Nora Rides the Slow Red Boat

Gran put on her hat to go out.

The hat was warm. The hat was heavy. The hat said, “Buk.”

Gran took it off and looked inside. There sat Nora, her brown hen, fast asleep.

“Good morning, Nora,” said Gran. Nora opened one eye, and shut it again.

Gran was the lock-keeper on a wide, slow river. She lived in a cottage with a blue door, and she opened the big lock gates for every boat that came along.

Nora fell asleep anywhere warm. Gran had found her in the bread bin, sitting on the loaf. She had found her in the washing basket, twice. She had found her in the tea cosy, with her head poking out of the spout hole. Gran always knew Nora was asleep somewhere. She only wondered where.

But Nora had one rule. However far she wandered in the day, she was back in her own coop by bedtime.

Her coop stood beside the blue door. It had clean straw, and a perch just the right height, and a little round window. From the window Nora could see the humpy bridge, just down the river. Every evening she watched the slow red boat come under it, ringing its bell. Dong-a-ling.

* * *

That morning, Gran filled a basket with eggs for the market. The eggs were fresh and still warm. She set the basket on the step for the egg cart and went off to dig potatoes.

Warm eggs. A soft cloth. A patch of sun. Nora climbed into the basket, fluffed up, and closed her eyes.

The egg cart came along, clip-clop. The egg man lifted the basket up beside him. He did not look under the cloth. Clip-clop, clip-clop, down the river road, all the way to the market. Nora did not wake up once.

When she did wake up, a lady had lifted the cloth and was peering in.

“Goodness,” said the lady. “That is the biggest egg I ever saw.”

Nora hopped out. She had a lovely afternoon. She found crumbs under the bread stall. She had a nap on a pile of warm scarves.

Then the sun went low and gold, and the stalls began to pack away. Nora looked up the river. Home was up there, three bridges away. Her straw was up there. Her perch was up there. And it was nearly bedtime.

Nora did not flap. Nora did not fuss. She stood very still and listened.

Dong-a-ling.

Nora knew that bell. It was the slow red boat, stopping at the market to pick up milk churns. Every evening it went up the river, under the humpy bridge, and right past her coop.

Nora walked down to the water’s edge and hopped aboard.

* * *

A girl called Sal was on the boat. It was Sal’s job to ring the bell at every bridge.

“Hello, hen,” said Sal. “Are you coming too?”

“Buk,” said Nora.

She found a big coil of rope in a sunny corner and tucked herself into the middle of it, like an egg in a nest. Sal laughed, and gave her a crust from her pocket.

The slow red boat set off up the river. It was slow. It was very, very slow. It was so slow that a cow walked along the bank beside it and kept up the whole way, chewing.

They came to a stone bridge. Sal rang the bell. Dong-a-ling.

Nora gave a little cluck. One bridge.

The cow was still chewing.

They came to a wooden bridge. Sal rang the bell. Dong-a-ling.

Nora gave a little cluck. Two bridges.

The cow stopped at her own gate and watched them go. She was still chewing.

They came to the little humpy bridge. Sal rang the bell. Dong-a-ling.

Nora gave a little cluck. Three.

One bridge, two bridges, three. And there, just past the humpy bridge, was a cottage with a blue door.

* * *

The boat bumped softly against the lock gate. Nora stepped out of the rope and hopped onto the gate, just as Gran lit the first lamp.

Gran was waiting at the blue door. She had the lamp in one hand. In the other hand she had an old sock, the one with the hole stitched shut. It was full of grain, warmed up by the stove, because Nora liked her supper warm.

“There you are, Nora,” said Gran. “I wondered which basket it was this time.”

She shook a little heap of warm grain onto the step. Nora ate every bit.

“Is she your hen?” said Sal.

“She is,” said Gran. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“I didn’t,” said Sal. “She just hopped on. She knew the way.”

“That’s my Nora,” said Gran.

Gran opened the lock for the slow red boat, the way she did every evening. The water came up and up, and it lifted the boat with it. Sal waved. Gran waved. The boat went slowly on up the river.

Then Gran carried the lamp round to the coop. Nora walked inside. She stepped up onto her perch, just the right height. She fluffed out her feathers until she was as round as a loaf.

“Goodnight, Nora,” said Gran. “I’m glad you’re home.”

She shut the latch. Click. She carried the lamp back inside and closed the blue door.

Far up the river, the slow red boat rang its bell. Dong-a-ling.

Softer now. Dong-a-ling.

Softer still, so far away it was hardly a sound at all.

Nora did not hear it. She was home in her own coop, warm and full, right at bedtime. And she was fast asleep.