The Waterway Girls

by Milly Adams

  Ahead was a bridge, with soldiers marching. They waved. Polly called ‘Hello’, and returned the waves. She was so busy looking at them that she skidded on ice; feeling an idiot, she steadied the bike, concentrating until she was much closer to the bridge. There were lorries going over now, and one of them skidded too, then stalled. Men scrambled out of the rear while a sergeant shouted directions, standing with his back to the cut, waving his hands. The wind, in the other direction, snatched his words so it was hard to hear. She stopped and watched as the troops got their shoulders behind the lorry and heaved. Slowly the lorry moved up and over the humped bridge, then slid down the other side, leaving the soldiers cheering.

  One saw her watching, and waved just as the Marigold came along with Verity eating steaming porridge from a bowl on the cabin roof and reading a book. Dog was barking at the mayhem, because now most of the men were leaning over, shouting and waving. Verity ignored them. She and Polly had acquired the boaters’ habit of doing several things at once; in Verity’s case it was reading, eating, steering. The only time Verity would look up was when she needed to judge the centre line through the bridge hole. At that point, she would leave Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca for as long as it took.

  Polly cycled under the bridge, speeding to get ahead and to the lock first. She put her head down and pedalled harder out into the daylight. Again she skidded, and slowed, breathing hard just as the motor came through. She continued cautiously. Then she heard, ‘Verity, it’s me, Tom. Verity, I know it’s you. Turn round and tell me why you gave your mother money to pay me off. Why? I’ve written but you wouldn’t answer. Why?’

  She spun round, and stared at the bridge. A young soldier was shouting, his hands cupped round his mouth. He called again, ‘Verity.’

  Verity couldn’t hear above the engine noise as she left the tunnel behind. Polly waved frantically at Tom, shouting as loud as she could, ‘She can’t hear. I’ll tell her but she didn’t do that. It was her mum, not her. Her mum.’

  But that sergeant was dragging him away as Verity pat-pattered on, oblivious. Polly shouted again, ‘I’ll tell her but it wasn’t like that. Where are you going?’

  Tom was clambering into the lorry, looking back along the cut to the Marigold. He hadn’t heard Polly. She threw the bike down and scrambled, slipping and sliding, up the horseway to the top of the bridge, but the lorry had disappeared. She ran along to the bend, but it was too far away, and hopeless.

  She rushed back, sliding down the slope, leaping on to the bike, pedalling hard until she passed the butty. Sylvia was reading too. Polly put her head down and kept her eyes on the towpath, determined not to skid again, but equally determined to catch up with the motor. The breath was heaving in her chest as she came alongside and shrieked to Verity, ‘It was him, it was Tom.’

  Verity couldn’t hear, just shouted, ‘I know you’re late, stop flirting with the troops and get on and open it.’

  The lock was ready, so as the motor slowed, and edged in, with the butty slinging itself up alongside, Polly shut the gates, yelling at Verity, ‘It was Tom, on the bridge. Tom.’

  Verity could hear now. She froze, the mooring strap in her hand, and then she threw it to Polly, saying, ‘Tom? Don’t be stupid, you don’t know what he looks like.’

  ‘I do now. Brown hair, straight nose, tall. He was yelling, and yelling, asking why you had asked your mum to pay him off, saying he’d written to you but you’d never replied.’

  Once out of the lock it was Verity who tore back along the towpath on the bike, but the soldiers and their lorries were long gone. She returned, telling Polly there was no sign. Shaking, and weeping, she grabbed Polly. ‘That’s what he said? You’re sure that’s what he said.’

  ‘Yes, and I told him I’d tell you, but I don’t know if he heard.’

  ‘We’ve got to find him.’

  Polly nodded. ‘Your parents must have his address. They employed him, after all.’

  Chapter 36

  20 January – at the depot

  Polly and Verity took two days’ leave when they returned to the depot. Sylvia wasn’t due any, but was given it, because there was a limit to what she could do on her own. The girls didn’t ask her to join them. She said she had plans, anyway. Those plans, she assured them, did not include cleaning both holds on her own, so they could not leave early as they had hoped. Instead they all had to pitch in. It meant they didn’t leave until 21 January for Dorset, with fingernails and hair that as usual resisted soap and water.

