When I were young and in my prime,
as lazy as can be,
I stepped on board a Mersey Flatter number 23.
BAMALAM Productions proudly presents Scuttled,
Episode 4,
in association with the Museum of London Archaeology
and the Arts and Humanities Research Council.
Directed by James Steventon.
Written by Ian Winterton.
With Neil Bell,
Isabel Haig,
Janine Lannick,
Katie Moore,
and Paul Rigby.
Produced by Kelly Griffiths,
James Steventon,
and Ian Winterton.
It started raining begum; it went dark with cloud.
I caught my foot in stern rail and went slurring
right on deck,
and I went head first down Scuttled Hall and I
nearly broke it.
Not long after Jonathan Roberts'
trial,
Uncle Harry passed away.
His heart gave out one morning.
And Paul took over running Primrose Proper.
If we thought our Becca was unruly,
Paul and Katie's twins,
Iris and Daisy,
were something else.
Tying them down when they were little,
it was a battle in itself,
and they somehow always managed to get themselves
loose.
But they weren't like Becca in other ways.
The opposite.
They were so ill-behaved during Sunday school that
the vicar dropped every evening.
They were so arrogant that their presence would no
longer be required.
Ironic though,
that what our Becca wanted most of all,
to be schooled through the week,
became law in 1880.
And Iris and Daisy,
and especially Daisy,
wanted none of it.
Compulsory schooling till age ten was hardly
practical with the way we had to live.
Some folk started trying to live on land again but
that meant the menfolk were working all hours.
God sent just to pay rent on some squalid cellar.
We had a home on the water.
And when the school inspectors came calling,
Iris and Daisy,
they loved the hiding.
The naughtiness of it.
Little scamps.
It was that,
I reckon,
that made them so mischievous.
So lacking of respect for authority,
for the law.
And they started stealing.
Just for fun,
really.
Fun soon stopped,
though,
eh?
Oi!
They got my money box!
Stop!
Oi!
Thieves!
A pair of little buggers nicked a stallholder's
money box up the market.
Best part of five pounds in there.
Made it proper grave.
There was only eleven.
Aye.
But damn magistrates sent them to bloody industrial
school in Sale,
Manchester,
till there was sixteen.
Industrial schools.
Meant for kids who haven't parents,
or whose parents mistreat them,
or are criminals themselves.
But it's that we work the canals.
That's why the twins were sent away.
Even though now we work damn hard and we keep
these factories running to them were rubbish River
gypsies Well give me a gypsy or a bargy over a
magistrate any day of the week Theyre the bloody
criminals if you ask me Dont get yourself worked
up It just makes me so angry Think of happier
things Twins came out That was a good day Aye But
before that winter of 1895 Happier things I said
Worst winter Ive ever known We were used to canals
freezing up of course but not so deep and not so
long as that Ian R Paul and other bargies were on
the ice breakers Small flat barge would bar down
the middle
We'd stand either side of it and rock back and
forth,
our hands frozen inside our gloves.
The idea was the boat,
the rhythm,
would crack through the ice.
Normally worked and all.
One,
two.
Whoa,
whoa,
whoa.
Whoa,
whoa,
whoa.
But that year,
it didn't work.
Ain't happening,
lads.
It has to.
No,
it has to,
Paul Ashworth.
Ah,
now weigh and shift,
Charlie Jackson.
Now weigh and shift yourself.
Look at it.
Oh,
that Charlie Jackson.
Bit older than our Paul.
Made his life a misery when they were at Sunday
school.
He was a bully,
that Charlie.
Times our Paul came to us crying after being
bullied over,
his knees bleeding.
Charlie's right,
Paul.
The canal's frozen right down to the bottom.
What are we going to do?
Oh,
don't be a baby.
We'll get through it.
Charlie didn't sound so sure himself.
And we could reason.
The canal is frozen,
boats don't move.
Boats don't move,
we can't ship cargo.
We can't ship cargo,
we don't get paid.
And without money,
no food.
No coal for the fire,
neither.
And now,
Paul.
