Chapter 3

The train up to London was uneventful, relatively empty as it was late afternoon – all the commuters were travelling in the opposite direction. The underground was as horrendous as ever, including a rude business man complaining about their bags taking space in the carriage when “proper workers were trying to travel”. They ignored him. He got out at Liverpool Street as they did; and rushed to get the train to Norwich as they did.

“Excuse me, I’m afraid these seats are booked.” Rupe said to a man who had plonked himself down in one of them.

“Hmm, but booked by you? I doubt it.” He wasn’t going to be fooled into moving by a group of teenage layabouts, oh no. “Oh, I see. Well it’s a rum do when a man who travels every day can’t get a seat on his own train.”

“Should have booked, we did.” smiled Amelie. They took the table with four seats. The train actually emptied a lot at the first stop. Most commuters weren’t travelling all the way to Norwich. Two hours was too long for a daily commute. By that time, though, Abigail and Amelie were asleep, leaning on each other like rag dolls.

“So, can I ask? Why Rupe?”

“Because Rupert is stupid name. I mean did they not realise I would be Rupert Bear for ever? I was named after a Great Uncle and a Grandfather. My mother’s father was Rupert, he was okay. My Great Uncle was one of the few.”

“Few what?”

“Never has so much been owed by so many to so few. That few. He took off in his Blenheim fighter and never came back. Conclusion was that he had been jumped by 109s over the channel.”

“Umm 109?”

“Messerschmitt 109 – german fighter that was nearly as good as a Spitfire, possibly better at the start. Well Dad rather liked the idea of me being named after him, and Mum liked the idea of me being named after her father, so job done! Lets ruin a kids life.”

“S’not as bad as that. No middle name?”

“Edgar, yeah. Edgar. You can laugh. So it was either Rupe or Eddie I think. I’ll take Rupe. You?”

“Me? Oh, middle name? No, none. I was touch and go when I was born. Mum was alone when the priest came round, ‘What shall we call the wee mite? Can’t have her going to heaven nameless.’ The priest actually said that. Mum just said Mary. Couldn’t think of anything else.”

“And Amelie? I know she has, because she signs herself AA Craft.”

“Promise you won’t laugh ... or tell? It’s Agatha. You said you wouldn’t laugh! I know, it’s awful. Our granny implied that if she got a named grandchild, she’d see it right in her will. She died a couple of years later.”

“And? Amelie inherited the estates in Galway?”

“Did she fu- no. She got the same as me, a big zero. Apparently that was typical of granny – to promise something to get her own way and then immediately forget.” They carried on chatting, the ticket collector came round, the drinks trolley came round. Nobody saw the trolley, by that time the wonders of the countryside had paled and all four were asleep. Rupe awoke as they pulled into Norwich; he’d drooped onto Mary’s shoulder, and dribbled onto her teeshirt. It looked like her nipple was leaking. He offered to wipe it, and she smiled and said no, that was fine.

Now, at last, the adventure was starting. They went round to the hotel and checked in, rang home to confirm that the train had found its way successfully. Mr Bearstow even wished them a happy holiday.

Down the road from the hotel and the Tesco, was a smaller independent supermarket. Rupert had an idea, shared it with Abigail, who agreed. They dressed ‘older’. Abi gave Rupe some five-o-clock stubble with her eyebrow pencil. Yes, he looked good. He walked in, talking loudly about the lecture he had just given at the Uni “I mean, honestly, half of them aren’t interested. It’s very frustrating...” It set the tone. He was a lecturer, he was old enough. After, Rupe admitted that he didn’t think the shopkeeper cared anyway. Three bottles of wine for the dinner party. Not cheap stuff, that would have signalled underage. Still, three bottles of wine to carry in a heavy rucksack. But it had worked! They were on their way!

A bit of shopping from Tesco and then pie and chips four times. The next day they made their way to the station to catch the bus. There was one early morning bus and one at lunchtime. It was a poor service, but it just about worked. They caught it with seconds to spare and struggled upstairs to sit and look at the view – and fell asleep very rapidly. The bus toured around visiting lots of places with no other public transport, so there were old people waiting at each stop. Probably the four upstairs, blissfully unaware of most of the journey, were the only actual fair payers. Mary woke as the bus pulled off the main road into Potter Heigham “Wake up! We’re here!” The other three blearily opened their eyes and struggled with their rucksacks down the stairs. They got off opposite Herbert Woods yard, and looked, astounded at the view – the boats in the yard, the famous tower, the bridge, the river, the really small arch of the bridge. “Coffee? We have a walk, let’s stock up with caffeine.”

They sat, Rupe went and bought some more biscuits “Can’t have too many biscuits.”

They sat, Abigail and Mary went and bought sun screen “Forgot! We’d burn to toast.”

They sat, Amelie went off “What? I needed a wee, oh, yeah, I bought these.” she had a big bag of jellies.

“Okay, team! Marty’s won’t come to us, so we have to go to it. Let’s go.” Two of the girls turned on the left bank. “Where are you going? That’s the wrong side.”

“We can cross when we get there.”

“This is a river, not a road. Unless you can do miracles, or want to swim.” They crossed the bridge, then started up the river side. It was a walk of a mile: a few buildings, then trees and overgrowth, then more moorings with loads of boats.

“Rupe! It’s brilliant.” Mary extolled. But she hadn’t seen the boat inside. Outside, the wooden boats looked fantastic; inside, they reflected their ancestry. Some modifications had taken place, but there was only so much you could do with a 1950s wooden boat. They had electric lights, they had 12V ports. They had heating. They also had a toilet/bathroom/shower cubicle that required an ability to double as a contortionist, especially (but not only) when the roof was down. Norfolk yachts addressed the issue of low bridges by enabling the roof to be lowered by 9 inches.

In the office, the woman looked at them dubiously. Three girls, one with a credit card (so assumed to be genuinely 18), one boy. “Oh well, if you can sail ... you’ve paid, I’m sure it will be fine. You can sail can’t you? Okay, you get unpacked, I’ll get one of the lads to give you the run down of the boat.”

Fifteen minutes after, a young man came over and showed them the ropes, the roof, the mast lowering technique, the mud weight, the gas taps, the water tank, the heating, the diesel tank, engine, the toilet. It took ages, not least because they needed to understand each part correctly. They wanted to have fun, but not break the boat.

“So, where does the ... stuff go from the toilet?” Amelie asked

“Weren’t you listening?”Rupe replied “It goes into the river, into the water.”

“What!? All the boats just flush out to the river? That’s gross.”

“No, only the yachts. I read about this. They used to all flush out. There were double the number of boats in the past too. But all the cruisers, the motor cruisers, have to have a tank that can get pumped out now -”

“Eeeuuu! So these cruisers all collect their poo and drive around with it?”

“Better than in the Broads. But the yachts didn’t have space, especially old ones like this. So they were allowed a dispensation to keep pumping out to the water. I don’t know about new ones.”

Mary looked up: “So Amelie, make sure you don’t do any floaters. Hahahaha”

Amelie looked positively pained. “I’m not using that, I’ll wait until we land.”

They all laughed at her, but all felt something similar. It wasn’t exactly private. With the roof up, the thin wooden door was topped by a canvas flap.

It made sense for the two sailors to be in the main cabin, ready to get out; the two sisters took the front berths. They noticed then that there was no door. The front berths under the forward hatch were joined by a short side corridor off of which the ‘heads’ was found, there were some cupboards, then the main cabin. The girls all realised privacy was at a premium on such a small boat. When the boat cover was up, there would be a little more. The cooker was in the outside well of the boat. This was actually safer than having it inside. “But ... where is the oven?” Mary had asked.