Jane's Country Year

 A new edition of this book is now out:

It is minus its maps inside the front and back boards so they are reproduced here. Alas both my copies have brown staining

Front:

Back:

Souvenirs

An interest in stories for children might seem a strange thing for adults. Many I know were first motivated by nostalgia, having read the stories as children themselves, and heard them serialised on the radio. Most members enjoy walking in the areas depicted in the books, some organised and some private. None of this was true for me since I hardly encountered Saville's books as a child despite being a prolific reader. My wife had read the early Lone Pines and introduced me to Rye and Shropshire and we collected a few others in those bookshop-tramping days. It was on the Suffolk coast, at Southwold, that we came across a poster advertising a Malcolm Saville Society weekend and realised that there are other collectors out there. We joined, and I wrote my first piece (1998) on Blakeney (which we knew well, combined with Two Fair Plaits set in London. I was 50 years old that year.


I studied a range of literature for children and young people, especially from 1930 onwards. I was in particular interested in the social history of the period, which underpins all of my writing. I was also a teacher and teacher trainer, and so committed to encourage children to become readers. I am reminded of this exchange involving Richard Adams, who wrote Watership Down.:

Desert Island Disks 1977 Richard Adams, Roy Plomley

RP: “Now, you’ve called it a children’s adventure story.”

RA: “I haven’t. There’s no such thing as a children’s story or a children’s book. I entirely agree with the great C. S. Lewis, who said a book not worth reading when you’re 60 is not worth reading when you’re 6. The point about Watership Down was that it was meant to exemplify my own ideas in treating the child reader as a potential adult. The book was not written with children in mind. It was written as a novel. But I knew that it was for my little girls, primarily it was written for their pleasure, and I deliberately incorporated demanding and difficult passages in it, which were intended to let the child reader get his teeth into something solid, and give him as it were a kind of dummy run over the kind of greater literature that he would encounter later on when he came to grips with some of the great novels of the world. And it’s very nice to find that this little idea of mine appears to have found favour not only with my own children but millions, literally millions of children all over the world.

Chronology of the Malcolm Saville Society and my involvement.

Easter Gathering were always difficult to fit in with work and foreign travel. Later on Jean's illness made attendance impossible. 

1994 preliminary meeting.
1995 items by Mark OH, Stephen Handy. NB appreciation of Steven Handy in 2004 by David Cook, and MOH on Richard Walker in 2004. Also item in 20th Anniversary Souvenir.
1996 Ludlow Gathering.
1997 Suffolk - Southwold Gathering.

1998 Rye.  The first Gathering Jean and I attended. It was in the Mermaid Inn, a hotel we knew quite well. I wrote my first article as a result of appeals for contributions for Acksherley. I don't have a 1999 Souvenir (Shropshire), to hand. . 2000 was in Whitby and I am likely to have remembered a trip on the steam railway. But we knew the area well, and the railway and perhaps decided that we knew it all. In that year I was breaking in a new and challenging job in Worcester University. Looking at the Souvenir now I see an excellent piece by Patrick Tubby on Wharram Percy. I was to write my own article on it a decade later

1999 Long Mynd
2000 Whitby
2001 Shropshire
2002 Ely
I am looking first through Souvenirs and see my first contribution was to the 2002 Ely Souvenir. It was I think the fact that we were in Ely persuaded me to read The Luck of Sallowby, a book i didn't know, and looked out a few topographical books which included the David and Charles book The Great Ouse about the canalisation of the river and other water channels down to Denver. Looking through the programme, I would today appreciate the visit to the Lucy Boston house of the Greene Howe books. The hotel was traditional and it appears that group meetings were in The Maltings. After the Denver trip, we stopped in Wood Hall which became Sallowby Manor in the book. We were welcomed by the owner and gave him a paperback copy of the book. Drinks at The Royal Standard took us to the location of the tearoom. Next day on the way home we called in at the Streatham Pumping Engine.

The Souvenir carried an excellent article by Peter Oates who had made The Luck of Sallowby his personal study. He described in great detail the flood of 1947. He pointed out connections with Dorothy Sayers' story The Nine Tailors about the peal of bells and found the source of one of the book illustrations. The same Souvenir has a piece which deserves reprinting by Jeremy Saville on Redshanks Warning. In brief, it tells of Saville family holidays in 1946-7 to East Runton near Sheringham where they stayed over the Post Office, 'in digs' as it were.

2003 Rye
2004 Shrewsbury
My piece They Changed Trains about the London to Shrewsbury rail route and the Through the Window book on it..