His Iris and Daisy might be away at industrial
school,
but his lad,
John,
only eight-year-old and a sickly wee thingy.
Yeah,
best of times.
We kept him wrapped up warm,
my mum too.
Darkest of all times that winter.
Three months we were locked in that ice,
hardly eating,
shivering together in the cabin.
Influenza came in.
Sweat through us all.
John,
he was re-ill.
But he made it through.
But your mum,
old Ma Charity,
it took her just two days shy of the 70th
birthday.
God rest her soul.
She'll have been happy to be back with me dad at
last.
Churchyard ground was frozen like rock.
They couldn't bury her till the thaw came.
Made for a good funeral.
Bright sun.
Snow melt trickling in the church guttering.
Snowdrops poking through.
Spring on its way.
That bloody lasted.
But the merciful goodness of the Lord endured
forever and ever upon them.
Spring,
1896.
Fox,
Glover and Primrose,
both at Ebdon Bridge.
We'd just loaded up with coal and we were eager
to get it down to Manchester quick as we could.
Charlie Jackson was there,
and all.
The shover.
Aye.
Always pushing in.
Same when he were grown and all.
Hey,
Charlie Jackson,
get that bloody boat out of the way.
We're off for you.
Aye,
Charlie.
You're not even full.
Make way.
Ah,
bugger off,
you,
Paul Ashworth.
You ain't only one who's been ice-bound.
Ah,
let him go.
State of his horse,
we'll catch him up at first lot of locks.
That's what I'm bloody worried about,
lass.
Getting stuck behind him all bloody way.
No,
I'm not having it.
He takes up the mooring pole and does some shoving
of his own.
Pushes against Billy's hull.
Sends him floating back into the basin.
Leaving us free to enter the lock.
Hook up to our horses.
I'll bloody batter you for that.
Ha,
ha,
ha.
See you later.
Ta,
Charlie.
Ha,
ha,
ha.
See you later.
Ta,
Charlie.
Ta,
Charlie.
Not like Paul to get that bold.
And it would cost him a split lip and a blackened
eye off of Charlie down the road.
That day,
though,
it wasn't just the thaw that had got his blood
up.
There's only one thing more important than cargo,
family.
I heaved on rope and 50 ton of barge and coal
started slowly moving out of base.
50?
50-year-old you was by then.
I could do it till I dropped.
I would have if they'd let me.
Then I took the horse,
bike bridle,
got a pulley.
She was a new horse,
Bella.
And they were a bit worried she might start up.
You never know when they're on their first run.
Get up,
Bella!
But she was reaped.
And slowly we started along the way.
Thank God.
Because we had another load to pick up.
Even more precious: Like I said.
Family.
Iris and Daisy – that were the week they turned
16 – and were let out of that awful place.
Paul and Katie's youngest,
John.
He'd been given task of pulling our boat.
He loved it.
Watching him leading Bella.
Every fibre of him content.
I couldn't help but think back to when I was his
age.
Doing the same with old Billy.
Oh,
what it was to be seven years old.
And already where you're meant to be.
Grandad,
what are they going to be like?
Well,
they'll be the same.
But older.
I can't remember them.
Five years they've been away.
Mum won't talk about them.
It upsets her.
Imagine seeing your own children.
And then not being able to take them with you.
To have to leave them with other people.
And in such a bad place as that so-called school.
Yeah,
they're bastards,
aren't they,
Grandad?
Ha,
ha,
ha.
Ha,
ha,
ha.
Ha,
ha,
ha.
Who's that swearing now?
No one,
Nan.
I should hope not,
no.
Now,
John,
gee that horse on.
He'll never get anywhere at this rate.
And we've got to stop and take on a passenger.
Passenger?
Don't let on to the twins.
But it's Tar Betty.
Tar Betty.
Oh,
Tar Betty.
Ha,
you wouldn't be doing that to her face,
lad.
He wouldn’t and all.
By this time,
Betty was anywhere between sixty and ninety.
Tar and pitch ingrained into her paws.
