Monday 10 July – Maud revisits her past
The first big change happened at Tyseley Wharf when Maudie helped untie the side-sheets and roll them. They then explained to her that one of the boaters would care for Dog while they had a bath, and then they would sleep at a house owned by a banker, and it would be good if she came.
Maudie merely nodded and joined them as they walked to the tram, as though she had her orders. Polly carried the clothes that the boaters had given Maudie, and which she had so far refused to wear.
As they waited for the tram, Maudie said, ‘I doesn’t know if I ever been on a tram, but I ’ave had a bath.’
There it was. There: the past. There: words.
They caught the tram, sitting as others stood swaying and hanging on the straps. They stopped and walked to the public baths. They entered. Maudie faltered, staring at the white tiles and the woman in the white coat. Verity froze and whispered, ‘The coats. She might run. The doctors wore them.’
The reverse happened. It was as though it was a home from home. Mrs Green waited outside Maudie’s cubicle, because Verity and the girls explained what had happened. There was no sound beyond splashing. Polly had left Maudie’s boater clothes on the chair, just in case. When their time was up, they knocked on Maudie’s door. It opened. Maudie was wearing her boater clothes. She had left her others on the chair. ‘I needs ’em no longer,’ she said. ‘I belong in a different place ter that.’
They didn’t all go into the pub, just Polly, who ordered portions of chips to be wrapped in newspaper. She carried them outside and handed the parcels round. ‘No ash, I hope.’
They walked to Mrs Green’s and sat, squashed on a bench in her back yard, eating in the subdued heat of the late evening, and the chips were indeed ash-free. They disposed of the newspaper in the bin, and found their way to their bedrooms. Sylvia was to share with Maudie, because she felt too worried to leave her alone.
The next big change happened when they were hauling the butty along the Brum Bum to load up with coal. While Polly motored Marigold ahead through the locks, Maudie stood on the butty counter steering, looking up at the factories, cringing at the darkness and the smell, the tyres in the water, the dead dog that caught around the tiller and which she shafted free.
She called to Sylvia, who was hauling with Verity on the bank, ‘I been ’ere with an unkind man, but I with yer now, and yer are kind. All of yer are kind, but I ’as a missing feeling, I ’as a big ’ole.’
Sylvia said, ‘Holes fill up, but sometimes it takes quite a while.’
As they passed through the next lock, Maudie took over one of the haul ropes. ‘I belongs here,’ she said. ‘See.’ She showed Verity the callouses on her hands and shoulders.
Verity said, ‘It’s a small part of where you belong. Each day you might find another part, or it might take longer. But just so long as you know you are safe.’
As they approached the next lock Maudie called, ‘I is safe because that man is not ’ere.’
‘He won’t ever be again,’ Verity called. ‘But he is the only one who is unkind. All our other friends are kind – the men, too.’
As they loaded with coal and returned through the Braunston Tunnel, Verity, Polly and Sylvia wondered whether to visit Granfer again, but thought it best to take it one step at a time. They travelled south, and after two days reached Marsworth Junction and decided, after listening to their waters, that they would go down the Aylesbury Arm. They turned off down the Arm and travelled on a short tow past wild flowers, and butterflies darting, with Sylvia and Maudie on the butty, and Dog on the cabin roof.
They ‘winded’ at the basin, and pat-pattered back. There had been no horn sounded from the butty, which was to be the signal from Sylvia that all was not well. And so it continued, until they were at Bull’s Bridge at the end of the day, reversing into a space. Maudie was brewing tea in the butty cabin as they moored. She brought it to them, once the holds had been swept. ‘I will sweep next time, and I will boil my clothes to become clean again.’
Sylvia asked, ‘You remember?’
‘I ’ave seen all the women at their boilers, and I knows ’ow to set up the fire, ’ow to boil, ’ow to throw away the water and ’ang the clothes. So if I knows, then I must ’ave done it. Perhaps that is remembering? I knew the cut we went along, the reeds, the butterflies, the bees, the quiet. I knows the ducks and geese that does fly over.’ She looked around. ‘I knows so much of this, but I can’t see myself ’ere.’
Sylvia said, ‘You will, I promise.’
Verity and Polly called into the office and picked up their mail. One each from their parents. They read them immediately, smiling at the day-to-day news, savouring the loving sentiments as their mothers signed off. Halfway along the lay-by Dog met them, tail wagging, and they walked back as the women passed them on their way to the shops, or washed their clothes and hung them behind the cabins. ‘’Ow do,’ they called, but none asked how things were.
Polly murmured. ‘They have eyes, that’ll be enough for them.’ She nodded towards Marigold and Horizon, where they could see Maudie hanging out clothes behind the cabin.
