A Punt Across the Thames

 

 

One of the nicest memories from my childhood was the first time each summer we saw the punt lying lazily at its moorings, ready for another busy season transporting day-trippers across the river Thames.

“Look, mum,” we shouted the very moment we spotted it, “the punt’s back.”

Mum stared at the old vessel with as much love as distain.

“Can we go on it?” we asked. “Huh, can we go across the river?”

“Not today,” she replied, studying the old boat with a languid curiosity that comes with age.

“Why?” we asked her in desperation, as she began shepherding us down the road, away from that wonderful marvel of nautical engineering.

“It’s too cold,” she replied, mouthing the first excuse she could think of.

“We’re fine,” we insisted. “We’re hot,” we persisted. “We’re too hot,” we said, resisting her attempts to steer us away.

“You will have hot bottoms, if you don’t stop moidering me,” she warned.

We stopped shouting; if there was only one thing we had learned during our lives, it was to know when mum had had enough. The punt and the river would have to wait for another day…

 

Another day arrived, a beautiful day, a Sunday, one of all too few that we are fortunate enough to enjoy in this part of he world, with the sun trying its best to split the rocks with its heat.

“Can we go to the river, today?” we asked mum, as she finished drying the dishes.

“I don’t know,” she replied. She pulled back to curtain to take a look outside, “It might rain...”

We were absolutely flabbergasted by this remark. “Rain!” we blurted in sheer disbelief. “It’s not going to rain!”

Her eyes set firmly on the back garden, mum said, “There’s a dark cloud over there…” She pointed out through the window, into the garden.

We ran into the garden, to see where this harbinger of doom could be.

“That’s not a cloud,” we laughed. That’s Mr Slark, burning his rubbish.”

Now don’t you be contradicting your mother,” dad warned us, as he turned on the television set, “If she says it’s a cloud, then that’s what it is – a cloud.”

“I’ll take a look,” mum whispered.

She laughed, mum laughed when she saw the ‘cloud’ rising from Mr Slark’s bonfire. “Oh, all right,” she said quietly, “I’ll bring you to the river…”

 

“Where are you going?” dad asked when mum opened the front door.

“We’re going out for a walk,” she replied cheerfully, “would you like to come?”

Shifting his position in his armchair, dad replied, “No, it’s going to rain.”

“No,” mum insisted, “that was only the bonfire…” Mum’s words, however, had fallen on deaf ears, for dad’s attention had returned to the television set and the western movie playing upon it. Fad was going nowhere…

 

As we walked along the street without a care in the world, we had no idea how bad mum actually felt, having to bring us everywhere on her own. Now dad wasn’t a bad man, no. It was just that because he worked so hard during the week, the only things he was interested in doing at the weekends was a little light gardening and loads of television watching. He loved his television. Mum knew this and she fully accepted it, but it did little to alter how lonely she felt, traipsing around with three young children like she was a widow.

“Mum,” I shouted, “I can see the river.”

“Where?” asked my sister, Maria, who, being the tallest, felt that she should have spotted it first.

“Behind that bus,” I replied, pointing on ahead of me.

Tony, my brother, said nothing, he was far too interested in the Walls Ice Cream sign outside the shop we were fast approaching. Tugging at mum’s dress, he asked,” Can I have an ice cream?”

We heard him, we heard him speak the magic word, and we forgot (albeit temporarily) about the river.

 

Stepping out from the shop, I licked a wonderfully creamy Walls Cornish ice cream cone; it always amazed me how yellow this type of ice cream actually was. Proudly holding his choc-ice, Tony’s stepped out from the shop, his smile stretching from ear and to ear. Maria had an orange split – an ice-lolly of true perfection. Mum also chose a Cornish ice cream cone.

Because it was so hot, we struggled to finish our icy delights before they melted into pools at our feet. Tony had the most difficulty with his choc-ice. Looking up, with a face and hands covered in chocolate and ice cream, he whined, “Mum!”

Mum smiled, and then producing a lined handkerchief she soon had his face and hands returned to their former glory. I often wondered where mum had these handkerchiefs hidden, secreted away, and how many she might have on her person at any one time. I never found out.

Approaching the end of the road, a T-junction, where the traffic separated for Walton, to the left, and Shepperton, to the right, we waited at the kerb until for a break in the traffic. “Come, on,” mum ordered, “across the road with you.”