Skin like shoe leather.
And a voice like grinding millstones.
A true queen.
Who'd earned her crown through hard graft.
Made her live in those last years selling hooch
and ginger beer up and down the canal.
Feared and loved by all of us.
But when you needed her,
she were there.
So,
if she asks you for a lift,
you say yes.
We moored up at Newhay.
Betty had been selling to the workers at Ellen
Road Mill there while Paul and Primrose carried on
ahead.
See you down Manchester.
Aye,
Dad.
And don't tell the girls about Betty.
Yeah,
Dad,
it's a surprise.
Surprise,
am I?
Tar Betty!
Would you surprise them still this side at Daisy's,
that's for sure.
Cough,
cough,
cough.
Morning,
Thomas Ashworth.
You're looking old.
Just made two score and ten,
me.
Good on you.
You'll be long live like your mam.
Sorry to hear of a passing like.
Thanks,
but like you said,
she had a good long life.
That winter took plenty of folks younger than her.
Eliza!
Betty's here.
Betty,
how do?
Doing well.
And I'll be doing even better if you pour her a
drop of that brandy.
Aye.
Let's get you on board.
Hey-up!
Boom!
Cast off,
John.
Get Bella underway.
Yes,
Grandad.
Boating!
Mill kids up on the bridge.
The bridge we'd have to pass under.
Aye,
missus,
I like to dress.
Come here and have a break in those.
Don't bugger your arse.
John,
ignore them.
Ain't worth it.
Boating!
Piss in the cork.
Boating!
Piss in the cork.
Oi,
and all you Fred Bains,
and you,
Peter Garrity,
want me to come down mill and tell your foreman
the little bastard's what's in his employ?
Boating!
Yeah,
you'd better run.
Tony Brats!
It's getting worse,
I swear.
Just because there's more folk these days.
Factories,
mills,
towns,
whoever's sorry to just keep growing it.
It'll stop one of these days.
Everything does.
Let's get Betty a tot of that brandy,
eh?
Unhook Bella,
John.
See her over the bridge,
and look out for them mill boys.
I hope they do come back.
I'll have them.
No,
you won't.
Use your head.
Don't start nothing.
Cos whenever that happens,
it's us as gets the blame.
Midday,
when we arrive in Manchester a few days later,
Paul's there,
his coal already unloaded,
and we him,
Katie and- Iris!
Daisy!
Mother Liza!
Grandad!
Ooh!
And look who's come to see ya.
Tom and Betty!
Get down here.
Let me have a look at ya.
Ooh!
You knocked windows,
didn't you?
Ah,
my beautiful girls.
Let me look at ya.
Oh,
you're a pair of fine young women now.
You tell them bastards treated your fur,
I'll burn that bloody place down.
It was all right,
Bethany.
It was shite.
Tom,
Betty,
I can't believe yourself.
What?
Alive?
I've been hanging on for you two.
I said I'm going nowhere till my girls are back
with family where they belong.
Not stuck in that bloody place.
Because they stole-Stole my backside.
Cos they were clever.
They don't like us being clever.
It's all right for them to steal when they've got
law on their side,
but not for us when we're hungry.
And there they were.
My mischievous granddaughters,
Iris and Daisy.
Still same with her golden red hair,
but different too.
Grown.
Though there was still the flicker of mischief in
their eyes.
Gladdened my heart to see.
After five years in that bloody place,
their spirit remained.
Gladdened my heart and all,
but worried me too.
Daisy especially.
Paul helped me unload my coal while Betty set up
a stall,
selling her ginger beer and biscuits and toffees.
Then,
time to get out of bloody Manchester,
away from the smoke,
and out to a wild meadow we knew,
just up from the canal.
It was a grand day.
One of the best.
Ale,
bread and cheese,
campfire,
toasting crumpets,
eating them slathered and dripping.
Here you go.
Lovely,
thank you.
Lovely,
thank you.
What are they like in there?
John,
Iris and Daisy don't want to talk about that
place.
It's all right,
Dad.
It's over now,
ain't it?
