The River Folk (36 page)

Lizzie didn’t think she had ever paddled so furiously in her life. As she passed by the shipyard where Tolly now worked, she saw him waving to her from the bank. She sculled nearer and shouted to him. ‘Can’t stop. I’m late catching up with me dad. See you tomorrow. We’ll be back then.’

Even from a distance, she could see the disappointment on his face, but he waved and smiled. ‘See you then, Lizzie.’

When at last she caught up with the
Maid Mary Ann
, she was sweating both with the effort and with fear that her father would ask awkward questions.

Lizzie was a very honest girl and would only bend the truth a little if it was to save another’s feelings. She would never lie to protect herself. Now, it was her father whom she wished to protect. Instinctively, after what her grandmother had said, she knew he would not be happy that she had spent time in the company of Lawrence Marsh. Deciding that it was best to stick to the truth as near as she could, even if it was not the whole truth, Lizzie said, ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I fell asleep.’

‘Asleep?’

‘It was so warm in the sun when I’d finished the washing, I just sat down and next thing I knew I was waking up without any idea of how long I’d slept. I am sorry.’

Dan was smiling at her now and saying, teasingly, ‘Am I supposed to believe that, you little minx? I expect you’ve been talking to Tolly, eh? Now just you be careful.’ He tapped her lightly on her nose. ‘Don’t you go getting that lad the sack if he’s seen talking to you when he should be working.’

Lizzie grinned up at her father. ‘No, Dad, I won’t.’

‘You can hang the washing in the hold, Lizzie. There’s room this trip.’

As Lizzie went forward and down into the hold to string lines from one side to the other, she breathed a sigh of relief. Then she opened two or three hatch boards fore and aft so that, as the ship moved forwards, the breeze would dry her lines of washing.

Her father had never minded Lizzie spending time with Tolly and, as long as she caused no trouble for Tolly at his place of work, it seemed Dan still had no objection. She wondered, though, just what his reaction would be if he knew with whom she really had been.

Three times during the week that followed, Lawrence found her. Once, at the wash-house again and twice, as she sculled down the river, he appeared, on his bicycle, on the bank.

‘Are you following me, sir?’ she teased as her cog boat, the full-sized one now of course, bumped gently against the muddy bank.

Lawrence smiled. ‘Yes.’

Lizzie laughed, delighting in his boldness that held no hint of apology or explanation.

He dismounted and slithered down the bank.

‘You’ll get muddy,’ she warned, but took the hand he held out to her as they scrambled back up the steep slope.

‘Now you look a real river urchin, just like me,’ she told him.

‘But not half as pretty,’ he said gallantly. Then his teasing manner sobered as he added, ‘Lizzie, I’m going away tomorrow. Back to school.’

‘I thought you’d left. I mean, it’s term time now, so why have you been at home?’

‘The school got bombed and we were all sent home. But now they’ve fixed up some temporary accommodation, so we’ve got to go back. But I’ll be home again at the end of July, for six weeks then. So,’ he said, without any of the usual hesitance in a youth of his age, ‘I’ll see you then.’

A teasing retort sprang to her lips. She almost said, ‘Not if I see you first,’ but suddenly she realized that she wanted, more than anything, to see him again.

Lawrence reached out and touched her face, leaving a streak of mud on her cheek. ‘You will take care of yourself, won’t you? I mean, no going off in your father’s ship to rescue soldiers.’

She pulled a wry face. ‘I wasn’t allowed to go last time.’

‘But you would have gone, wouldn’t you, if they had let you?’

Without hesitation, she nodded. ‘Oh yes, I would.’

‘I thought as much. See, I was right. So, I’m asking you, please take care. The bombing’s going to get worse, you know.’

‘It sounds as if it’s you that ought to take care, in case they bomb your school again. Was anyone hurt?’

Lawrence shook his head. ‘Not seriously. They’d had some very good shelters built in the grounds and we’d all crowded into them.’

There was a pause and they stood looking at each other until Lawrence said, ‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to go.’

‘So will I,’ Lizzie said, but neither of them made a move.

‘I’ll see you, then. Can I write to you?’

Lizzie thought quickly. ‘Best not,’ she said and pulled an apologetic face. ‘We move about such a lot, you know.’ There was only Waterman’s Yard as a permanent address for her, and her grandmother was bound to ask questions. Swiftly, Lizzie added, ‘Besides, it’s only a few weeks until the end of July. You’ll soon be home again.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lawrence agreed, but the expression on his face seemed to mirror her own feeling that it still seemed an awfully long time. Aloud he said, ‘I’ll see you then.’

