Chapter 1

“Bloody hell!” Tom said, then, much quieter, “Bloody Fucking Cunting Hell!” He knew that if he was overheard his life would be not worth living for at least twenty four hours, but then it also felt like his life was ending anyway. At that moment a call from downstairs told him tea was ready. He went down and was given one of ‘those looks’ from his mother. It would be years and years before he realised this was one of the tools in a woman’s bag of tricks. He went red, which of course showed he had something to be embarrassed or guilty about. His father was the same. All men are. A woman gives you ‘the look’ and your first thought is ‘she knows’ without thinking ‘what is it she knows’. There is always something to feel guilty about. That was how he was caught when he was twelve. He had put Lucille’s rabbit into Mr Peters’ vegetable patch. The rabbit had had a great time eating lettuces – and then been ill for a couple of days (he did feel genuinely guilty about that), but he hadn’t been caught until he confessed to his mother. She had given him ‘the look’; two boys had been seen smoking behind the school, it was likely one of them was Tom. But the look didn’t tell him what he was meant to be guilty for, so he had confessed about the rabbit. He had had to apologise to Mr Peters; that had been hard. He had been told to accept Lucille’s invitation to her party; that had been harder! He was the only boy! The girls played with him! They gave him teeny, tiny pig tails, they painted his nails, insisted on playing postman’s knock (with one boy!). He tolerated it all and Lucille fell in love with him for that.

A year later he had finally confessed about putting her rabbit in the vegetable path and she had just said “I know. Of course it was you.” She had leant in and kissed him on the cheek and he started to realised that she was really quite nice.

Now he was fourteen and just been told that his cousins weren’t coming to stay next week after all. He’d been really looking forward to seeing Gemma and David. He was on a promise! Well, all but. Gemma had told him at Easter when his family had visited them that she would ‘show him something’ when she came to stay. He assumed that meant one of two things. He’d be happy with either. Actually he’d be even happier with both! David had suggested that she had showed him already, but he was a little liar and he was only eleven and he probably wouldn’t even know what he was looking at. But now they weren’t coming. Life was shit! Life in this little dead and alive village at the end of nowhere was shit! His teenage mind was in charge at the moment so he was willing to describe things geographically completely wrongly. He lived in Marton on the River, but it wasn’t at the end of the road. The road went through it and then continued on to the sea seven miles further on (three miles as the crow flies, but the roads here were never direct, there was always a river in the way, or a marsh, or a dyke, or something!) It wasn’t even on the river! It was two miles down a pot holed road to get to the boatyard on the river. That was where his boat was, that was where he wished he was now. It was a small sailing boat; for all its age and knocks, he kept it in good condition. They tolerated it at the yard because it was up in the shallow end of the dyke, out of the way.

His mother looked at him, he smiled back and ate his tea, wishing she would find something to distract her. Sometimes things came right; his father walked in and started complaining about Mr Dudgeon and the contract they had signed up for even though the delivery schedule was impossibly tight and he’d have to work loads of overtime. Dad went on and on, Mum tried to console him, Tom was forgotten; for now. Mum never completely forgot, she had a memory that lasted several lifetimes – she still harboured the grudge against the Crosselys for some imagined slight that her grandfather had received before she was born. She forgot nothing and forgave less, he was sure.

The following day was Friday, boats starting coming into Staveley’s yard in the afternoon. The changeover day was Saturday before 9am, but some people preferred to arrive and hand over the boat on Friday evening. Tom cycled over at 4pm to see what was happening. Sometimes he picked up some work helping out, it was never official; but Young Mister Staveley always saw him right. Young Mister Staveley had only been running the yard for fifteen years so the old hands still called him Young Mister Staveley. His son was not interested in boats at all, his daughter, Lucy, helped in the office and was already capable of sailing one of the yachts single handed when called upon to do so. The last time had been three weeks ago when a couple had given up at Wroxham and simply abandoned the boat. They had sent a telegram claiming they had to leave, no-one believed it. Lucy had cycled over with Tom in the evening after school. They had brought the boat back all the way under sail despite it having an auxiliary engine. They had even shot the bridge (sail towards it, drop the sails, drop the mast, let the current take you through, put up the mast and sails again) and got a rocket from Young Mister Staveley when they got back (though he was secretly proud of his daughter too). It counted as single handed because he was only fourteen and therefore not responsible. She was seventeen and could go to university if she wanted, she was very clever. She was weighing her options.

