Water Gypsies (23 page)

‘I don’t mind giving a hand in the least,’ she told her. ‘It’s a treat to be with your kiddies – I miss Kay and Dickie so much. I do hope there’ll be some letters waiting when we get back!’

It wasn’t so bad, Maryann thought, relaxing more with them as the days passed. It wouldn’t be for too long, having them aboard, would it? And when they got to Oxford they could see Joel. Despite what the doctor had said, she couldn’t believe it would take him long to recover. He’d always fought back so hard against any kind of pain or illness. As they pushed south to Oxford, she started to feel more optimistic. There were leaf buds on the trees and you could feel the land coming to life all around, the air full of the hopeful scents of spring. Surely Joel would be better soon and they could all get back to normal?

He held out his arms to them as they crowded into the room.

Maryann was holding Esther, the heavier of the twins. Sally had managed to half lead, half carry Ada up from the wharf, cajoling her impatiently.

‘Come on, Ada – we’re going to see our dad!’

Joel was lying propped up on pillows on the bed upstairs. His normally weatherbeaten face looked pale and, Maryann thought, a little thinner, though he was beaming with delight at seeing them. A strange sensation passed through her at the familiar sight of his body, a kind of inner leap of recognition, as if, having been temporarily stripped of a part of herself, she had found it again.

Apart from a quick hello kiss, she let the children go first, the older ones chattering nineteen to the dozen and Ada and Esther wanting to climb up onto the bed. Joel cuddled each of them in turn on his chest, and the little ones snuggled close, trying hard to be careful and keep still once they’d been told.

‘Hello, my little beauties!’ Joel kissed and stroked each of them. ‘Oh, it’s such a treat to see you. And how’s our Joley, eh? And Ezra? You keeping your mother in order for me?’

The boys grinned. ‘We’ve got ladies working the butty,’ Joley said. ‘And Dot likes fishing.’

‘Fishing again, eh? You caught anything for me?’

After a time, Alice Simons appeared in the doorway. ‘Well, I don’t suppose any of you want some ginger cordial and my fresh buns, now do you?’

Left alone with Joel, Maryann knelt by the bed and rested her head on his chest as they held each other. Feeling his arms round her always made her feel safe and loved. She felt herself relax and she reached up for a kiss. Joel’s eyes looked searchingly into hers.

‘How’re you going along, my mate?’

‘Oh, I’m all right.’ She kissed him again. ‘Missing “moy chap”, though.’ Most of the boatwomen referred to their husbands as ‘moy chap’. Maryann grinned. ‘My old man.’

‘I feel like an old man. I ent half fed up lying here day after day, I can tell you,’ Joel said, wincing as he tried to shift up the bed a bit. ‘It’s enough to drive you half mad.’

She stroked his face, knowing how frustrated he was and longing to have him back with them, to lie in his arms at night, for things to be normal.

‘Isn’t it getting better?’

‘Well it is, yes. Slowly. I can just about get up now and move about a bit. But I ent fit for the cut. Nowhere near. This ent me – lying about like this. It’s boring, hour after hour. Alice’s brought this up for me –’ he nodded at the wireless set perched on the chest of drawers by the bed – ‘so I can listen to all the world’s woes. But my head just goes round and round, thinking about where you are and all I should be doing.’

Maryann tried to reassure him and hide her disappointment that he was not more improved. It was so good to be with him again, but she’d hoped he might be closer to coming back with them again than this.

‘We’re doing all right,’ she soothed him. She was proud to be able to tell him how she was managing. ‘Bobby’s gone off with the Bevans for a bit. Mr Veater got us two of these women trainees off the Grand Union. Sylvia and Dorothy they’re called. Well, Dot. You should hear the pair of them talk – it’d make you curl up. Talk about lah-di-dah. They’re all right, though. I can’t work Dot out, but Sylvia’s nice. Seems a bit scared of her own shadow – always apologizing. But she’s come on just in this week, and she says she loves living on the cut. She’s ever such a good cook too! We’ll be awright – I just wish I could take you with us.’

‘Not half as much as I do,’ Joel said gloomily. His warm hand stroked along her thigh. ‘Oh, I do miss you, my little bird.’

