Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 44

STRIDING ALONG THE ship’s deck, John made a handsome figure. Taller than when he had first joined the Merchant Navy, he had filled out to become a man of substance. His dark hair was longer; his skin browned by the changing of seasons in the two years and more that he had travelled the high seas. Now, back in Liverpool docks, with money in his pocket and a considerable sum put by, he showed a confidence that had grown with every pay-packet.

‘Where might you be off to, looking so full of yourself?’ Leaning over the railings, the fat, bearded Captain puffed on his pipe and gave John a wink. ‘From the look on your face, I’d say there was a woman involved somewhere along the way?’ He gave another, cheekier wink. ‘Is she worth it? That’s what you need to ask yourself.’

John’s rich blue eyes lit up. ‘Oh, she’s worth it all right, sir,’ he answered happily. ‘And I can’t wait to see her again.’ To hold Emily in his arms and to see her face when he showed her the cache of hard-earned money that would rid her of Clem Jackson forever – it was all he had dreamed of these past two years and more. A shadow crossed his mind as he wondered why he had never received any replies to his letters; he shivered, and it disappeared.

‘Well, I for one am sorry to see you go, young fella, and that’s a fact. You’re a better worker than most, and you don’t cause trouble. That’s the kind of a man I like on my ship.’

John thanked him. ‘I’m not a natural sailor,’ he admitted. ‘I prefer the solid earth beneath my feet.’

‘Maybe you do, son. But the earth can give way beneath your feet as well as any ship. You take it from me.’ The Captain had lived a long time and learned many things that made him thankful to live out his life in the middle of the oceans. ‘Besides, on board a ship you come to know your enemies. I can’t say the same for the big wide world, where you never know who’s creeping up on you – or from which direction.’

‘I dare say you’re right.’ During his time aboard, John had come to like and respect this old tar. ‘But I’m willing to take my chances.’

‘Hmh! She really must be worth it then.’

‘She is.’

‘Best o’ luck then, son.’

‘Thank you, sir, and the same to you.’ Eager now to be gone, John bade the Captain goodbye. ‘I’d best be on my way. I’ve a considerable journey to make yet.’ That particular journey was long overdue, and he was desperately impatient to see Emily.

Sucking on his old pipe, the Captain joked, ‘A few days with your little woman, and you’ll be ready for off again.’

John shook his head. ‘Sorry, but I’ll be staying put this time round.’

The Captain pondered on that. ‘Oh, but that’s what they all say, and they always come back, for one reason or another.’ He gave another of his cheeky winks. ‘I’ve an idea you’ll be coming with us next time round. And don’t forget, I always like to turn around inside a month, so I hope to be away by the first week in April. I’d like to take you with me. What d’you say?’

‘Nothing doing, Captain,’ John assured him. ‘You see, I’ve a wedding to go to.’

‘A wedding, eh? Still, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind seeing you off for a while, especially if I up your wages?’

John thanked him, but, ‘No offence, sir, but I wouldn’t care if I never saw a ship’s deck again. I’m happiest with my two feet on dry land, the rabbits in my sights, and the sound of birdsong in my ears.’

The Captain laughed. ‘A country lad at heart, more’s the pity.’

Smiling up at him, John doffed his seaman’s cap, which he then threw into the air, laughing aloud as it splashed into the sea. ‘Thanks for everything,’ he called, quickening his steps. ‘Fair weather and good luck to you and your ship.’

Behind him, the Captain waved. ‘We’ll still be here if you change your mind!’ he called. But John was already out of earshot, running like the wind along the quayside and his heart tapping out a dance inside his chest. ‘I’m home, Emily!’ he murmured. ‘I’ve come back for you. Just like I promised.’

First stop was the quayside barber’s for a shave. After that a visit to the local tailor’s for a new set of clothes.

‘My shoes will have to do,’ John told the lanky assistant, ‘but I’ll need everything else from top to bottom.’ He didn’t intend going back to Emily looking like some tramp off the streets. ‘I don’t want to be spending all my savings on clothes,’ he warned, ‘but I’ll not be wanting rubbish neither.’