Old Mister Staveley had taken over the yard from his father. Then they had just made wherries and punts, but Old Mister Staveley had recognised the potential for tourism and had launched their first pleasure wherry in 1902; now in 1930 they were still building boats, but also hiring them out. Smaller four berth, even a tiny little two berther, as well as larger motor boats for those who wanted to sleep on board but not to sail. 1930, a year of change. During the war twelve years ago, girls had helped on the land, driven buses and ambulances; they had the vote; they had minds of their own. Young Mister Staveley had been persuaded by his daughter to advertise in women’s magazines; he had done it to keep her happy and been amazed at the number of enquiries they received. Mothers keen to take an interest in booking the holiday were the majority. Two groups of girl guides had come along at Easter. But there were also a few all girl groups who just fancied doing something adventurous without the boys hogging all the fun.

A large eight person motor boat came surging towards the bank, sheared off, came back further down, sheared off again. Not even thinking, Tom cycled down the tow path, got off and waited. As the boat tried to moor again at full speed, he leapt onto the side and hauled himself over the guard rail. It was a dangerous manoeuvre made more so by the erratic driving. He acted like he had the right to take command. “No, you keep on the wheel, hang on.” He throttled right back and let the heavy wooden boat slow to a pace that his neighbour (with a walking frame) could overtake. Then he turned hard and let the nose touch the reeds before reversing. The river was narrow and these boats were not build for fast turns. It took a three point turn like on a road, and then they headed back slowly and sedately.

As they came to the landing, he revved up, pushed the nose in and then put it into reverse to swing in the stern and then put it into neutral ... He ran to the front, threw the mooring rope to the shore, ran back and jumped ashore. The family on board cheered and laughed; all week the two men had struggled to control the boat by going fast everywhere. It was lucky they only had a few scrapes.

“Nicely done Tom, thank ee.” Young Mister Staveley said. “You want to help? It will need some varnish I think.”

“Yes, sir, thank you!” He was always enthusiastic; sometimes the jobs were interesting, sometimes they were boring. Once he had had to help clear a ship’s toilet. The guys he worked with noticed that Tom didn’t complain once; that stood him in good stead with the yard staff.

Lucy called him over as he was about to set off. “Busy tomorrow aren’t you? Got family comin’?”

“Nah, they’ve cried off. You want any help?”

“We could do with an extra pair of hands yes. Come by at eight? Or you lying in on holiday?”

“I’ll be there, thanks, thanks a lot.” She smiled at him as he sped off. He was a good kid, handy to have around. She was also aware that he had not been looking at her face all the time. She filled her cambric shirt nicely now. Okay, so she wanted to be seen as a proper boat yard person; but she didn’t mind the occasional appreciative look. Her usual uniform in the yard was cambric shirt and moleskin trousers, or overalls if she was allowed to work on a boat. Some of the customers, the women, in their fashionable blouses and skirts, looked down on her she knew. She didn’t care; she dressed to be practical, not to look good and show loads of leg; but she knew she looked good in that shirt.

He was there at seven thirty, before any of the yard employees were, in time to help a family of four tie up. The man jumped and woman gingerly stepped off (she had never got used to having to move physically quickly) and headed to find their car; they were a well off family and were used to people sorting things for them. Tom didn’t notice that their two children were still on board, right up until a girl of about twelve appeared in the main cabin in pyjamas. “Oh! Where are ma and pa? Who are you?”

“I’m from the boat yard. We thought you had all left.”

Another girl, older and in a nightdress that reached her knees, now appeared carrying her dress. “Oh! I thought! Oh. Would you mind awfully if we had the boat just a little longer.” Tom smiled and said of course that would be perfectly fine and left again. It was only when the younger of the two turned to look at her sister that she interpreted the smile from Tom correctly.

