Once, because Jake had kept
The Liverpool Rose
well clear of the sides of the lock, thus making it difficult for anyone to climb aboard unseen, one of the ragged, wild-eyed lads had dived into the water with a length of slimy rope which he had wound round the boat’s rudder, beneath the water. Had Clem not spotted him, they might easily have had an accident as the boat tried to change direction to follow the course of the canal.
Jake usually tried to time his trips so that they traversed this particular part of the canal at night-time. Then, although navigating was more difficult in the dark, at least they should not be troubled by active interference. But unfortunately it was not always possible, and on this occasion Clem realised they would be passing through the dreaded area in
daylight, which almost certainly would mean that the Wigan Wolves, as he had christened them, would be on patrol. During the school holidays, these gangs of ragamuffins liked nothing better than to distract the boat crews while snatching anything loose aboard the barges. At this point, the canal was bisected by bridges and locks at frequent intervals, and from these ambushes, the boys could either drop on to the boats and snatch anything loose, or throw down heavy objects to damage and distract. Buckets, coils of rope, mops, dishcloths, even a line of washing, strung up carefully from one end of the barge to the other, could fall prey to the the Wigan Wolves, and though he, Priddy and Jake did their very best to keep the boat clear of anything portable, they usually had something stolen on a daylight voyage through this area.
The nuisance of it was, Clem reflected as he hurried about the boat, stowing away everything portable, that it was a beautiful evening, the sort he would otherwise have thoroughly enjoyed. Hal, well fed and groomed that morning, had been led out of his stable, seeming downright eager to get back to work once more, and Priddy had been shopping at St John’s Market and had promised them a pork stew with apple dumplings once they had cleared the industrial areas – it was not a good idea to tie up for a meal while negotiating the Wigan locks. When they had a hot meal, Priddy would be in the cabin for a good deal of the time, which meant, in its turn, that Jake and Clem would have to manage both
The Liverpool Rose
and the butty boat, as well as leading Hal along towpaths.
Still, you never knew; this afternoon might be the exception which proved the rule, as the teacher used to say in school. Maybe they would have a clear run
through the locks, Priddy’s tomato plants would not be ravaged, nor her young vegetables torn from their bucket homes. The towpath might be clear so that Hal could negotiate it without help and the Wigan Wolves might have decided to spend an afternoon pestering someone else.
They were in luck – the bottom lock gates were open and they could go straight in. Accordingly Clem disconnected the tow rope from
The Liverpool Rose
to the butty boat which he tied up at the side of the canal. Then he urged Hal on to greater effort and soon the boat was safely inside the lock with the walls seemingly towering above her. Jake and Clem pushed hard on the lower lock gates, using their backs to get a greater effort until the gates were firmly shut. Then they each took a windlass handle, and going to the top gates began to wind up the paddles in the gates to let the water into the pound.
The Rose
began to rise steadily in the lock. When the water in the lock was level with that in the canal above they swung open the top gates and Hal pulled
The Rose
clear. Now we’ve got to repeat the whole procedure again with the butty boat, Clem thought grimly
As they left lock number seventy-eight there was a clear stretch of water with the Peel Hall Bridge ahead of them. Clem could see that the towpath was crowded with youths while on the bridge itself several young lads leaned over, looking down into the water as though in innocent admiration of the glittering ripples. Even from here, he could see what looked like a pile of broken bricks spread across the path and, with a sigh, he led Hal across to the edge of the lock and shouted a warning to Priddy that there were difficulties ahead.
When both boats were through the lock and had
been tethered once more to Hal, Clem took hold of his bridle and began to lead him along the towpath. The big horse knew almost as well as Clem did that the boys hanging about meant trouble and, though he was a gentle and amenable beast, began to roll his eyes and fret with his bit.
‘It’s all right, old lad,’ Clem said gently into the pricked ear, well above his head. ‘I’ll not leave you. Jake and Priddy will fend off on both boats and you and me will just keep walkin’ steady, like, until we reach those confounded bricks. Then we’ll go round them, or over ’em, or you can take a bit of a paddle if there’s no other way. Whatever happens, you’ll be safe wi’ me.’
