The Life of Riley
BY FRANK RILEY ©
BOOK ONE - SPIKE ISLAND
Chapter Seven - Sink Or Swim

Wherever there is water there lurks an ever-present danger. It was always so on our island; that is, the danger of drowning was a palpable reality. Many's the time a wee bairn was lost to the murky depths of the canal, or the fast-flowing currents of the river. It is an unfortunate fact of life, however, that wherever danger lies, for a child, there beckons also tantalising adventure. It is a universal law of nature which dictates to any child that what is forbidden by adults must be attempted at the very first opportunity.

It was just so with Mike and me. We were forever getting into deep water (ahem!) and in the process incurring the most awful wrath of dear Pater. So much so, in fact, that he decided to utilise the latest training methods in teaching us both to swim.

This was done by taking each of us in turn by one arm and dragging us along the edge of the canal as he walked the footpath above us. I'm not sure how Mike took to this but I think I report accurately when I say that for me it was one of the most effective methods of scaring me half to death. It was not enough that we were submerged a good deal of the time, but it seemed a necessary part of the course that we had to endure the cuts and weals upon our puny bodies caused by being scraped along the canal wall. I'm not even sure that in the end I did in fact learn to swim at this particular juncture. I have a feeling that my swimming skills developed much later. Yes, I'm fairly sure that this modern method Dad swore by did not do very much at all to take away the fear of the water; rather, it served only as a new source of nightmares.

At some stage in this general period, however, the water gods must have decided that it was time to allow me to float at last upon the surface. One day I came home from school proudly bearing a certificate which stated that I had been able to swim the breadth of the local swimming baths - a feat no less significant to me than swimming across the English Channel. Now it just so happened that the breadth of the swimming baths was slightly wider than the section of the canal where the barges entered the locks. It was this stretch of water which was to be my greatest challenge. Unlike the baths, where the water was a mere three feet deep or so, the canal was a million fathoms, or fourteen feet, whichever was the greater.

My brother, Mike, was already able to swim across this section; indeed, by now he was quite able to swim across the whole width of the canal, which was an amazing accomplishment considering the traumas he went through, but more of that later. For some time I had been anxious to show Dad that I too could take my life into my hands and swim the narrower section of the canal, something which had terrified me for as long as I could remember up to that time.

With great bluster I announced to Dad that on the morrow, a Sunday as it turned out, I would attempt this great feat.

The moment of truth came shortly after Dad had had his lunch. Far better to get him to watch when he had been fed than before; he was always a bit grumpy if he was hungry.

All three of us went out of the house and moved to the canal bank about fifteen or twenty feet away. I had already stripped down to my designer bathing trunks (a pair of raggedy shorts, which incidentally, were to become highly fashionable in years to come), and stood by the side of the canal. Dad leaned against the safety fence and Mike sat on it as they waited for this heroic exploit to unfold.

I moved to the edge of the bank, my toes protruding over the rim, and made as though I was about to dive in. I crouched down, my body poised for a mighty dive which, with any luck, would just about take me to the other side without having to swim very much at all. It was at this pregnant moment that a most urgent question entered my head: "Why am I doing this?" I said to myself.

All the horrors of the deep now rushed into my frantic, addled brain. If I dived too deeply maybe I'd get stuck in the mud, which I knew from reports of my friends to be there, and which contained the most horrible underwater creatures known to man. Or, if I did manage to reach the other side without having been eaten by the monsters, how would I be able to get out on to dry land again?

Whilst these images and others came to me, Dad and Mike uttered not a word. They waited a little longer, but still said nothing. I stood in the poise of a diver for quite some time trying to summon up the courage to take that fateful leap. Still nothing. Dad began to show signs of impatience. Mike seemed amused by it all. Eventually, I moved away from the edge of the bank and walked over to them. "I'll do it in a minute," I said.

"Aye, when Nelson gets his eye back!" Dad said, with derision.
"I will, I will!" says I, not believing a word of what I was saying.
"Well, go to it, lad. Don't muck about. We haven't got all day, you know," he continued.

I went back to the water's edge to try again. Once more I crouched like a serious swimmer about to take the plunge. But once more the fears came rushing to me. I stood in this crouched position for some considerable time and now Dad was tut-tutting and bloody-helling at a severe rate of knots. Eventually, he began to tire of my lack of courage and started to move away, as though he was going to go back into the house.

Seeing this, I ran to him and promised him most sincerely that I would do it this time. Dad reluctantly came back and we started all over again. Once again the dive would not come. My feet seemed to be planted in cement. Dad made to move again and I ran to him to plead with him to come back. I would do it this time for sure. But no, the farce continued. Backwards and forwards we waltzed as the afternoon wore on. Almost an hour had passed since we had first walked out of the house, and now Dad was fuming.

Mike, during all this time, had not said a word. I suppose it provided a diversion for him, something out of the ordinary, something different. He had already mastered the terrors of the canal and I expect he found my timidity vaguely amusing.

The time had now come, in Dad's words, to "S..t, or get off the pot!" They both had had enough of me. Mike jumped down from the fence and began to move away with Dad. Now the fear of being ridiculed superseded my fears of the deep.

"Look, Dad!" I shouted, as they were walking away. They turned and I became airborne. In the twenty seconds or so it took me to hit the water I had time to think of the folly of my decision to do this crazy thing; but I exaggerate, it was probably only ten seconds.

Now I plunged deeper and deeper into the murky depths: ten fathoms, twenty fathoms, thirty even, almost a league, by God! And then my hands came in contact with the opposite bank. I need not have feared that I might not have been able to climb out for I swam up the wall in great haste. I was still swimming when my feet were on dry land.

But I had done it! I had conquered my greatest fear and I felt proud. Dad and Mike came over to me as I stood there waiting to be congratulated.

"Why didn't you do that in the first bloody place, yer daft bugger!" said Dad, and walked away again. But I think I detected a faint smile on his face.