‘Right. I ought to be going, too.’

Still, neither of them moved. Then he came towards her, put his arms about her and bent his head to kiss her firmly on the mouth. Surprised, Lizzie gasped. For a youth of only sixteen, he seemed amazingly experienced.

He released her, stepped back and picked up his bicycle. Throwing his leg over the cross bar, he paused a moment to look at her, then he gave a quick nod and began to pedal away. When he reached the far side of the meadow, just before disappearing amongst the trees, he braked, turned and waved once more to her.

Lizzie, standing motionless where he had left her, her fingers against her lips, now raised her hand in return.

At the end of July, Lawrence came home for the school holidays. He was waiting for her outside the wash-house as she sculled from the ship to the wooden landing on the riverbank. Fearfully, Lizzie glanced back to see if her father had seen him, but Dan had gone below to see to the engine.

‘How are you? Oh, it’s good to see you again, Lizzie. I’ve missed you. Is everyone all right? All your family?’

‘Here . . .’ Playfully, she thrust the heavy basket of washing at him. ‘You can make yourself useful and carry this.’ Then she marched ahead of him to the safety of the wash-house in case her father should reappear on deck.

‘So?’ he asked again. ‘How have you been?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

To Lizzie’s surprise, Lawrence removed his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves and said, ‘Now, what can I do to help?’

Later, as they were walking through the cool shade of the wood, they heard the drone of aircraft overhead. Lawrence stood very still, listening intently. After a moment, he said, ‘It’s all right, they’re ours.’

Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘Can you tell just by listening to them?’

‘Oh yes. The enemy planes sound very different. Those are British bombers, all right. That’s what I’d like to be in when I join up. I want to go into the RAF and train to be a pilot.’

Softly, Lizzie said, ‘Then it will be me telling you to take care of yourself, won’t it?’

‘I s-saw you. I saw you w-with him.’

Tolly’s face was a mixture of hurt and anger and anxiety for her.

Lizzie glanced at him, noticing that his stammer was always more pronounced when he was upset or angry.

She almost said, ‘Who?’ but that would have been silly. She knew very well whom he meant.

‘So?’ she said, resentful at his intrusion. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

The hurt on his face deepened. ‘I’m s-sorry,’ he mumbled and turned away. At once contrite, Lizzie grabbed his arm. ‘No, it’s me who should be sorry. I know you’re only thinking of me. Sorry, Tolly.’

‘He’ll only hurt you, Lizzie. He . . . he’s not for you.’

‘But he’s nice, Tolly. I’m sure you’d like him if only you met him.’

Tolly gave a rueful grin. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Why do you say that? You don’t even know him.’

‘I know enough about him. If he’s anything like his father—’

‘You shouldn’t judge him by the name his father has got,’ Lizzie cut in angrily.

Tolly looked at her strangely. He shook his head slightly. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’

‘Know what?’

‘About . . . about his father and your mother.’

‘His . . .? My . . .?’ she faltered, her eyes widening.

‘Before she married your father, there were rumours that she . . . she was involved with Randolph Marsh. She . . . she worked at The Hall then.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘M-my mother told me.’

‘And how does
she
know?’

Embarrassed, Tolly looked away. ‘She’s very bitter about your father marrying your mother.’

Lizzie said nothing now, but the question was in her eyes.

‘My mother was walking out with your father and he threw her over to marry Mary Ann.’ Tolly moved nearer to her and tried to take her hands in his, but she snatched them away. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I thought you knew.’

‘No,’ Lizzie said slowly. ‘It’s evidently a big family secret.’ Her mind was whirling and the terror which she tried to keep locked away – that her father had had something to do with her mother’s disappearance – was pushing its unwelcome way to the forefront of her mind. Was that another terrible family secret?

Lizzie sat down on the bank and Tolly dropped beside her. She plucked absent-mindedly at the grass, her thoughts reeling. Clinging to a desperate hope, she said, ‘If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?’

‘’Course I will.’

‘And will you also promise to tell no one that I’ve asked you such a thing?’

Tolly nodded.

The question that she had longed to ask for such a long time, but had never dared to voice before, came haltingly. ‘Do . . . do you know what happened to my mother?’

His eyes full of compassion, Tolly shook his head. ‘I don’t think anybody really knows. There’s always been a lot of talk, of course.’

‘Has there?’ None of it had ever reached her ears. Had the family protected her yet again, shielding her from the gossip? The only thing that had ever occurred – and she could never forget it – had been the cruel teasing at school. And then she had been quickly removed from its influence.

