As soon as we were through the lock, I went down to check on Sal. She lifted her head as I walked in and eventually, I managed to get her to take some warm milk and a few spoonfuls from a tin of rice pudding. Eating seemed to tire her, and she lay back down as soon as she had eaten.
I cleaned up a little and the rest of the rice pudding. Then, determined not to risk Fang catching up with us again, I went back up on deck to keep us moving for as long as I could.
The sky clouded as the night drew in. There was dampness in the air and the breeze had cooled. I felt a few drops of rain on my skin, so I slipped on my jacket and pulled up the hood.
It rained most of the night, but I wouldn't let it slow me down. I negotiated five locks without a hitch, though each one took longer to get though as I got more and more fatigued. Eventually, when I was convinced I had gone far enough along the river to be out of Fang’s reach, I moored up on the eastern bank of the Soar next to the Rose and Crown Pub and got a few hours sleep.
I woke to the sound of heavy rain and felt some relief. Maybe the awful weather would slow them down a little.
Sal seemed a bit better this morning, she managed to struggle up and with a whimper and a wince or two, she limped over to her bowl. She didn’t finish all of her kibble but ate enough that I began to feel hopeful that she would recover. Though, the terrible feeling of dread that I might lose her had not completely dissipated.
As I ate breakfast, I checked the map and canal guide.
‘The River Soar Navigation forms part of the Grand Union Canal, joining the Leicester Line of the Canal, which runs from River Soar Navigation at West Bridge in Leicester to the Norton Junction on the main line of the Grand Union Canal. The Canal is 41.2 (66.5 km) miles long and has 41 locks.’
A tough target for the day - over forty locks. I decided to try and get far as I could. Even if we only made it half way, it should be enough to avoid running into Fang again. Surely, he would lose track of us now, it had to be pretty near impossible for the dogs to follow us overland now we were on the Grand Union.
We managed only eleven locks in the end, and it took me most of the day with a short break at the Waterside Inn for lunch. By early afternoon I was exhausted. I had negotiated ten locks and everything ached - I needed a break. I moored up after lock forty-four, the Belgrave Lock.
Adjacent to the lock and rising high into the skyline was an enormous silver dome. It was the National Space Centre. The Guides organised a trip there once, but Ma didn't sign the form or send the money in, so I didn't get to go. She said that we couldn't afford it. We could afford whiskey and cigarettes, though. She promised to take me as soon as her next benefit payment came in. She never did, though, Ma never took me anywhere like that when I was a kid. She used to say that ‘Attractions’ were just one more way for rich people to take our money. No rich people left now, though - Armageddon is a great leveller.
The rest of the girls came back so excited about the experience, so I avoided the meetings for a couple of weeks until everyone stopped talking about it.
The building certainly is eye-catching, a giant silver woodlouse curling up from the ground. The architect must have had some seriously bad nightmares to come up with a building like that. My visit here was long overdue, so I decided to take a small detour to see if I could get inside.
The National Space Centre sits beside an old pumping station and a superstore. There is a car park, which unsurprisingly, was completely deserted. It wasn’t difficult to get inside, someone had beaten me to it. The door had been forced open - heaven knows why. Everyone is dying - I know, let's go to the National Space Centre…
The National Space Centre is a space based theme park - pretty much Disneyland as far as I am concerned. There were exhibits of space paraphernalia, displays on the stars and planets, and a huge variety of interactive equipment, none of which was working of course, as there was no electricity. It must have been wonderful when it all worked. Such a shame I never got to see it when I had the chance.
I climbed up into the seat of a rocket simulator which, with the clever use of video and special effects, would have then 'taken off' complete with vibrating seats and a blast of the appropriate sound effects. Now I understand even more, why the rest of the girls had been so excited by their visit.
I wandered through the deserted planetarium where once I could have watched films about the planets and alien life. The thing that most took my breath away, though, was the rocket tower, the full-sized rocket loomed high up to the roof of the building. When the rocket ‘took-off’ every few minutes, it would release a plume of smoke into the cafeteria below.
Looking around at all of that redundant technology made my blood boil - what good had it done us? Technology had enabled us to explore almost every corner of our planet and beyond, given us the capability to kill people with deathly precision from hundreds of miles away, to create life from a couple of cells and transplant body organs from corpses to heal the sick and infirm. Science did all this and more, and yet it could not stop one tiny, microscopic virus from obliterating humanity. We were arrogant, believing ourselves invincible. Ultimately, when the pox struck, we may as well have been living in caves. God's little joke. 'How the mighty have fallen.'
I picked up two books on Astronomy from the gift shop and a few bags of potato crisps, biscuits, some cartons of long life milk and cans of soft drinks from the cafe. Stuffing my hoard into my backpack, I walked back to Mona. 'Never look a gift horse in the mouth…'
Sal was waiting by the door for me when I got back. Her dressing had come off, and the wound looked awful, her beautiful coat caked in dried blood and the hairless skin around the wound yellow and bruised. Even so, she wobbled up, wagging her tail when she saw me. My heart swelled. This is why lonely people have pets - to be welcomed back home. I hadn't known that since I stayed with the Halfpennys'. It was the thing I had missed most when I was sent back to Ma - there was just no pleasure in going home, in fact just the opposite. Usually, I felt relieved to discover that she was out when I got home, it was better than dealing with her moods or finding her unconscious and having to clean her up.
