. They talked, laughed, and after all the food was finished, they sipped more than one brandy each.
When the clock struck nine they followed Fran up the stairs and into the beamed bedroom they were to share. The beds were high, the mattresses thick, the blankets and eiderdown light. They smiled at one another before Verity said, ‘I can’t believe there is a world apart from the cut and this cottage. Yes, the cut is harder than I ever thought possible, and sometimes I even forget about Tom, but not really. Sorry, I’m going on. I’ve had too much to drink and am too comfortable.’ For a moment there was silence. ‘Does one ever forget someone you love, even when they’ve gone?’
Polly saw Saul as he had been in the cabin, laughing, his thick black hair washed, his eyes so dark and kind. Would she forget him if she moved on? She knew she could not. And Will? Well, he was her twin, they were part of each other, so he would never, ever be forgotten. So perhaps one didn’t forget but it just became easier. She started to say this but saw that Verity was asleep, so reached across and turned out the light. It was strange to be still, not to feel the boat shifting as the wind caught it, or a passing pat-patter set up a gentle wash. She missed it, was her last thought before she slept.
Chapter 35
Mid January 1944 – on the cut
Polly and Verity were slogging along the Bottom Road, on their second trip since Christmas, and shouting about the message the office had passed on, regarding Sylvia. She’d be waiting at Braunston Tunnel, southern end.
Verity yelled, ‘What a surprise, it’s you and me hauling the butty while little Joe takes the motor through because Little Miss Snotty Nose prefers that the hard work is done before she gets her toes dirty.’
Polly shook her head. When Joe had heard he’d said, ‘She won’t last. She’s not like yer two and Bet, and them other toughies. She’s a lightw
eight, my Uncle Saul says, like a boat that won’t carry a load.’
There had also been a letter from Polly’s mum in the office, and a letter for Verity, from hers. Verity had read hers this time because Urgent had been written on the back of the envelope. Her horse had been shot, because her mother had ridden it to hounds and it had fallen at the second fence. Verity was still white with rage.
Polly repeated, as they continued to haul the butty along the Brum Bum, ‘It was an accident, she wouldn’t have done it deliberately.’
Verity shook her head. ‘As I told you when you brought it up earlier, my mother can’t ride well enough to handle Star. Only my father can and he forbade her from taking him out, so he must not have been at home. Why the hell did she tell me?’
‘Perhaps she felt you should know, and that she wasn’t hurt.’
‘So, now I know and a fat lot of good it’s done me.’ Verity stamped along ahead of Polly, and remained silent for the rest of the day, but when they finally reached a tie-up, her tears had smeared her coal-dusted face. Polly held her, soothing her, and knew the tears were for more than Star. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘Somehow things will work out.’
‘It’s all right for you. Everything is bloody fine, for you.’
Almost immediately Verity put her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t.’
Polly hugged her again. ‘Yes, you did, for that minute, and you have every right. Life’s bad for you at the moment but I’ll do everything I can to make it better.’
She felt so fierce that she was shaking Verity, who looked up and laughed. ‘Or kill me in the process. Stop shaking me.’
They continued hauling the butty, laughing from time to time, but at least, Polly noticed, Verity had some colour in her cheeks.
After picking up the coal they continued on to Braunston Tunnel, pat-pattering through, the shaded headlight on the fore-end stand cutting through the darkness. As the light at the end of the tunnel way ahead of them grew she saw that the Seagull and Swansong were tied up as she had hoped. Polly smiled at Joe, who was at the tiller. ‘Your Uncle Saul got our message, then.’
He shouted, ‘Hello, Uncle Saul.’ The echo came back. He and Polly laughed.
When they finally emerged into the daylight they saw that Sylvia was standing near Seagull’s wash boiler, talking to Saul and Granfer. Her wave was enthusiastic, her arm seemed quite better, and her smile was a pleasant surprise. She waved at Verity too, as Horizon exited. Her hair was the same, with curls bouncing.
Verity called, ‘You look better, nice and clean – that is more than can be said for us, after slogging along the Brum Bum.’
Polly winced, but it bounced off Sylvia. Ah, perhaps she was toughening. Joe called to Saul, ‘The fly-boat gave yer the message? Tim Hores said he would, didn’t he, Polly, so I can come home now?’
Polly felt a pang. She would miss him, and so would Dog. She called to Saul as they slowed and glided into the side, ‘You made it. We’ll pull up behind you.’
He walked towards them. Joe threw him the mooring strap, then leapt down into the cabin, bringing all his books, his lessons and clothes in the hessian bag that Polly had rescued from Bet.
Polly followed him ashore, and stood close to Saul; so close that his right side was pressed against her left. He gripped her hand and she wanted to stay like this for hours. He said, ‘We’ll be glad to have our lad back.’ Joe, who’d been hugging Granfer, ran to Saul, who let go her hand and swung his lad up into the air. ‘You’ve grown.’
‘Have you heard from Ma?’
Saul sighed and put the lad down, but held him by the shoulders. ‘I’d have told you if I had.’
Joe looked seriously at his uncle. ‘You said you, not yer, and you said your “h”.’
Saul laughed, turning him around. ‘Go and help Granfer wring out the clothes.’
Verity had joined Saul and Polly and she said quietly, ‘We’d best get on, Polly. It won’t be quite such plain sailing now.’
Sylvia was telling Granfer how to wring clothes properly. Granfer ignored her. Polly called, ‘Come on, Sylvia, lovely to have you back but the cut waits for no man – or woman.’
Sylvia clambered up on to the butty, and straight to Bet’s cabin. ‘Oh, you haven’t moved your clothes back to the motor cabin, Verity. Never mind, I’ll put them in a pile, and polish the brasses.’