Polly looked on past their pair, still half expecting to see Seagull and Swansong, and Saul. Where was he? Was he safe? What about Tom, how was he? What would he think of Maudie’s return? She must write again, telling of Maudie’s awakening, which is how the girls thought of it.
The tannoy crackled. ‘Steerer Clement to the office.’
‘Already?’ Sylvia called from the butty.
Within an hour they were off to Brentford, scanning the skies, seeing the scorching tails of the doodlebugs and hearing the screeching, the silence, the explosions; and Maudie was unmoved, it was as though noise didn’t affect her now, just like a boater.
‘Well, it’s what she is,’ Polly muttered to Verity as they left Brentford Wharf.
Verity nodded and then said, ‘Wonder if the Rivers bloke survived?’
‘Would you mind if he was hurt?’
‘I never think of him. It’s best not, because I feel sorry for Jenny in a way, but not for her father. They’re nothing to do with me, not really.’
‘I can’t say I understand how you must feel, but I can imagine.’
The ack-ack was firing, the sirens howling.
Verity said, ‘It seems unreal anyway, and unimportant, with all that’s going on. Evacuation seems as urgent as during the Blitz, the Allies are approaching Caen. Is Tom with them, and Saul, or is he still on the Mulberry? Then there’s Maudie – improving, but will she ever really be better? And what about Sylvia’s decision? Polly, really, truly there are so many things of much greater importance than my past.’ She meant it. She knew who her family was now. It was these girls, and the Clements, and Holmeses.
They pat-pattered on up the Grand Union Canal, their world unchanged. After all, their hands were still blistered, the rain still soaked them, the wind still tore through them, though it was summer. The windlass still rubbed their hands raw, and the beams wore out the seats of their trousers.
What was different was that they didn’t stop at the pubs, and it was Thomo who brought them pheasant, not Saul. There he was at Berkhamsted, where they moored up for the first night, standing on the towpath, as Dog leapt from the counter and sniffed around his heels as she had done with Saul. Thomo laughed, holding a brace out of her reach and calling to Verity and Polly as they sat on Marigold’s roof.
‘A couple of tiddlers for yer, though I wish I were with Saul. I tried again just now, but they wouldn’t let me – too bloody old at thirty, too valuable ’ere, so they says. Daft buggers. Timmo and Peter are out finding the rabbits. Take these and I’ll ’ang t’others on the hook at back of yer cabin as an’ when.’ He turned on his heel, saying as he walked away, ‘Reckon Granfer’s lass is taking steps. Boaters need the cut, it’s where they belongs. Healing, it be.’
Verity looked at her hands, and at the callouses that had rubbed raw again, and laughed softly. ‘Healing?’ But they both nodded, knowing Thomo was right.
Then his voice rang out. ‘We’s makin’ a packet on the darts, so best not come back into the game.’
Verity felt the laughter surging, as the clouds scudded over the moon. ‘Oh, Thomo, Thomo,’ she yelled, ‘dangerous words. We’ll take you to the cleaners very soon now. Mark my words, your days are numbered.’
His laugh rang out as he trotted down the towpath to his motor.
They reached Tyseley Wharf on the fourth day, but there was no time to visit the baths, or Mrs Green. Instead they were given orders for Coventry, and coal again. Exhausted, Polly said, ‘Let’s toss to see who takes the motor through Brum Bum’s delightful locks and short pounds, ladies.’
Sylvia tossed the penny, but it was Polly who won, and when the time came she motored ahead, with Verity and Sylvia shaking their fists in mock fury as they’d tied the haul ropes around their shoulders and waists. They stopped only when they saw Maudie’s face as she stood at the tiller, cringing in fear. Sylvia held up her hand. ‘Maudie, it’s only play. No one will be harmed.’
Maudie watched them as they smiled and opened their arms. She said, ‘I know ’arm. I know it. I’ve felt it.’ She touched her face and the side of her head, her arm. ‘But I can’t remember it.’
‘You steer, Maudie, because we have to take the butty to Coventry to load it with coal.’ They had decided the best thing was for her to resort to work, to ease the ‘knowing’ and not let it overwhelm her.
They reached Coventry at last and were loaded, and then they travelled on and within three days they were back at Bull’s Bridge. Venus and Shortwood were already moored, and they must thank Thomo, Timmo and Peter for the rabbits that they had hung on the rear of the butty, when Marigold and Horizon had been moored up one night after Coventry.
First, though, the four girls boiled water in the cabins and took turns for a stand-up all-over wash, then boiled their clothes on the kerb. As they finished, Timmo came over from Venus’s counter onto the lay-by and walked towards them. Dog ran to meet him, and Timmo hunkered down, hugging Dog, who stood quite still suddenly, her tail down, her head pressed against Timmo’s. Verity called, as she and Polly wrung out the final pair of rinsed trousers. ‘Thanks for the rabbits. Tell Thomo and Peter we’re grateful, will you?’