I took Sal out on the towpath so that she could relieve herself and then we took Mona further down the river.
We made good progress today, passing by Powell's Loc Aqueduct and Newton Church Bridge, squeezing through the eight hundred metre long Saddington Tunnel.
The tunnel is slightly crooked and, according to the Canal guide, it dates back to 1797 and is the home to ‘Anna,' a headless female ghost. I don’t believe in spirits. No scientist has ever proved they exist. If ghosts were real, then with all the brains in the world, I am certain someone would have proved it. Even so, the tunnel was extremely dark, it was early evening, and the daylight was fading.
As we approached, I could barely see the exit - a pinprick of dim light in the distance. I reduced speed, and the tone of Mona's engine seemed to alter as we entered, becoming a dull thrum. The roof of the tunnel was uneven, and for a second it appeared to move as if it were fluid. It reminded me of the ghost train I'd been on when the Halfpenny's took me to Margate. They sat me between the two of them in the cart so that I wouldn't get too scared. They really were the best.
I could have done with Penny then when the whole roof of the tunnel suddenly shifted. The place was seething with bats. They scattered, their leathery wings slapping me in the face and tiny, needle-sharp claws becoming tangled in my hair. The air was filled with the sound of their chattering clicks and frantically beating wings
I was more than a little relieved when we came out the other end and I finally moored up at Foxton Junction for the night. We had travelled for 14 miles, negotiated twenty-two locks and one haunted tunnel full of bats - result.
Foxton Junction is beautiful, even at dusk. There is a Museum, a couple of shops, some quaint cottages, bridges and a pub with tables and parasols outside. Many of the parasols were worn and ragged. A few of them had been blown over. It didn’t take
a lot of effort to imagine what a bustling place this must have been. I could visualise the children playing on the green by the lock, plaguing their parents for ice cream. I swear I could even hear the clink of glasses as young couples enjoyed a drink by the riverside. In reality, it is the Marie Celeste - only this time, there is no mystery where all the people went.
23rd July
Needs Must When the Devil Drives
The howling began again this morning. It was barely dawn when I took Sal out onto the green. I picked up some bottled water and other bits and pieces from the shop and pub. I found a hat with a wide brim - the sun can get hot on the back of your head when you're steering the narrow-boat.
The mist was dancing on the surface of the water, the way it always does in the early morning. It added to the ghostly feel of the place. Suddenly, I got the creeps - like when you walk down a dark alley and have that heart-stopping feeling that someone is behind you. That was when I heard it. Had I not know what the sound was, I would have suspected werewolves. Though the dogs were obviously some way in the distance, their eerie cries chilled me to the bone.
Sal looked over in the direction of the noise, her hair bristling as she limped towards me.
Back on Mona, I poured some kibble into Sal’s bowl and filled up her water bowl. Unwrapping a breakfast bar, I started the engine, and we headed towards the lock. I wasn’t going to stay here any longer than I had to.
Next stop was the famous staircase locks - the largest flight of locks on the English canal system with two ‘staircases’ of five locks. It took me most of the morning to get through them, and after that, we had to negotiate another tunnel. I don’t think I will ever be able to relax in a tunnel again after Saddington.
Sal joined me on deck as we approached Husband’s Bosworth Tunnel, which was even longer than Saddington, stretching for eight hundred and seventy yards, or one thousand and seventy-one meters according to the sign. I was relieved that it was so large, though - it had much more headroom than Saddington. It was even possible to get two boats through at once, the sign said keep left, but I went up the middle, so as not to disturb any bats that may be sleeping. Thankfully, there didn’t appear to be any there.
After Bosworth, we had over ten miles of waterway without any locks, which was heaven. We ate lunch on deck in the sunshine. Sal seemed almost back to her old self this afternoon. She ran up and down on the deck, stalking a family of otters who appeared to have taken a shine to us. They swam alongside Mona, riding the ripples from the stern and playing tag with each other, periodically dipping under the boat. Sal tired quickly. She lay down by my side, resting her head on my lap as I leaned on the tiller, guiding Mona under the Kilworth Bridge. Sal is my dog now.
Ma never allowed me to have a pet. When I was around six years old I found a stray kitten in the road on the way home from school - I regularly used to walk there and back by myself then, Ma said it was character building.
The kitten was black and white, and I called her Merry because it was almost Christmas. I managed to hide her in my bedroom for nearly a week, feeding it on scraps and milk. At that age, I had no real idea how to look after a cat, there was poop everywhere, which was how Ma found her - two days before Christmas. She said that we were not permitted to have pets in the flat and that anyway, cats were dirty. She kicked Merry down two flights of stairs and into the street. I’ll never forget the sound it made. I remember the look on the kitten's face - like 'what did I do?' I often used to ask myself the same question.
