The Hungry Tide

by Valerie Wood

  She laid a fire ready for lighting when Will came home, for though it was the height of summer the thick stone walls kept the room cool and the fire was needed for cooking. She filled a bucket with water from the well and sang softly to herself.

  Her thoughts very rarely strayed to her home in Hull, though she thought sometimes with sadness of her mother. Yet even the memory of her was fading. She was secure and safe here with Maria and Will and Tom, and if only Jimmy would settle down she would want for nothing more.

  She heard a whistling outside and went to the door. ‘Hello, Tom, what does tha want?’

  ‘I’m that parched, Lizzie. I was just passing and thought I’d stop for a drink of water.’ He smiled at her, his teeth white in his brown face. He was growing strong and muscular and though they were both thirteen, he was a good head taller than she was.

  She drew him a cup of water and he drank thirstily. ‘Thanks, Lizzie,’ he said, wiping his brow, ‘I’ll just go in and get my cap and then be off.’ He took a deep breath of humid air. ‘It’ll rain afore long, I can smell it.’ As he spoke a growl of thunder rolled across the sky from far out at sea. ‘See,’ he laughed. ‘What did I say?’

  Lizzie stood at the door waiting for him to come out again, thinking that she’d better hurry up and get back to the Hall before the rain came, when she saw Jimmy and Paul Reedbarrow coming towards the cottage. They didn’t see her at first as they were skylarking about, pushing and chasing each other. Jimmy stopped when he did see her and then swaggered towards her, with a sheepish Paul coming up behind him.

  ‘Where does tha think tha’s off to, Jimmy Swinburn?’ she asked tartly.

  ‘Where does tha think tha’s off to, Jimmy Swinburn?’ he mimicked in a high falsetto voice, his hands on his hips.

  Paul laughed loudly, but Lizzie didn’t smile.

  ‘Tha shouldn’t be here, Jim. Tha should be working.’

  ‘And who says so, eh?’ Jimmy put his face close to hers and she backed away.

  ‘Come on, who says, Mrs Clever Clogs?’ He poked her in the chest with his finger.

  This brought more encouraging laughter from Paul and he did it again but harder.

  ‘Don’t do that, Jimmy, it hurts,’ said Lizzie, pushing away his hand.

  ‘Pull her dugs, Jim,’ Paul’s eyes gleamed lewdly, and he leaned forward to poke at her.

  ‘Don’t touch me, or I’ll tell.’ Lizzie, frightened, crossed her arms on her thin, budding chest.

  ‘I’ll touch thee if I want.’ Jimmy thrust his face towards hers and she backed, trapped, against the wall. ‘And I’ll bray thee if I want. Tha’s only a stupid lass.’ He lifted his hand towards her, his face menacing.

  She raised her arm to defend herself. ‘No, don’t, Jimmy, don’t, please.’ Her voice rose shrilly and tearfully. ‘Tha’s not to hit me.’

  ‘Get off her.’ Tom appeared from the doorway and roughly grabbed Jimmy by his shirt and dragged him away.

  ‘What’s up with thee? Hitting a lass, and thy sister at that.’ Tom’s dark eyes glowered down at Jimmy.

  ‘It’s nowt to do with thee, what I do.’ Jimmy glared back furiously. ‘If I want to hit her, I shan’t ask thy permission.’

  Paul cheered. ‘No, he won’t.’

  As Tom turned to tell Paul to be quiet, Jimmy lashed out with his fist, catching him unawares on the side of his face. Jimmy started to run but he collided with Paul and Tom caught him, tripping him up so that he sprawled on the floor. Furiously Jimmy grabbed Tom by the leg and they fell in a heap, hitting and punching and rolling in the dust, with Paul shouting and cheering them on, and Lizzie crying and pleading with them to stop.

  ‘Stop. Stop,’ cried Jimmy breathlessly as Tom finally sat on his chest. Tom gave him one more thump for good measure and then let him go.

  ‘If I catch thee tormenting her again,’ he said warningly, ‘tha’ll get worse next time.’

  Jimmy made a coarse gesture and ran off to join Paul, catcalling once they were safely out of range. ‘And get back to work.’ Tom shouted after him. ‘They’ll be looking for thee.’

