The Liverpool Rose (15 page)

The dog, though it could not have understood a word, seemed very conscious that here was a friend. He stood up under the brisk rubbing of the rough
cotton blanket and after a moment cautiously extended a long, pink tongue and licked Clem’s nose. Clem laughed, put an arm round the shaggy ruff and gave the dog’s neck a slight squeeze. ‘You’re a fine feller, so you are,’ he said again. ‘Even though you’re nobbut skin and bone, it’s easy to see you’ll make up into a real powerful animal, once you’ve got good grub inside you and someone to protect you from those bullying Wolves. As for turnin’ you out to fend for yourself, that I’d never do – and nor would Priddy and Jake, not when they see you’ll be gentle as a lamb when you’re wi’ friends.’

Once the dog was thoroughly dry Clem accompanied him off the butty boat and on to
The Liverpool Rose
. With his thinness hidden by his newly fluffed out coat, the dog did, indeed, look magnificent, though there was a deep cut over his right eye which still oozed blood and Clem suspected that there would be other wounds where missiles had hit him during the recent skirmish. To Clem’s relief, as soon as the dog saw Priddy and Jake, his long shaggy tail began to wag gently from side to side and he came aboard and down into the small cabin, flattening his ears as he did so in an ingratiating manner, as though he was well aware that he was among friends.

Priddy had prepared a meal in a bucket, consisting of a great many potatoes, some rich pork gravy and a little of the stewed meat. Putting it down before the dog, she said: ‘It don’t do to overfill a starving stomach, nor to allow anyone what’s been hungry for a long time, to eat rich victuals. But this should do him a treat . . . Oh!’

Clem looked down enquiringly at the dog, wondering whether he had not dared to eat the food. Instead, he saw an empty bucket while the dog
looked up at him with a rim of potato across its nose and its eyes shining adoringly.

Jake, eating his own stew at a great speed as though he feared Priddy might seize it from him and feed it to their new-found friend, grinned. ‘Sit ye down, lad, and get outside o’ this,’ he said, pointing to Clem’s well-filled tin plate. ‘He don’t look vicious to me, the poor devil’s just starved and neglected. Priddy will take a look at him once we’ve ate, but I don’t reckon we’ll be turnin’ him off w’out a shillin’, as the saying goes. I think this chap will be a grand friend to us and
The Liverpool Rose ‘
cos just the sight of him, standin’ on the cabin roof and showin’ his teeth when anyone gets too near, would be enough to put off most thieves.’

Clem felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him. He leaned across and ruffled the dog’s fur affectionately. ‘You’re a member of the crew, old feller,’ he said exultantly. ‘You ain’t the captain, ’cos that’s Jake, and you ain’t first mate, ’cos that’s Priddy. I’m the bo’sun, so you’ll have to be a deckhand. Deckie learners, they call newcomers aboard the trawlers, but I don’t reckon much to that for a name.’ He turned to Priddy. ‘What’ll we call him, Priddy? He’s a big feller, so he’ll need a big name with a bit of dignity to it.’

‘Them ’orrible Wigan Wolves called him an ugly brute, so how about Brutus?’ Priddy suggested. ‘He were one of them Roman generals, I seem to remember, one o’ them fellers what wore a laurel wreath and had a damn great conk. And this feller, you must admit, is similarly blessed.’

Looking at the dog’s profile, Clem had to laugh. The Alsatian did, indeed, have an enormous nose, with a patrician hook to it. ‘Brutus,’ Clem mused,
continuing to stare at the dog. ‘Yes, I like it. I think he’s going to be a grand addition to our crew, and Brutus suits him just fine. Deckhand Brutus of
The Liverpool Rose,
just the feller to keep the Wigan Wolves at bay. And I reckon he’ll do that, all right.’

Clem was speedily proved right. Brutus proved to be both intelligent and sensitive. He seemed to know by instinct when a person footing it along the towpath was a casual farm worker, probably setting snares for rabbits and therefore harmless, or a young fellow bent on stealing anything he could lay hands on aboard a canal boat. With the former he was gravely polite, wagging his tail if greeted and even condescending to allow himself to be patted, but with the latter he was a different animal. His hackles would rise, his lips would curl back to show his excellent set of teeth, and he would growl in the back of his throat in a manner which left little doubt that had the intruder taken a step towards either
The Liverpool Rose
or her butty boat, he would speedily find himself badly mauled.

