On the far side of the channel about a hundred yards below the bridge was the new battleship which seemed to have been there for years, as if it never would be ready. Although everybody in Barrow spoke of it as the “new” battleship, Flo thought that it really looked old already and shabby. This was because of its paint, which was all shades of grey mixed with black and ochre rust-stains from bolts. Even the deck did not yet seem to be finished, and there were gaps in its edge showing against the mottled sky from where she stood, adding to the vessel’s appearance of dilapidation. To Flo it didn’t look anything like worth seven millions of pounds. If only someone had given her just a bit of all that money, she thought longingly, she wouldn’t have to be going away. What would she have done with it? For several minutes her thoughts drifted pleasantly among hats and coats and dresses that she had seen in shops on Dalton Road, and she pictured herself as pretty as a bride in the
This happy drift of Flo’s stopped when a stronger wind puff went searching coldly over her shoulders under her frock. She clutched the wings of her worn rabbit-skin collar together with her free hand and started on across the bridge again. Why couldn’t she have a bit of the money that was being spent on the battleship? she wondered. She’d heard them say, and it had been in the
Her dimples smoothed out and she turned soberly to go back. But now the red flag was up and traffic was being stopped. She wondered what it was for and noticed people gathering against the other balustrade. She crossed and saw two tugs manœuvring with a submarine between them. The nose of the submarine was high like a whale snout, but its tail shaped away long and thin, almost us though it were a silver pencil lying along the water. One tug had a hawser belayed to the bow and the other tug had a hawser from the tail. Flo, however, was not interested in the manœuvring, for on the submarine’s curved flank, with feet caught on a narrow ledge only just above the water line, lay a youth in greasy purple overalls. He lay back apparently exceedingly content and unaware of the increasing crowd peering down. His gaze was into the depth of water gently slipping past, though every now and then he glanced forward to where a small Union Jack waved gently at the submarine’s prow. Flo seemed suddenly to know his thoughts: how proud he felt, and how he was thinking on into the future when he might be captain of such a vessel. She felt a great surge of sympathy towards him and wished that she could be at his side, slipping smoothly along without effort. His face, she thought, was “roguish”. Although now he was so quiet and thoughtful, he looked as if he was of the kind that laugh naturally very easily. He moved his left hand and touched up the broad peak of his cap and his hair showed nearly the colour of Lyle’s golden syrup, which was the colour of her own hair. Now the first tug was pulsing slowly between the divisions of the bridge and the submarine followed obediently till Flo could no longer see it because of the crowd round about and because of the bridge structure. She hurried across the roadways and stared over from the opposite side. There up channel was a floating dock with a small steamer high and dry between its arms like a toy. The tug seemed a long time coming through, and Flo waited impatiently, afraid that the youth might be gone. But he was there nonchalant, undisturbed. She felt that she could have thrown her flowers right on to him. She imagined the surprise that it would have given him; though also she felt sure that he would have liked it, and probably he would have grabbed the flowers safe from the water and have waved them, and perhaps have looked up and have guessed who had thrown them. And this, of course, would lead to a meeting; she would go to the dock gates, or he would come up on the bridge. Anyway, they would meet, and then . . .