  Lizzie was sitting on the doorstep, her head resting on her knees, gently rocking, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘Did he hurt thee, Lizzie?’ Tom bent towards her. She shook her head but turned away.

  ‘Don’t cry then,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘He didn’t mean it. He was only showing off in front of Paul.’

  She looked up at him, her face ashy and streaked with tears. She wiped her eyes on her apron, and pushed back a strand of straying hair beneath her bonnet. ‘He did mean it,’ she gulped. Her voice broke and she drew in a deep shuddering breath as long-forgotten memories came flooding back. ‘They always mean it.’

  ‘Tell me if he bothers thee again.’ Tom awkwardly touched her arm, mindful of some agitation in her that was not wholly to do with the incident that had just taken place. ‘Come on, Lizzie, I’ll walk back with thee.’

  He put his arm round her shoulder protectively, and she shyly put hers round his waist as they walked back across the fields.

  ‘I’ll look after thee, Lizzie,’ he pledged. ‘I’ll not let anybody hurt thee again.’

  It was hard unremitting rain which lashed down and a galeforce wind which buffeted him as Will turned into the kitchen yard at the latter end of the day. He hammered loudly on the door with his stick, for it had been bolted inside to stop it from being blown open.

  Maria opened it cautiously as the wind threatened to tear the heavy wooden door from her grasp, and laughed to see him in such a sorry state. His hair hung in a mass of wet curls and his coat and breeches were soaking wet.

  ‘Tha’d better get dried off in front of ’fire,’ she said, moving away some wet washing which was draped in front of it, filling the kitchen with steam. They had started their wash day early in the morning, but the sudden downpour of rain had soaked the dry sheets and they had to be dried all over again.

  He shook his head and then sneezed violently. ‘I’m not stopping, I only came to ask if tha’s seen ’lad? I can’t find him any place. Jimmy, I mean.’

  ‘I thought he was with thee,’ Maria neatly folded a pile of fresh linen. ‘He said he was coming to thee this morning.’ Exasperated, she stopped what she was doing. ‘I hope he hasn’t run off again.’

  Lizzie looked up from the table where she was carefully pressing the tucks and pleats in one of Lucy’s dresses, her eyes wide and nervous. ‘He hasn’t run off, Will.’ She rubbed her hand across her mouth diffidently. ‘I saw him this afternoon.’

  ‘Where? Where did tha see him?’ Will’s voice was harsh and she jumped.

  ‘He was at Field House.’ Her voice shook, and she spoke in barely a whisper. ‘He was with Paul Reedbarrow.’

  ‘Lizzie?’ said Will puzzled. ‘What’s up, love? I’m not blaming thee.’ He came towards her to console but she put down the heavy iron and fled from the room.

  ‘Well, what does tha make of that?’ said Will, bewildered. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘Take no notice,’ exclaimed Maria. ‘She’s growing up is our Lizzie. Full of laughter one minute and tears in ’next.’ She folded her arms and faced him. ‘But what about Jimmy?’

  ‘Young peazan. He’s not been at work all day. He’s got to pull his weight, Maria, it’s not fair to ’other lads. I’ll have to give him ’strap, it’ll be ’only thing to cure him. Paul’s been told to keep away from him. They’re nowt but trouble when they’re together.’

  Maria was anxious: she knew Will didn’t like to resort to the strap. Tom had felt it no more than twice in his life and Jimmy not at all.

  There was another loud banging on the door and Mrs Scryven, her face red from the heat of the range, complained loudly that she wished everyone would get out from under her feet.

  Martin Reedbarrow stood at the door, as wet as Will had been. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught thee, Will. I’m right bothered.’ His large round face was worried. ‘Our Paul’s missing and somebody said he’d b
een seen with Jim.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. Young varmints won’t listen. But Jimmy’ll get a tanning when he gets home and that’ll keep them apart.’

  ‘I’m not bothered about that.’ Martin shuffled in the doorway until Maria made him come in as they were losing the heat in the kitchen.

  He looked uneasily at her and then back at Will and lowered his voice to a murmur. ‘I wouldn’t have missed him, but I saw that ’boat’s gone from where I keep it, and I’m afeard that they might have taken it out.’

