Water Gypsies

by Annie Murray

  ‘Well, we could help, couldn’t we, Dot?’ Sylvia said enthusiastically. ‘I mean here you are with all these children – let us help them with their letters. I bet Dot could get Joley and Ezra more interested in reading. They’ve taken to her. And I’d be very happy to help Sally and perhaps even little Rose, if she’d like to join in.’

  ‘All right – if you want,’ Maryann said. She was grateful, but didn’t really think the offer would come to anything. Had they forgotten that most days on the cut didn’t just go according to plan?

  As Maryann got up to go to her cabin that night, Sylvia said, ‘Would you like to borrow one of my magazines?’ She reached over into the space at the head of the bed, in the cupboard. ‘I’ve got a little stash here – some are a bit out of date, but take your pick.’

  Maryann hesitated. She wanted to look at the magazines, but something held her back, some reluctance to be drawn in. She was almost afraid to take too close a look at how things were outside the cut, as if she might discover what she was missing. She didn’t want her life disturbed. But seeing Sylvia’s eager expression, she picked out a copy of Woman & Home, and one of Home Chat. A young woman posed on the cover of the second magazine in front of an aircraft propeller, a pair of goggles perched on her head.

  ‘Thanks,’ Maryann said.

  ‘Go on – treat yourself to a good read,’ Sylvia said. ‘It helps chase the blues away.’

  Back in her own cabin, beside her sleeping children, Maryann turned the pages of the magazines, surprised by how excited she felt at reading about young women who flew planes, and about fashions and a short story in which she lost herself, oblivious to everything around her. She lay down to sleep with the lives and voices of the story characters still turning in her head.

  Whenever they had a spare half hour, which wasn’t every day by any means, the trainees took Maryann’s older children aboard the Theodore and tried to advance their education. Dot took on the boys, schooling them in their letters by trying to make sure that if they were to read and write, it was about something they were interested in, while Sylvia worked with the girls. The lessons were short, but Sally was often still there begging for more when time had run out and there were other things to be done.

  What with the extra help cooking and the attention being paid to the children, Maryann could relax a little; her grudging gratitude towards Sylvia and Dot was increasing day by day as they worked closely together. She saw their hard work on the boat and their consideration towards her. Sylvia was less jumpy and seemed to have blossomed over the past few weeks, and Dot, though still prickly, was less liable to fly off the handle at the slightest hint of criticism. Maryann realized they had been rather in awe of her and the physical struggle her life demanded, and needed to prove themselves to be capable and of use. Maryann found herself touched by this.

  A few days later they nosed through Birmingham and pulled into the wharf at Saltley to deliver their load.

  ‘Where’ll we pick the next load up from?’ Dot asked as they snatched a cup of tea while the timber was being unloaded.

  ‘We’ll get a load of coal on the way back.’

  ‘I s’pose that means the dreaded Bottom Road?’ Sylvia said. Even though they were heading in the Coventry direction they were obliged to return south along the Birmingham-Fazeley Canal, with all its filth and its single locks, and not go back along the Grand Union. The official reason was that this helped to keep the water supplies up on the Grand Union.

  ‘How ridiculous,’ Dot muttered. ‘We could save hours going back on the Grand Union.’

  By the time they had completed the trip along the Bottom Road again, where a group of boys jeered and spat and another hurled stones at them from a bridge, one of which hit Sylvia on the side of the head, they were all confirmed in their view that it was the most dreary and depressing place of any along the cut. But as they moved further away from Birmingham, Maryann felt lighter with relief. It seemed sad, though, that the city of her birth had become such a place of dread.

  *

  Sylvia was in a state of high excitement. She could hardly wait to get back to Sutton Stop to see if there were any letters waiting for her.

  ‘Kay and Dickie must have written a couple of times by now,’ she said. She had posted them letters all along the route, but hadn’t heard back.

  ‘Will your husband write as well?’ Maryann asked. She’d formed very little impression of Roy Cresswell so far, except that Sylvia had said he was ‘marvellous’. He sounded a bit of a stickler for routine, but apart from that she was surprised how little Sylvia mentioned him.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I expect I shall hear. He’s very good like that, but he’s an adult, isn’t he? He has to be able to take care of himself. It’s different for Kay and Dickie – those poor darlings are the ones who’ve been sent away.’

