by Milly Adams
Polly stepped up, Dog at her heels, stitched up but perky. ‘They need us too much, or would you rather do our job? I think you’d prefer to stand here, though, like Herr bloody Hitler, insulting everyone in sight.’
He backed up a step. Sylvia stepped forward. ‘So very there,’ she said.
The other two girls looked at her, and burst out laughing. The foreman shouted, ‘Get out of my sight. I’ll be reporting you. You’re a disgrace, all three of you, not one decent woman amongst you.’
He strutted off, after which a much older man brought the girls a mug of tea while they waited for the last of the coal to be offloaded. Coal dust floated on the tea and crunched between their teeth but it was hot and wet. ‘Sorry about Albert,’ he said. ‘He gets in a fret because he’s on ARP several nights a week, and he’s too damned tired, but I expect you are too.’
Verity finished her tea and handed her mug back. ‘I feel bad now. We’re not as old so we can cope rather better, I expect.’
The other two drank theirs, thanked him, and waited until the unloading was finished before cleaning out the bilges, scraping away at the black silt, then washing the buckets overboard. They replaced the floorboards, then brushed out the hold. They’d give it another going-over at the depot, but they’d decided to do what some of the boaters did, just to see if it made cleaning the hold any more efficient.
Finished at last, they looked at one another. ‘We should apologise,’ Verity muttered. ‘To Albert?’ asked Sylvia.
‘Of course,’ said Polly and Verity together. They all jumped on to the wharf and followed Albert’s voice, because he was shouting at someone else now. They found him bossing his men around and sorting out the unloading of another narrowboat. Verity touched his arm. ‘Excuse me, Albert.’
He spun round. ‘Now what?’
‘I was rude,’ Verity said.
‘So was I,’ Polly said.
‘Me too,’ Sylvia added.
Albert scratched at his forehead, looked from them to the narrowboat. He yelled, ‘Get a move on, Harry, we haven’t got all day.’
They stood there. He finally turned to them. ‘You know what you girls have got to do?’
They waited, resigned but knowing they were going to be told, and it wouldn’t be pleasant. He said, adjusting his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose, ‘What you’ve got to do is to stand together like you are now until the end, against old codgers like me and those bastards who fire your boats or try to hurt you. It’s the only way you’re going to get through. I reckon that Herr ’itler ain’t done with his bombs and things, and you need to keep strong.’ He laughed now. ‘I’d like my girls to be like you, tough, holding together, fighting your corner. Now ’op off, I’ve work to do, and you take care now. See you on your next trip, eh? No smoking around any wood cargo, and get that there dog of yours to bark its head off if some toe-rag comes near with a match. Got it?’
Verity reached forward and kissed his cheek. She left soot on his face and reached up to rub it off. He gripped her hand, hard. ‘You hear me, you three. You stay strong, and look after one another.’ He walked away, and Polly called after him, ‘My dad’s in the ARP. A grand bunch you are.’
He waved, and they turned back to the Marigold, and Dog who sat on the roof, her ears pricked up, waiting. They fired up the engine, and motored on. Polly blew the hunting horn when they passed the foreman. He jumped. They cheered. He shook his fist and laughed. On and on they pat-pattered, until at last the lay-by came into sight. Verity shafted at the fore-end and Sylvia at the stern as Polly reversed in. They turned around the tiller, and headed off to the office.
They had not seen the Seagull as they approached, so, having clocked in and written their report, they were told to go on leave for a couple of days until a new butty could be found. The office manager had a thick envelope on his desk, and as they turned to leave he called them back. ‘Your post,’ he said.
The three of them walked out into the freezing wind. The puddles were still solid ice. They walked along the lay-by and Sylvia headed for the cabin, to pack her few things while Verity and Polly found the Seagull. Granfer was there, but not Saul. He said to Polly, ‘You know where ’e gone?’
She nodded. ‘To find the club and get them to tell him they gave the matches to Leon or the POW. He will get them to write it down. Then he’ll find Leon, and take him to the police.’
Granfer nodded. Verity asked, ‘So what about you, Granfer? How will you manage your loads?’
‘Steerer Ambrose has a coupla runabouts I can have, his brother’s boys. We’ll manage.’