The saddest thing was that Merry kept coming back. That tiny kitten managed to climb up the stairs again and again. She would sit outside our door making weak little mewing sounds until Ma kicked her back down into the street again. Eventually, she gave up trying to win Ma’s affection - like I did.
Stroking Sal’s coat, I tipped back my head and looked at the sky; a sparkling azure ocean scattered with tiny meringue sailboats. At that moment I felt so content. Every muscle in my body ached, and I had never felt so tired, but for maybe only the second time in my life, I was not alone. That thought made me chuckle, after all, there was me, and maybe a handful of survivors left alive in the whole of the world. Sal opened her eyes and looked up at me. We had something special now - we were pack.
The pale, afternoon sun dappled the water with light as I guided Mona towards the Crick Marina and the Crick Tunnel, which burrowed deep into the hillside like a giant rabbit hole. ‘I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date.’
I breathed out a long sigh, which Sal took as a cue to move, she recognised my moods well now. We had an enormous staircase of locks to negotiate before we moored up for the evening. I could have stopped at the Marina, but I wanted to get through the Watford Staircase before morning. If Fang and his pack were still following, I did not want to be stuck in the middle of the staircase when they appeared.
It took all evening to get through the locks. I have no idea where I got the energy from. 'Needs must, when the Devil drives.'
Today we did 22 miles, and 17 locks. No sight or sound of the dogs since dawn, so we settled down for the night at Norton Junction, a beautiful mooring spot surrounded by 'chocolate box' houses overlooking the canal beside their once, religiously manicured cottage gardens. In one, grew an enormous willow tree, its branches, blown by the breeze, skimmed the water. Next to the tree was an old gypsy caravan, brightly painted in green and red, with wooden tubs full of daisies sitting each side of its wooden steps. Some people lived such perfect lives before all this, didn’t they… 'The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.' - Irving Berlin
24th July
The Only Game in Town
I ache like shit. I considered having a day just resting, but I dare not risk it. We are still being followed - or so I believe. 'It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you…' So, we set off straight after breakfast.
Luckily, the hardest part of the journey today was at the beginning. Buckby locks were a flight of locks that carried a rise of almost seventy-five feet, however, each lock was relatively shallow and easy to operate. After Buckby, there were no further locks until we got to Stoke Bruerne. This enabled us to put lots of distance between Fang's pack and the two of us.
I felt pretty pleased with myself when we moored up at Stoke Bruerne, next to the old Waterways Museum. There was an Indian Restaurant on the quay - how I would love to have a takeaway right now. Mr. and Mrs. Patel, who lived upstairs, owned an Indian Restaurant. They used to bring me boxes of the most deliciously tasting food quite regularly. Mrs. Patel seemed to know when Ma had gone walkabout and left me alone with nothing to eat. It was the best food ever, though I had to open all the windows and go outside to put the cartons in the dustbin before Ma got back. That was because of the time she came home, found me eating curry and went ballistic. Ma and Mrs. Patel had one hell of a row.
As I was contemplating that little family gem, I heard the chopper again. This time it sounded like it was right over us. I stood up on deck waving my arms about like a demented baton twirler, with Sal barking excitedly by my side. I don't think they saw us. I doubt if they were even looking in our direction anyway, but even if they were, they were probably flying high. We would have been little more noticeable than a couple of ants floating on a leaf. Still, I was surprised how disheartened I felt as I watched the noisy machine disappear into the distance.
If they had seen us, we could have been in central London in minutes. We still have such a long way to go.
Sal and I played cards tonight. Well to be fair, I played Solitaire. Sal’s contribution to the game was to periodically nudge me with her nose so that I would toss her the small squeaky ball that I got her from the store. She never seemed to tire of fetching it. I was reassured; it meant that she was recovering.
She seems to gain such joy from retrieving the ball, and when she drops it on my lap, she steps back, so proud, looking at me like I am her whole world. I didn’t think it possible to love an animal as much as I love Sal. I c
ouldn't love her more if she were my daemon, like Lyra and Pantalaimon in The Northern Lights (I love that book). Sal is my Pantalaimon, she is part of me, I cannot imagine being without her.
I turned over the last card - I had lost again. This game is a metaphor for my life. My fate is up to me and me alone. Each and every move I make increases or lessens my chances survival, and once I've chosen, there's no turning back. It is never easy to decide which choice is best and, chances are, whichever way I go, I will almost invariably loose. Yet I continue because there is only one game in town… and I am a stubborn cow.
25th July
Eye of the Storm
The Gods were at war. The heavenly kingdoms fired their cannons, and flaming arrows pierced the churning black clouds. Terrified, Sal whirled around in circles barking - making almost as much noise as the storm. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not settle her. So I put on my waterproof, pulled up the hood, closed everything up and shut Sal below while I got going. At least with all the rain, the locks should fill more quickly. Hopefully, Fang and his mates are as freaked out by the storm as Sal, in which case, a tasty McKenzie free lunch will be the last thing on their minds.
The Last Girl Guide: Diary of a Survivor Page 6
