She reached the
Lucky Lady
well inside the time limit she had been set and jumped aboard, throwing her holdall ahead of her. The barge had now moved up into second place and Nat greeted her with obvious relief. He was a short, stocky man, probably in his late thirties or early forties, Lottie guessed, with coarse straw-coloured hair which stood up like a coxcomb on his round head, very bright blue eyes and a gap-toothed grin. But his face was friendly and cheerful and already he seemed well disposed towards her. ‘Good gal. We’ll be loadin’ in ten or fifteen minutes an’ I’ll be downright glad of a bit of help,’ he said in a strong Liverpudlian accent. ‘Me wife’s a good deal younger’n me an’ I reckon every bit as strong. Did old Betsy tell you what were up wi’ Mrs Trett?’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Nathaniel Trett, by the way, but you can call me Nat; everybody does. How d’you do?’
‘I’m Lottie Lacey and no one’s told me anything about Mrs Trett, save that she was taken ill in Liverpool,’ Lottie said, shaking his proffered hand. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious?’
Nat chuckled. ‘She’s havin’ a baby,’ he said proudly. ‘She wanted to have it aboard the barge, but I were happier when she agreed to go into hospital. She’s a fine healthy gal, but it’s her first, you know, so I reckoned she were better with a doctor to hand.’
‘That’s a coincidence,’ Lottie said, smiling at him. ‘My friend – the girl you saw me with earlier – is expecting a baby any day now. In fact I’m hoping that it may have arrived by the time I get back to Leeds.’
‘Well, even if the missus brings the baby back on board when we dock in the ‘Pool, I dare say we’d be glad of your help on our return journey,’ Nat said hopefully. ‘I reckon the kid will take up most of her time, so if you’re wantin’ to return to Leeds, we’d be glad to bring you.’
‘Thanks very much; I may be grateful for another lift,’ Lottie said. ‘What do want me to do, Mr . . . I mean, Nat? I’ve been working in a bakery so I’m pretty strong, even if I don’t look it.’
The boat in front of them, now fully laden, began to move away and Nat, who had come up to the prow when Lottie jumped aboard, hastily returned to the tiller at the rear of the boat, and gestured to a bystander to give him a hand getting it into position for loading. ‘You’ll find a tiny rear cabin; put your gear in there,’ he shouted to Lottie. ‘There’s blankets and a bit of a piller in there already ’cos we take on extra help from time to time. You’ll be snug enough when we stop for the night. Ever tacked up a barge horse?’
Lottie hesitated. Had she ever tacked up any sort of horse? She was almost sure she had at least helped to do so, but no use to say she could and then discover she couldn’t; better to be frank. ‘I’ve not done it for ages,’ she called back. ‘Maybe you’d better come along and make sure I’m doing it right.’
Nat frowned. ‘I dunno why I asked you that,’ he said, as he jumped ashore and began to tie the mooring rope round a handy bollard. ‘Betsy never said you were a canal girl . . . well, you ain’t, or I’d know you, so why should I think you might be able to tack up a horse?’
‘My gran has a barge and I think I probably helped her from time to time when I was small,’ Lottie said guardedly. ‘I wonder if you know her? Her name’s . . .’
But Nat was beginning to load the boat with the help of two or three men who had been standing by. Instructions were being shouted, boxes moved so that the boat rode the water evenly, and in the general hubbub Lottie’s remark went unregarded. Indeed, she was soon pressed into service so she had no further chance to ask Nat whether he knew Mrs Olly until the pair of them were heading for the stables, when it was actually Nat who brought the subject up. ‘You said your gran were a bargee, didn’t you?’ he enquired. ‘What were the name again?’
‘Mrs Olly,’ Lottie said briefly. She had thought the work in the bakery hard but realised now that loading a barge was harder. She ached in every limb and was longing to be able to sit down and relax, preferably over a nice hot cup of tea. ‘I don’t know the name of her boat, or what goods she carries, but the horse she had when I was small was a great old black called Champ.’
Nat’s brow cleared. ‘Oh, yes, Mrs Olly. Course I know her; nice old body. Gorra grandson what helps with the boat, and the boat’s called the
Girl Sassy
. They take mixed goods, groceries and such, from village to village, all the way from Liverpool to Leeds and back. You’ve heard about her accident, of course.’