Was you scared?
Was at first,
but then we got used to it.
And the food wasn't as bad as we'd been expecting.
Aye,
it wasn't bad.
Yes,
you mean?
Oh,
blimey,
yeah.
They told you off for saying 'aye.'
You had to say 'yes.'
Yes,
Miss Bancroft.
Yes,
Mrs.
Bancroft.
Shit,
Mrs.
Bancroft.
Daisy.
Oi,
none of that.
Sorry,
Grandad.
Aye.
Sorry,
Nan Eliza.
Aye.
Sorry,
Tar Betty.
Serious,
though,
Paul?
You want to get your girls back in line,
eh?
I will,
Dad,
but give them a moment to breathe.
They've only been out a few hours.
Aye,
and we don't want them going back.
Mrs.
bloody Bancroft.
Dragon.
I noticed she didn't hang around to face us.
She went with us.
No one was.
We walked it.
They didn't even give you a bloody lift.
We didn't want one.
We didn't want nothing off them.
There it was,
that bitterness.
We heard more and more of it over the next few
years.
Them girls should never have been sent away.
And for five years,
made Iris meeker than she might have been.
That's why she fell pregnant to that fool,
Eric Butterworth.
And Daisy,
she got angry.
And stayed angry.
We just wanted to get out and see you,
young Johnny.
You was three when they sent us away.
Is that the new horse,
then?
Aye,
Bella.
She's old,
though.
Already sold.
Aye.
To the coal mines.
Coal mine?
You mean Knacker's yard?
What?
Flaming hell,
Daisy.
Oh,
sorry,
little lad.
But he's old enough,
ain't he?
Old enough to know how life really is.
Ain't a baby?
No,
he ain't.
He's had to step up and pull his weight since you
two went away.
He's had to become a man.
Early.
Just like I did.
We're bloody proud of him,
aren't we?
Aye,
course we are.
Come to your dad.
Become a man,
my arse.
Daisy!
Sorry,
Nana.
He knows how hard life can be.
Winter we all went through.
Losing great Nana Charity.
He were there,
at her bedside,
right till her last breath.
Here's to Charity Ashworth.
To Charity.
Aye.
Here's to you,
ma'am.
And dad.
Bloody Ashworth!
Who's that?
Bloody Charlie Jackson,
that's who.
He's a shover.
So we gave him a shove first.
Ain't you made it to Manchester yet?
You bastards.
Took me hours to hook me boat back in.
And all that fuss to get out for me,
and you take a day off.
Call your son Boatman.
Away and shite,
Charlie.
Away and shite.
Folly!
Away and shite.
Folly!
Away and shite.
How do,
Tarbetty?
Somehow,
even with sore heads,
we were up before the sun.
Time to make up.
Cast off,
Arjon.
Gee up there,
Bella.
All right there,
son.
Ready to head out.
Aye,
da.
Iris,
lass,
you sure you're right with Barnaby?
Aye.
He likes me.
Don't you?
Morning,
Thomas Ashworth.
Sore head.
Aye.
Here's my jugged gourmet flask.
Ta.
What's that?
Made it myself.
Jesus,
Betty.
I hope I don't go blind.
Any danger of tea,
Liza?
Aye.
Hold your horses.
Come in.
Oi,
you.
Out of bed,
madam.
Breakfast needs making.
No,
not.
I don't know how.
So,
I'll teach you.
We're twins out of that school.
Foxglove and Primrose had never been so full of
folk.
Daisy,
right from that first night,
she lived with us.
None of us ever discussed it,
but we knew,
all of us,
that Daisy were angry at the world over what had
happened and,
like a lot of young'uns,
would take it out on her mum and dad.
That didn't mean she spared us.
Daisy,
I'm not telling you again.
Out of bed!
Oh,
will you pack up your bag?
Hey.
Why,
you little prig.
Oh,
will you pack up.
You had to smack her.
How'd she learn otherwise?
Ah,
but I don't reckon it did a speck of good.
You horrible old cow.
