The Boat Girls by Margaret Mayhew Read Free Book Online Page A

sunny recruitment picture and of her imagination – more a trough of scummy water bordered by scrubland, cinders and mud. She also had her first view of the narrowboats.
    They were moored by their sterns to a long concrete wharf, tied with ropes to iron rings and packed together so neatly and closely that it looked easy to walk all the way across the row, from one to the next. The magazine picture had only shown a part of a boat but now she could see the whole. They were not only very narrow, they were also very long and painted in bright fairground colours with highly polished brass trimmings. Smoke curled up from chimney pipes, washing was pegged out to dry on lines rigged across empty holds and, ashore on the wharf, women in long black skirts, with shawls and scarves over their heads, were scrubbing away in zinc tubs. A man stood smoking a pipe on the stern of one boat and ragged children were playing a noisy game on the wharf, screaming and running about, mongrel dogs barking at their heels. They all looked like gypsies.
    Years ago, when Frances had been nine, gypsies had trespassed at Averton. They had set up camp in a clearing in the woods, close to a stream, andshe had ridden by on her pony and spied on them from behind a tree. Spied on the dark-skinned, black-haired people in strange clothes with their painted caravans, skewbald horses, chickens and goats and lurcher dogs, the big black kettle suspended on a hook over a wood fire. She’d watched for some time, her heart thudding with a fearful fascination. If they saw her, they might catch her and carry her off against her will to live with them for ever.
    She’s gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies, O!
    Her pony had whinnied at the horses and one of the men who was standing by the fire, smoking a pipe, had turned, caught sight of her and smiled. She’d been hypnotized by his handsome looks and by his smile and by the golden hoop in his ear and the red scarf knotted round his neck. He’d beckoned to her and she’d got off her pony and walked towards him as if drawn by invisible silken threads. Close to, he had been even more handsome. Glossy black hair, dark eyes, teeth gleaming as he smiled and beckoned. The other gypsies had fallen silent, staring as she had followed him up the wooden steps into one of the pretty crimson and green caravans.
    My mother said
    I never should
    Play with the gypsies in the wood . . .
    A woman had been sitting inside, stirring something in a pot on an iron stove. She’d worn long black skirts, a yellow shawl and a purple silk scarf tied round her head; there had been golden earrings in both her ears and golden bracelets on her wrist. Her eyes were black as sloes and she’d talked in a strange language as she’d showed Frances the flowers painted over the woodwork, the bunk bed with its patchwork cover, the gingham curtains at the little window above. She’d opened cupboards and then a big locker under the bed, motioning to her to bend down to look inside, just like the witch in
Hansel and Gretel
. Given her a push.
    She’d fled in terror from the caravan, bursting out of the doorway, down the steps, past the man, scrambled onto her pony and galloped away.
    The memory still haunted her; still made her heart thud faster; still fascinated and frightened her, both together. And she still dreamed of her dark and smiling gypsy.
    After a moment, she collected herself and started down the slope towards the wharf.
    When she reached the boats, she could see that there were pictures painted on them – pictures of fairy-tale castles, of trees and rivers and mountains – and patterns of hearts and roses and diamond shapes. The company initials GUCCC were written along the sides and the number andname on the sterns:
Andromeda
,
Auriga
,
Delphinus
,
Libra
,
Pegasus
,
Polaris
. . . all constellations, unless she was mistaken. As she walked along the wharf, searching for
Cetus
and
Aquila
, the women looked