  Maryann knew there wouldn’t be any letters for her. She had almost lost contact with her brother Tony now, and her little brother Billy barely knew she existed. Joel certainly couldn’t write to her. She watched wistfully as Sylvia and Dot went off to the post office to ask after their mail, the four older children trotting along with them, interested in the novel idea of there being letters for anyone. Maryann had to stop Ada and Esther from following as well.

  ‘No – you stay here.’ Bad-temperedly, she lifted them into the Esther Jane, whereupon they set up a furious, cheated shrieking.

  ‘Stop that racket, the pair of you!’ Maryann said fiercely. ‘They’ll be back in a minute.’

  Sylvia came running along the path a few moments later, her baggy jumper billowing round her slender figure.

  ‘Five letters!’ she panted, waving them happily. ‘Just what I was hoping for. Oh, look – Dickie’s drawn a little face on the back of this one!’ She raced back to her cabin.

  Soon the children came back.

  ‘Where’s Dot, then?’ Maryann asked.

  ‘I dunno,’ Joley said, kicking a stone along the path. He looked very put out as Dot was normally his friend. ‘She said to come back – she’d be along in a while.’

  ‘I wanted her to do some writing with me,’ Sally complained, looking wistfully along the path.

  Half an hour passed before Dot returned. Maryann was just walking along the path with the empty water holders when she met Dot coming the other way, an envelope in her hand. Her fleshy face was pale and set and she seemed lost in thought. There was no reply when Maryann said, Got some letters then?’

  She’d staggered back with the full water carriers when Sylvia came over, looking worried.

  ‘Maryann – it’s Dot. She’s come back and she won’t say a word. She just came in and lay on the bed. I don’t know if she’s ill or if she’s had a letter or what it is. Maybe she’d say something to you? I don’t know what to do.’

  Not knowing what she was supposed to do either, but feeling somehow responsible for the young woman, Maryann climbed down into the Theodore. In the gloom, she saw Dot lying on the bed, the curved shape of her back covered in a moss green sweater. She was very quiet.

  Stepping closer, Maryann leaned over, about to touch her shoulder, but at the sight of Dot’s face she withdrew her hand. Dot was lying on her side, curled tightly, eyes closed and her face contorted in a terrible grimace of pain.

  Twenty-Four

  Maryann sat herself timidly on the bed.

  ‘Dot? It’s Maryann. Is … are you in pain?’

  There was no reply. Maryann could not even hear her breathing. It was as if Dot was paralysed. Maryann’s eyes met Sylvia’s in a troubled gaze. She felt intimidated by the young woman lying there, and by the power of her silence, out of which something overwhelming seemed to be crying out to them. But she also felt very sorry and maternal, and she found the courage to touch Dot’s shoulder.

  ‘Look, love – can you tell us what’s the matter?’

  But she’d barely got to the end of her sentence when her hand was flung off convulsively by Dot, who then curled herself
even tighter, hands over her face. A strangled sound came from her, half whimper, half snarl. Maryann stood up again, stunned and helpless.

  Sylvia came over, her face full of pity. ‘Dot – Dorothy, sweetheart, don’t suffer in silence like this. We just want to help. Can’t you tell us what’s wrong?’

  Abruptly, Dot jerked herself upright. Her face looked altered, tightened. Pushing them out of the way, she sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly gulping, so that for a moment Maryann thought she was going to be sick. Barking the words out savagely, she said, ‘My brother’s dead. That’s all. Daddy wrote to tell me. So now you know.’

  Pushing past them, she left the boat and Maryann looked out to see her stride off along the path.

  ‘Oh God, how awful.’ Sylvia sat down, unsteadily. ‘And there was I rattling on to her about the children and it was an age before I noticed she was so quiet…’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’ Maryann felt sick. Dot’s pain seemed to siphon off into her. It all came back in that moment, how she’d felt on losing her sister, Sal, all the rage and helplessness compounding the grief. She stood looking out through the door.