  Will stared in disbelief, but it was just the sort of crazy prank that Jimmy would get up to. He loved fishing and went out regularly with Will and Mr Masterson or any other man who would take him. He’d been out with Martin in his small boat and was inclined to boast to Tom and the other lads of his prowess with the oars, and of the fact that he was never sick.

  Lizzie had crept back into the room and heard the quiet words. She whispered, her face white, ‘They ran off towards ’cliffs.’

  Garston Hall was half a mile from the cliff edge and they went as fast as they could, Will lagging behind Martin and cursing his disability, though he soon caught up, as Martin, his large lumbering frame unused to moving quickly, became out of breath and had to slow down.

  ‘See, this is where I keep it, ’rope’s been cut,’ he said breathlessly.

  Will peered over the edge. He could see the protruding stake sticking out halfway down the cliff and the dangling rope blowing rhythmically from side to side.

  ‘I keep it hanging here so’s it doesn’t get knocked about by ’sea,’ explained Martin. ‘Our Paul knows that he hasn’t to go out on his own!’

  Will stood up straight and with his hands framing his narrowed eyes looked out at the raging ocean, the crashing waves flecked with white. ‘That’s a wicked sea,’ he said soberly. ‘If they have gone and are not just larking about somewhere, then they don’t stand a chance. Not just ’two of them.’

  Above the wind they heard a voice calling them and expectantly they both looked back. Nathan Crabtree was standing in the doorway of his cottage beckoning to them. His was the last house in the village and nearest to the sea, the rickety garden fence only yards from the cliff edge.

  ‘Them two lads of yourn were here this after’,’ he shouted in a quavering voice. ‘They were messing about down ’cliff and I shouted at ’em to watch out. It’s not safe just here, but they didn’t tek any notice. Didn’t think they would,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Did tha see ’em take ’boat, Nathan?’ Martin asked.

  The old man shook his head and ducked back inside the doorway out of the lashing rain. ‘Didn’t see owt after they went down ’cliff. I could see ’rain driving in over ’sea, so I came in and shut ’door.’ He clamped an empty clay pipe between his gums and stared out at the sodden grey sky. ‘They’re going to get wet,’ he said gloomily. ‘We all are.’

  Maria had been to fetch Tom, and he had raced around the village calling at houses where he knew Paul and Jimmy had friends. Most of them were indoors now, sent scuttling inside as the storm broke. None had seen the two boys.

  A loud crack of thunder broke, swiftly followed by a flash of lightning which lit up the sky and illuminated a small crowd of villagers who had gathered as the news travelled. Varying suggestions were made, but heads were shaken and lips were pursed as they considered the futility of ever finding them.

  Tom felt a small hand tugging at his as he stood by his father’s side.

  ‘Don’t tell on him, wilt tha, Tom?’

  The words were whispered and he looked down questioningly at Lizzie. Rain was streaming down her face and mingling with her tears.

  ‘Don’t tell about what he did today. It’s like tha said, he was only showing off.’ She snuffled and looked at him pleadingly. ‘He didn’t mean it.’

  He squeezed her hand and shook his head. ‘Nay, I won’t tell. But get off home, there’s nowt to be done here.’

  ‘We’ll take thy hoss and cart, Martin,’ Will decided, ‘and drive down ’coast. If they haven’t turned over there’s a chance they’ll be carried by ’current down towards Kilnsea.’

  Martin agreed, glad to be doing something rather than gazing out at the empty grey landscape, and went off to harness up the horse.

  ‘I’ll come with thee, Da,’ said Tom.

  ‘Nay, stay with thy ma and Lizzie. They’ll be upset and need thee.’ Will shook his head despondently. ‘I don’t hold out much hope, son, that’s an angry sea out there.’

  Martin had brought a heavy canvas tarpaulin to cover them as they crouched over the reins and drove down the narrow winding coast road. Occasionally they lost sight of the sea as the road skirted around the backs of villages, and sometimes they had to get out of the cart and lead the horse, as the track wound perilously close to the cliff edge. The mare snorted and shied as the rain continued to fall and the harsh peals of thunder startled her, but presently the rain eased and then stopped, leaving the air fresh and salty.