Accordingly, he began to lead Hal towards the next bridge, occasionally glancing behind him at the canal boats. As he had promised the horse, Priddy was aboard
The Liverpool Rose,
Jake the butty boat, and they were using their long, hooked poles to keep their craft in mid-stream. Satisfied on that score, Clem looked ahead once more and realised, as the pile of bricks drew closer, that the Wigan Wolves were actually using them as missiles, were hurling them with all their force at something in the water ahead. It might have been a large can or kettle or something of that nature, he thought, and continued to take more interest in the path until he heard a shriek of triumph from one of the boys, followed by a yell, apparently directed at the lads on the bridge. ‘Go rahnd and gerrim you idle little buggers, else he’ll climb out and run orf,’ the boy yelled. ‘Move your perishin’ legs or I’ll come up there and knock your bleedin’ heads together. I won’t see ’im escape, not twice I won’t.’
This made Clem look with more attention at the object in the water and he realised, suddenly, that it
was alive. A duck, perhaps? It was too small to be anything else . . . and then Clem remembered that even a man or animal, swimming in the canal with only its head showing, would look a good deal smaller than it really was.
The boys on the bank ahead of them were still hurling their missiles and now Clem saw that those on the bridge were descending to the further bank and running along it. At the same moment, he came almost level with the object in the water and realised, with a pang of pity, that it was a large and shaggy dog which, by the look of it, was already in a bad way.
Clem gave an indignant shout. ‘Jake, Priddy, they’re stoning a dog to death!’ he shrieked. ‘I’ve got to – got to –’ He let go of Hal’s bridle even as the dog was struck by a particularly well-aimed brick, and sank. Clem had been barefoot and clad only in a light shirt and faded cotton trousers, so it was no particular hardship to dive straight into the water. The dog, now an inert bundle of fur with its nose scarcely breaking the surface, was drifting down towards him and he grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and swam as quickly as he could, towards the canal boats. Reaching them, he swam behind them to get out on to the bank, since that would mean both he and the dog would be out of sight of their enemies for a short while. Fortunately Jake, who had taken Clem’s place beside the horse, pulled the big animal to a halt and came back to give Clem a hand, for the dog proved to be a gaunt, but enormous, Alsatian, and left to himself, Clem doubted he would have been able to get the sodden creature to safety without inadvertently letting go of it as he scrambled on to the bank. As it was, he and Jake between them heaved the animal on to the grass where it lay supine, its eyes half-closed
and its tongue lolling. To Clem’s relief, however, it was still breathing, though shallowly, and did not seem to have inhaled any water.
Oddly enough, the Wigan Wolves did not seem to realise what had happened to the dog. They must have seen Clem dive into the water, but possibly the brick throwers had been too intent on persuading the younger boys on the bridge to go round and prevent the dog from scrambling ashore, actually to realise what Clem was doing. The dog being so low in the water, they had probably not even seen that he was towing it to safety, and had gone on assuming it was still trying to get ashore along the further bank. At this particular point, there were reeds growing along the right-hand bank of the canal which meant that, had the dog gained their shelter, it would have been much more difficult to pick out.
Jake must have realised at the same moment as Clem that they were being granted a breathing space; the Wigan Wolves continued to shout to one another and the younger boys began to search the bank, diligently poking around with sticks and shouting insults to the bigger boys, who were half-heartedly lobbing bricks.
‘Gerrim aboard the butty boat,’ Jake hissed, taking in the scene with a swift glance. ‘No need to court trouble. If they don’t know we’ve got him, likely there’ll be no fuss.’
Clem’s indignation was such that, for once, he would have been quite glad to square up to a Wigan Wolf, or even to a crowd of them, but he realised that Jake was right; it did not do to court trouble. Even if he won a fight with the Wolves, they would hold it against him and lie in wait for
The Liverpool Rose,
very likely with a paving slab balanced on the parapet of
the nearest bridge, ready to tip it down on to the deck, quite prepared to sink a canal boat, even if it meant drowning the crew.