Twenty-Three

Over the next few weeks the Bartholomew boats made several trips up and down the Oxford cut to and from the coalfields, and every time Maryann saw Joel he was a little improved, but his recovery seemed long and slow. Then, for a return journey, Maryann was offered a trip to Birmingham. She almost turned it down. If she went to Birmingham she felt, somehow, Norman Griffin would know they were there. But she agreed to it, telling herself not to be so stupid. The load was a consignment of timber for a private wharf in Saltley and they wouldn’t be tied up at Tyseley. On a cool morning in March they set off north again.

Things were becoming easier between the women as they worked so closely together day after day, though Maryann still tried to keep her distance, especially with Dot. Sylvia was forever asking Maryann to come and join them in their cabin in the evening and she did go increasingly often, though at first she’d been convinced that they were only being polite and didn’t really want her there. Dot and Sylvia seemed to rub along all right, even though they were very different: Sylvia timid and so eager to please and Dot prickly and stubborn. Dot was bullish and determinedly careless of her appearance, while Sylvia never appeared in the morning without carefully applying make-up – her powder, mascara and bright red lipstick, no matter how early it was.

‘I feel undressed without it on!’ she told them. ‘I can’t face the world like that.’

One evening, once they’d tied up and finished their evening meal, Sylvia appeared at the door.

‘Sorry,’ she said uncertainly.

Maryann smiled up at her. ‘You’ll wear that word out.’

‘Oh! Yes – sorry. I mean…!’

Both of them laughed and Sylvia climbed down and sat on the coalbox for a few minutes. The older children were all outside except for the twins, who Maryann was washing in turn in front of the range, and Rose, to whom Sylvia held her arms out. Rose gladly climbed onto her lap for a cuddle. Sylvia rested her forehead against Rose’s and Maryann heard her give a long sigh.

‘What’s up?’ she asked.

‘Oh,’ Sylvia raised her head, ‘nothing much. Just a bit weary, I suppose.’ She smiled at the sight of Ada’s little body, standing shiny and wet in the dipper. ‘Dot’s got the kettle on for a bit more than a lick and a promise too. I’ve come out to let her have the cabin to herself. Are you coming over later?’

Maryann looked across at her. ‘That all right?’

‘Of
course
. You’re always welcome, you know that. We’ll have a bit of a shindig. There’s that last nip of whisky to jolly us along. Well, for you and me, anyway!’

Dot seemed to have a deep, almost puritanical aversion to spirits and turned her nose up every time she was offered any.

When Maryann did go to the
Theodore
in the evenings it was after she’d settled the children for the night. The three women were learning to relax together. At first they had been stiff and wary, talking mostly about the events of the day, about the cut. Of course, there was always plenty to chew over there and often a lot to laugh about as well. But now, gradually, they were beginning to learn about each other’s lives. Maryann was guarded about what she told them about her early years, only mentioning the bare bones – that her father had died when she was young and she wasn’t close to her mother. She never even hinted at the darker, more shameful aspects of her childhood. She didn’t have enough trust in them: how could they understand how it had been to grow up in Ladywood, let alone in her family? Sylvia, with her thick blonde hair and English rose face, looked so sheltered and innocent – how could she have any idea of someone like Norman Griffin? And Dot, coming from her boarding school life and going home every holiday to that big house in the country. They were from another world, like the Mussons, who she’d worked for in Banbury. She just told them pleasant little things she could remember – about her brothers and her dad coming home with a bicycle for Tony, and Granny Firkin and her cats. After all, she could pretend she’d had a happy childhood, couldn’t she? She couldn’t bring herself to talk about Nance either. The pain was still too close.

Sylvia had been a housewife before the war and always maintained that her life was settled and dull.

‘Nothing much to say, I’m afraid,’ she’d told them. ‘You know – house, husband, children. Getting his supper on the table in time and his shirt studs ready in the morning. I have a lady who comes to wash and clean, but I always do all my own cooking. Roy wouldn’t have it any other way. He likes me to change before we eat and to make my face up. Our lives are fearfully staid – not like yours, Maryann, coming away to live on the cut!’

‘But you have now, haven’t you?’ Maryann said.

‘Well, yes – for the moment. I really thought I ought to do something for the war effort with the children away, but it’s so tricky with having to work around their holidays. Then I saw a piece in the paper about the training scheme and how they were prepared to be flexible, and I thought, perhaps that’s a little chance for me to do my bit. I couldn’t really believe I was doing it, even when I turned up at Southall with all my bags!’

