Down Daisy Street (21 page)
But now, heat was the last thing on Kathy’s mind. She was thoroughly cold, despite over-sized gumboots and a pair of thick socks over her woollen stockings. She had had porridge for breakfast – Sarah always made both children eat porridge on cold mornings – but even so, Kathy was already thinking longingly of her school dinner; as far as she was concerned, saying goodbye to her packed lunches had been one of the best things about the lodgers’ arrival. Now that they were in the fifth form, and considered all but adults, they had their dinner late, taking part in the second sitting and having to control their hunger for an extra forty minutes. Kathy was growing taller but she was still very thin and often remarked to Ruby that though the rest of her body was no longer a junior, her stomach was still in the fourth form and expected to be fed promptly at quarter past twelve.
Ruby splashed through a puddle and swore softly beneath her breath. ‘I wish I’d had the sense to wear gumboots,’ she said gloomily. ‘But I’m always in a hurry first thing in the morning, I don’t know why. It isn’t as if I get up late because I get up as soon as me mam calls me, but somehow, by the time I’ve washed and dressed and got meself down to the kitchen, the hands of the clock have fairly whizzed round and before I know it Mam’s bunging me into me coat and shovin’ me out through the door and I’m having to run.’
‘And there’s me standing on the corner waiting for you and wondering why I do it,’ Kathy said, grinning at her friend from under the dripping brim of her school hat. ‘Oh, Ruby, don’t you hate the winter? The dark mornings, the ice on the water in the jug, your mam getting to work with the bellows to liven up the fire so that everything gets covered in ash, your little brother whining because he’s cold . . .’
‘I wish I had a little brother to whine at me,’ Ruby said enviously. ‘Me mam’s always telling me I’m dead lucky to be an only child but I think you’re a lot luckier. Me dad is one of a big family so I’ve heaps and heaps of cousins and most of them live either on Burly or in one of the nearby streets. But it isn’t the same as having someone sharing your house.’
Kathy gave a muffled giggle as they turned on to St George’s Hill. The rain was running down the pavement as though it were a river and she pulled a face as she saw it splashing over her friend’s stout walking shoes. ‘I wouldn’t change Billy for the world; he’s a grand little feller and I love him,’ she said. ‘But there’s times when even the best of little brothers can drive you mad and put your mam in a bad temper. He’s bored, you see, because it’s so wet and he can’t play out. Now, Mam’s given me five bob and a list of messages. I’m to do them on me way home from school, so this evening can we go home along Netherfield instead of cutting across the little streets? Only I need to visit the markets, Mr Beasler’s confectionery, the hardware store and several others, and it ’ud be more fun if we did it together. Your mam won’t mind if you’re a bit late for once, will she?’
‘She won’t know,’ Ruby said cheerfully, sloshing onward. ‘Today is one of her working days – she does shift work at the bottling plant from time to time – so provided I’m home before seven o’clock, it’ll be all right.’
‘We shan’t be
that
long,’ Kathy pointed out as they turned into the school grounds. ‘When we’ve got all the messages, we can nip into the tearooms. Mrs McNab’s ever so generous; she gives me a free dinner when I work there Saturdays, and if I pop in during the week there’s usually a cup of tea and a bit of bread and jam coming my way.’
that
long,’ Kathy pointed out as they turned into the school grounds. ‘When we’ve got all the messages, we can nip into the tearooms. Mrs McNab’s ever so generous; she gives me a free dinner when I work there Saturdays, and if I pop in during the week there’s usually a cup of tea and a bit of bread and jam coming my way.’
‘That ’ud be grand,’ Ruby said, rubbing her rain-drenched face. She took off her felt hat and actually wrung it out on the cloakroom floor, doing it a good deal of harm in the process.
‘That’s no way to treat your hat . . .’ Kathy was beginning when Miss Nelson strode into the cloakroom.
‘So you got here, girls,’ she said cheerfully, ‘though judging by the state of you, you must have had to swim! And I’m beginning to think I should call myself Noah, and the high school the Ark! Now come along; the central heating seems to be working for once so if you hang your wet things across the radiators, maybe they’ll be dry by going home time.’