  ‘What will you say?’ Polly asked in a carriage filled with women and children, and was so nervous at the thought of what was to come that she rather wished she hadn’t offered to accompany Verity. She suspected the others in the carriage wished neither of them had, either, judging from the rolling eyes, and handkerchiefs held to the noses.

  ‘Darling, I have no idea.’

  Polly thought, however, that her friend probably had a very good idea, judging by the light of battle in her eyes, and the thinness of her lips.

  The corridors were, as always, lined with soldiers, sailors and airmen, most sitting on kitbags, smoking and thinking, as though they had seen the light of battle rather too often.

  As the train steamed into Sherborne, Verity nodded. ‘Come on, boater. Out we get.’

  They walked to a bus stop but Verity ignored it. Instead she started to thumb a lift. Polly was appalled. ‘It’s not safe, it’s not what we should do, it’s not respec––’

  Verity laughed, tipping her head back. ‘Respectable? Come on, you’re in love with a boater, I with a chauffeur who didn’t seem to actually want money instead of me, and both of us are filthy, wearing corduroy trousers, and several sweaters belonging to your lovely brother, and just look at these boots. Sweet girl, don’t be absurd, do you really think that we are respectable in any way, shape or form?’

  They continued walking. They had brought a small bag each with overnight clothes, just in case the visit to Howard House went well. If it didn’t, Verity knew a pub where she and Tom used to play darts and spend precious moments together.

  A Morris Minor pulled up. A GI opened the door and said, ‘Hey, gorgeous girls, thought you were two lads in need of a lift, but now we see it’s not. But you need a lift anyway. Where to, ladies?’

  They dropped the girls at the bottom of a long drive, having taken a turning as directed by Verity. ‘Thanks, fellows. If you carry on you will get back on to the London Road. Have a great time, and leave what buildings we have “entire” while you let off steam.’

  The GIs laughed, and said, ‘How about getting a wash, ladies.’ They opened the car windows, waved, and roared off. The girls were mortified.

  ‘Where are we?’ Polly asked, looking around. There were fields, and a barrier of evergreen trees to the left. Verity linked arms with her, and led her to the huge wrought-iron gates. ‘Beyond the gates and leylandii is my dear little home, Howard House. Come on, let’s take our stink to meet the parents.’

  She pushed open the gates and they crunched up the gravel drive for what seemed to Polly like miles, but was only a quarter of a mile, Verity assured her. Weeds sprouted through the gravel. Verity tutted. ‘This would not have been allowed before the war. Mother would have had the gardener’s boy’s guts for garters. He must have been called up.’

  Polly said quietly, ‘As for Tom, has it occurred to you that she might have been thinking she was protecting you?’

  Verity snapped back, ‘Like your mum? Oh, come on, Polly, I think mine’s left yours in the blocks for interference, don’t you?’

  The trouble was that Polly agreed with Verity.

  They continued, arm in arm, as the drive swept round a left-hand bend, and there it was, the dear little home. Only it wasn’t. It was a massive manor, or mansion, or stately home, Polly wasn’t sure which. Either way, it was splendid. Verity led them up the portico steps to the wide double doors. Polly wondered if they should approach through the back, as their boots were so grubby.
Verity shook her head. ‘We enter from the front because we are doing good, honest work, Polly, and don’t you forget it. But let’s keep to the tiles and wood and not besmirch the somewhat priceless rugs.’

  Verity opened the door into a foyer resembling that of the luxurious hotel Polly had visited for a relative’s wedding reception. How on earth, Polly wondered, had Verity coped with the cabin?

  She followed her friend round the silk rug. The grandfather clock chimed four. Verity said, in a voice laced with irony, ‘My word, we’re in time to take tea.’

  The sitting-room door opened, and a glacial and elegant woman stood there.

  ‘Verity?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘I thought I saw someone like you passing the window. But I wasn’t sure, and looking at you, I’m still not. Neither was I expecting … I’ve written many times … You have not replied. Whatever do you look like?’

  Verity stood quite still, staring at her mother. ‘I look like a boater. It’s what I do. This is my dear friend, Polly. She is also a boater. We are wearing her brother’s jumpers, three each. We find they keep out the cold, if not the wet, but that doesn’t bother us now. May we take tea with you?’