‘We’re going to see Joe at Mum’s. I’ll bring back news. Or would you like to come?’
Granfer shook his head. ‘I’d like that fine, but I needs to take the load.’
They picked up their kitbags, and as they disembarked Verity slapped her pocket. ‘Hang on, the post.’
She handed out a letter from Reggie and another from Polly’s parents, and two to Sylvia, who put them unopened into her pocket. There was one for Verity, who put down her kitbag and ripped it open. She read it, her face alive, her colour building. She held it out to Polly, who took it.
Dear Verity,
I have your letter. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you driving the narrowboat. Your hair is shorter and I like it. I don’t know what to say to you. In your letter you said that it was your mother who told you I had taken money to leave you alone. I took no money, because it broke my heart. It has taken a while but I am making a different life now. I was called up, I am in signals. I am not anyone’s servant. I am respected. We should meet on my next leave and talk about things. Shouldn’t we?
Kind regards
Tom
Sylvia walked with them to the station, but instead of a train, she took a bus. ‘I am going to stay with my aunt until I decide what I should do: stay or go.’
Verity nodded, and held out her hand. Sylvia shook it. Polly kissed her. ‘You did well this trip but you need to make up your own mind. If you stay, let’s try and make a strong team, for Albert’s sake, as well as ours.’
Once home, the two girls walked to Polly’s house. They had telephoned but no one had answered. They walked down the front path, and knocked. Again no answer. Polly lifted the flowerpot, and the front door key was there. Should she use it, or would it annoy her mother?
She pushed the key into the Yale lock, and opened the door. There was no newspaper on the floor. Verity and Polly exchanged a look. Polly called, ‘Mum?’
Her mother appeared in the front-room doorway. ‘Good, you let yourselves in. Come along, we have the fire on.’
As Polly and Verity started to undo their boots Mrs Holmes flapped her hand. ‘Oh, just wipe them on the doorstep. Come along now.’ In the front room the fire was blazing, and, to Polly’s amazement, Joe was working at the dining-room table, on his sums. This room had been a mausoleum for so long.
He looked up, and bounded round to them, hugging them both. He looked taller, somehow, and the furrowed brow was clear. ‘Auntie Joyce said I could stay off school today to see as much of you as possible.’ Polly hugged him again, and then her mum. ‘I love you, Mum.’
Later, when the clock chimed eight in the evening, and all five of them had eaten supper in the back room, with its photographs of Will back in their rightful place, Joe took himself up to bed. In half an hour he called down for his bedtime story. Mrs Holmes looked up from her knitting, which was a jumper for Joe. ‘Off you go, you two. It’s you he wants.’
As they climbed the stairs Verity said, ‘I’m not so sure about that. I rather think Auntie Joyce has worked some magic.’
‘Perhaps Joe has too.’ Polly led the way to the box room, but it was dark and empty. She heard Joe call, from Will’s bedroom. Slowly she opened the door, and there he was, in Will’s bed. There was a new bedside lamp, and photos of Will and Polly on top of the chest of drawers.
Joe sat up in bed. He held up Will’s copy of Swallows and Amazons, wi
th its torn jacket. ‘I can read it myself, but Auntie Joyce says it’s nice just to rest before sleep. So she reads a bit every night. She said she did this for you and Will. She says you have The Water Babies on the Marigold and p’raps I can read that too, one day, and Winnie-the-Pooh, properlike.’
Verity sat one side of the bed, and Polly the other. ‘We will read one page each three times. So how many is that?’ asked Verity.
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Polly. It’s six. That’s easy.’ The two girls laughed.
Downstairs again her mum and dad told them that a police inspector had told Mr Burton that if they could get to the bottom of the book of matches, and the man who claimed he had caught Joe in the act, Joe would be as free as air. Until then, he could remain with Mr and Mrs Holmes as long as he attended school and Mr Burton continued to act as surety. After that, they would have to see.
At last it was their turn to sleep, but they lay in the twin beds, talking quietly about Tom.
‘I won’t stop until I find him.’
‘You won’t need to, he wants you to meet, idiot.’