The assistant gave him a thin smile. ‘Follow me, sir. I’ll have you fixed up in no time at all.’ He led John to the back shelves, where a multitude of shirts, collars and cravats were all arranged in neat piles. ‘You’ll not find better anywhere,’ he declared with pride. ‘What size are you, sir?’

He then swept his arm to encompass another wall where hung a selection of jackets in every size and shape. ‘Try them on,’ he suggested. ‘You’re bound to find one to fit. The mirror is there, on the wall.’ Pointing to the four large drawers beneath the shelves, he added, ‘I shall find whatever else you need in those drawers there.’

With that he produced his measuring tape with a flourish and gazed critically at John’s garments.

It wasn’t long before John was holding a parcel, neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, knotted into a helpful little handle so he could carry it easily. He paid with a large, white £5 note and left the shop with a spring in his step.

Next stop was the local inn, for a well-earned drink to cool his throat, and a bath to take away the smell of the last couple of weeks at sea.

‘Will you be wanting one towel or two?’ The landlord of the Sailor’s Rest Hotel was of the same ilk as the old captain; ruddy of feature and round of belly, with a pipe in his mouth and a full beard just like the King’s.

‘How big are your towels?’

The landlord looked him over, thinking what a fine body of a man he was. ‘Big enough, I reckon.’

‘In that case one should do,’ John replied heartily.

Reaching under the counter, the landlord drew out a towel and suggested, ‘Take a look, pal. You’ll maybe want two after all.’ It was extra money in his own pocket.

Opening out the folded towel, John scrutinised it. Albeit hard and scratchy, it was a fair size, and he said so.

‘And you needn’t be examining it for lice!’ the landlord advised. ‘But if you do find one, that’ll be an extra tuppence.’ At that the other drinkers in the hotel bar laughed and chuckled, before sinking their teeth into their jugs of ale.

‘I’ll take the bath now if you don’t mind,’ John said. ‘It’s a long way from Liverpool to Blackburn, and I’ll not be wasting no time here if I can help it.’

‘Got a sweetheart waiting, have you?’ This was a small voice from the end of the bar; its owner a shrunken little man with big watery eyes, and a smile like a mischievous leprechaun.

As John looked to see who was speaking, the little man shuffled to his side. ‘Can’t wait to see your Emily, eh?’

Delighted to see him, John slid an arm round the old fellow. ‘Hello, Archie!’ He and this kind old man had spent many an hour talking during that last trip. ‘You old rascal. I looked for you aboard, and couldn’t catch sight of you no-how. And here you are, propping up the nearest bar. I should have known this is where you’d be.’

‘You’ll have a drink with me afore you go, won’t you, son?’ Archie’s eyes clouded over. ‘Being as this is my last trip.’

Knowing how upset he was at not sailing away again, John didn’t have the heart to refuse. ‘I’ll be glad to,’ he answered. Beckoning the landlord, he ordered, ‘A pint jug for my mate here … and a half-jug for me.’ The last thing he wanted was to be smelling of ale when he met up with Emily.

The landlord set about the order. ‘Will you be wanting soap?’

‘What?’ John had momentarily forgotten the gist of their previous conversation.

‘I said, will you be wanting soap? For your bath?’ He placed the two jugs of ale within John’s reach.

Collecting the drinks and holding them in his fists, John was astonished at such a question. ‘O’ course I will! How can I wash without soap?’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised at how many folks do,’ came the answer.

‘Well, I’ll have the soap if you please.’ Turning to Archie, he suggested, ‘We’ll sit at the table over there. It’ll be easier to talk if we’re away from the bar.’

It was a mystery to him why folks always wanted to linger round the bar when there were perfectly comfortable tables and chairs to be got. But sometimes a man needed to stay upright, near to companions, and close to the booze. Once or twice, when they’d docked at some foreign port to offload the cargo, he himself had been in that same situation – lost and lonely, and in need of something to help spirit him home, across those endless waters to Salmesbury, Potts End Farm – and his beloved Emily.

‘Will you be wanting a full bar, or half a bar?’ The landlord’s voice cut across his thoughts.

John was bemused. ‘Half a bar of what exactly?’