“Sis. The sun is shining through the window right beside you. It displays your silhouette very nicely. No wonder he smiled.” They both laughed, knowing that their mother would have been appalled; it was almost worth telling her to see her face. It had been a good week; they had been able to dress like a pair of tomboys, haul ropes, shout (‘Gybe O!’ and ‘Going About’), and generally be let off the leash a little. Their mother had not even scratched her nail varnish. The car came round to collect the luggage and Tom waved at them and told them he’d come back when they left. The two adults were none the wiser that their daughters had been seen in their sleep attire (which their mother was not even sure was appropriate for their father, let alone a stranger).

The years after the Great War were odd, some tried to return to the normal pre-war state whilst others relished the increased freedom. Some thought the country was going to the dogs whilst others thought a new Utopia was on its way. Meanwhile, people did things as if there was no crisis, no loss of confidence in empire or the gold standard. It was a time of change and yet some things stayed the same. Phineas Greck left school two days early as always to help lead the horses in hay making. Tobias Smith tried (and failed) to lift his latest girlfriend’s skirt – he always had money and always spent it freely thinking that would make life easier in seeing up the girl’s legs; the girls were always more sensible than that. Imogen duFrane went off to work with her mother in the big house and would be pregnant by the son of the lord of the manor before she was fifteen. Naturally it was all hushed up. Lionel Terence Brown arrived at the last day of school in his father’s latest home built car to admiration and cheers (he did manage to slide his hand up Elizabeth Bottam’s leg to the top when he gave her a drive home via the wooded glade). All change and all the same.

Plenty of boys were starting to recognise that girls were interesting, Tom was envied for his easy way with them – courtesy of the obligatory parties he had been to at Lucille’s. He could look interested at some stupid girl conversation and could laugh with them at their poor jokes. Lucille definitely liked him.

He waited and the family finally left. He had the boat engine tidied (check the oil, turn the grease tap one half turn), emptied the water tank ready for refilling (no telling how long the water had been in it); he even flushed out the toilet – sometimes a horrible job (especially with several females on board, they tended to use too much paper). He bunched up the linen and dumped it on the shore. “Oh Master Tom, you’re after my job, I can tell.” laughed Esme Riley, a large cheerful woman who worked one day a week cleaning the boats.

“Nah, your safe there Mrs Riley.” Tom replied.

“Now Tom, you’s fourteen ain’t you? Time you called me Esme.” She liked his beaming smile at such small recognitions of his impending adulthood.

He had no ‘side’ to him. He would help do whatever was needed. It was generally recognised by all that he was probably too good for the yard, he would get an office job somewhere, but if he did want to work at the yard he’d be welcomed by everybody. Even grumpy old Sid Perks thought Tom was “aright.” which was praise indeed,

By lunchtime, Tom and the rest of the yard were ready for a break; but there was always some customer who turned up early. This time it was a bunch of girls. Six attractive, independent young women who had been friends for ages and decided to book an adventure. They decided a boat in Norfolk was a suitable adventure. They had travelled up by train and then taxi and here they were, two hours before the agreed handover time. Now a bunch of arrogant men demanding their boat would have met with blank refusal by the yard. A bunch of women between twenty five and thirty years old, in skirts and trousers and shirts that did nothing to hide their attractive shape; with winning smiles and red lipstick ... well it was pushing at an open door. Tom happily volunteered to fuel and water the boat. Lucy laughed at the young man happily munching a sandwich whilst holding the hose pipe to the tank on board. She wandered over: “Men are so predictable, show a pretty face or a nice pair of legs and they will do anything.”

“I’d do it for you too.” Tom replied. Then realised he was implying he would do it for her even though she wasn’t a pretty face (and never showed her legs). “I mean ... I...”

“Tom, you need to improve your chatup lines. Telling me you’d do it for me even though I’m fat and ugly is not a winning line.”

“No I mean ... I...”

“My daughter is laughing at you, Tom.” Young Mister Staveley had walked over too. “But listen, they have to wait for a while. I’m afraid Jed has said this engine needs fettling. Can you get the 8 berther ready instead, when you’re ready? It isn’t going out this week so they can have that. No hurry, have your lunch. And Lucy, be nice to him!”