We obeyed, walking obediently across the road like little toy soldiers. But the instant our feet touched the path on the far side we burst into cheers, galloping away into the green grassy area bordering the river.

“You have your hands filled, there,” said the old man, sitting lazily on a bench smoking his pipe.

“I do,” mum replied, “But it’s worth it, to see the smiles on their little faces…”

He smiled and bid mum to join him on the bench.

Mum’s face, however, creased.

Seeing her concern, the old man reassured her, “They’ll be fine. Not much harm can come to them, here. I’ll keep an eye on them – I have excellent eyesight.”

Mum sat down, joining the old timer on the even older bench.

Puffing away happily on his pipe, the man watched as we ran about playing so happily together. “Not many men here are there?” he said.

“No,” mum replied, remembering dad and his television set.

“It’s that box,” the gnarled individual continued.

“I beg you pardon?”

Taking another puff on his battered old pipe, he said, “That’s what I call them boxes – television sets – in the corner of everyone’s sitting rooms.”

“Oh…”

“I’ll have none of it in my home… No, I have enough to keep me going without staring info a silly box in the corner…”

Mum laughed.

“The name is Joe,” he said, stretching his hand toward mum’s, “Joe Bond.”

“As in James?” mum replied laughing.

“Everyone says something like that,” Joe replied with a chuckle. “Never seen the movie, though… Is it any good?”

“I hear it is,” she replied, spotting Tony as he ran after me, playing Cops and Robbers.

“Tough as nails, they are, at that age,” said Joe, pointing his pipe at us.

“Do you have any of your own,” mum asked, intrigued with his childcare knowledge.

“Had seven of the little ankle biters,” he replied. “And loved every one of them…”

“Where are they now?”

“With their own children – I have twenty-three grandchildren,” he proudly proclaimed.

Warning to him, mum said, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he replied, his attention returning to his battered old pipe, which had almost gone out.
Having tired from our game of Cops and Robbers, we sat down on the grassy verge bordering the river. And it was such a wonderful day; the sheer number of pleasure boats gliding effortlessly along the glassy waters both amazed and mesmerised us. Then we saw it; over to the left we saw the light blue painted hull of the punt as it slid silently across old Father Thames.

“Can we go across the river?” We asked excitedly, puffing and panting, having raced back to mum.

Mum gave us a look, a look that despite appearing superciliously reprimanding, told us that her answer was YES. “Oh, all right, she replied. Come on then…”

Cheering her on, we milled excitedly around our mum like she had won a million pounds…

“Bye,” said Joe, taking another contended puff on his pipe.

 

“It’s not here,” said Mum, when she arrived at the punt’s little jetty.

A uniformed man standing at the entrance with a brown coloured leather conductor’s bag, said, “Next trip across the river will be in ten minutes.”

“Thanks, one and three halves, please,” said mum to the smartly dressed man.

Tony’s eagle eyes spotted the punt beginning its return journey, and jumping up and down, he shouted, “It’s returning, the punts returning.”

It was. The light blue craft, with its attendant dutifully pushing his long pole into the river’s muddy bottom, was getting ever nearer.

The punt, lying low in the lapping waters, edged up to the little terminal, bumping gently to a final stop.

“Thank you,” the uniformed man said to the alighting passengers, “please come again…”

“Tickets, please,” the same man asked as we willingly stepped into the flat-bottomed vessel.
Tony, Maria and I watched curiously as mum followed, stepping nervously off the jetty and into the punt. We laughed. Sitting on the two low slung benches lining the sides of the punt, we laughed again as mum tried to pick out what she thought would be the safest position.
“It’s not the Titanic,” Tony blurted when she finally sat down next to him.
When the punt was full of passengers, the man (we called him the captain) retrieved his pole from beneath one of the benches and then used it to push us away from the jetty. On the little jetty, the uniformed man untied the rope securing the punt to it. We were off – on a wonderful summer adventure.

As the punt slid serenely across the calm river, I sat happily on that little bench, with the warm sun on my back and my fingers trailing through the clear waters. I wondered could life be any better than this.