‘Soap, o’ course!’

‘Oh, I think half a bar should do it.’

‘And will you be wanting your water hot, cold or lukewarm?’

‘Well, I’ll not want it cold, that’s for sure, and I’ll not want it to be scalding the skin off my back, so I’ll have it just above lukewarm, if that’s all right with you.’ He thought the landlord to be either a bit dim, or cunning as a fox. ‘And how much is all this gonna cost me?’

‘All depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Whether you want a full bath o’ water, or half a bath full?’

Growing frustrated, John set the jugs of ale on the bar. ‘Look, I’m not a difficult man. All I want is a full-sized towel, half a bar of soap and a bath of water, not scalding and not ice-cold. So, how much will that run me?’

‘And will that be a bath half-full, or a bath filled to the brim?’

‘A bath filled three-quarters,’ John answered with a little rise of laughter. ‘If it’s half-filled, I’ll not get a proper wash, will I? And if it’s filled to the brim, half the water will spill out the minute I set foot in it.’

To his consternation, the landlord went carefully through his list again. ‘Right. I reckon that’s done it.’ He put down his pencil. ‘It’ll be ready inside o’ twenty minutes.’

‘You still haven’t said what it’ll cost me.’

‘Let me see now.’ Once more he consulted his list, muttering all the while, until he raised his head. ‘That’ll be sixpence halfpenny.’

‘What’s the halfpenny for?’ John asked, highly amused.

The landlord gave a wink. ‘For the girl who fills the bath, o’ course.’ Leaning forward he whispered, ‘For another tuppence, she’ll wash your back, if you know what I mean?’ His bushy eyebrows went up like two pheasants let loose.

John’s answer was short and sweet. ‘I’ll manage to wash my own back, thank you. Just get it all ready inside of twenty minutes, will you? I’ve an itch to be on my way soon as ever.’

As he and Archie crossed the room to their table, John was not surprised to hear a shout from the landlord. ‘That’ll be another halfpenny!’

John swung round. ‘What for?’

‘Well, if you’re gonna wash your own back, you’ll be needing a scrubbing brush – unless you’ve an arm long enough to reach your backside?’

When John was lost for words, he promptly wrote it down on his list.

‘He’s a crafty old bugger is that one!’ Grateful to sit down, Archie dropped himself into the hard, wooden chair. His feet were aching, and these days he found it hard to stand for too long at a time.

John placed his jug of ale before him. ‘Get that down you,’ he said, ‘before he charges us another sixpence for the use of the jugs.’ At which they both laughed out loud.

‘I was hoping you’d show up here.’ During their time at sea, Archie had found a real friend in John. ‘I’d have been disappointed to miss you.’

‘Me too, Archie. I’m glad we found each other before I left these parts for good.’

‘You haven’t changed your mind then, about that one more trip?’

‘Never!’ Seated astride the chair, John assured him with passion, ‘I’ve sailed my last voyage, and thankful for it.’

‘You there!’ The landlord’s voice sailed across the room. ‘You’ll be wanting a comb for your hair. I could do that for tuppence?’

Reaching into his jacket pocket, John withdrew the comb he’d bought in some foreign port. ‘Got my own, thanks.’ He held it high for the landlord to see. ‘This one only cost me a halfpenny in the marketplace.’

‘Oh, please yourself!’ The landlord scowled as he put away his list.

Archie chuckled. ‘The cost of a good bath goes up an’ up, though I’ve not had one in months, and don’t care to. Besides, I’ve seen enough of water to last me a lifetime.’

John saw the disappointment in the old man’s face. ‘You’ll miss it though, won’t you, Archie?’

‘What’s that you say?’ Archie cupped a hand to his ear. Some days he could hear a whisper from twenty yards away. Other days, he couldn’t even hear his own thinking.

‘The sea!’ John leaned forward, emphasising his words. ‘You’ll miss being at sea, won’t you?’

