A Country Girl. Nancy Carson
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‘If you like,’ she answered, and Algie was encouraged by the spontaneity of her acceptance.
‘I’ll give you a ride on the crossbar, eh?’
She shrugged, still smiling with pleasure at seeing him. ‘If you like … So how fast can you make the machine go?’
‘Here on the flat I can make it go proper quick.’
‘Show me, then.’
The lad that was in the man grinned boyishly at the welcome challenge; at the opportunity to impress. ‘All right. Watch this.’
He raised himself from the saddle and exerted all the pressure he could muster onto the pedals for a rapid acceleration. Just as he was drawing level with the horse, the chain came off the sprocket and, because of its sudden and unexpected lack of tension, his right leg slipped off the pedal and he banged his crotch again on the crossbar. The instant, unbearable pain caused Algie to wince and he veered straight into the horse, its head still in its nose-tin. Shocked out of its wits, the animal panicked, but it had only one place to go – into the canal, followed at once by Algie and his new bike.
Animal and lad thrashed about looking very undignified. Algie surfaced with a look of disgruntled surprise on his face. He gasped for air as the chill of the water, coupled with the excruciating agony of testicular pain, robbed him of breath. His normally curly hair was a black, wet mop clinging to his head and he spluttered foul water in indignant astonishment. The poor horse, meanwhile, its eyes white and wild with fright, was drowning in its own nose-tin as it flailed about, desperately trying to regain its feet on the slimy bed of the canal. Seth realised the animal’s plight and at once threw himself down on his belly at the edge of the towpath, reaching out, frantically trying to free the nose-tin from the horse so that it could breathe air without either choking itself with feed, or drowning.
‘Hey up!’ he cried, in a panic of concern. ‘Steady on, old lad. Let me get thy nostern off, else you’m a goner.’
He managed to loosen the strap, which was attached to a metal ring riveted to the nose-tin on the side nearest to him. The horse coughed and spluttered and, in its continuing terror, lost its footing again in the slime.
The trailing narrowboat, by virtue of the impetus of its sheer uncontrolled weight, was in danger of crushing the horse between it and the canal wall. Seth yelled to Marigold to watch her steering. Suddenly, Marigold’s eyes were filled with apprehension as she immediately understood the danger. She grasped the tiller, holding it with all her strength to alter the course of the heavily loaded craft, to bring it to the bank without maiming the horse. Seth, meanwhile, rushed to his feet and tried shoving the Odyssey away from the horse, mustering all his strength. He succeeded, but stretching too far in his urgency, he, too, dropped into the canal with an unceremonious splash.
Algie was too concerned with his own predicament to notice the commotion he’d caused. He was submerging himself repeatedly as he tried to locate his new investment, his precious bike, obscured in the murky water. ‘I can’t find me bike,’ he declared in horror. ‘It’ll be ruined. What if the narrowboat’s mangled it as it’s gone over it?’
‘Never mind the blasted bike, you daft bugger,’ Seth Bingham rasped angrily, freshly saturated and surfacing behind him next to the increasingly perplexed horse. ‘My hoss is more important than that blasted thing o’ yourn. Mek yourself useful and fetch somebody who can help we get the hoss out the cut.’
‘When I’ve found me bike,’ Algie called defiantly. ‘It cost me twelve quid.’
‘And a new hoss’ll cost yer a sight more. You barmy bugger, what did you think you was a-doing, eh? Wait till I tell your fairther. Now get out of the cut and help me. You caused all the bloody trouble, showing off like that. You bloody imbecile!’
Algie cringed under the tirade, but was diverted by a piercing scream that came from Marigold. One of her young brothers, a mere child, had suddenly appeared from the cabin to see what all the fuss was about, and was standing alongside the tiller. She had instantly perceived the danger as somebody, thinking they were helping when the danger of crushing the horse was over, was pulling the stern in towards the towpath. She yelled a warning and shoved him out of the way a mere fraction of a second before the rudder hit the bank, which in turn caused the tiller to swing violently across the stern, just missing the child’s head. She sighed, a profound sigh, having just averted what would have been a tragedy. Marigold breathed a sigh of relief and picked up the child, taking him out of harm’s way.
Algie found his submerged bike at that very moment. He lifted it over his head, mucky water and weeds cascading over him, and placed it on the towpath with a look of demoralised anguish. Then he clambered out, forlorn, bedraggled by the same cold water. By this time, the pair of narrowboats had come to a stop.
‘Catch this rope, Algie.’ It was Hannah Bingham’s voice.
Algie turned and looked just as Hannah tossed it to him. When he stepped forward to catch it his boots squelched, oozing slime and mud.
‘Chuck one end to Seth,’ Hannah yelled. ‘He’ll fasten it to the hoss. You can help pull the poor thing out.’
Algie tried not to look at Marigold, but could not resist casting her a glance. He felt immensely stupid. She was obviously concerned at the sudden plight they all found themselves in, and she looked bewildered and flustered. She must think him such a fool. Surely, she must blame him for all this. He had ruined any chance he’d ever had of success with her.
Seth seemed to be making some progress calming down the frightened horse. He spoke to it as softly as the desperate circumstances would allow, and patted its trembling neck reassuringly. He fastened the rope to its collar, then tried to get the horse to limber up the vertical side of the canal.
‘Pull the rope,’ he called to Algie.
Algie pulled, but the horse resisted.
By this time a small audience had gathered, people using the towpath as a shortcut, and advice was not long in coming. ‘Tie some planks together and put one end in the cut, the other on the towpath, and walk him out,’ one man advised. ‘But planks’ll float,’ reasoned another. Somebody else suggested that they fix a blanket under the horse’s belly, then yank him out with a crane.
‘Where are we gunna find a crane of a Sunday?’ Algie queried impatiently, quietly shivering from the icy cold water that was running down his back, squishing inside his clinging clothes.
‘They must have one at the firebrick works.’
‘That bloody saft Algie ought to be made swim with the hoss to the nearest steps,’ Seth declared from the middle of the canal.
For half an hour they endeavoured to coax the horse to jump up onto the towpath, but in vain, for the sides were too high and too steep. Until Algie, desperate to avoid swimming to the nearest escape steps with the horse, and to redeem himself in the eyes of Marigold, had an idea.
‘Got any carrots, Mrs Bingham?’
‘Yes, by God,’ Hannah replied, at once catching on.
By this time, the pair of narrowboats had been hauled alongside the towpath and moored. She delved inside her cabin and emerged clutching several carrots. Algie squelched towards her and took them.
He made his way to the horse, sat on his haunches and offered the animal a carrot, which it sniffed suspiciously, then took in its mouth and chomped.
‘Here’s another,’ Algie said, dangling it in front of the horse’s long face, but about a foot out of its reach. ‘This time, though, you gotta come and fetch it.’ He stood up and moved away, but still held out the carrot for the horse to see.
‘Goo on, lad,’ Seth encouraged, acknowledging the vain possibility that this ploy might work. ‘Goo on, get the carrot.’
The animal fidgeted about fretfully in the water, evidently lacking the confidence or the will to attempt a leap. Algie moved towards the horse