The man, the captain, remained silent as he walked the full length of the vessel, ploughing his long pole into the muddy river’s bottom, releasing air bubbles that swam skyward burbling under the old wooden vessel. Looking across to mum, I could see that she was now calmer, becoming more and more relaxed as the other small jetty on the far side of the river grew all the more closer.

Taking one last look into the languid waters eddying around my trailing hand, I thought I saw something swimming beneath it, just below the surface. Was it a fish? It might be. Or was it an eel? Probably not. Feeling a bump, my attention was drawn to our arrival on the magical side of the river.

“Mind your step,” our captain warned, speaking for the first time.

Stepping onto the small jetty, I gazed happily across my favourite side of the river.

“Watch your step,” the captain warmed mum, as she faltered midway between land and boat.

“Come on, mum,” Maria urged.

Taking the final step, mum joined us on dry land. I watched as the people who had been waiting patiently for our arrival re-boarded the punt for their return journey. At that moment I thought, and firmly believed, that the captain of that lowly punt had the best job in the entire world.

 

“Left or right?” mum asked.

“Left,” Maria shouted.

“Right,” Tony shouted even louder.

“Gerrard, which way do you want to go?” mum asked, giving me the final say.

“Left, of course,” I replied, with absolute certainty.

“Then left it is,” said mum as she led the way.

Tony held up the rear, a sulky expression etched on his face. Maria and I ignored him.

Mum, oblivious to Tony’s sullen feelings, scorched on ahead, searching for a place to set up camp.

Yes, you are right, we didn’t have a tent, but mum did have a bag full of goodies, and that was far better than any crumby old tent as far as we were concerned. “There’s a nice spot,” she said, pointing to a grassy area where the long grass had already been levelled flat by someone before us.

Spreading a red and white tablecloth upon the ground, mum opened her canvas bag, removing all the goodies contained therein. Then waving a hand, shooing away a wasp, which had suddenly appeared, thinking the treat was intended for it, she began distributing the goodies.

In the same way that she always seemed to have a spare handkerchief or two secreted somewhere about her person, mum always packed exactly the right things into that canvas bag. She never disappointed us, absolutely never, and to this day I have no idea how she ever managed to do it. We had orange squash to drink, crisps to enjoy, biscuits to nibble upon and a rosy red apple to clean our teeth afterwards – it was perfect.

When we had eaten and drank our fill, mum pulled a Mills and Boon book from the depths of her bag, ready for a good read. We, however, had other, more adventurous ideas on our minds… We were going – exploring!

“Don’t go too far,” mum warned, her mind slipping away to faraway places, reading her book.

Although we heard mum’s words of advice, we had no intention of letting them get in the way of our exploratory pleasures. Didn’t she know that we were daring explorers who had dark, undiscovered continents to find?

“Are you coming, Tony,” Maria asked.

Tony still wanted to go in the other direction, and he moaned, “It’s not fair. We always go this way…”

“Now you know that’s not true,” I insisted, “The last time we were here, we went in the other direction.”

“I can’t remember that,” he replied morosely, refusing to believe me.

I knew only too well that he did, but chose not to say it for fear of an even greater sulk.

“Are you coming?” Maria asked him again, her patience beginning to thin.

“All right,” Tony mumbled, “… but I want to see the canal – and the weir.”

We agreed – anything for peace.

We were young; Maria was the oldest, she was eleven, I was nine, and Tony, at only seven years of age, was the youngest. To someone raising children nowadays, it might seem foolhardy, even reckless, allowing three young children to go exploring on their own – and so close to a river and canal, but these were more innocent days, when matters of health and safety had yet to be entrenched into the politically correct agenda. And why should we have worried? We had never been involved in an accident; the worst thing that had ever happened to us, while exploring, was grazing an elbow or knee if we tripped on something. Those were good, carefree days…

We explored; deep within the high, lush gasses we were pirates in the Caribbean, Captain Scott crossing the Artic, and mutineers on the Bounty. Tony saw his canal and the weir, Maria collected loads of shells at the water’s edge and I found a genuine fossil. The day flew.

The sun now low in the sky told us that it was time to go home; the time of exploring was gone, replaced by an urgency to find mum and to return across the river on that wonderful punt. Life was good, then, in fact it had never been better.

“Mum,” we shouted as we hurled ourselves upon her, knocking her Mills and Boon clear out of her hands.