Tolly volunteered no more, so she prompted. ‘What did they say?’

He shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. That she’d run off with someone. That . . . that she’d drowned that night in the river.’

Lizzie shuddered. That was her biggest fear, for if it were true, then her father had been involved in some way, maybe innocently, but he had been there.

Tentatively, Tolly put his arm around her and when she did not throw him off, he held her close. ‘Oh Lizzie, I’m sorry. But you do see now, don’t you, how it would hurt your family to know that you were – well – meeting Lawrence Marsh?’

‘We’re only friends,’ she murmured, but immediately in her mind’s eye was his face – a face she knew already so intimately.

‘You’re going to go on seeing him, then?’

‘It’s not fair to judge him by his father,’ she burst out angrily again and, before she could stop herself, she added, ‘Can you be blamed for what your father does?’

Tolly looked as if she had physically slapped him in the face and immediately, she said again, ‘Oh Tolly, I’m sorry.’ She touched his face with her hand and he put his own over the top of it and held it, pressed to his cheek.

‘You’re right, of course,’ he whispered. ‘But I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I couldn’t bear it if . . .’ He turned his head away from her and his voice was muffled as he added, ‘If he ever hurt you. If he does, he’ll have me to reckon with. And you can tell him that.’ Then, with a sudden, coltish movement, Tolly kissed her. It was a clumsy, boyish bump against her cheek, rather than a kiss and, pulling back, his face flushed, he mumbled, ‘Sorry.’

Before she could say a word, he scrambled to his feet and stumbled away.

As the months went by, trade returned slowly to the River Trent and now the
Maid Mary Ann
was as busy as she ever had been. The Humberside ports were prime targets for enemy bombers, and stocks of food and other goods were moved to inland ports. The warehouses along the Trent, and particularly those at Elsborough, soon became storehouses for food and other essential items.

The engineering works in the town now produced the weapons of war.

‘Do you know,’ Lawrence told Lizzie excitedly, ‘one of the firms in our town is building a gunner’s turret that’s going to be used on bombers?’

And, quite separately, Tolly said, ‘We’re working continuous shifts at the shipyard now, building barges and small coasters.’

In the town, the queues, caused by food rationing, grew longer.

‘There’s a British Restaurant opening in town,’ Bessie told Lizzie, ‘but they say the meat they use is whalemeat.’ She pulled a face. ‘Reckon I’ll stick to fish and chips from our chippy. At least they haven’t rationed that yet.’

It wasn’t until 1941 that Elsborough got its own real taste of the Blitz, and bombs fell quite close to Waterman’s Yard, but, thankfully, never in it. The Ruddick family had one narrow escape however. Aboard the
Maid Mary Ann
, Dan and Lizzie were approaching the town to moor at Miller’s Wharf when a bomb fell into the river a hundred yards or so ahead of them. Dan stopped the engine as the swell of the ripples reached them.

‘I’m going to drop anchor right here, Lizzie,’ Dan said. ‘I’m not going to risk going over that. We’ll wait until morning.’

They waited through the night, but no explosion occurred. Only at daylight did they, very gingerly, dare to proceed to the wharf, holding their breath, as they sailed over the place where the bomb had fallen.

‘I expect it’s buried itself deep in the mud.’

‘Will it explode?’ Lizzie asked, leaning over the side to look into the murky water.

‘Who knows?’ was all Dan could say. ‘It’s a risk we’ll all have to take.’

In May, enemy bombers dropped their bombs on a village on the Nottinghamshire side of the Trent. Speculation as to the reason for this was varied. Some believed that the enemy aircraft had seen the short stretch of light-coloured dual carriageway that ran through the village shining in the moonlight and had thought it to be the river. Accordingly, they had dropped their bombs on to farmland and isolated houses, believing that they were targeting the Elsborough factories. Others thought that the bombers had followed the railway line to the village and, when this disappeared abruptly, had calculated that they must be over an industrial area. Dropping incendiaries to illuminate the zone, they had accidentally ignited a dry gorse fox covert and, thinking they had hit something big, had then dropped their ‘heavies’. But one ARP Warden on duty in Elsborough that brilliant, moonlit night insisted that he had seen an enemy pathfinder circling over the town and that an RAF night fighter had pursued it westwards over the River Trent. The enemy aircraft had then jettisoned its incendiary bombs, which resulted in the fires that led the larger force of enemy aircraft arriving later to bomb the burning area.