The northerly gale had raged all day Friday and though Alec had gone to bed late, having agreed to do all the evening feeding and shutting up of the stock, he was awoken in the early hours of Saturday morning when the wind gave the house such a buffet that he thought for a moment the roof would surely go. However, after a few moments, he concluded that the house had probably withstood worse gales in its time and buried his face in the pillow. He was on early milking next day and did not mean to lose his sleep just for a bit of wind.
But something odd was happening. There was a roaring, louder even than the roar of the gale, and if he listened hard, he thought he could just make out the murmur of his parents’ voices. They must have been woken, as he had, and were probably discussing whether to go out and check the stock and the barns in case there was pandemonium in the stack yard.
Alec sat up on one elbow and peered towards the window but could make out nothing through the total darkness. He knew it was not time to get up because his alarm clock had not sounded but he decided, ruefully, that there was no point in lying here wondering what the gale was doing. It was better to get up and take a look. If a roof was in danger of blowing off then he and his father must take whatever steps they could to save it. The stock in the fields – beef cattle and the dairy herd for the most part – should be safe enough but if the hen coop took off or the pigsties blew down, then obviously their occupants were in considerable danger. Better safe than sorry, his father always said, checking and rechecking both his beasts and his property, and Alec agreed with the sentiment.
He was almost fully dressed when his bedroom door burst open. Bob Hewitt stood in the aperture, his eyes wild and his hair blown up into a comical crest. He snapped: ‘She’s gorn. There’s water comin’ across Binnacle’s Piece faster’n a hoss can gallop. Don’t worry about your coat; the wind’ll likely tear if off of your back. Foller me!’
He whipped round and began to clatter down the stairs. Alec grabbed his boots and followed. When they reached the kitchen, Betty was standing there, staring through the window into the stack yard. She was wearing a headscarf, a winter coat and boots and the face she turned to her son was white as a sheet. ‘I tried to open the back door but that’s impossible against the strength of the water,’ she said in a high-pitched voice. ‘We’d best get up them stairs again, Bob, ’cos when the water breaks the door down we’ll be caught like rats in a trap.’
Beside her, Loopy whined, fixing her great dark eyes on Alec’s face. She was shivering, shifting from foot to foot. Her unease was plain and now she moved over to Alec and leaned against his knee.
Alec caressed the dog’s silky head. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Water in their stack yard? What did his mother mean? It had rained a little, on and off, for the past week and then the gale had come, rattling the windows, shaking the trees and, he had thought, drying out the land. He turned worried eyes to his father, the question in them plain to the older man. ‘What is it, Dad? What’s happened? Have the tempest done a lot of damage – is that what you mean?’
His father strode to the back door and began to try to push it open, then stopped as a flood of dirty brown water came surging in. ‘Your mother’s right,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We’ll ha’ to try to get out through the parlour window. When I said she’s gorn, I meant the sea had breached the marram bank, old feller. I’d gone out to check on the beasts in Binnacle’s Piece and I actually saw the wave what done it. It were high as a house – higher – and it came crashing down on the bank as though it were no more than a foo reeds. Then it come surgin’ across the fields, black and wicked and topped with foam, and I had to run like a bloody rabbit or I’d ha’ been carried away.’
‘The sea? You mean the sea’s come inland, like it did before they built the pumps and the dykes?’ Alec asked him incredulously. ‘But they said that wouldn’t happen no more, Dad.’ His father gave a derisive snort of laughter and hurried through into the parlour. It was hard work getting the window open against the gale and, of course, it let the wind into the room where it shrieked like an evil spirit, plucked the pictures from the walls and cast them on to the floor, and slammed the parlour door so resoundingly that Alec feared it might have been broken from its hinges. ‘Careful, Dad,’ he shouted, his voice sounding thin and reedy against the roar of the tempest. ‘If you let the wind in, it’ll mebbe wreck the place. Where’s your cap?’
‘Gawd know, for I don’t,’ Bob said, heaving himself on to the window sill. ‘It blew orf or fell orf, I ain’t sure which.’ He dropped into the water outside, which was already up to his knees, and beckoned Alec impatiently to follow him. ‘I’ll shut the window as soon as we’re both out; tell your ma to get up to the bedrooms and stay there,’ he shouted.