Oi,
don't you be saying that to your mam.
Piss off at all,
Becky.
Hey,
come back here.
Daisy,
no.
She leapt up onto the hatchboards and jumped for
the towpath.
But we'd moved too far out by then,
and You half-girl.
At least we know one thing.
You haven't forgot how to swim.
Aye,
a silver lining.
Only one.
We fished Daisy out and I took her down into
cabin,
wrapped her in a blanket and warmed her back up
in front of the fire.
And whole time she just stared into them flames.
Jaw set rigid.
Eyes filled with fury.
And fear.
Daisy.
That place.
And for five years.
Terrible.
I hated it.
Aye.
But you're back now.
With your family.
On the canal.
I hate it here too.
Who's that,
Arpo?
Is he out?
Soldiers.
Not for leathered by the looks of them.
It's only noon.
Grandad?
Keep your head down,
lad.
Aye.
Ignore him.
Good morning,
Mr.
Bargy,
sir.
God save the Queen.
Hey,
lad.
Didn't you hear?
God save the Queen.
Leave him be,
eh?
He's just a boy.
I can see that.
But any lad,
any English lad,
should know.
Today's Her Majesty's birthday.
Did you know that,
lad?
Aye.
Bollocks.
Yeah,
he's a liar,
your lad.
But like I said,
we're only supposed to see an English boy to know.
We're English.
Bollocks are you?
Feeny and bastards.
No wonder you wouldn't praise our Queen.
Bloody traitors.
We'll be over there soon ourselves.
Show them who's boss.
Brave lads,
aren't you?
Brave lads.
What's going on,
Tom?
Now,
go back below.
You and all,
Daisy.
Just asking your man for a lift,
darling.
No,
lads.
We're nearly running aground as it is.
Oh,
please,
Mrs.
Bargy,
ma'am.
Give us a lift.
On Her Majesty's birthday,
we demand you assist her armed forces.
Give us some of your coal.
Yeah,
give us some of your coal for our barracks.
We demand coal,
sir.
Set one foot on here and I'll murder the bloody
lot of you.
Aye.
Shall we jump aboard?
Eh?
You can try.
Maybe we will.
Tell your daddy,
lad.
Tell him it's his patriotic duty to give us a
lift to the next public house.
Piss off.
Ooh.
You leave him alone.
Aye,
you ugly bastard.
I'll give you a lift.
Aye.
One of the soldiers took hold of Bella's head
collar,
brought her to a stop.
Oi.
Now.
Enough of this.
This your old nag,
you bargy scum.
And I see our Paul,
bringing Primrose into the bank,
readying himself to leap out.
And a little way after him,
another boat already moored up.
I recognize the yellow flowers on the back.
Charlie Jackson's boat.
That's when the ringleader pulls a revolver from
his webbing and puts it to Bella's head.
No.
Please.
And Charlie Jackson.
Soldiers don’t see him.
But he's stomping down the towpath in great big
strides.
In his hand,
I'd say this nag will well overdo a trip to the
knacker’s yard.
Eh?
A boat hook.
Ooh.
That’s it.
Charlie Jackson.
And that’s when our Paul starts running.
And you,
you great big lump,
you jump from the boat.
You,
fifty year old.
I made it though,
didn’t I?
Yeah.
And helped you,
them bastard soldiers.
What for?
Bastards!
Little John,
joining in,
kicking them up the arse.
Jesus!
And then Daisy jumped off the boat.
I’ll be bloody knackers off.
Didn’t land in the cup this time.
Sooner than be.
Now you better get out of here,
lads,
or you won't see active service.
What happened?
You just got battered by bloody barges,
that's what.
Get moving.
Don't mess with the barges.
Aye.
Anyone hurt?
Done me backing.
Shit.
My knuckles are sore is all.
You shouldn't have got involved,
Daisy.
Dad,
I ain't a kid no more.
They,
they were gonna ship Bella.
Oh,
lad.
You did us proud,
you little scrapper.
Come here.
Come here to Betty.
I'll be getting on me way then.
Thanks,
John.