2005 Exeter
My item: Flying Saucers and Military Secrecy. This seems a fanciful connection until we read about Jon referring to a book by Adamski and Leslie with a footnote to a book by Leonard G Cramp called Space, Gravity and the Flying Saucer (1954). UFOs were all the rage in the 1950s with citings galore. The editor of a local paper near us claimed to have talked to Venusians in Warminster, Wiltshire and writing The Warminster Mystery (he was quick replaced). That the Salisbury Plain was a pilgrimage centre for UFO spotters was mostly to do with army flares and RAF Harriers which could fly when stationary with searchlights. I had a sceptical interest in UFOs and had Adamsky's UFO spotting book from the early 1950s. I would have bought Cramp's book from the internet, and it must be still around though I haven't seen it for a decade. Saville's story calls the flying saucer a military secret and not an invasion of non-British visitors. I also discussed the works of Arthur C Clarke, including his early science fiction, and the ridiculous science fantasy books of W E Johns.

2006 Whitby. No item.
2007 Sussex The Wonderful Green Electric Trains from Victoria. The Brighton line was electrified in the 1930s and Saville would have joined the London train in Barcombe. He used this trip in The Fourth Key.
2008 Church Stretton
Item: Parents in Difficulties. A Church Stretton venue demanded an article on the early Lone Pine books. I looked at the story-lines from the perspectives of the parents. Father had gone to war, mother was coping alone in a strange place, a house without running water. Jasper Stirling was a widower with a teenage daughter and some mental health issues, and Uncle Micah seemed to have religious paranoia more suited to Cold Comfort Farm, but fortunately an understanding wife.

Thus it seems my first decade with the MS Society included four Souvenir items.
2009 Street, Somerset
I wrote for this on Spirit of the Place: Writing about England but wasn't able to attend. I hope I can be pardoned for forgetting what I wrote and am pleased to reread it now. We tend to use 'spirit of place' a little too much, and I note that my take on it was anything but romantic. We were in the middle of war, invasion was a fear on everyone's minds. By 1944-5 reconstruction was being dreamed of and children, as the new generation, we to be guardians of conservation. Saville's stories, and scrapbooks exhorted children not to allow the good things to be swept away, the animal habitats, the wild flowers, the farms. Those children are now pensioners and some of us at least have done our best to leave the place as good as possible for our grandchildren. I surveyed Saville's conservationist message, ending with words I am still happy with: "the spirit of place is more about people - how people relate to each other, treat each other and help each other". Personally I have a Scottish Highlander paternal grandmother, a Protestant grandfather of Scottish ancestry from Dublin, a maternal grandfather who seemed English but scratch deeper and you find Irish navvy ancestors, so his family were scattered among the coalmines of Nottingham. The spirit of England is multicultural and diverse, now added to by Chinese, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi families, and postwar Europeans like Poles and Italians. Saville's England is monocultural, romanticised, populated by farm labourers and such who have become fewer across my lifetime.

2010 Suffolk Coast.
I continued this thought the following year with Good People Working Together: the Lesson of Sea Witch Comes Home. This Southwold book is an oddity and I remember when first reading it, saying to my wife Jean "Saville didn't write this". I was wrong of course, as I didn't know his other series, but the book stands out from other Long Pine books as different. Only David appears in a story in which relationships are always fractured and arguments prevent proper communication which would have alerted to danger. On the positive side we see adults resisting criminality offering the book a positive end in spite of the maritime disaster.

2011 Rye. No item. Note Recollections of 1995 MOH etc p.34-42

2012 Shrewsbury.
Clunton and Clunbury, Clungenford and Clun are the quietest places under the sun makes Ida Gandy our guide through her book An Idler through the Shropshire Borders telling her story of being a doctor's wife in the area bringing up her young family in the 1930s, describing villages, railways and the local people. There are many Saville parallels.

2013 Richmond
For this Yorkshire Gathering, I visited Shap on the way home from Scotland, staying in the Shap Wells Hotel overnight and driving around next day. I had prepared for this by spending weeks with OS maps and trying to trace indications in the book Strangers at Snowfell which tells of a Professor working in a lonely village with spies after his secret formula, his son attempting to check his safety. The result of this was a map of Shap I produced showing the location of the farmhouse in which Prof Thornton stayed at Oddendale, on the long distance path. I put all this together in Shap - Cold War and Blizzards

2014, 20th anniversary of Society. Shropshire (Shrewsbury).
My item on Cwm Head House and the Tyleys was an afterthought after I met Julia one of the Tyley's daughters who gave me a copy for the society of the Cwn Head House details when the family left.. The price then was £8450.00. The main item I planned was Shropshire versus Hitler, a bringing together of some second world war details. Of course there were tanks and the Home Guard, but I detailed the ammunition dumps along the old Shropshire and Montgomery Light Railway and nearby the radio transmitter at Criggion.