At night-time, he curled up beside Clem in his tiny cabin, but even though he appeared to be sleeping, he was clearly alert for the smallest noise or unusual happening. He would sit up, growling softly beneath his breath, and the moment he became convinced that someone was around, his deep, rumbling bark would be enough to scare off the most intrepid burglar.

With the introduction of Brutus into their lives, things became very much more comfortable aboard
The Liverpool Rose
. Within a matter of days, Priddy and Jake felt that they could snug down the boat and go off for a beer at a canalside tavern without worrying over what they might find on their return. For his part, Clem had found the perfect companion. He had always loved the countryside and enjoyed
walking and exploring, and when the canal began to wind its way across the Pennines he had often longed for someone with whom to explore. Now he had Brutus. Jake was a real dog lover and insisted that sauntering along the towpath, hard on the heels of man and horse, was not sufficient exercise for a big dog like that. ‘He’s your responsibility, young Clem,’ he said severely. ‘You took him on and you must see he gets proper exercise and the right sort o’ grub. He’s only young – Priddy thinks no more ‘an twelve months – so he needs good food, a few nice bones if you can pick ’em up from a butcher in one o’ the villages, and walks to strengthen his muscles and keep him fit.’

This was the very advice that Clem wanted, and once the dog was well enough the pair of them enjoyed many rambles up into the high hills and the quiet places, where they could be by themselves, sometimes looking down on the shiny ribbon of the canal, far below them.

By the time they reached Leeds, Priddy’s wonderful ointments and tender care had completely transformed Brutus from the shabby fugitive they had carried aboard the boat to a gleaming, bright-eyed dog, sure of himself and apparently without fear. Indeed, when they returned through the Wigan locks, with Brutus standing on the prow of the boat as it moved along the length of the canal, there was not one comment from the Wigan Wolves to indicate they recognised him. They certainly respected him, however. Whether aboard the boat or walking sedately at Hal’s heels, he was a force to be reckoned with, and one which the young ruffians from the slums did not intend to take on. They kept their distance – and their thieving hands to themselves – and the crew of
The
Liverpool Rose
knew that the worst of their troubles were over while Brutus was aboard.

‘Class dismissed!’

Brother Laurence, who taught the boys of St Mark’s school mathematics – ‘For my sins,’ he was apt to say gloomily – had been trying this particular October afternoon to get into the heads of the older boys some basic facts about bookkeeping. Geoff pitied the teacher in some ways but knew him to be an excellent mathematician from whom he, himself, could learn a great deal. Accordingly, he did his utmost to see that the other boys in the class behaved themselves. He realised that this was selfish rather than public-spirited, but felt it was the only way that he would ever master the subject, for he saw clearly enough that his chances of succeeding in the world would be far greater if he had a good grasp of bookkeeping. Every post in an office seemed to require a knowledge of the subject and, should he be fortunate enough to get a job in a bank, he knew that he would be expected to take – and pass – bookkeeping examinations, so it behoved him to learn as much as he could from Brother Laurence. What was more, he genuinely liked the teacher and knew that Brother Laurence liked him, too. At any rate, although the rest of the boys had rushed to the door as soon as Brother Laurence had dismissed them, the teacher was still seated behind his desk and Geoff had remained in the classroom. He was hopeful that Brother Laurence might take a look at the work he had been doing in his own time.

Some weeks earlier, Brother Laurence had kept Geoff back after a particularly rowdy classroom session and had told him, approvingly, that he had a better grasp of the work the class had been doing than
most of his fellow pupils. ‘If you would like to advance a little further, I’d be happy to work with you for half an hour after class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. You’re a bright lad and I think, with coaching, you might do well for yourself and get a good job. I know mathematics seems a dry and dusty subject to most lads, but it strikes me that you’ve a good grasp of the work and would not be afraid to venture further.’

Geoff had accepted the suggestion eagerly and now he had begun to enjoy the sessions a good deal more than the actual classes, which were so often disturbed by the less able boys.

‘Well, Gardiner? Did you manage to do the work I set you?’ Brother Laurence said, pushing his glasses down his nose so that he could look at Geoff over the top of them.