Thanks,
Charlie.
I saw them from about a mile back.
Knew they'd be trouble-like.
I think you owe me now,
Tom.
You should stay here and let me get in front.
Bugger off.
We've been up since Sparrowfart to make up time.
Hard workers,
you Ashworths.
I'll give you that.
See ya.
Aye.
See ya,
Charlie.
You going to let them get ahead?
Oh,
we heckers like.
And that were that.
Best hangover remedy ever,
a rook.
And a reminder that us barges should stick
together.
Well,
that's a good thing.
But Daisy,
that's not what she took from it.
I see her standing there,
staring into space,
her hand still balled into a fist.
Daisy,
come on.
Are you gonna walk with Bella and John?
Daisy?
They hate us.
Who does?
Everyone.
But she gets on board Foxglove,
sits there on the hatch boards,
cross-legged.
And I see for a moment the little girl she'd been
before they took her from us.
But she’d gone,
that girl.
Gone for good.
I’m going to go America.
America?
I’ll start with Aunt Becca.
Four children she’s got.
I’ll find somewhere else then.
Don’t talk daft.
She ain’t Thomas Ashworth.
They’ll have to keep moving,
don’t they?
What’s gonna be left for them here soon?
They’ve a home and a job.
But for how long,
eh?
Be fair.
Look,
you see these canals?
They’re like scars in earth.
Scars from when these towns was born.
And we,
we’re like the lifeblood of this land.
Slogging up and down these veins.
Bringing life and wealth to these factory owners
and merchants and landlords.
But let's face it,
things are changing.
And when they can move things cheaper.
And quicker.
They won't need us no more.
And even though without us they wouldn't have
survived.
They'll drop us without thinking.
Because that's how they are.
You don't get rich by caring for folk.
But that don't mean we're not still vital wherever
we go.
We're the folk what make the world go round.
Not them bastards.
They just take from it.
So why not go America?
Or Canada at bloody moon?
Us folk'll make life good anywhere.
Cos we're clever.
And we survive.
When I were young and in my prime As lazy as can
be I stepped on board a Mersey flat A number 20
And tar Betty.
She left us at Castleton to stop with one of her
sons.
And that was the last time we saw her.
A week later went to sleep.
Didn't wake up.
Tar Betty.
Brought them old,
yeah.
Daisy never did make it to America.
Ran away from us.
Wasn't long afore she found herself before the beak
again.
And sent away to the women's wing a strange ways.
Caught jail fever.
Typhus.
Took her off to heaven and all.
That day though,
just grand.
I'll remember it always.
Daisy.
Iris.
Tar Betty.
And John.
John.
Dusk.
Still leading Bella on.
Strong lad.
Sun setting.
Grandad,
look!
A heron!
A heron?
Just like that day with me and my dad.
That first day with young Billy.
A thousand years ago and yesterday.
All in one.
And the heron flew straight and silent.
Just above the surface.
And then it tipped straight up and beat its huge
wings up and up.
Till it disappeared into a sky of silver and gold.
Thought of that day a lot over the years.
Especially when our John was away.
India.
Africa.
France.
For the war.
When I were young and in me prime.
As lazy as can be.
I stepped on board a Mersey Flatter number 23.
You have been listening to Scuttled.
Episode 4.
Directed by James Steventon.
Starring Christopher Eccleston,
Joyce Branagh,
Becky Kershaw.
Kimberly Cochran,
Jonathan Carley,
Adam Grayson,
Stephen Hillman,
Annie Connell Welsh,
and James Steventon.
Featuring Isabella Arrowsmith,
Bailey Cockcroft,
Katie Rowan,
Elliot Winterton,
and the little voices of St Edward's Primary
School,
Rochdale.
Title music by Jennifer Reid.
With archaeological consultancy from Kelly Griffiths.
Based on archaeological excavations in Rochdale,
England.
He said now lad be careful thou welly not get
lost,
that better frame and start pumping,
for I think we've sprung a leak,
and I wish I'd never gone boating for a mere
living.