Lottie’s heart, which had leapt with excitement and joy, abruptly descended into her boots. ‘An – an accident?’ she faltered. ‘No, I’ve not heard about any accident. We – we lost touch years ago – it’s a long story – so I’ve had no news of her, save gossip. Was she much hurt?’
Nat looked embarrassed. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, then replied hesitantly. ‘Last I heard, she were real bad. They took her into hospital. I’m not sure what happened after that ’cos once a body leaves the canal there’s no one to pass on the news. But the
Girl Sassy
will be laid up somewhere. I’ve not seen her these past six, eight weeks. The lad couldn’t manage her alone, I reckon, and anyways, he’ll want to be with his gran while she’s so poorly.’
Lottie stared at him, her eyes round with dread. ‘She’s – she’s not dead, is she?’ she asked in a trembling voice. ‘Oh, Nat, don’t say she’s died before I’ve had a chance to explain.’
Nat gripped her shoulder reassuringly. ‘I ain’t heard no word to that effect, but o’course she’s an old lady and the accident, from what I’ve heard, were real nasty. She were goin’ ashore at one of the villages, half on and half off, if you understand me, when she slipped on some ice and fell into the water. The boat swung and crushed her against the quay; it’s a bad thing to happen to a man in his full strength, lerralone an old lady. But now you know a bit more detail, you can ask for news from every boat we pass.’
‘I’ll do that, and thanks so much, Nat,’ Lottie said as they entered the stables. ‘I hope to God she’s still alive because I must explain what happened to me years ago.’
‘You’ll have to tell me an’ all,’ Nat observed, beginning to get the horse’s tackle down from the hooks. ‘There’s nothin’ like a good story when you’re snugged down for the night, with a hot meal inside you and the wind howlin’ round the barge.’ He began to ease the head collar over the animal’s muzzle. ‘Now watch what I do, then you’ll have some idea, so if you’re called on to tack him up yourself, you’ll mebbe only make half a dozen mistakes.’ He chuckled at his own words, but even as he spoke he was working on the horse, and Lottie, looking on, knew that she had seen someone doing this before; had helped, small though she had been. It’s coming back, she thought to herself, as she and Nat, one on either side of the enormous bay horse, returned to the
Lucky Lady
. I’m remembering, just as I thought I would.
‘I’ll take the tiller and you can lead old George here,’ Nat said as they reached the boat. ‘There’s nothing to leading the horse while we’re in built-up surroundings, but once we get into the country he’ll mebbe want to crop the grass on the towpath so then we’ll put his nosebag on. But right now you should be able to manage him, and as soon as we’re clear of the city I’ll moor up so we can have a mug o’ tea and a jam butty.’
Later that evening, when Nat decided they had gone far enough, they stabled the horse and Lottie cleaned vegetables and cooked them over the bright little stove in the cabin. She mashed a quantity of fine big potatoes with a knob of butter, then opened a tin of corned beef and mixed that into the potato. She served the food into two dishes, adding some of the carrots and swede which she had cooked after finding them in one of the cabin cupboards. Nat’s eyes glistened when he saw the food. ‘Honest to God, I’ve not seen a decent hot meal since I left Mrs Trett in hospital, and that looks real grand,’ he said appreciatively. ‘Corned beef hash is one o’ me favourites. Now I’ve a bottle of Flag sauce and a jar of pickled onions stowed away under the seat to your right. Fetch ’em out an’ we’ll have ourselves a real feast.’
‘I don’t know how you managed on the way to Leeds without your wife to give a hand,’ Lottie said as they finished their meal. ‘Who got the food ready, sorted the fire, boiled the kettle and so on?’
Nat pulled a wry face. ‘No one did, mostly. I had a lad along to help but the fire were out a deal of the time and we made do with cheese sandwiches and water,’ he told her. ‘The boy were only nine. He’d got left with his gran in Burscough, to give her a hand like, ’cos she’d not been too well, but as soon as she improved he wanted a lift back to his mam and dad’s boat.’ He grinned at Lottie. ‘It were a bit of luck for me, ’cos wi’out him I’d ha’ been hard pressed.’
‘And what about the journey back from Leeds to Liverpool?’ Lottie enquired. ‘I don’t see how you could have managed alone.’