Geoff grinned and delved into the front of his shabby school bag, producing a sheaf of papers and laying them on the teacher’s desk. ‘No problems, sir,’ he said, trying not to sound smug. ‘I gorrin a bit of a muddle over question ten, but I had a good think and realised I were looking at it from the wrong angle. Once I knew that, I was able to work it out for myself.’

Brother Laurence took the papers, pushed his glasses up on to the bridge of his nose once more and began to mark the sheet with his red pen, nodding approvingly as he did so. ‘You’re forging ahead at a grand pace, young Gardiner,’ he said. ‘If you keep this up, by the time you’re ready to leave school next summer, I’ll be able to recommend you as the ablest boy to pass through my hands for some time. You may not think that this will help you to get a well-paid job, but you’d be wrong. I’ve placed many of my best pupils in positions of responsibility and now they, as
employers, are willing to take my word when they need a new member of staff themselves.’

‘I know it, sir,’ Geoff said, taking back the pages which Brother Laurence was holding out. ‘The other fellers wouldn’t believe it but I enjoy working out answers to puzzles, especially puzzles with numbers. Maths is so – so logical, sir. I don’t understand why the others think it’s so hard.’

Brother Laurence nodded, pulled a clean sheet of paper towards him and began to write. He and Geoff went and sat at one of the big double desks at the back of the class and the coaching session began.

When Geoff left the classroom half an hour later, he was carrying a further set of problems which he would work out before he had his next maths lesson. He was looking forward to this much as another boy might look forward to a game of football, but that did not mean he was not interested in football; simply that he could enjoy both. He went to the cloakroom, took his brown Father Brannigan coat off its peg and struggled into it, slung his satchel across his back and set off for the orphan asylum. No one would query his lateness – they never did – since most of the boys dawdled home, taking as long as possible between Carver Street and the far end of Shaw Street where Father Brannigan’s was situated.

Truth to tell, when he was not having extra maths classes, Geoff dawdled too. There was such a lot to see and do that everyone stretched the walk home as much as possible. Usually, Geoff crossed Islington Square and made a beeline for Whitley Gardens, where a chap could kick a ball about or play tag or relievio with anyone who happened to be around. Then after Whitley Gardens there were the big houses. Geoff always walked fast past Mr Carstairs’,
the dental establishment, remembering the horrors of visiting the school dentist, who seemed indifferent to the miseries he caused his patients and had once pulled out a perfectly sound tooth which Geoff had been jiggling in his jaw with much enjoyment for several weeks and had planned to sell to a boy in school who was going to make a necklace for his mam for Christmas. The dentist, however, had put a stop to such money-making schemes by throwing the tooth disdainfully into his rubbish bin and ushering Geoff out while his mouth was still too full of blood to protest.

This evening, as Geoff made his way along Shaw Street, however, he was not thinking of dentists or the Brannigan Asylum, or even of mathematical problems. He was thinking of Lizzie Devlin and of their last encounter.

He did not see as much of Lizzie as he would have liked now that they were both growing up. In summer they went bathing in the Scaldy a couple of times a month, but Lizzie was growing self-conscious because she was nearly always the only girl in the water. What was more, her attitude towards Aunt Annie had changed considerably since Geoff had first met her. Something must have happened, he realised, to make his little friend protective towards her aunt instead of merely fond of the older woman. It was something, he thought, which had happened last August, because ever since then Lizzie had seemed worried about leaving her aunt for more than the odd hour or so. Geoff knew that only two of her sons were now living at home and guessed that this put Aunt Annie more at risk from Uncle Perce’s occasional bouts of violence. So the expeditions which Lizzie and he had planned to make, meaning to go by tram to
Seaforth or even by ferry to New Brighton, had had to be shelved. Lizzie still talked of going, but he could tell by her lack of enthusiasm, that she would not enjoy such outings unless she could guarantee her aunt’s safety.

He had suggested that Aunt Annie might come along with them, but though Mrs Grey had pinched his cheek and said, ‘You’re a kind lad,’ she had explained that such a trip would likely kill her in the heat of summer. Geoff had noticed that she had grown stouter over the past few months and that even a short shopping trip up the Scotland Road would cause her to breathe fast and short, while perspiration trickled down her face to be impatiently mopped away with the back of a sleeve or a piece of rag.