Saturday mornings at the lido were always busy. The pool was on Minehead seafront and boasted a thirty-three-foot-high diving tower and crystal-clear water pumped in from the beach just across the road: I never knew how they did it, when the sea itself was the colour of strong tea. But it was a superb pool for swimming, and regularly hosted national championships and galas, some of which I’d already taken part in.

We arrived to a crowd of pushchairs, prams, crying babies and little kids in woolly mittens clutching their parents’ hands, and had to join a long queue to go in. The promise of open-air swimming in unheated water – in February – obviously hadn’t put people off. By now I was a flutter of nerves. Once through the turnstile, it was 45some relief to see Timmy Valentine, Bob Blake and Jim Sutton, waiting with their kitbags.

‘You got the nod too, eh?’ Bob greeted us with a pally wink.

‘And a lift in the gaffer’s car, by the look of it,’ muttered Jim, who was fiercely competitive.

Captain Farley quickly ushered the boys off to get ready. In our changing room, we found Maudie Jennings, the only other girl member of our club, and who acted like a big sister to us younger ones. She was wearing her competition costume today – navy with white piping around the edges.

‘Morning, kittens,’ she said, which was what she always called us. ‘Any sign of the lady herself out there?’

‘Mrs Lamb? Not yet,’ I replied.

I got changed quickly. I’d feel less nervous once I was in the water – I always did – but I still wasn’t sure what Mrs Lamb was choosing one of us to do. Was it for a competition? The county team?

‘D’you know what Mrs Lamb’s special project is?’ I asked Maudie.

‘Must be something amazing,’ Lena added. ‘Everyone’s acting like she’s a queen.’

Maudie stared at us, agog. ‘You don’t know?’

We shook our heads. 46

‘She …’ Maudie took a dramatic breath, ‘… swam the English Channel in world-record time in 1928. She’s won big sponsorship deals, been on magazine covers, travelled the wor—’

‘She swam the English Channel?’ I interrupted, because this was the part that interested me. I was annoyed at myself for not knowing her name.

‘Yes, kitten, keep up,’ Maudie chattered on. ‘Her sponsors are on the lookout for a kid swimmer to take up the challenge. They want someone to do it this summer. The captain asked her along to see if any of us lot might be good enough.’

‘Wow!’ Lena exclaimed.

I was in a daze.

Captain Farley called swimming the English Channel a ‘swimmer’s Everest’. Only the very best attempted it. One day, I wanted to try – that had long been my dream – but as a grown-up, in my twenties, like Gertrude Ederle. I’d never considered that a kid could swim the Channel. Just the thought made my heart flip. Here was a chance to do something completely and utterly not ordinary. I could almost hear Mam saying those words.

‘I hope Mrs Lamb picks me,’ I said, straight out.

Maudie’s swimming hat made a snapping sound as she tucked in the last lock of hair. 47

‘Then you’ll have to beat me and Jim, won’t you?’ she answered.

She didn’t call me kitten again.

*

Mrs Lamb was waiting for us at the poolside. Despite the din of the other Saturday swimmers, her voice carried, as shrill as a whistle: it was this I noticed first, then her shoes. She was dressed exactly like I’d imagine a wealthy person would dress – immaculate hair, pearls and the most ludicrously sky-high heels.

‘Ah, the girls.’ Mrs Lamb greeted Maudie and me, glancing at Lena. ‘You’re not swimming?’

‘Me? Not likely!’ Lena backed away, reappearing moments later in the spectators’ gallery. Amongst the fathers reading their Saturday papers, she took a seat and gave me an encouraging wave. That settled me, as did the familiar pool smell, the sparkle of the water, seeing our boys in their one-pieces, hands tucked in armpits, serious and ready.

Really, I told myself, it was much like a normal Saturday session. The only difference was Mrs Lamb being in charge, and Captain Farley in the background, silent, his eyes fixed on our special visitor. There 48was no introduction from Mrs Lamb herself, no friendly hullos.

‘The first point I’m going to make will surprise you—’ She stopped as a boy emerged from the changing rooms and joined our group. ‘Oh, we’ve one more swimmer?’

An outbreak of nudging followed: none of us knew who the new addition was.

‘Simmer down!’ the captain barked. ‘This is our new club member, who I wasn’t expecting to join us today.’

He gave the boy a frosty glare.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Farley,’ the boy answered, not exactly at ease himself. ‘But my father said—’

‘It’s Captain Farley, young man,’ Captain Farley interrupted irritably. ‘And you’re taking up Mrs Lamb’s valuable time.’

