The Boat Girls by Margaret Mayhew Read Free Book Online

won’t be much room for storage on board. You’ll need some bedding, towels and sensible clothes . . . thick jerseys, a waterproof jacket, warm socks, stout shoes, and a good strong leather belt, if you have one. I don’t suppose you happen to have trousers of any kind?’
    Frances caught the train home. Aunt Gertrude had already moved down to Averton and helped her assemble the sensible clothes. There was the dark-blue guernsey that she’d worn sailing and Vere’s school trunk up in the attics produced old skiing trousers, a cricketing sweater and some thick grey woollen socks, while she still had most of her old school clothes – a belted gaberdine raincoat, Viyella blouses, striped pyjamas, Chilprufe vests and a pair of brown lace-up walking shoes. It was all serviceable and undeniably sensible. Some more ferreting round the attics unearthed a canvas kitbag from her father’s army days and a padded sleeping bag of Vere’s from his scouting ones. There were plenty of towels in the airing cupboard and she raided spare-room beds for a blanket and a pillow, and snaffled a leather belt from Vere’s chest of drawers, punching an extra hole in it with a kitchen skewer to make it fit.
    Aunt Gertrude gave her the keys to her London flat so that she could stay the night there before travelling out to Southall. ‘I gave Vere a set as well so he could use it if he wanted whenever he’s in London.’
    â€˜Well, I hope he doesn’t turn up while I’m there. He’ll throw a fit when he hears what I’m doing.’
    â€˜I shouldn’t worry too much. Your father seems to approve.’
    Approval didn’t exactly describe Papa’s reaction to the news. He had barely listened when she’d told him, his attention being entirely fixed on a new orchid that he had acquired.
    â€˜
Stanhopea tigrina –
gold and blood-red six-inch flowers with a very strong scent. Very special, don’t you agree?’
    â€˜Yes, it’s lovely.’ She had marvelled politely at the dormant, flowerless thing in its pot. ‘You think it’s a good idea, then, Papa?’
    â€˜What idea?’
    â€˜For me to go and do war work on canal boats . . . like I just said.’
    He was examining his new possession intently from all angles. ‘Yes, I should think so. You like boats, don’t you?’
    â€˜Aunt Gertrude will be staying here – to keep you company.’
    â€˜So she will. That’s good.’
    To her relief, Vere didn’t arrive at the London flat – the ground floor of a house only a stone’s throw from Harrods – and she had the place to herself. Rather disappointingly, there was no air raid that night – nothing at all to disturb the peace except some drunken American servicemen stumbling about in the blackout and swearing loudly.
    In the morning, as instructed, she caught a suburban-line train out to Southall, complete with her kitbag and a bundle of bedding tied up with rope. It was a cold three-mile walk to the depot at Bulls Bridge and she carried the kitbag over her shoulder and the bundle clutched in one hand. The kitbag kept slipping off and the bedding kept tripping her up. At the depot she found corrugated iron sheds and brick buildings, offices and workshops, boiler-suited men hurrying about. There was no sign whatever of any canal. One of the workmen directed her to a door marked Enquiries, and she sat on a bench in a room for a long time until a man appeared to tell her that she’d find Miss Rowan down at something called the lay-by.
    â€˜You’ll see a row of boats tied up at the wharf. Hers are
Cetus
and
Aquila
. She’ll be there.’
    She followed the directions given and lugged her luggage past more sheds and buildings and out across a big yard and on and on, arms aching,until she saw the canal for the first time. It lay before her. Not exactly the willow-lined, sparkling waterway of the