2015 Devon (Torquay).
My item Dartmoor: Malcolm Saville, D F Bruce and M E Atkinson brought together three books, Saucers Over the Moor, The School on the Moor, and The House on the Moor. The first and third featured the same house, which we know as Kings Holt. I also have a description of the Princeton Railway. The Saville book Come to Devon also has a description of the history and topology of Dartmoor,

2016 Whitby
Saville and the Spirit of the North York Moors focused on place identifications. Spaunton and Ravenswyke come from near Kirkbymoorside 25 miles away. Suggestions are made about where Rosemary Court might have been in the yards and alleys. On Robin Hood's Bay, a link is made to Leo Walmsley whose father painted there and who himself wrote books about the village, calling it Bramblewick. The spy/painter who painted in RHB is called Mr Bramble at the end of the book when he is arrested, a detail not otherwise explainable. A section brought together details about the Lone Pine book Mystery Mine

2017 Brighton
This item covered two aspects of the story The Long Passage referring to the passage between the magnificent Pavilion and the Concert Hall. The first is the identification of Stunnngton with real life Storrington and Sullington, of which the real Sullington Manor Farm appears in the story. The second section concerns the Polish musicians who may hay influenced Saville's creative depiction of Alex Renislau. Stanislas Niedzielski (1905-75) was an itinerant pianist-performer who transported his grand piano, duly flatpacked in a trailer behind his car. He even took it over the channel via the Lymphne Air Ferry, which gave me my first clue to him You can hear him play on the internet. Witold Roman Lutoslawski (1913-94) was a tuneful composer in the 1950s until Stalin's death in 1953 but an avant garde thereafter, at which point as a teenager I fell in love with is music. Sir Andrezej Panufnik (1914-91) escaped his Polish communist minders to flee from Switzerland to Britain in 1954 eerily similarly to Renislau's escape a few year's earlier. These three offer a composite of where Renislau came from in the war, and of what he might have become.

2018 Shropshire.
Bearing in mind Mr Morton was a fighter pilot and Spitfire pilot, this item hopes to celebrate 80 years of Spitfire production and flying, starting in 1938 and makes a suggestion, based on historical precedents, of what a father-of-three in his 30s might have been doing flying a Spit when the average age of Spitfire pilots was around 20 years old.

Writing on Malcolm Saville 1998-2018

My wife and I joined the Malcolm Saville Society in 1996 with the sudden realisation that we were not the only people shopping for his books and visiting places like Rye, Shropshire and Dartmoor. In those days you didn't buy books from the internet, you dived in shop after shop. Sadly many of those shops no longer exist as the internet offers instant gratification. One of the benefits of coming to annual gatherings was that Saville books were for sale at manageable prices. There was always a scrum at the official sales desk. I have memories of Shropshire gatherings in Shrewsbury and the Long Mind Hotel, in Rye, Exeter, Plymouth and Ely. We didn't get to them all because we had a few Easter foreign holidays, but in our first decade we were pretty regular. My wife's long illness began to be a problem after 2010 so since then we have not been able to attend.

I have to confess I was not a Saville reader as a child but bought a rebound library copy of Saucers over the Moor in my teens. That is therefore the story I have more of a bond with than the others. My wife read the early Lone Pine titles ending with The Neglected Mountain so Shropshire and Rye were on our married to do list. Her sister lives in Kent  and her in-laws lived in Pett Level so Rye visits were regular. We had week long cottage holidays in Minsterley, Stiperstones and shorter stays in Shrewsbury   over the years.

The purpose of this article is to record twenty years of my writing for Acksherley! and Souvenir Programmes. I chose the first one in 1998 as a book written in my birth year, so I and the book were both fifty years old. That was Redshanks Warning, the first Jillies book from 1948. In fact the second story, Two Fair Plaits appeared for Christmas the same year, so this appeared in the same piece. We knew Blakeney very well because close friends lived nearby and we often walked the coast. I wrote in more detail on each book later. The style of writing changed as editors changed. That editor liked informality and humour, the next two were more formal. It was a matter of us getting to know each other. My current style evolved gradually as I tried to write serious studies of books or locations to run alongside the reports and lighter pieces. My contributions rose from two to four a year depending on the need for copy to fill the issue.