  It was getting late into the evening, but they stopped in two villages and knocked on bolted and shuttered cottage doors where they could see a gleam of light showing, and asked the men within if they would be sure to search the sands as soon as it was light. One or two of them put on their coats straight away and said they would go down immediately to look for the boat, but Will felt sure that it would be driven on past this straight stretch of coastline and down to the nearest inlet between Owthorne and Tunstall.

  As they approached the small hamlet of Owthorne, where the dozen houses clustered around an old steepled church, they came across a group of villagers who, with oil lamps held high to give them their only light, were hurriedly carrying their few pieces of furniture, bedding and straw mattresses from out of their homes, and moving chickens and livestock from buildings which were on the very edge of the cliffs.

  They were compassionate about their problem, as Will and Martin explained about the missing boys, but harassed and anxious as they battled to move back from their own inevitable slide down the muddy cliff face. Some of the women were crying and several of the men, they could see, were too upset to speak.

  The two men got down from the cart to help as they saw an old man struggling to move a heavy plough from where it was stuck in a muddy rut. ‘God bless thee,’ he croaked, his sea blue eyes swimming with tears. ‘I’ll remember thy lads in my prayers, for they’re surely gone from thee.’

  The road was gone, broken completely away, and they were redirected, skirting behind the village and down a track not much more than a footpath, until they came across the coast road again.

  ‘We’ll go down as far as Dimlington Heights,’ said Martin wearily.

  They had searched visually in the small bays, but there was nothing to be seen or heard, only the squally, white-flecked waves rushing in, and the howl of the blustering wind. ‘We’ll get ’best lookout from there, up on top by ’beacon.’

  The moon came out from behind the scudding clouds as they reached the high point of the cliffs. Over one hundred feet of glacial clay towered above the sea, and on top of this there stood a beacon, set there along with others all around the country at the time of Queen Elizabeth, the torch ready to be lit in warning should an invasion come from the sea.

  From this vantage point they could see down the coast towards the tip of the low-lying Spurn Point, where the glimmering yellow glow of the lighthouse flame flickered steadily, and a fleet of vessels anchored in the deep water were riding the waves, waiting for the pilot boat to guide them through the mudflats of the Humber into the sanctuary of harbour. But the sands below them, gleaming white in the moonlight, were empty, and despondently they turned their backs and headed for home.

  The sky was beginning to lighten, showing long streaks of the white, red and gold of dawn as they retraced their journey back as far as Owthorne, periodically stopping to look and listen. They saw as they approached the dark straggle of houses stretched along the cliff top and the villagers still busy
moving belongings from the houses most in danger. Slowly, they drove towards them when a sudden shout made them sit up sharply. Heads were lifted and backs straightened and the small knot of people abruptly dropped what they were doing and rushed towards the cliffs. Someone waved urgently to Will and Martin and shouted something incomprehensible. They cracked the whip, urged the horse on and saw that it was the old man they had helped with the plough.

  ‘It’s a fisher boat,’ he called. ‘Come in to land.’

  They gave him the reins and threw themselves down to the ground to peer over the crumbling cliffs.

  ‘Tek care,’ shouted the man. ‘It’s ready to fall any time.’

  The cliffs here were not so high, and twenty feet below they saw a fishing boat being dragged ashore. ‘That’s not my boat,’ said Martin, his voice fatigued and despairing.

  There were five or six village men up to their waists in water helping to pull the boat on to the narrow strip of sand. One of them looked up and called, ‘They’ve found ’em, they’ve found ’poor bairns.’ Gently and carefully they were lifting out of the boat two still forms.

  ‘Are they drowned?’ A woman’s troubled voice asked the question, and Will shuddered as the seaman’s old superstition of never saying the dreaded word came back to him.

  Cautiously, taking each step with care, the boys were carried up the slippery slope and laid gently down on the ground.

  ‘Nay, they’re not, though they should be by rights,’ a fisherman, his face red and raw from the stinging spray, answered. ‘We saw ’boat two miles out as we were heading for home. They’d lost their oars and shipped a deal of water. They were lying that low beneath ’troughs, it’s a miracle we saw ’em at all; and a bigger miracle they didn’t turn over. They were lying in ’bottom of boat, I doubt they’d have lasted much longer. They were just about finished.’

  Will and Martin bent over the boys. The fishermen had put their own coats over them, but they lay exhausted and shivering on the wet ground, unable to speak, their lips blue with cold.