The Main Cages (24 page)

He opened his eyes. Lying on his side he saw the stern-rail and beyond it the houses of Porth. They were moving. The boat was swinging on her anchor. He sat up at once. Two red stripes ran down his cheek. He hurried forward to the wheelhouse.

‘Coming in again, Jim!’

Jimmy nodded. He had been watching it, had seen the first flurries of wind on the water, had seen it work its way boat by boat through the Petrel fleet. Now he was watching the sea out beyond Kidda Head where the flickering white-caps had just begun to appear.

Up at Pennance they welcomed the breeze. They had formed a human chain. At one end, Croyden stood on the half-built dam wall, lowering the buckets into the water, hauling them up and passing them down to Jack who, balanced on the rocks, passed them on down to Edwin Stephens. In this way the buckets swung down the line until they were raised up to Tyler who poured each one through a funnel and into the tank.

They made quick work. At one time or other most had worked together on the lifeboat, and although the afternoon was at its hottest, they settled into a practised rhythm and found that it required little effort. Double Walsh started singing in his own tone-deaf way:

So merry, so merry are we.

There’s no man on earth …

‘For Christ’s sake, Double!’

–
like the sailor at sea …

‘Dee!’

Blow high, blow low, as the ship sails along.

Give the sailor his grog and there’s nothing goes wrong.

Then Croyden let one of the buckets slip. It fell on Jack – soaked him.

‘Ooops!’

Jack picked up the bucket and threw what was left of the water at Croyden and he stepped aside but it caught him on the shoulder. He dipped the next bucket in and stood on the dam and swung it out towards Dee who was still singing. A silvery arc shot out and for an instant those underneath saw it above them, frozen against the clear blue sky. Then it
flopped down and caught all those who failed to jump clear. Croyden threw another.

‘Oy!’ Tyler was standing on the cart, shouting at Croyden.

‘No harm in it, Cox!’ called Double, whose shirt was soaked in cooling water. And he slopped a bucket up at him from below. Tyler jumped down from the cart and avoided it, but then Croyden caught him with a bucketful. Soon the whole line had divided into two battling groups, led by the perennial rivals Tyler and Stephens. The encrusted ground softened into mud and soon they were all laughing. Even Tyler was laughing. Something had lifted, some months-long anxiety. They knew now there was enough water here for weeks.

The forty-gallon tank took another half-hour to fill. When they had finished they trooped back up to the well. All of them were glad of the damp on their clothes and the wind that chilled it. They drank and filled bottles and sat down for a rest. Jack went back to the dam and untied the hobble from Job and led him back to the shafts and they began the journey home.

It was hard going. With the tank full, the cart had to be eased over each rut and bump of the track, but once on the main road it was easier. They followed the road up the valley and through the dappled sunlight of Kestle Wood. Job was struggling. A couple of them gave a push against the tank and when they reached the top they sat down and drank from the bottles.

‘You fixed that rudder yet, Ty?’ asked Stephens.

‘Good as. Just one more coat of gloss.’

A couple of cars drove past, full of visitors. They all waved and the visitors waved back.

There was one more slope. The road dropped towards Polmayne and before the Crates it climbed again. Job managed twenty yards before it steepened. He came to a halt. The cart started to roll backwards. His hooves scraped on the tarmac. ‘Hold it – quick!’ shouted Jack, and Tyler jammed stones
under the wheels. The cart stopped. Job found his feet again and they all paused and sat down. They passed the water around and then four of them stood against the back of the tank and took the weight. The others slipped out the stones and they heaved the tank up yard by yard. Jack was up at the front with Job. Tyler came up and they all urged him on: ‘Come on now, boy!’

Everyone was pushing. They brought the tank over the top of the hill and left the main road and went through the gate towards the pieces. The strip of parched allotments curved down over the hill.

Before they transferred the water they unhitched Job and fed and watered him and then they all sat down in the grass.

‘Well!’ said Stephens.

‘Well,’ agreed Double.

Croyden lay back and looked at the open sea. Out beyond Pendhu they could see the tops of the waves turning. The haze of early afternoon had gone and Croyden knew that even if they were down at Newlyn there would be no fishing in this easterly.