Understanding flooded the old man’s face. ‘Oh.’ He nodded. ‘I will that,’ he confessed. ‘But you understand, I can’t do the job any more.’ He gave an almighty sigh. ‘Me legs won’t go as fast as I want, and me back’s more bent and crooked with every trip.’ He glanced out the window at the merchant ships and the many different sails billowing in the March breezes; a great sadness came over his heart. ‘I must admit I would have liked to go on, but it’s not easy being ship’s cook. You need to be strong and able, and this last trip I wasn’t up to the job at all.’

Spreading out his hands, he told John, ‘See that, son? My fingers are as crooked as twigs off a tree. I drop things all the time now. I can’t seem to get a grip on anything proper. I forget things too, like not ordering enough flour on the last trip, so’s the men had short rations of bread. How long will it be before I forget to order the food altogether, tell me that? And though the men didn’t rile me about the bread, what would they say if they didn’t have their bellies filled morning and night, eh?’

John had to admit, ‘They’d not take kindly to it, that’s for sure.’

A third voice interrupted, ‘Like as not they’d throw you over the side.’

Turning towards the voice, John and Archie looked at the fellow seated at the next table; a sad-looking, unkempt individual with long, straggly brown hair and beard, it was instantly clear he hadn’t shaved or bathed in weeks. They saw how he wolfed down the remains of his ale as though his thirst was strangling him. ‘Been at sea yourself, have you?’ Archie asked.

‘I don’t think there’s anywhere I haven’t been,’ the fellow answered. ‘But I do know that a cook who can’t deliver a meal to the crew won’t be welcome on any ship that I know of.’

With that he got up from his seat and struggled drunkenly to the bar.

John followed him with a curious gaze. Poor devil, he looked like he’d been through the mill. Yet there was something familiar about him … He shook his head. The strange feeling lingered, and then Archie was talking again, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation between them.

‘So, you see, shipmate, I ain’t got much choice, have I?’

John nodded in agreement. ‘So, what will you do with yourself?’

‘Oh, I dare say I’ll sleep well at night, and wander about the quayside during the daylight hours. I was born and bred in Liverpool, so I know most o’ these seafaring folks. I expect I’ll find a bit o’ work here and there.’

At that moment, raised voices were heard from the bar, and Archie said with a grin, ‘It seems our friend’s had more than enough ale, and now the landlord wants shut of him.’

Archie was right. With a good measure of ale inside him, the fellow who’d been sitting next to them was loudly explaining to the landlord, ‘I’ve money to pay for it. Look!’ Emptying a shower of farthings, ha’pennies and threepenny bits all over the counter, he showed he had the wherewithal for a couple more pints at least.

The landlord pushed the coins back irritably. ‘Put your money away. Look at yourself, man! You can hardly stand up!’

When the man leaned over the bar, the landlord thought he was in for a spell of trouble, so he was taken aback when suddenly the sad-eyed fellow asked him, his voice breaking with emotion, ‘Would you take me for a coward?’

‘Maybe.’ The landlord could see he was at his wits’ end. ‘Maybe not. We’re all cowards sometimes, one way or another.’

The man looked him straight in the eye. ‘Well, I’m the worst kind of all.’

‘Oh, aye? An’ what kind is that then?’

The man smiled back, the sorriest smile the landlord had seen in all his years behind that bar. ‘What kind would you call a man who runs out on his family?’

The landlord thought of his own shortcomings and gave a sheepish grin. ‘I reckon we’ve all done that in our time.’

The younger man wagged a finger. ‘Ah, but you see, I ran out on the finest daughter in the world, and her mammy too … the best wife a man could have.’ He gave a soul-destroying sigh. ‘My poor Aggie, God forgive me! I left her with my poorly father, and debts she could never pay in a hundred years. So, tell me! What kind of coward does that make me, eh?’

The landlord’s answer was to draw him a jug of ale and, planting it in front of him, he instructed, ‘This is your last one in this establishment. So, come on! Sup up, and be on your way. I’ve enough of my own troubles to worry about yours!’ But he said it in a kind way, and refused any payment.

The sad-eyed man nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He took a sip, and then another and, as always, the more he sank into his ale, the further away his troubles receded.

Archie too, was sipping his ale, lost in thought, when suddenly John’s voice intruded. ‘Have you got a place to stay?’