Saul turned Polly towards him, and put his finger under her chin. ‘I’ll not be far ahead, and will see you at the pub, one or t’other. Till then, if you need me, use the fly-boats. They just shout it as them dash past. Remember, Leon’s not here no more, he’s said to be on the Oxford run still.’
Polly nodded, took his hand and kissed it, before walking back with Verity who said, ‘Is it my imagination or is he talking differently? Just a bit, but it’s there.’
‘I think learning to read shows him how it should be, but I hope he’s not doing it for me. I love him as he is.’
Verity turned. ‘Ah, love, eh?’
Polly said, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’
Verity pulled Polly’s hair, a curl came loose. ‘Look, if one of us can be happy then I’m glad.’
Polly clambered on to the motor and headed to the engine room along the gunwale. She tinkered with the engine, which caught and died. She gave it more choke and tried again. This time it caught and held. She hurried along the gunwale as Dog jumped from the cabin roof on to the bank, ran towards Joe and leapt up at him.
From the counter, Polly called to Saul, ‘If she wants to stay, is that all right with you?’
At her voice, Dog tore back and leapt on board. Saul called, ‘She just wanted to say goodbye. Nothing’s goin’ to drag her away from you.’
He held her gaze and smiled. She nodded. She thought he meant that nothing would drag him away from her, either.
Behind, Sylvia sounded the horn. She was ready. In the cabin Verity sighed as she swept the floor, and called up, ‘Well, let’s see how it goes, eh?’
The three of them shared the lock-wheeling, and while Sylvia cycled her stately passage along the towpath, arriving late to open the lock after Blisworth Tunnel, at Stoke Bruerne, Verity and Polly steered the boats, slapping their arms, trying to keep their circulation going in the bitter cold. The last two mornings had seen thick ice at the edge of the cut, but at least it hadn’t iced it all over. Apparently, some winters iced in the boats, which was no help to anyone, and cut back the money. Once through the locks, they tied up, tried to wash a little of the grime of the Brum Bum from them, then called in at the pub near Cosgrove. Sylvia didn’t drink but neither did she behave like a granny. Perhaps she really was trying?
They took up their place by the pub fire, and found Steerer Ambrose there, with Mrs Ambrose and the Porters. All called, ‘’Ow do.’ Sylvia called back, ‘Hello, I’m back.’
Polly sat down, watching the clock. At nine in walked Saul and Granfer, with Joe who went through to the kitchen, his book in his hand. ‘Is he reading now?’ Sylvia asked, as she played with her cup of tea.
‘Rather well, actually, and he’s learning his sums,’ Verity said, her eyes on the dartboard, waiting for the present game to finish.
‘It’s amazing what can be done if these people spend time with those who are educated,’ Sylvia said, putting another log on the fire. Polly and Verity exchanged glances. Of course, she hadn’t changed. But they said nothing. At nine-thirty Saul came to talk to them. He squatted beside Polly, telling them that Joe had missed them but was glad to be back too. He said that tonight would be colder and they should keep the slide hatch shut, and the range ticking over. ‘You too, Miss Sylvia, in your butty cabin.’
‘Why, thank you, Saul. Shall we sing a few tunes tonight?’
He shook his head. ‘Not tonight, the accordion isn’t coming. He’s gone further on.’
The dartboard was free, and two men were gesturing Polly and Verity over. They went, and thrashed
them, with Saul, amongst the onlookers, smiling at Polly.
They walked back to the boats, all six of them, through spiked and frosted grass, the cold so sharp it dug into their throats. Saul said, ‘I met them Tommies guarding the POWs. A couple scarpered way back in November. They thought we knew, but no one told the boaters. Now they want us to keep eyes out for ’em. Daft buggers, they should have done a runner in the summer. Bit cold for ’em now. As I says, keep that slide shut round ’ere and the doors locked.’
Verity said, ‘At least Leon’s still on the Oxford.’
Saul shrugged, his face tense. ‘Just heard he’s maybe back, but we ain’t seen ’im. Keep an eye out for ’im too, eh.’
Sylvia looked at Verity as Saul headed for the Seagull, walking behind Granfer and Joe. ‘I wonder, Verity, if you’d rather have your cabin back. It seems a bit rude to take it from you and I can bunk in with Polly.’
Verity stepped on to the motor counter. ‘No, I don’t want it back. Lock your door, Sylvia, and you can always keep Dog with you. She’ll fight off anyone but she’ll want to sleep on your bed.’
Polly took pity on the girl and said, ‘I’ll come and check your cabin with you, Sylvia. Then you must just lock it from the inside. Or do you want Dog to stay in your cabin with you, too?’
‘No, it’s most unhygienic. I’ll lock it, and Dog will bark if she hears anyone near, won’t she?’ It was a real question.
‘I’m sure she will.’ Polly wasn’t, at all, but she didn’t want to be standing here all night. She walked along with the girl, saw her into her cabin, and headed back to the motor. Saul was smoking on Seagull’s counter. He waved in the starlit night. She waved back. There was no need for words. They just … were. Just like all the other boaters had to be.
Polly took the bicycle once they were past Fenny Stratford heading for the rising locks to Cowroast Summit near Tring and in spite of herself she looked to left and right, just in case there were two strangers lurking behind trees or bushes. Though what they would want with her, she couldn’t imagine. They’d hardly make good their escape on her bike, and besides, they’d be over the hills and far away by now, if they had any sense. Probably they’d head for a port. What with Leon and prisoners of war, there was never a dull moment. She laughed quietly.