  ‘He’s everything to her.’ She heard the tears in Sylvia’s voice. ‘She’s such a funny, crusty girl in some ways – her upbringing, I suppose. She doesn’t say much about it. But whenever she’s talked about Steven, that’s the one time you can see how soft she really is.’

  Maryann swallowed hard, trying to force down the ache in her throat. It was no good. If she let herself go down into thinking about Dot and Steven, or started opening up the wounds from her own losses, she would drown in sorrow. Stop it! she screamed inwardly, clenching her fists, forcing the feelings away. Taking a deep, shaky breath she said, ‘We’d better leave her be. I’ll go and see to the tea.’ When Sylvia started to protest she insisted abruptly. ‘It’s all right – I’ll do it today.’

  Arms folded, head down, she marched back to the Esther Jane, cursing in her head. Damn and blast these women, these trainees! Why did they have to be here, bringing all their foreign lives, their troubles and grief to her door when she’d had enough already? She’d found peace, hadn’t she, hard-fought-for and won. Now everything was getting stirred up with Norman Griffin smashing back into her life, and now this. If only Joel was back and they could forget anyone else existed: go back to the quiet, secluded life they’d shared all these years!

  Her hands shook as she peeled potatoes and she felt cold and brittle inside, as if she might easily break. The light was dying now and the air smoky grey outside. There was no sign of Dot. Where could she have gone? Where would someone like her go? Should they be looking for her? As the darkness fell, her unease grew.

  Sylvia ate with them in the Esther Jane. Maryann could see she had been crying. For a second she felt angry. She couldn’t afford to let herself cry. If she did, there’d be no end to it.

  ‘D’you think we should be looking out for her?’ Sylvia whispered to Maryann. ‘I thought she’d just go off for a few minutes by herself, but she’s been gone hours!’

  ‘I don’t know where we’d start,’ Maryann said. ‘Not now, any rate.’

  ‘Where’s Dot?’ Joley demanded as Maryann spooned out mashed potato and baked beans. She hesitated, glancing at Sylvia.

  ‘We’re not sure where she is – she’s gone for a little walk.’ She paused in her serving, holding the spoon. ‘Dot’s had some bad news.’ Gently she told them about Steven.

  ‘Is he her little brother?’ Sally asked.

  Maryann nodded. ‘A couple of years younger, I think.’

  ‘Like Harry?’ Joley turned his eyes on her with such solemn intelligence that once more Maryann had to fight off her tears. She could see Sylvia watching, puzzled.

  ‘Harry?’ she asked gently.

  ‘I had another son.’ Maryann finished serving the food and sat down on the step to eat. ‘Before Ezzy. We lost him before he was a year.’

  ‘Oh, Maryann, how dreadful,’ Sylvia said, shocked. ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

  Maryann acknowledged the sympathy with an abrupt nod.

  ‘Anyroad –’ she forced herself to stay in control – ‘I s’pect Dot’ll be back soon. She’s just gone off to take in the news by herself.’

  All evening she tried to keep her mind from straying to the worst that could have become of Dot. Sylvia went back to her cabin. Maryann busied herself with children and chores.

  It was after ten when Sylvia tapped on the door. Her face looked pale and tense in the moonlight. ‘She’s back,’ she said softly.

  ‘Where’s she been?’ Maryann began to feel some of the tension unknot inside her.

  ‘Round the fields was all she’d say. Then all I could get out of her was, “Leave me alone.” I’ve left her to get to bed. A good night’s sleep should help – if she can manage it.’

  Over the following days they could get nothing out of Dot. She just wouldn’t talk about anything.

  Soon after they heard the news, Maryann asked her, ‘Don’t you want to go home and be with your dad?’

  Dot was pulling fiercely on the rope to untie the Theodore.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous!’ she snapped. Of course I don’t.’