“What is it, my darlings?” she asked, hugging us with affection.

“We saw the canal – and the weir,” Tony exclaimed in his excitement.

“And look at these shells,” said Maria, holding her bucket close to mum’s face for her approval.

Looking into the bucket, mum replied, “There’re a bit whiffy,”

Maria stared in the bucket, seeing her precious shells in an entirely new light, and she said, “I’ll go and give them a wash…”

Laughing, mum said, “No, you can do that when we are home. Come on, let’s get everything packed away.”

Maria and Tony helped mum to pack her bag. I stood, still and silent.

Seeing this, mum asked, “Is everything all right, Gerrard?”

You never asked me what I found,” I whispered.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear,” she replied. “Did you find something?”

“Yes…”

“Can I see it?”

“Here,” I said, handing her the fossil.

“Why, that’s so beautiful, what is it?”

Smiling, I told her that it was a fossil.

“It must be thousands of years old,” she said handing it back to me.

“Millions,” I proudly informed her. “It’s at least sixty-five million years old, and maybe a whole lot more!”

“That’s nice,” she said, then looking at her wristwatch, she added, “Come on, we have a boat to catch…”

 

The captain helped mum aboard. Maria, Tony and I, following closely behind, jumped effortlessly aboard.

Because it was the last crossing of the day, the boat was full, very full – perhaps a bit too full. The captain, however, showed no concerns as he pushed the small vessel away from the jetty, heading for open water.

There were still quite a few pleasure boats plying the river, all of them dutifully avoiding our fragile punt. It was an unwritten law of the river. Having offered my seat to an old woman of an unknown, but obviously great age, I sat on the sloping bow. Although he gave me un-approving look for sitting there, the captain said nothing, so I remained where I was staring into the cold waters of old father Thames.

By the time we had reached the halfway point, I was sore from sitting on the hard wooden planks, and I shuffled about trying to make myself more comfortable. And for a while it worked, but as the circulation in my leg slowed a frightful cramp began to set in. Being young, without the benefit of experience gained from life’s learning, I stood up and, for a few brief moments, enjoyed some relief from the terrible pain.

“What are you doing?” the captain hollered at me.

I opened my mouth to answer, to tell him, to explain that I was trying to ease the pain in my leg. Unfortunately, at that very instant a speedboat whizzed past us, narrowly missing the punt. Then the wave, the bow wave of the speedboat sent the old punt heaving up and down in a most alarming manner. I fell; I fell out from the boat and into the river, into old father Thames who began carrying me away.

“Stop!” mum shouted, watching me drift away from the punt.

The captain, the poor panicking captain had no way of following me in his slow moving vessel. The best he could do was to shout at the people in the other boats, hoping that one of them might hear and whisk me to safety.

One of the boats suddenly stopped, and turning round it made a beeline for my little head, floating away into the watery distance.

Tony and Maria cheered. Although I was a good distance away from the punt, with water splashing into my eyes, my ears and my throat, I could hear them. Then I disappeared under the water. Thrashing about with renewed determination, to be seen, and to stay alive, I returned to the surface – I had to stay afloat.

Warbling past, the boat overshot my position. I began sinking under the water for a second time.

I gasped for air.

Mum screamed.

Tony blinked.

Maria trembled with fright.

A fish (or was it an eel?) swam past me.

A hand, I felt a hand, a tremendously powerful hand grab hold of my tiring body, dragging me back up to the light. I was saved.

“There you are now, young-un,” said my rescuer as I stepped off his boat, into mum’s waiting arms.

“Thank you, thank you,” said mum, as he gunned the throttle and his boat sped away. Then slapping me on the head, she said, “That will teach you to go standing up in the punt.”

“Ow!” I shouted, the sting of her slap dinting my already battered pride. Then tugging at my soaked clothes, she said, “I don’t know what your dad will say, I really don’t know.”

Although it was late in the day, it was still warm and my clothes were completely dry by the time we got home.

Did dad find ever out about my unfortunate accident in the river? Well, Mum said nothing. Maria remained totally silent about the whole episode. I certainly had no wish to bring it up. Tony? What about Tony? You think he told dad? Let me explain…

For the remainder of that summer, every time we went across to the other side of the river, we turned right…

 

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008