  Lady Pamela Clement’s gaze swept her daughter, and then Polly, clearly searching for words that wouldn’t come. She stood to one side, and ushered them past.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, darling, you smell, and you really are filthy. You should have come in through the dogs’ room.’

  Verity walked around the rug before the massive fireplace in which a fire blazed, pulling Polly with her. They stood with their backs to the blaze while Lady Pamela sat, ramrod straight on the sofa set at right angles to hearth. She rose briefly to pull a silken rope, and then sat again. ‘I will instruct Rogers to bring a blanket, then you may both sit.’

  Verity half laughed. ‘Oh, Mother, it’s so reassuring that you don’t disappoint. I’m here because I know what you said to Tom.’

  The shock was writ clear on Lady Pamela’s face. Not in the least like Verity, she was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with thin lips. She said, ‘What he said to me, you mean.’

  Verity shook her head. ‘No, he saw me on the boat, I know what you did.’

  Her mother flushed, as a man came through the door. Lady Pamela waved him away. ‘Not now, Rogers.’

  He bowed and backed from the room.

  Cleverly done, Verity, thought Polly. You heard from me, but have not left that loophole for your mother to drive a horse and cart through it, or sure as eggs is eggs she’d blame me for concocting a story. She moved away from the harsh heat of the fire to stand behind the sofa. Verity followed, resting her hands on the back of the sofa.

  Her mother shook her head. ‘Your nails are disgusting, how can you appear in society as you are?’

  Verity sighed dramatically. ‘The mind boggles at the conundrum. It’s coal, for the war effort, or have you managed to obtain some which should in fact have gone to the armaments furnaces?’ She pointed to the fireplace. ‘We had to clear out the hold before we left, you see, so it’s worse than usual. We take a trip to the public baths in Birmingham, then mess it all up when we haul the butty like a couple of horses through the short pounds and locks of the Birmingham Road, up to our elbows in soot, sludge, dogs’ poo and heaven knows what.’

  There was a heavy silence during which a maid entered the room carrying the tea tray. A welcome distraction. Polly didn’t dare move, but stayed by Verity’s side as Lady Pamela poured herself tea in a porcelain cup, and only then added milk. Polly preferred her milk in first. Verity didn’t mind either way, now.

  Verity said, ‘I want to know why you lied to me, and broke my heart. I found it hard to believe Tom would ask you for money, so why on earth did I believe your story? Ah yes, because you are my mother. But you must tell me why you lied. Do you hate him that much, or is it me you hate?’

  Lady Pamela sipped her tea, then replaced her cup, brushing a non-existent ‘something’ from her cream silk afternoon dress. ‘I don’t hate him, or you, but you don’t know your own mind, and I won’t have you bringing embarrassment on to the doorstep of Howard House. You and Tom would never have worked, and the ridiculous relationship would have blown itself out and we’d have been left with a disgusting mess. I was merely protecting you.’

  ‘But you weren’t. You’ve just admitted you were protecting yourself, and Father, and the doorstep.’

  Her mother flashed, ‘Don’t show off, Verity. Flippancy is not for those of our standing.’

  Verity gripped the sofa more tightly. ‘So lying is for those of our standing, and so too riding out on Star when you know you can’t control her. You had her shot. You’ve taken two people I love most dreadfully away from me.’

  Her mother stood. ‘A horse isn’t a person, and Tom was a chauffeur and not one of us, or at least, not one who can be measured against your father and me.’

  Polly thought she had never been in the presence of such a dreadful person, but Verity was talking again, keeping her voice ice-cold, and dignified. ‘We’re going, but not before I have Tom’s address.’ She paused, as though thinking. At last she said, very slowly, ‘But let’s go back just a bit, Mother. What do you mean, Tom is not one of us, or you and Father, anyway? Why am I different?’

  A voice from the doorway said, ‘Pamela, I advise you to think of your answer very carefully.’

  A distinguished-looking man in a tweed suit entered. He stood erect, his shoulders back, but he rested on two walking sticks. Verity said, ‘Father.’