  She worked with a crazed energy. They were sent north along the Ashby cut, a long, lockless stretch to Measham colliery. The stretch was gradually silting up, neglected like all the cut these days, and some of the bridge-holes were a very tight fit with empty boats, not weighed down in the water. They had to take everything off the cabin roof and lay the chimney flat to get through, but otherwise it was easy going. Maryann could see that Dot, the state she was in, would rather have had steep flights of locks to toil through, such was her need to burn up and down, expending her energy. But it was uncomfortable to be with her. Her silence was far from serene: it was full of unspent emotion. Maryann and Sylvia kept exchanging worried glances when they were within sight of each other. Sylvia told Maryann that she’d found Dot one evening hacking furiously at her fringe with the blunt scissors. Her fringe had grown and looked softer on her face, but she insisted, ‘It’s too long. It’s got to go.’ Now it was severe and uneven and Maryann warned the children not to say anything about it.

  Next, they set off down the Oxford. After the first day on the move, Sylvia came to Maryann and said,

  ‘I don’t think I can stand much more of this – it’s awful!’

  More and more tension built up between them all. Dot insisted on lock-wheeling, storming along the towpath and throwing herself at the paddle mechanisms. They could see she was explosive and both Maryann and Sylvia became almost afraid to speak to her. When they did, she answered abruptly, angrily. Sylvia looked pale and strained. She had told Maryann she was finding it hard to sleep with Dot lying close to her and so knotted up in herself. She was at her wits’ end to know what to do. They reached Fenny Compton late one afternoon when the sky was heavy with cloud. They had tied up at a reasonable hour and fetched in supplies. Sylvia suggested that they go over to the pub for a drink.

  ‘It might help her to have a break – make her feel a bit better. If I can persuade her to come out.’ Dot was usually game for a trip to the pub even if she never drank alcohol.

  ‘You go,’ Maryann said. ‘I’ll stay in. I’ve got umpteen things to do.’

  ‘Well,’ Sylvia said doubtfully. ‘I’ll see if she will. But it’ll be hard going!’

  She must have eventually persuaded Dot that a change would do her good because the two women stopped at the Esther Jane to say they were leaving.

  ‘It’s getting pretty awful out here!’ Sylvia said from under her sou’wester. The wind was getting up and the drumming of rain on the roof accompanied Maryann as she worked through her evening chores. Maryann was relieved not to be with Sylvia and Dot. She found it hard to bear the weight of Dot’s silent agony and had no idea how to break through it. The strain was telling on all of them and tonight she didn’t want to think about anything. She undressed, got into bed a
nd picked up one of Sylvia’s magazines. It had become her nightly treat to cuddle up on the tiny bed with her family all round her, hair loose, hugging her old cardi to her, reading and rereading the articles and stories. The magazines presented her with a world of feminine things she had barely been aware of over the years. Even though fashions and clothing were very limited now by shortages and rationing, to her it seemed exciting reading about patterns and sewing tricks and make-do-and-mend.

  She gradually grew sleepy, but struggled to keep awake to finish a story. As she sat with the magazine propped against her knees, a strange sound came from outside in the dark. Maryann raised her head. For a second she thought it was an owl, but that could hardly be in this pouring rain. It was followed by more noises and her heart began to beat fast.

  Pulling on her coat and boots, she let herself out, jumping down onto the squelching bank, the sound of the rain all round her, the plop and gurgle of it in the cut. A little way ahead she could make out the bobbing light of a torch, and as she moved closer against the wind, she could make out Sylvia leaning over the figure on the ground. In gusts there came to her the wrenching, almost retching sound of weeping.

  Dot was kneeling on the ground, one moment curled forward, the next throwing herself up onto her knees, swaying and moaning, as if trying to work the pain out of her body.

  ‘Dot, sweetie – oh, do get up! Let’s go inside…’ Sylvia sounded distraught, as she begged Dot not to kneel out here in the rain. But Dot couldn’t seem to hear her, or anything. She was lost in her crying, and the sound of it cut through Maryann. She felt herself swell with pity at the little figure, wrestling in the darkness.

  When Sylvia saw her she cried, ‘Oh, Maryann! She just – I don’t know what happened. I can’t get her to hear me, she’s in such a state and she’s getting caked in mud…’