‘Not yet, but I’ll get fixed up soon enough.’ Archie tapped his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve enough to pay for a room and feed myself for a few weeks. Meantime, as I said, I’ll soon be running errands and suchlike to keep the roof over my head.’ He gave a sort of smile. ‘I’ll need to earn a wage, so’s I can come and sit in here and watch the world go by.’

Underneath the little man’s bravado, there was a sense of fear, and John was concerned about him. ‘I’ll stay with you if you like, until you’re fixed up with a room.’

Archie was horrified. ‘You will not!’ Wagging a finger he argued, ‘You’ll finish your drink, then you’ll get yourself off to that lovely girl of yours.’ Realising there were those nearby who were listening to their conversation, he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m grateful for your concern, but I’ve been on my own since I was a lad in short breeches. I’m more than capable of looking after meself.’

John was mortified to have offended him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, ‘only I thought you might need a friend.’

Archie thanked him again, but, ‘It’s Emily that needs you now,’ he said kindly.

John’s face lit up. ‘Oh Archie! I can’t wait till I see her again!’

‘Well, o’ course you can’t. What! She’s all you’ve talked about these past two years. “Emily this” … “Emily that”. Day and night, until I feel I know her as well as you do.’

Something was still worrying John. ‘Why didn’t she reply to my letters, Archie?’ he burst out. ‘I wrote all those letters and every time we got to a port, I took them to be posted home. But I never got any reply.’

The old man knew this had been on John’s mind for some time, and yet again, he tried to explain it away the best he could. ‘How many letters did you write to your Auntie Lizzie?’

John did a mental calculation. ‘One a month … same number as I wrote to Emily.’

‘And how many replies got through to you?’

Reaching into his pocket, John took out a crumpled envelope. ‘Just the one.’ He had read that letter time and again, until the folds were almost worn through, and the words hardly visible any more.

Archie waved a crooked finger. ‘There you go then! It’s just like I told you. Some of them foreign post offices take your money and don’t give a bugger for your letter. Like as not they’ll tear it up and drop it into the ocean. It’s often the truth that a letter never gets to its destination. And even if it’s put on a ship to be brought home, who’s to say it ever gets to the right address? What! I’ve known men send hundreds and never a one reached home. It happens, that’s all. And there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.’

‘I expect you’re right, Archie.’ Taking a deep sigh, John blew it out with the words, ‘I hope that’s all it is. I hope she hasn’t found somebody else to take my place.’

Archie wouldn’t hear of it, and besides, ‘Didn’t you say your aunt told you in that there letter, how soon after you’d gone, Emily was so lonely for you, she wouldn’t hardly leave the farm?’

John recalled every word, but, ‘This was got to me in the first month of me being away. I’ve not heard a word since.’

‘Aw, stop your worrying.’ Archie took a swig of his ale and, wiping the froth from his mouth, he promised John, ‘She’ll be there, waiting for you. You needn’t worry about that.’

Encouraged by his pal’s assurances, John put the worries to the back of his mind. ‘I’m going home, matey,’ he said. ‘I’m going home to my Emily, and I’m never leaving her side again.’

Raising his jug of ale, Archie bade John do the same. He gave a toast. ‘To Emily, and yourself. May you live long and be happy together.’

John had another toast. ‘To yourself, Archie. That you find contentment in your new life back ashore.’

They drank to that, and soon Archie took his leave. ‘Got to see a man about a room, then it’s off to find work of a kind,’ he said. ‘You take care of yourself, son. You’ve already given me your aunt’s address, so as soon as I’m settled, I’ll write to you.’ A big grin lifted his features. ‘This letter won’t have oceans to cross, so you should get it all right.’

John watched him leave, and when the loneliness flooded over him, he strode across the room to the bar, where he took instructions from the landlord, paid his way, and was soon shown to the back parlour, where his ‘lukewarm’ bath was ready and waiting.

Some time later, he emerged refreshed, smartly dressed in his new clothes, and ready for his journey. With a lighter heart, he bade the landlord goodbye and headed for the door.

The sooner he was out of the Sailor’s Rest and on his way home, the better.