‘Be another two days before he goes round again.’

‘Are you ever wrong about the weather, Croy?’ teased Jack.

‘He can smell a gale!’ laughed Stephens.

‘Better than his own pigs,’ said Double.

Croyden smiled, but said nothing.

Beyond Kidda Head the sea was now a sharp and brilliant blue. In the wheelhouse of the
Golden Sands
Jimmy made his decision. He took a blue-and-white signal flag from the locker and limped forward to the mast.

In the upper lounge of the hotel, tea was being served. The afternoon sun flooded in from the balcony where the Polmayne Petrel skippers, back from their race, were looking out over the bay.

‘Don’t fancy it,’ said Lawrence Rose.

‘Tide’s with it –’

‘We should leave the boats here –’

‘Nowhere safer than Porth in an easterly.’

Cameron looked from one face to the next. ‘Right. We’re agreed? We can return to Polmayne on the Garretts’ boat.’

‘Hey-ho!’ It was Lawrence Rose who saw the flag go up the
Golden Sands’s
mast. ‘Blue Peter!’

‘Someone call Bryant.’

Bryant came out, blinking in the sudden sunlight.

‘Your boat’s just hoisted the Blue Peter.’

‘The Blue Peter?’

Rose explained: ‘
All persons report on board as the vessel is about to proceed to sea.
’

Bryant took a watch from his waistcoat. ‘No, that can’t be right. It’s barely gone four.’

‘I think you’d be advised to heed your skipper.’

‘I think he’d be advised to heed me. We said five-thirty. My guests –’

‘Listen, old man.’ Ralph Cameron put a hand on Bryant’s shoulder and led him to one side. ‘The wind’s getting up. It might all look pleasant in here, but I can assure you if you leave it much later, your guests will not thank you when you get out there.’

When Cameron spoke like this, people usually agreed with him. Mr Bryant said, ‘Well, it’s damned inconvenient!’

He went inside to where Sir Basil had joined his wife and the others. Major Franks was telling a story and Sir Basil’s shoulders were shaking with laughter.

‘… so the fellow was hopping about with this wretched spear through his boot!’

Everyone laughed.

‘Come and join us!’ Sir Basil was holding a paste sandwich. ‘The Major here’s telling us about Tanganyika.’

‘Thank you. Er –’ Bryant pressed his palms together. ‘We’ve a slight change of plan. We must make our way to the harbour.’

Sir Basil said, ‘Just finish my tea!’

‘It seems the boat must leave immediately.’

Lady Rafferty said, ‘Why is it that boats always make men such tyrants?’

Outside, the wind was gusting harder. It was shooting down off the headland, darting across the sheltered water in dark, feathery patches. The halyards of the Petrels had begun to tap against their masts.

The Garretts hauled their anchor and brought the
Golden Sands
into the harbour. The tide had dropped down the quay wall yet there was still enough water for passengers to board straight from the steps. But the rowing races were now in full swing. As the
Golden Sands
approached the quay six praams were also converging on it.

‘Clear off!’ they shouted.

‘Back away, Garrett!’

Captain Maddocks’s voice came crackling over the address system. ‘Will the
Golden Sands
please stand off until the heat is finished!’

Jimmy ignored it. He gave several loud blasts on his foghorn and the praams below him scattered right and left. Two race officers shouldered their way along the quay and stood on the steps as he came in. ‘Take your boat away, Garrett!’

Jimmy checked his bows and stern. He then looked to the men on the quay. ‘You’ll have to move there – my passengers are coming through.’

‘Remove your boat at once, Mr Garrett!’

Tacker jumped ashore with a line and Jimmy came out of the wheelhouse to lean on the rail. ‘You want fifty more mouths to feed tonight? More stern, Tacker!’

Tacker shoved past them.

‘Five minutes, Garrett. We’ll give you five minutes. Then, I can assure you, we will come and untie your lines ourselves.’

At the hotel, Mr Bryant went into the kitchens and had a word with his barman, Pearce. ‘Go and ask the cook – hurry, boy!’