Despite the drama of the situation, it had only taken a couple of minutes from the time Clem had first recognised the dog for what it was. Having bundled the creature into the butty boat, he took up his post by Hal’s head, Jake jumped nimbly aboard, and they set off once more towards the groups of youths lining the bank. There were the usual shouts and jeers as they approached but, since all the younger boys were still on the further bank and their elders were busy shouting advice and criticism and desultorily lobbing bricks, the little caravan of boats and horse passed them without further incident. One boy, indeed, asked them if they’d seen ‘a ugly great brute of a dog with a rare, mean look to its gob’, but Clem merely gave him a disdainful look, as though he thought the boy had gone mad, and continued to trudge stolidly along the towpath. The boy spat, narrowly missing Clem’s bare wet feet, but said nothing more. The pile of bricks was considerably diminished by this time, and it was not necessary for Clem to lead the horse around them; they picked their way past and then they were under the bridge, and for a miracle no one threw anything at them or hurled insults. Indeed, Clem thought with a wry smile, they had escaped remarkably lightly, especially when you considered that they carried, in the butty boat, the very fugitive for whom the Wigan Wolves had been seeking.
The lock-keepers did their best to keep control in the area of their locks but could not manage the stretches of bank as well and many a running battle ensued when an inspector was not present to augment the lock-keeper’s efforts.
It was a good distance from the Peel Hall Bridge to Withington Lane; they passed through another thirteen locks, ascending all the time, and when they came out of the Top Lock, Jake judged it safe to moor up for five minutes so that they could examine the dog more closely. He was fully conscious now and keeping well to the back of Clem’s tiny cabin in the butty boat. Every time anyone looked in at him, he showed his teeth and the whites of his eyes, but made no move either to escape or attack.
‘You’d best go into him first, young Clem,’ Jake said thoughtfully. ‘It were you what rescued him, when all’s said and done, and he’ll mebbe know it. Dogs is a lot wiser than we give ’em credit for. As soon as he’s quiet, I reckon Priddy will want to take a look at him. She’s as good at doctoring dogs as she is with horses, so provided he don’t need stitchin’ up or physicking, he can go his ways while we’re still in an area he knows.’
‘Go his ways?’ Clem said, amazed. ‘But the moment we let him loose, the Wigan Wolves will be after him, sure as eggs is eggs. Why, Jake, you can see he’s a stray without a real home of his own – I could feel his ribs even through that thick fur when we dragged him out of the water. That feller hasn’t had a square meal since – since he were a pup. He’s nobbut skin and bone, for all he’s so big.’
Priddy, approaching along the towpath, grinned at Clem over her husband’s shoulder. ‘Having rescued him, I daresay you’ll be wantin’ to keep him, young feller,’ she observed shrewdly. ‘I think you’re right not to want to leave him here. He’ll go back to the only place he knows, like you said. Dogs do, ’specially if they’ve been fendin’ for themselves and rootin’ round dustbins and rubbish tips for any food
they can get. The thing is though, Clem, he’s awful big and mebbe he’ll turn out vicious an’ all. You can see we couldn’t have a dog like that aboard, can’t you?’
‘I know he’s big, but your old Zip was big and we need a big feller who’ll put thieves off robbin’ stuff from the boats,’ Clem pointed out. ‘And he curls up pretty small – look at him now, all scrunched up in the back of the cabin. So I wouldn’t mind sharin’ with him. As for vicious . . . well, we’d best not judge till I’ve got him out o’ that.’ With these words, Clem jumped aboard the butty boat and went boldly into his tiny cabin. The sight of the dog curled up so protectively, its huge ears pricked and its eyes fixed upon him, was a little daunting, but Clem had always been fond of dogs and telling himself that this creature was unlikely to attack him, he crouched down on the floor by its side and, picking up a blanket off his bed, began to rub the thick coat, murmuring explanations as he did so.
‘Well, and ain’t you a fine feller, then? When you’re dry and a bit more respectable, like, we’ll go outside and you can meet Priddy and Jake. You’ll like ’em, they’re grand folk and Priddy can take a look at you and see if you need doctorin’, ’cos she’s grand with animals, so she is, and if you’ve got any nasty deep cuts, she’s the person to make sure they don’t go bad on you. Then, of course, you’ll need something hot inside you to make up for bein’ half drowned and you’re welcome to my share of the pork stew ’cos Priddy sees I get a good meal twice a day and I daresay you’ll let me have the apple dumplings.’