The subject matter of articles had no fixed pattern. As the copy deadline became closer, something would crop up. Souvenirs were easy since it was an article about a location. I would look for an angle which would be new and different - like Shropshire at War, or Shropshire Railways. Some followed my travels, like Shap, in Westmorland which we passed through every year on the way to Scotland and eventually stopped for a couple of nights. My emphasis tended to be on series other than Lone Pine to encourage people to read more widely. Lone Pine stories often were covered in Souvenirs. It suited me to wait for inspiration and write 3000 words but after the first decade I began to be more disciplined and produced some Yorkshire studies (Whitby, Goathland, Wharram and Muker) and London studies which involved searching out locations (Brownlow Square, Chelsea) and events such as the Festival of Britain. Most recently I have written published Introductions to each of the seven titles in the Marston Baines 'Thriller' series, for Girls Gone By Publishers, the final one Marston - Master Spy due out around Easter 1922.

Many of the early articles are available online on:

https://eprints.worc.ac.uk/800/1/Saville_Papers_2010.pdf

https://eprints.worc.ac.uk/1499
See also malcolmsavillearchive.blogspot.com

Harvest Holiday

Binding and stooking, 1946.

Calling in on the blacksmith

(missing quarter restored)

Line drawings by Lunt Roberts.

Michael and Mary,Harvest Holiday

A scene from the short story Harvest Holiday (around 1946) which contains 19 pictures by Lunt Roberts, one a colour frontispiece. It is the sequel to Trouble at Townsend depicting a second visit to the farm a year later. Mary is map-reading. The Scottie dog is Dougal. Here I have used water colours to enhance local scenery.

Mary and Michael are joined by their townie friends Elizabeth (Liza) and John who arrive in their best blazers and overcoats and a suitcase weighing a ton. On the way home from the station, here they are admiring the tractor and binder.

Here is the next, faded out and waiting for colour.

The Climax of Mystery at Witchend

an experiment with colour, hand drawn.

This time I left the Bertram Prance line drawing in, as faded as I could,

 and coloured with watercolour:

Abridging a Malcolm Saville Story.

Here is an example of how Malcolm Saville's stories were reduced to make independent stories. 

The sections marked yellow are what appeared in a short story.

The remainder is what appears in the book The Mystery of the Painted Box.

Yellow: reprinted as

‘The Unwelcome Guest’ in L. Grimble, The Very Best Children’s Stories of the Year III

The Mystery of the Painted Box

CHAPTER THREE

THE WOMAN AT THE LOCK

MARY neither felt nor heard Vicky get out of their bunk next morning. She had wakened twice in the night because the bed was strange and her companion rather fidgety, but once she had got used to the hard wall of the cabin at her back she had settled down again. It was fun to remember that she was sleeping on a boat for the first time in her life, fun to realize that there was another day on the water before them, fun not to be going to school and fun to remember that Mrs White had promised that she should help to keep house in the cabin to-day.

       She was wakened in daylight by a strange throbbing noise, and when she opened her eyes she saw Vicky standing by the bunk with a steaming mug in her hand.

"Hullo, Mary !" she smiled, "D'you like tea ? Mum said to ask you. ' ,

Mary sat up and looked into the mug. The tea looked horribly black. .

"Oh, Vicky," she said, "Thank you so much but I never have tea before breakfast. . . . Could you drink it d'you think, or maybe Mike would. I don't want to be rude but it looks rather strong. ' ,

Vicky laughed. "I'll drink it. I've had one already. Are you going to get up for breakfast?"

"Of course I am. What's the time and what's that noise?"

"Never know the time," Vicky said as she clasped both hands round her mug and sipped the tea, "but we've been going half an hour. ... Mike's up and I'm going to show him how to do a lock properly in a minute. ... Mum's calling now. I must go. Buck up, Mary."

The sun was shining when she came out of the cabin but the mist was still lying low over the fields. The chimney on the Brentford was smoking and Mrs White was at the tiller of the butty again and smiled at her as she came up the two steps. The Brentford was already in the lock ahead and the butty was following in gently. Mary watched entranced to see whether they would bang the side of the lock or against the motor-boat. But with only a glance over her shoulder Mrs White flung her rope over the beam on the lock gate, checked the speed of the butty , and slid in beside the Brentford without touching her. Mary ran along the deck after calling 'Good morning' , to Mr White who had his pipe in his mouth as usual. Vicky and Mike were above them at the upper gates of the lock and her brother, scarlet in the face, was working desperately with the handle of the sluice. Vicky was saying something to him and then suddenly there was a great commotion under the bows of the two boats as the water gushed in. Mike looked very pleased with himself and ran over to work the sluice the other side.

Mr White removed his pipe, ' 'Nice work, boy! ' , he said. "You can use young Vicky's bike for the next few days and do 'em all. ... We'll be up at Cow Roast afore dinner."

Once through the lock they moored for half an hour and had breakfast. There was a cottage on the bank just here and Mr White went ashore with the two water cans which he filled from a well. When they started again Vicky took the tiller of the butty while her mother filled the dipper from the canal and cleaned the deck and walls of the cabin with the mop.