Timmo stood up and, with Dog by his side, walked the rest of the way towards them, his head down.
Polly yelled, ‘Oh dear, frightened we’ll be back with our darts, are you? Don’t fret, you tell Thomo it’ll be a while yet.’
Timmo stopped, squatted, stroked Dog’s head again, then stood, sending her back onto Marigold’s counter. ‘Go on then, Dog. Yer stay with yer owners, eh?’ He looked up and his face was gaunt, his eyes red. ‘Can’t tell our Thomo, Missus. He took the train further east, picking up summat for Granfer. One o’ them damned doodlebugs must ’ave cut out above him and come on down. Missed him, but the blast got him – killed outright, so them say. I got the tool Granfer wanted. I’ll leave it on yer counter. A spanner, it were, and it weren’t ’urt, not one bit.’
Verity dropped the trousers onto the kerb, as Polly rocked back on her heels. Sylvia jumped down from Horizon’s counter and ran to the girls. They clung together, as Timmo tipped his hat and walked back to his motor, and only when he was back on board did they weep, soundlessly, because Maudie must not be disturbed.
Later he brought them the spanner to leave with Granfer at Buckby. ‘’Tis more’n we can bear to take it, fer the time bein’,’ he said.
Marigold and Horizon motored on to Limehouse Basin, and the girls refused to look up into the sky, or listen, because what could they do if a doodlebug’s motor stopped and it dropped? They were loaded as quickly as possible at the wharf, because the dockers were frightened, too. Everyone was, because bloody Hitler was killing as many as he could, before he gave up.
They travelled up the cut, with their quietness and their tears, which they tried to hide; but they failed and, magically, they were comforted by Maudie, who brought them tea and whispered, as they climbed the Tring locks, ‘I knows your tears. I knows them, and they come after the fists when yer ’eart does ’urt, too. I knows the face of the man with the fists, but I don’t know who ’e is ter me.’
At Norton Junction they turned right for Buckby: they had a spanner to deliver. They moored and, accompanied by Dog, they all walked into Buckby. There was no one in Lettie’s garden. They opened the picket gate and walked along the crazy-paving path, where camomile grew. It oozed its scent beneath their feet. They knocked on the door. It opened. It was Granfer. Sylvia held out the spanner.
Granfer said, ‘I knows about Thomo.’ His face was as sad as theirs.
Maudie reached out and touched his cheek. ‘I knows you, too. I knows yer sadness, but not who yer is. But I knows there is kindness ’ere, not like ’im, the man with the fists.’
Granfer let her trace his features. Then he said, ‘I know yer too. Yer belongs to us, like yer belongs to the cut.’
Auntie Lettie came from the side-garden. ‘I have laid out tea in the garden. Come.’
She led Maudie to the table set in the warmth of the sun, and Maudie turned and gripped Granfer’s hand. ‘I knows I belongs, but I can’t remember. I just knows, but there is another …’ She stared round the garden, as though searching, and then allowed herself to be pressed onto a chair by Lettie.
Polly pulled from her pocket the picture of Saul that Joe had drawn. She kept it with her always. ‘Is this who you know?’ She laid it down on the table, then stepped back.
Verity gripped Polly’s hand, hardly daring to breathe. Sylvia walked quietly to sit beside Maudie, and Granfer sat on the other side. Runner beans wound around bamboos, but as yet it was too early for a crop; lettuce flourished in neat rows, and tomatoes would soon glisten with red fruit.
‘Yes,’ breathed Maudie. ‘I knows ’im, too, but there is yet another … I can’t see ’im, not in me head. I can’t feel him, I can’t smell him, but he is kind, too, but he knows the fists …’ She was crying, and although Sylvia sat on the seat next to her, Maudie turned to Granfer and sobbed into his shoulder.
‘Granfer’s shoulder,’ Polly breathed. ‘She has chosen him.’
Granfer whispered, ‘Yer is safe from them fists. They will never come near yer no more.’
Verity and Polly moved closer. Was Sylvia all right with this transfer of attention? Sylvia smiled at Granfer over Maudie’s head. The girls relaxed, thinking of the sharp-tongued, competitive young woman Sylvia had been, and the compassionate person she now allowed them to see.
The three of them made their way quietly to the gate, led by Lettie, who shut it behind them, waving and calling softly, ‘We will get a message to yer if yer needed. We will, too, get a message ter Timmo and Peter at Bull’s Bridge. God speed, keep yerself safe, our dear beloved girls.’