Once Mrs Lamb began talking again, we were quickly transfixed. She told us Channel swimming was set to become the newest, biggest craze: in America, where she lived, every swimmer wanted to try the English Channel. It was up there with the Catalina Channel, off the Californian coast, as one of the world’s toughest swims.

‘Though the English Channel is colder,’ she pointed out. 49

As well as the swim itself, which no child had yet managed, she talked about the fame a successful attempt would bring. And dollars. A major chewing gum manufacturer was offering sponsorship worth thousands for the lucky child. This was an opportunity that would change a person’s life.

‘My chosen swimmer will have stamina and …’ She paused dramatically. ‘That all-important star quality.’

There was also the issue of timing. Though it was more common to swim the Channel in late summer when the sea was at its warmest, she and the sponsor were hoping for a date in June.

‘The sooner we do our swim, the better. We don’t want anyone else stealing our thunder, do we?’ she said with steely determination.

I had to admit, I was in awe. By the time she’d finished talking, I’d forgotten the new boy entirely until she ordered us into the water, in pairs. Looking around for Maudie, my usual partner, I saw she’d gone with Jim. The new boy and I were the only two left.

‘Looks like you’re lumped with me,’ the boy said. ‘Awfully sorry.’

‘You are a decent swimmer, aren’t you?’ I asked, because I didn’t want him holding me back.

He shrugged. ‘I suppose I’m all right.’ 50

He looked harmless enough – about my age, thickset, with freckly shoulders and curly brown hair. But my heart was sinking. Only one swimmer would be chosen. It was bound to be Maudie or Jim. They both already looked super confident as they strolled down to the deep end.

‘I’m Nathaniel Clatworthy, by the way,’ the boy said as we climbed into the pool.

As names went, it felt a beat too long and a tad too grown-up.

‘Crikey, don’t you have a nickname?’

‘Umm … Natty? No … actually, Nate.’ It was obvious he’d made it up on the spot. ‘And you are?’

I spat into my goggles before putting them on.

‘Nellie Foster,’ I said.

*

‘Nate’, it turned out, was a great name to scream at the top of your lungs. Over the next hour, I’d plenty of opportunity, as Mrs Lamb made us swim laps of the pool in a relay race that pitted us against the two other pairs.

‘Left, Nate!’

‘Keep going, Nate! He’s right on your tail!’

And failing all else, ‘Nnnnnnnaaaatttttteeeee!’ 51

To my surprise, Nate could indeed swim. His style was unfussy, at times a bit clumsy, but it worked. He wasn’t as fast as Maudie on his leg of the relay, yet he caught up easily when she tired.

The next race was backstroke, my favourite. I loved how the water surged against my skull, my shoulders twisting, the flipper-kick of my feet. I was paired against Bob and won easily. From the spectators’ gallery, Lena cheered louder than anyone.

‘You’re a champ in the making, you are!’ Bob said as we caught our breath at the pool’s edge.

It was sporting of him to say so, but it was becoming obvious who’d caught Mrs Lamb’s attention. It wasn’t that Nate was the quickest or had the best technique. Yet when he moved through the water there was a real power to him that was like watching Mr Blackwell’s Clydesdales at work. I didn’t think I swam like that: Jim and Maudie didn’t, either. If star quality was what Mrs Lamb wanted, then Nate was the one who had it: none of us could take our eyes off him.

At the session’s end we were sent to get changed, before returning to the poolside to hear Mrs Lamb’s verdict. A little hopeful part of me knew I’d swum well. Lena, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs up, seemed to think so. Captain Farley too gave me a brief nod of approval. 52

Still, as Mrs Lamb began addressing us, my heart raced. Silently I begged her to pick me, for her to say my name out loud: I wanted it for me and for Mam, so fiercely it almost scared me.

But it wasn’t to be.

‘The swimmer with the most potential, in my view,’ she announced, ‘is Nathaniel Clatworthy.’

Immediately, Jim burst into tears. I choked mine down, as best I could, but I’d never felt so disappointed about anything in my life.

*

On the way back in the car, Captain Farley offered us each a mint humbug. I didn’t want mine and gave it to Lena.

‘Damn that Clatworthy boy for taking your place, Nellie!’ the captain fumed.

‘Who is he, anyway?’ Lena wanted to know, a humbug in each cheek.

The captain took so long to answer I thought he hadn’t heard the question. Then, in a strange, tight voice, he said: ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’