Ten minutes later Vicky shouted to Mike, who was talking to her father on the Brentford.

"Jump ashore, Mike, Next lock's round the corner. ... Never mind about the bike. We'll run."

They trotted along the towpath together and, "That's a grand house, ' , Mike said, nodding towards a great mansion of red brick standing about a quarter of a mile away on their left with gardens sloping right down to a thick evergreen hedge bordering the towpath.

, 'Some great lord or somebody lives there,'  Vicky said, "But we've never seen him and I don't know his name. I like the gardens in the summer - they've got real roses.... Hullo! There's someone at the lock. ... It's a woman. ... She was watching us and pretending not to."

"P'raps she's the duchess of that house," Mike smiled, "or whatever it is you call a lord's wife. ... Let's ask her!" While they watched the woman crossed over the canal on the closed gates, hesitated on the other bank, and then seemed to wait for them. Just as the children came up to the lock the blunt bows of the Brentford pushed them­selves round the corner and the stranger turned and smiled at them.

“Are you from that barge?” , she asked pleasantly.

She looked nice, Mike thought. Not very old but smartly dressed in a tweed costume and brown, country shoes. She was bareheaded but carrying a coloured scarf and a raincoat over one arm and a big brown handbag under the other. She was leaning against the beam of the big gates and it looked as if she was out of breath. As Mike answered her she took a cigarette from her bag and lit it.

"They're not called barges," he said, "If you'll excuse me, they're boats. We've come on ahead to work the lock,"

"I'm so sorry," the woman said. "Stupid of me. I ought to have known. I'd like to watch you and see how your father gets that long narrow boat – Oh! I see. There's another one tied on behind - into the lock."

"He's not Mike's father. He's mine," Vicky said tersely. She didn't think she liked this woman.

"Sorry again," the woman smiled. "Of course I can see now that you're not brother and sister. ... Where's your boat going?"

"Birmingham," Vicky replied. "Be ready, Mike. Dad's coming in.

"How long does it take you to get to Birmingham ?" the woman persisted.

"We get along very well," Mike replied vaguely. Trouble was of course that he didn't know the real answer. "But it all depends. ... We were just looking at that lord's big house. Have you come from there?"

"No. I have not," the stranger replied sharply. "As a matter of fact I'm a journalist and I've got to do an article on canals." She turned to Vicky with a winning smile.

'Will you introduce me to your father? I want to ask him if he'll allow me to come some of the way with you, . . . I'd adore to see over a barge-boat, I mean. . . . Will you, please?"

"Presently, Vicky said, “We’re busy now. … Right, Mike. ... They're both in. ... Let her go."

The ratchets on the gearing of the sluice rattled as Mike worked at the handle. He was getting the knack of it now and realizing that it was not just brute strength that was required!

"Pass over the key," Vicky shouted. "I'll do this side. Dad wants to make up some time to-day so let's be as quick as we can.

The water gushed in and the boat rose slowly. Mike crossed over and stood by Vicky. The strange woman was speaking again.

"You'll ask your father now, won't you, my dear ? ... most frightfully important for me to come with you and of course I'll pay."

Vicky looked at her with dislike. "You'd better not offer to pay Dad. Maybe you'd better ask him yourself about coming with us. I don't care."

Mike thought Vicky was being rather rude. After all, the stranger was pleasant enough even if she didn't know anything about canals! She looked rather worried too and seemed in a great hurry. She was talking to Mr White now as the Brentford rose up to the top of the lock.

“ . . . I really am very sorry to bother you but I was telling “your charming little girl" -here Vicky scowled - "that I should appreciate it very much if I could come some of the way up the canal with you. ',

"Sorry, miss," Mr White said, "but this isn't a pleasure boat. All here have to work for their living and even these two kids are doing their share. ... Come on, you two, if you're coming, or do you want to go ahead on the bike?"

"I have to work for my living too," the woman smiled, "and I'll let you into a secret. This is my first chance to make good in a new job. I'm a journalist and my editor sent me out this morning to write about the canal. If I don't get it I'll maybe lose my job and you wouldn't want that, would you ?"

Mr White sent the blunt bows of the Brentford against the lock gates which started to open. He barely looked up as he grunted, “Jump on, then, and keep out of the way."

The woman jumped clumsily on to the deck and Mike and Vicky followed. Mrs White, on the butty, looked at her coldly but Mary, who liked company of any sort, hopped about on the cabin roof making mouthing signs to Mike and Vicky.

"Better get on the butty, miss," Mr White said. "My girl and young Mary will look after you. . . . Mike, do the next lock on your own, will you?"