‘I met one of them,’ Dot said. ‘One of the first trainees, actually, and she told me about it. Thing was – the work appealed. I’ve always liked being out of doors – that’s what I wanted really. But it was more than that. It was something about the way she talked about the work and the life. She was just full of it and I thought, that’s what I need. I was desperate to get out of the job I was in.’

That evening they sat together with cups of cocoa, Maryann’s and Sylvia’s laced with ‘hooch’ as Sylvia called it. The chocolatey, whisky-laced steam filled Maryann’s nostrils comfortingly. Jenny the tortoiseshell cat was curled on Sylvia’s lap and she stroked her, looking at Dot over the rim of her cup. ‘I can’t imagine you being a secretary at all. Were you really?’

Maryann was taken aback too every time she remembered this. She could much more easily picture Dot doing something with horses, or being a games teacher, running round freezing hockey pitches and bellowing at girls in short skirts.

‘Yes.’ Dot frowned, fingers still knitting away without her having to look. The orange jumper was long finished and she was making something in soft cornflower blue. ‘Detested every moment of it.’ Maryann and Sylvia stared at her, taken aback by the anger in her voice.Maryann thought her cheeks had blushed redder, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

‘It was Daddy, he set it all up through his contacts. Didn’t leave me any choice. He said the only thing for a girl was being a teacher or a nurse and he wasn’t having me doing either of those “demeaning jobs” as he called them – or a secretary, so I’d best do that. I wanted to get away from home, you see. Once Steven joined the Navy it was … well, I was the only one left at home and Daddy and I … let’s just say we don’t get on. He had marginally more time for Steven, being the boy, though not much. I wanted to go and that was what was on offer.’

‘What about your mother?’ Maryann asked. It was the first time they had heard Dot open up at all about her family. Apart from her brother Steven, who she was obviously close to, she normally dismissed the others as, ‘oh, the normal, sort of thing’.

‘Mummy died when I was thirteen.’ She turned her cup round and round on the table without looking up.

‘Oh, poor you!’ Sylvia cried.

Dot talked on rapidly, as if suddenly resolved to let some of it out. ‘After that there were housekeepers. Steven and I called them the housemice. Misfits, of course. They always are, people like that. Why else would they take on someone else’s family? Same thing with the matrons at school – a succession of the crossed in love, the unmarriageable, the widowed and the barmy – we had them all.’ There was a satirical, almost harsh edge to her voice now. ‘There was a Miss Gateley, who came to look after Steven and me one summer. She was about fifty and had been working somewhere in Africa. Well, she went down with a frightful dose of malaria and was no use to anyone for days on end! Daddy was furious. He doesn’t believe in people being ill. And Mrs Longford – her husband had hanged himself and left her with no money, and she kept taking some sort of medicine all the time and barely ever seemed to be awake. Once I went into her room and she was injecting something into her arm … Oh, and there was a Miss Peters. She was tremendously odd – obsessed with birds. She kept the windows open and fed them crusts – she’d have pigeons flying in and out messing on everything…’

Maryann listened, astonished. This was not how she had pictured Dot’s life in the country at all. And how strange she was, speaking about sad things in that offhand, almost contemptuous way. She really couldn’t understand Dot at all.

‘Dear oh dear,’ Sylvia gave a horrified laugh. ‘I do hope they’re not all like that where Kay and Dickie are! Didn’t you have any other relatives who could have come and helped?’

Dot gave her a scornful look from under her dark brows. ‘Help? God no – we’re not that sort of family.’

There was a silence, as if suddenly the conversation could go no further and they sipped their cocoa. Then Sylvia said hesitantly,

‘Maryann – I wondered … I hesitate to mention it and I hope you won’t think this rude…?

‘What?’ Maryann frowned.

‘It’s just that – you are able to read and write, aren’t you? I mean I’ve seen you reading the clearance papers…’

‘Course I can read and write!’ Maryann said indignantly. ‘I went to school, you know! I’m not stupid.’

‘Of
course
you’re not. But it’s your children I’m thinking of. Have they never had any schooling?’

Maryann looked down, ashamed. ‘No. Only what I can teach them – and that’s not much when there’s no time to catch your breath.’ She was ashamed, somewhere in her mind, of her children’s lack of education, but there was so little time to give it any attention. And here on the cut, where no one’s children went to school for more than the odd day at a time or learned more than the very basics, it didn’t seem to matter all that much. Being a ‘scholar’ who could read and add up numbers was unusual. To get by in this life there were other, more important things to learn.