Verity rolled on to her side. ‘I know, but he said kind regards. Not love, but regards.’
Polly raised herself on her elbow. ‘He’s been hurt but you should have heard his voice when he called you from the bridge. It was that of a man who loves you. Trust me, just as much as you would if I was backing in the Marigold …’
Verity burst out laughing. ‘Has it come to this, that we measure everything by the cut and the boats?’
They slept until Joe woke them in the morning, late, just as he was going to school. ‘Uncle Saul has telephoned. He has found the German POW at the same club where the matches came from. Uncle Saul wrote everything down that he said, and made him put his name on the bottom. The German told the police where Da was when Uncle Saul took him to the police station in London. He told him, too, that Da didn’t know where my mum was. Uncle Saul says we must hope she comes back one day. Auntie Joyce told him she would tell Mr Burton and he will help to sort it all out. She told Uncle Saul he had to come to lunch too, because you were here. Auntie Joyce says I must come home from school for me lunch, to see him.’
Polly lay on her back. In her bag was her letter from Reggie. It was that of a friend, one that had a nice sweetheart now, though he said if she ever needed him, he would be there for her, as Will would have been.
She felt a pang at the thought, but then she smiled. Steerer Saul was coming, here, to her home, at her mum’s invitation. That was something that meant the world. She thought of Will, and whispered, ‘All is well, now, my lovely Will. Everything is all right but we will always miss you.’
THE END
Hello Everyone,
So, how did I arrive at The Waterway Girls?
Train journeys are wonderful gossip factories, or is it simply that I impose myself on others. Perhaps I am a nuisance, which is not a thought on which I care to dwell as it doesn’t fit in with my perception of myself. Though no doubt my kids would enthusiastically agree with the concept.
Anyway, let’s get back to where I was, namely gossiping. I was chatting to an elderly woman on a train whose relative had known a woman who had worked on the canals in the war. I was fascinated. These waterway girls were the equivalent of land girls, but far less well known. Apparently the Ministry of War Transport started a scheme in co-operation with the Grand Union Canal Carrying Company to train women to join the existing boaters on the Inland Waterways, delivering much-needed wartime cargo.
Would it make a novel? As is so often the case in the life of an author, something else happened to make me think it would. I was chatting about this to a friend, Wynne, who mentioned that she had taught ‘boaters’ (traditional families who ran the narrowboats) children and told me more about it. I found I was absorbed by the tales she told of the lives and culture of these traditional boaters. It made me wonder how on earth the ‘incomers’ and ‘boaters’ co-existed.
I researched, visited canal museums, read literature, walked the canal towpaths, took trips on the canal, tried to understand locks; the opening and closing of the rascals. I found The Amateur Boatwomen by Eily Gayford, a trainer, and Idle Women by Susan Woolfitt (Idle Women was a nickname given to the girls once they had completed their training. Why? The initials of the badge they were awarded were I.W. –Inland Waterways, or Idle Women. Though they were anything but). I also read Maidens’ Trip by Emma Smith, amongst many others.
The women lived extraordinary lives: hard, cold, filthy and somehow separate from the rest of the world. I wanted to focus also on the boaters, and Sheila Stewart’s Ramlin Rose was a joy.
I really have to thank Ealing Local History Centre’s archivist, Dr Oates, who talked me through the route from Southall Station to the depot. Everything, everywhere has changed so much over the years so the help he gave me was crucial. Any imaginings are mine.
With all bases covered, I created a world. I hope it shows the spirit and heart of everyone involved in that real world, though the characters and happenings are totally Milly Adams. Apologies for any errors and my heartfelt admiration for all those involved.
I have to say that when the weather is cold, wet and appalling I do think of life on the canal. Not just for the girls, but the ‘boaters’. How stoic, how gruelling, how admirable – and let’s not even glance at the bucket. Bravo, the lot of them.
I do hope you enjoy The Waterway Girls series.
Warmest wishes,
Milly
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Epub ISBN: 9781473538795
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books 2017
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Copyright © Milly Adams 2017
Cover background image © Getty Images
Cover images of models by Silas Manhood: [email protected]
Milly Adams has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain by Arrow Books in 2017
Arrow Books
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781784756918