Mike flushed with pleasure but Vicky did not look so pleased. She jumped on to the Southall as her father checked the speed of his boat and held out her hand to their visitor .

"Quick," she said, and hauled her across. Then, as they stood side by side on the deck, "What's your name ? I'm Vicky White and this is my mother. ... And that's Mary Bishop, my friend.”

"Thank you, Vicky. What a pretty name."

She turned to Mrs White­

"And thank you very much for your hospitality, Mrs White. I'm sorry to be a nuisance but I expect you heard what I told your husband. I'll try not to get in your way but I would like to see your cabin. ' ,

"You're welcome," Mrs White said, and nodded per­mission to Vicky. All this time Larry, tethered as usual to the chimney of the cooking stove, had been barking furiously and the strange woman did not seem to like him very much. Vicky spoke to Larry and quieted him, and then asked again, ' 'But what is your name ?' , as Mary jumped down from the roof.

“Margaret Stanley”, the woman said, “You  can call me Margaret if you like.”

“No thank you, Miss Stanley,” , came promptly from Vicky. They were moving steadily up the canal now and as they turned a corner another long stretch came into view with a pair of painted boats chugging towards them.

Miss Stanley turned hurriedly to Vicky.

"May I see the cabin now?" she said. "I'd like to see that first. Right away,” , and before the others could say anything she stepped down in front of Mrs White at the tiller and banged her head on the low ceiling. The two

girls followed her down and Mary grinned wickedly at Vicky behind her back.

Miss Stanley proved to be a chatterer and a fidget. She sat down after the bump and started talking and asking questions so quickly that both girls were bewildered. Mary had already learned that Mr and Mrs White never had much to say-they just did things without talking about them - and not even Vicky was talkative, but this pleasant-looking woman never stopped chattering.

She took off her gloves and rattled her painted finger­nails on the table. Then she removed her hat and patted her hair and put her raincoat on the bunk beside her . Then she fidgeted with her scarf and took another cigarette out of her big handbag and lit it. And all the time her eyes were flicking up and down and round the walls, and all the time she was talking.

"Where are we now, Vicky? What's the next place we stop at ? Who sleeps in here ? Have those other two boats passed yet ? Oh I I didn't see them and just wondered.

. . . Do you cook everything on that funny little stove ? . . . ' , But here Mary , who had been bursting to get into the conversation, somehow took a deep breath and broke in­ "It's not a funny little stove! It's a wizard stove. I'm cooking on the one in the other boat to-night and to­morrow, maybe, we'll use this one."

"I'm sorry, Mary. I'm sure it's a grand stove. ... So you are the ship's cook, are you ? How quaint! . . . Do you pass many boats coming the opposite way ? You do ? Oh! ... And do you catch many up going the same way as we are ? And do any catch us up ? 1 shouldn't think so, do they ? .:. Do lots of people come along the towpaths ? I mean do you meet lots of people walking or cycling."

"Mostly only boat people," Vicky said dealing with the last question. "You do want to know a lot of things, don't you ?"

"Why don't you put your handbag down somewhere” Mary said. "you don't look comfortable with it." "I'm quite comfortable sitting here, thanks!," Miss Stanley said, clutching the bag as tightly as ever. 'Now tell me about all these paintings on the walls and what these brass knobs are, and why are they there."

"When are you going to begin your story?" Vicky asked.

"Story? What story?"

"You told Dad when I was there that you'd got write a story about canals. When are you going to start? Do you want a piece of paper?"

Vicky looked quite innocent when she said this, but Miss Stanley seemed to think she meant to be rude.­

“I do not want a piece of paper, thank you. I shall remember everything I find out here. . . . Those boats have gone now, haven't they? Show me something else. Show me where you sleep.' ,

Mary stepped forward and moved back the crochet curtains, and it was just at that moment that Miss Stanley saw Vicky's painted pencil-box and put out her hand take it. But Vicky was too quick for her and snatched it away.

“That looks very attractive,” , Miss Stanley said, ' 'Don’t be so rude, child. Please let me look. I've never see box like that before. It's very quaint. ' ,

Vicky realized that she'd been rather rude and flushed ".

“I’m sorry, she said, but it’s my own very special box. There isn't another one like it anywhere. My uncle made it and my Dad painted it. ' ,

The stranger put out her hand again and rather reluctantly Vicky passed the box over.

"I expect you'd like to add something to your pocket-money, my dear ? Would you care to sell me this should very much like to have it."

"I wouldn't sell it for a hundred pounds," Vicky said stoutly. "Please give it me back. It's the loveliest thing I've got."

Meanwhile Mary, who had been getting very bored with the visitor's chatter, slipped out of the cabin and went to talk to Mrs White, who had already taken a liking to her and was pleased that Vicky had found a friend near her own age.