Cameron and Rose took it upon themselves to gather in the rest of the passengers. They went to the Racing Committee and asked to make an announcement.

‘Will all passengers for Polmayne please make their way to the quay! The
Golden Sands
will be boarding at once! Repeat – the
Golden Sands
will be leaving for Polmayne immediately!’

On the beach Anna packed away her sketchpad and made her way round to the front. Birkin was slumped like a starfish on the sand, and Travers and Lee pulled him to his feet and led him to the quay. The elderly couples, the nannies with their children, the boy with the model yacht, the guests of the hotel, the non-residents – all hurried along the quay and down onto the
Golden Sands.
There they took up their former places on the benches. Some carried on through the deckhouse to the open stern where for the first time they were aware of the hostility of the crowd staring down at them.

Tacker came and counted heads. They were all there, plus the Petrel skippers and crew. Cameron and Charlie Treneer stood ready to cast off.

‘Wait!’ called Charlie. A white coat was pushing its way through the crowd. It was Pearce. In one hand he had a wicker hamper and in the other a bag of ice. He jumped aboard.

Jimmy put the engines into reverse – Cameron and Charlie Treneer brought the lines in and the
Golden Sands
backed her way out of the harbour, followed by a series of jeers.

In the stern the passengers caught their breath.

‘What a palaver!’ sighed Mrs Hooper.

Lady Rafferty found her place. ‘Hopeless, hopeless …’

Sir Basil was muttering; he was still a little baffled.

Parson Hooper looked astern at the cloudless sky. ‘It’s going to be a lovely evening! What nicer way to spend it than on a boat?’

By the bar Tacker was talking to Bryant and Bryant was nodding. He stepped forward and opened his arms: ‘Ladies and gentlemen – please … please … I must apologise first of all for our rather hasty departure. Please ask at the bar for
anything you’d like to drink. Thanks to the Kidda Head Hotel, we also have a little nourishment.’ Pearce was unwrapping two large fruit cakes from the hamper.

‘Good man!’ said Sir Basil.

As the boat gathered speed westwards, away from Porth harbour, so the easterly wind appeared to drop and in the warmth everyone’s spirits rose. That morning they had come over as strangers, but now from the deckhouse rose the sound of a dozen conversations.

A
t the allotments they were all slowly following the trenches, watering. The leaves behind them were dotted with tiny orbs of moisture. Double began singing again:

So merry, so merry
–
so merry are we
 –

‘Dee-ee!’ shouted everyone.

When they had finished they drained the rest of the tank into a big granite trough and pulled an old door over it. Jack harnessed Job but Tyler said, ‘I’ll take him back. I got to go that way.’

Five minutes later Jack shouted, ‘Oh God!’ and ran off after Tyler and brought him back. ‘We forgot the Parson’s share.’

So they pulled the door off again and transferred a few gallons back into the tank and Tyler and Job set off once more for the rectory.

Croyden lit a cigarette and lay back on the bank. Smoke
spilled out of his mouth, blew up over his face and away downwind. Jack retied his boot and stood to leave.

‘You’re in a hurry.’ Croyden squinted up at him.

‘Things to do.’

‘Down Ferryman’s?’

Jack smiled. ‘Nine tomorrow morning. We’ll take the Station Bus.’

‘And if it’s still easterly?’

‘We’ll see.’

Jack set off down the path. As he reached the fence he heard Croyden call after him, ‘If ’ee’s late, I’ll know where to come!’

Jack turned and saw them all in a line on the bank. Croyden was sitting up with the others and Double was below him, wrestling with the Stephenses’ terrier. Stephens and his sons were to one side, waving goodbye.

Jack pushed his hands deep into his pockets and carried on down the hill. It was late afternoon. The haze had cleared. The roofs of the town dropped towards the bay and one or two gulls glided out over them. At Bethesda he would pick up cord and timber and some nails for Anna’s paintbox, then up to Ferryman’s and Anna would be there painting on the foreshore or maybe inside in the kitchen or maybe lying in the sun. He quickened his step.