Alec turned to obey but his mother was nodding; clearly she had heard Bob’s instructions and intended to follow them. It would have been madness not to do so with the water outside the house already knee high.
Alec dropped into the flood and felt its freezing grip, gasping with outrage at the suddenness of it. There was a splash and Loopy joined them, paddling in the floodwater; she seemed happier out here and stopped whining, suddenly finding her feet. Alec and his father closed the window – not without difficulty – and Alec watched his mother cross the parlour, open the door and go through it, shutting it carefully behind her.
‘Will she be all right, Dad?’ Alec shouted as the two of them, with the dog beside them, began to make their way towards the stables. Alec saw that the stable door had been ripped from its place and saw the big shire horses, Clark and Gable, already over their hocks in water. ‘Wouldn’t it have been best to get Ma out of the house and on to higher ground? The church and the parsonage are on a bit of a hill; we could have taken her there.’
Bob was battling his way into the stable to release the horses, the dogs and the pony, Feather, who pulled the trap. Both Clark and Gable were normally placid but now they were rolling their eyes wildly. Bob opened the low doors of their stalls and drove the great beasts, and the pony, into the stack yard. ‘How would we get Betty to safety without a boat?’ he asked, wading across towards the pigsties. ‘Best open all the doors, lad, and give the animals a chance, at least. I’ll do the pigs while you do the poultry.’
‘Ma could ride up to the vicarage on Clark or Gable; horses can swim pretty good. I remember reading at school that men going into battle made their horses swim across rivers,’ Alec said.
His father shook his head doubtfully. ‘But this is the sea, and it’s getting deeper every minute,’ he said, raising his voice to combat the howl of the gale. ‘Look towards Binnacle’s Piece if you doubt me.’
Alec did not doubt his father’s words but looked towards the great meadow anyway, and saw . . . the North Sea, black as the night itself, save where the waves were white tipped with hurrying foam. It came towards them, relentlessly advancing, engulfing meadows, trees and hedges as though they had never been.
As the water bore down on them, Loopy suddenly seemed to go crazy. She charged into the flood, barking wildly, and began to swim purposefully back towards the farmhouse. Alec grabbed at her but Bob shouted at him to leave the dog alone. ‘She’s gom back to your ma,’ he bawled, above the howling of the tempest. ‘We’d best follow her example. C’mon!’
For the first time, Alec felt truly frightened. What in heaven’s name should they do? He doubted if even the stoutest horse could swim against the force of such a sea yet he could think of no other way of getting his mother to safety. ‘I know what you’re saying, Dad, but the farmhouse isn’t a safe place any more. Come to that, how are we going to reach high ground?’
His father hissed in his breath between his teeth, glancing comprehensively around him, then he nodded and seized Clark by his mane, heaving himself up on to the horse’s broad back. ‘You’re in the right of it, young feller,’ he said. ‘We’ll fetch your ma down and find high ground while we still can. Then we’d best get a working party together, see if there’s anything we can do to mend the breach. High tide will come and the sea will take everything if we don’t attempt to stop it. Come on!’
The days that followed were the most frightening Alec had ever experienced and he knew they would stay in his mind for ever. They managed to get Betty out of the farmhouse and the three of them, together with Patch, Cherry and the horses, made their way to safety. There was no sign of Loopy.
The farm that took them in stood on higher ground with woods at its back – not that Alec or his father stayed there long. They left Betty with kindly Mrs Agar, the farmer’s wife, and, having explained that the marram bank had collapsed, began to gather a working party. With what turned out to be undue optimism, they assumed that when the tide began to ebb they ought to be able to repair the breach, and very soon men and materials from as far away as Norwich were gathering along the shore, trying to build up the bank with anything they could lay their hands on. There were slabs of concrete, bollards, railway sleepers, even trees, but nothing could hold back the sea when it was whipped into a frenzy by the terrible northwesterly gales.
Two days after the original breach, Bob told Alec privately that he thought they would fail. ‘The moon’s at the full tonight and the spring tide will be at its highest; unless the wind drops, I reckon the water will burst through again and go further this time. Your ma will be safe enough at the Agars’ but I doubt whether anything else in the village will be standing by morning.’
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