Elle's fictional prose

Heather (version 1) (13+)

Heather stared at the ship and all the activity that was taking place in and around it. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so busy. Had she left it too late? The more people that saw her, the greater the risk of her being discovered. She gulped, and reminded herself to breathe in slowly and then out. Staying calm was her only hope of pulling this off.

One last time, Heather checked that her outfit was exactly as it should be – her curly brown hair that she’d cut short herself with a pair of scissors was covered by an old cap, her shirt, vest and pants were worn and tatty, and her feet were bare. Well, she wouldn’t know if she could pass as a lad until she tried. More deep breaths, then Heather strolled around the corner, her chin up, trying to look like she was meant to be there.

The docks were noisy, with large, smelly men everywhere, all talking at once. Heavy feet and muscled arms carried things past her, some men nearly standing on her as she barely reached up to their belts. When one man knocked into her, then yelled at her for getting in his way, Heather realised she needed to be faster and smarter. She couldn’t worry about walking like a boy or looking like she was meant to be there, she had to get to the ship as fast as possible, without being hit or knocked over or trodden on. She began ducking and weaving between the men, her bare feet light against the wooden boards of the dock. It was hard work, as she had to look up and avoid the men with their loads, but she also had to watch her feet so that she didn’t trip over the coils of rope or step in anything unpleasant.

Finally Heather drew near to the ship she’d chosen the day before as the one that would take her away from all her troubles. Well, she hoped. She really didn’t think she could bear to stay in London even one more day. She’d had enough beatings and kicks to last a lifetime, and that didn’t even consider all the shouting and cursing that was normal from the man she lived with. Heather was pretty sure John wasn’t her father, but she’d never asked. Her mother had died a few months ago, of what one of the neighbours had called ‘the ‘sumption’, whatever that meant. Heather had watched her grow weaker and weaker, while John had grown meaner and meaner. Now that her mother wasn’t able to protect her and calm John out of his moods, Heather hated it at home, and she wasn’t staying any longer if she could help it. She was terrified one of these days he would hit her so hard she’d never wake up. There had to be something better out there. She’d heard stories about people making their fortune at sea, and that’s what she had decided to do. The further away from London, the better.

Heather waited until the gangplank was clear, then started up towards the deck of the ship. The slight movement as the ship adjusted its bulk on the waves unsettled her and she threw her arms wide for balance. She heard men laughing at her from above her head, but didn’t look up until large hands reached down and grabbed her under the arms, hauling her on to the smooth wooden deck.

“What are ye doing onboard the Eleanor Rose, lad?” The question came from the man who had lifted her over the side. The other men were watching him, so Heather thought he must be in charge.

“I’ve come to see if you need a cabin boy, Captain. I’m hardworking and I don’t eat much! And I learn fast! I can...” She was interrupted before she could say anymore.

“Slow down, laddie, slow down. Ye can talk, I’ll give ye that much.” The grinning face was weathered and rough, but Heather thought he had a kind look in his eyes. Well, she might have just been hoping for that, but she would hold onto the hope. “The rest we’ll have to see about when the cap’n comes back. I’m the bosun. While we wait for the cap’n, you can start proving yer worth by helpin’ scrub the decks. Jack will show ye what to do. Mind what ‘e says and we’ll see what the cap’n thinks when ‘e comes back.”

Heather looked towards the man the bosun had gestured to. That fellow must be Jack. He wasn’t as old or weathered looking as the other sailors, but he had big, strong arms and he didn’t look very happy to be in charge of her. He frowned as he grabbed the material at her shoulder and tugged her further on board the ship.

“What’s your name, boy? Not that I suppose it matters, you probably won’t be staying long.”

“Harry?” Heather didn’t mean to make it sound like a question, but she wasn’t used to using a boys name.

“Are you asking me or telling me? Stupid kids. Fine. Grab that scrubbing brush and bucket, fill it up from that water there, the soap is there, and get scrubbing. Scrub all the deck you can see, but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Heather looked around at the enormous deck and felt herself wonder if she’d made the right decision. This was going to be hard work, she could tell that already. Still, on the bright side, no one had noticed she was a girl. And she might still have a chance to escape London and see the world. The sea, different countries, all sorts of amazing things that she'd never see in London. It wasn’t all bad. She would just have to keep reminding herself of that while she scrubbed.


Written 17 October 2012