Nat’s grin broadened. ‘I’d have had to hire someone, an’ even a lad costs,’ he admitted. ‘I put the word about that I’d need someone to give a hand, so you were a real bonus. You see, us bargees ain’t exactly overpaid for the work we do. In fact, we couldn’t carry on if it weren’t for our famblies. They’s unpaid labour like, so when someone falls ill it’s short commons an’ hard times all round.’
‘I see,’ Lottie said slowly. ‘Then why do you do it? I mean, there must be easier ways of earning a living.’
Nat snorted. ‘Haven’t you heard of the Slump?’ he asked. ‘The newspapers say it’s the start of a depression, whatever that may mean. But we mostly own our boats, and when you come down to it, it’s all we know. Besides, it’s a free sort of life. We comes and goes at our own speed and as you’ll see, we travels through some rare fine country. I admit there’s times when it’s a bit hand to mouth – in winter ’specially – but there’s other times, summer and autumn mostly, when there’s free food on every side. Blackberries, wild apples, nuts, besides rabbits and hedgehogs for the pot. And farmers aren’t a bad lot; they’ll sell us fresh milk, spuds, all sorts, a deal cheaper than in the shops, and turn a blind eye to us diggin’ up a couple o’ turnips, or the odd swede.’ Nat settled himself comfortably into his seat and beamed at his companion. ‘And now, young lady, it’s your turn. Tell me what brought you to the canal after so long, and how you come to lose touch with old Mrs Olly.’
Chapter Sixteen
Although the weather in Leeds had been cold, it grew warmer as the barge moved onward. Lottie chafed at the slow speed of the
Lucky Lady
, but felt a little better when a fat and friendly barge woman, met in a village shop, told her that Gran had been taken to the Northern Hospital in Liverpool. ‘It’s a grand place, so it is,’ she assured Lottie. ‘There’s many a bargee been taken in there after a nasty fall, what’s come out right as rain a week or so later. Did you say she were your gran, pet? I disremember her havin’ more than the one child, and I never heered Troy had a sister.’
‘She’s my adopted gran,’ Lottie admitted rather breathlessly. She and Nat were delivering a box of margarine and two sacks of flour to the shop, and the goods were very heavy. ‘My mam works in the theatre and couldn’t look after me, so she handed me over to Gran – Mrs Olly, I mean – and she brought me up until I was six or seven. Can you tell me how to reach this hospital?’
The old barge woman laughed, but shook her head. ‘Not I, pet. But the moment you reach Liverpool there’s a dozen folk what’ll put you on the right road. Oh aye, they all know the hospital, don’t you fret.’
That night Nat bought a rabbit from a man with a lurcher, and Lottie made rabbit stew, the smell of which made her think nostalgically of Gran’s wonderful cooking. Nat had opened up a potato clamp and taken half a dozen splendid spuds, so the meal would be a satisfying one, though Nat had been guilt-stricken and vowed to pay the farmer back on their return journey. ‘But the weather’s too foul tonight to go searchin’ out a farm just to hand over a few pennies,’ he said. ‘Thank God we’ve done the Bingley Five Rise; it were no joke at the time but it’ud be a deal worse in heavy rain.’
‘Is it raining?’ Lottie asked, for she had been in the cabin ever since they had moored up.
Nat chuckled, and when the kettle boiled began to make the tea. ‘It’s pourin’ down, but up here in the high Pennines you can get all sorts,’ he observed. He grinned at her. ‘Before you know it, we’ll be seein’ the dear old Mersey glintin’ in the sun and I’ll be admirin’ me new son or daughter. They say some women have trouble birthin’ their first child but I’m hopin’ Mrs Trett’ll be like her mam; she had eleven children, easy as poddin’ peas, the missus told me.’
The remark made Lottie think of Merle and she said as much to her companion. ‘But I don’t know when Merle’s due, so no point worrying,’ she finished.
She was sleeping in the tiny rear cabin, and when she settled down for the night she thought again of Merle and of the imminent birth. Unlike most of her friends, Lottie had no younger brothers and sisters, and had not realised until Nat had put his feelings into words that a first baby was any different from a tenth. But she pulled the blankets up round her ears, knowing that she could do nothing to help Merle now.
Sighing, she told herself that the instant she had found Gran and explained about her accident, she would borrow money from someone and catch a fast train back to Leeds. Having gone over and over what she should do, this seemed the most sensible course, though she was aware that Nat would not agree, and presently she fell asleep, to dream of babies, theatres and canal boats all night long.