Mrs White cocked an eyebrow and Mary understood and smiled.

"I think she's a bit mad, Mrs White," she whispered. "She never stops talking. ... Oh! Look! Here's another lock and Mike's going to work it by himself." She put her head back into the cabin­

“Come and watch Mike, Vicky. . . . Miss Stanley! Come and see how we do the locks. ... I don't believe we can go in 'cos the gates are shut. . . . There must be two boats in already. Oh, dear! Poor Mike looks worried. Coming, Vicky?' ,

There was a pause and then Mary heard their visitor say, "No, thank you, Vicky. I think I'll just stay where I am. I'm quite comfortable and can see anything I want from here."

Vicky came out of the cabin rather red in the face, still clutching her pencil-box, and climbed up on to the roof with Mary.

“She's crackers, Mary. I'm sure she is. First she says she wants to see everything we do to make up her story and then she says she'd rather sit down there where she can't see anything."

The Brentford had slowed down now about two hundred yards from the lock, while waiting for the other boats to come out. A main road crossed the canal the other side of the lock and as the bridge had a very low parapet the two girls could see everything that passed.

"Let's count the cars," Mary suggested. "I'll do the ones that come from this side and you count those that come the other way and we'll see who gets the most by the time we're out of the lock. ... l've started. There's two. ... Go on. Now one for you. ... Another for me. ... That's three. ..."

Mrs White looked at them both indulgently as the lock gates opened and the motor of another pair of boats edged out. Miss Stanley came to the door of the cabin. ' 'What have we stopped for ? Has anything gone wrong ?" she said fussily.

"Nothing's gone wrong, miss, and be so good as to keep out of my way. If you want to come up come now and sit on the roof with the children. ' ,

Just then Mary let out an exultant cry .

"Look what I've got, Vicky. I think I ought to count ten for that. . . . It's a car full of policemen. ' ,

"No you can't do that," Vicky said, "and I think we ought to stop now 'cos I may have to help Mike."

"Let the lad alone," her mother said as she swung the great Ram's Head over. "1 reckon he'll manage. He's got to learn on his own sometime, , , and then under her breath, "Where's your visitor now ?"

, 'Back in the cabin, thank goodness! ' , Vicky replied. The family on the boats going south ~ere friends of the Whites so, as the Bren.iford and the Southall began to slip into the lock, slowed down for a chat.

, 'Visitors, I see, , , said a tall man at the tiller of the Adventure. ' 'Taking in boarders, missus ?' ,

Mrs White tossed her head, but gave him a slow smile. "Friends of our Vicky's, thank you, Fred Jenkins. ... Haven't seen you for some time. You been resting ? ... Morning, Edith. We was just asking your man whether it was Christmas week you left Leicester.” This was a long speech for Mrs White and Mary looked at her in surprise.

She was evidently in a very good humour, and although she had one eye on her friends she managed the butty as skilfully as usual.

Mary was watching a small red-headed boy of about her own age who was sitting on the cabin roof of the Adventure peeling potatoes. Beside him was a canary in a cage.

“Hullo ! ' , she said shyly as they stared at each other . "What have you got for dinner ? I'm going to help cook "

ours soon.

The boy grinned wickedly. "Spuds I Like one ? Catch !" and he picked one out of the painted dipper and flung it at her. Mary ducked and the potato hit Larry who began to bark furiously.

"Just behave yourself, young Tony," Vicky called indignantly as the gates began to close behind the Southall. Then she laughed as she heard Mike's anxious voice from above them, "Now, Mr White ?" and her father's slow, "Hold it, son. Wait till the gate closes."

They had all forgotten their visitor until Mary turned from waving "Good-bye" to the red-headed Tony and jumped down to the deck beside Mrs White as the boats began to rise. Then she glanced into the cabin and saw Miss Stanley looking out at the dripping walls of the lock. "It's quite all right," Mary said importantly, "There's nothing to be scared about really. . . . Of course I was a bit surprised the first time but you soon get used to it, so don't you worry."

Perhaps it was her imagination, or because it was dark in the lock, but Mary thought that their visitor looked very pale and worried.

"When are we going to get on again ?" she said. " All this hanging about gets on my nerves."

Unfortunately for her Mrs White overheard this last remark.

"If that's the case, miss," she said, "I'm thinking you'd

better get off here and get along your own way and your own pace. . . . And I hope that when you write for your precious papers you won't be such a fool as to say that the boat people haven't got any manners. ... I reckon the boot's on t'other foot on this boat."

She called across to her husband.

 "Bert! You didn't ask this young woman aboard, did you ? Seems we're not going fast enough for her. . . . Will you be getting off here, miss ? Maybe you'll get a bus on the bridge.