  He walked round the sofa slowly, put both sticks in one hand and held her close. ‘Dearest Verity, won’t you both stay for tea, or for dinner and the night? I’m sure one of your evening dresses will fit your friend.’

  Verity laid her head on his shoulder, just for a moment. ‘I have to return. We have a job to do, and actually I’d rather not stay.’

  Her grey-haired father, his face drawn with pain but his steely blue eyes steady, so like Verity’s, smiled. ‘Don’t give up on us, darling. Go and see Rogers before you leave.’

  He released Verity and reached out a hand to Polly, who shook it. ‘This is an awkward meeting for you, my dear. I do hope we do it again, when this mess is resolved.’ She didn’t know if he meant the family impasse or the world war, but nodded.

  Verity didn’t speak to her mother as she left the room. Polly stayed close behind her. For a moment, in the foyer, Verity paused, but there was no call of ‘Goodbye’ from her mother. She shrugged, linked arms with Polly, and said, ‘Come on, we need to see Mrs B and Rogers, bless them. They’ll be fed up if I go without speaking properly to them.’ They headed to the green baize door off the hall, leading to the staff quarters, and all the time Polly was aware of portraits of ancestors looming over her. She looked behind her. There was mud on the floor, and she grimaced.

  They clumped down stone stairs and along a stone corridor into a huge kitchen. Rogers was sitting drinking tea with a similarly aged woman of about fifty. They both stood, and the woman held out her arms to Verity, who ran into them, asking, ‘Mrs B, do you know where Tom is?’

  Rogers came to her side, and she hugged him too. ‘We have an address for you,’ he told Verity. ‘I heard a little of what was said, and we went through Annie’s housekeeping records of employees.’ He beckoned to Mrs B. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Annie. Or where he was, anyway. You keep going until you find him again. He’s no fly-by-night, not that boy. We thought it beyond belief that he would do as Lady Pamela described. You could do far worse, young Verity. He’ll be true, for the whole of your life, but don’t you go playing with his heart. He don’t deserve such a thing. But it’s a big step, won’t be what you’re used to, not here anyway.’

  Verity looked from him to Mrs B and asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  Rogers coloured. ‘Well, your new life, of course. Look at you.’ They all laughed. ‘Hardly ready to be presented to the King like that, are you, but I reckon it’s all for the good.
You won’t be the princess you could have been.’

  Verity laughed, and it was a good sound, full of hope.

  Chapter 37

  16 February – approaching Tyseley Wharf

  It was mid February as they approached Tyseley Wharf. Polly had thought January was cold, but this was grey with an unremitting freezing wind, and frost which lasted throughout the day and night. If Verity wasn’t writing to the Red Cross and the army, the churches, the Salvation Army and anyone else she could think of, she and Polly were using their leave to track Tom from rented house to rented house.

  On their last trip back from Tyseley Wharf to the depot at Bull’s Bridge, Southall, they had left Sylvia in charge of the coaling at Coventry, and found out from the ARP warden that Tom’s Coventry address had been bombed; the whole street had gone, with most of the people still in their houses. As they approached Tyseley Wharf this time, Verity had thought of the local authorities, and the hospitals, and included return postage on the envelopes this time. There might just be a relative of Tom’s who had been through their hands and could point them in the right direction. Verity vaguely remembered Tom mentioning a sister, but not a mother.

  She, Verity and Sylvia posted the letters outside the wharf on arrival, but there was no time to make their way to the public baths, or to Mrs Green’s, because they were to be unloaded immediately; after which they towed the butty back through the Brum Bum to Coventry where they took on coal in the motor, and wood in the butty. As they continued down the cut, Polly decided to write to her parents, because her mother might have spoken her mind, but hadn’t lied to Saul, or approached him, and, Polly felt, never would.

  Three days later they were through the Braunston Tunnel. It had been slow because of a broken-down motor in front of them, which had jammed a lock, and there was no time to see Bet, because Verity was in a rush to check at the depot for replies to her letters. They tied up past Stoke Bruerne, and there moored further ahead were the Seagull and Swansong. Polly smiled to herself, as they double-checked the tarpaulin which had come adrift over the wood in the butty, because soon she would see Saul, and it had been two weeks since they had coincided.