Miss Stanley backed into the cabin again.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to be rude or upset you. . . . I'd much rather not get off here if you don't mind. . . . It's just that I'm not used to travelling this way and it seems rather slow. So stupid of me. ' , She turned to Mary. "Is this the bridge where you were watching the cars?" "Yes," Mary said, "1 won ... Why don't you come up here in the sunshine, Miss Stanley ?"

"Well, Mary, perhaps I will in a minute, but I just want to write down a few notes about the cabin first."

The boats slipped out of the lock and into the shadow of the bridge and Mike, after waving to them triumphantly, , mounted the ancient bicycle and rode ahead whistling cheerfully.

Another pair of boats passed them soon after. A grubby baby was squalling on the cabin roof of the motor­ tethered to the chimney in the same way as Larry was tied to theirs - and Mary called down into the cabin, "Here's two dirty boats coming. You'd better put these in your story. They're not as nice as ours."

But Miss Stanley said she could see them very well from the window. "But I'd like you to do something for me, Mary. I think I shall be going when we come to the next road. . . . Will you and Vicky keep a look out and tell me when you see the next bridge?"

69

The next bridge could not come quickly enough for the two girls and when they told Mrs White she smiled grimly, " And a very good riddance," she said. "Round the next turn, Mary. Better tell her. ... Can you warn your Dad, Vicky ?” ,

When Miss Stanley came up to the deck she was still clutching her handbag and had her raincoat over her arm. Her scarf was over her head now, and as she passed Mrs White she thanked her again for the trip.

"I'll be able to catch a bus from here, I expect. ... I'd like to send you a copy of the magazine with my story in it, Mrs White. Where shall I address it ?” ,

"Thank you all the same, miss, but we're not much hand at reading so ye needn't bother. ... Be ready to jump and I'll bring her up close to the bank as we go in."

Vicky and Mary leaned against the wall of the cabin as the butty closed into the bank. The lock was beyond the bridge and they could see Mike standing on the parapet watching them. They were waving to him when Miss Stanley brushed past them and calling “Good-bye,” jumped for the bank. She had already shown that she was not very agile and this time, once again, she jumped badly, slipped, and stumbled forward on her hands and knees on the bank. Both girls began to giggle, until Vicky suddenly shouted­ "Look what she's got! My box! She's stolen it!"

As Miss Stanley got up her raincoat slipped from her arm and from the pocket fell Vicky's precious painted box. There was no doubt of it and, as the woman turned and grabbed for it, her foot slipped again in the mud of the bank and toppled the box into the water. In a flash Mary flung herself on the deck, leaned over between the bank and the gunwale of the boat, and grabbed the box as it floated by.

Vicky was sobbing with rage. ' 'you beast. I hate you. I told you I wouldn't let you have that box and you're

mean enough to steal it and slink off with it. I think it's the dirtiest, most beastly thing anyone has ever done to me. You tried to be friendly with us and then stole my box. . . . I'm going to tell my Dad and he'll have you arrested."

Miss Stanley's face was dead white and her brightly painted lips looked horrid.

"How clumsy of me," she said to Mrs White who was watching very grimly, “I must have picked it up by mistake with my raincoat. ' ,

“That you didn’t,” Mary said “ _ It wasn’t a mistake anyway anyway. ... And here comes Mike so you'd better be careful."

"Mrs White - do listen to me, please," Miss Stanley went on hurriedly. "Do understand that this is all a ridiculous mistake, but I do admire the box very much and know a collector who would give a lot of money for it. … I wonder if you would let me have it for five pounds. ... I'm sure he'd give that for it. ... It would mean a lot to me to have that box.”

Meanwhile, Mike had arrived and Vicky had run back down the butty after speaking to her father. Her eyes were blazing, but she gave Mary a little sob of thanks as she handed her the dripping box.

“I heard what you said to Mum,” she stormed. “I told you once I wouldn't sell it for anything, and I meant it. ... I've told my Dad what you've done and he says if you're not off the towpath and out of his sight in three minutes he'll tie up and fetch a policeman. ... Mike. Run up to the bridge and see if you can see one!”.

Mike grinned broadly and obeyed, but when Miss Stanley opened her mouth to speak again, Mrs White broke in ­"I wouldn't say anything if I were you. That was the dirtiest thing I've ever seen done to a kid. ... I reckon you call yourself a lady too! Get out! . . ."

"I'll give you ten pounds ","the other began desperately, but when Mrs White leaned across the cabin roof and picked up the mop with the striped handle, she turned and ran up the slope to the bridge as Mr White restarted the engine and the Brentford and the Southall slipped into the cool shadows under the bridge.