It had, after all, been a pleasant stroll home with Gwilym when their shift had finished, with them parting company as they reached the crossroads separating their streets. Their exchange had not touched on their quarrel or the war. Instead, they’d talked of the nationalisation of the coal mines and of the strike back in July that had secured some concessions for the miners. By the time Idris reached his back door a small chink of his anxiety had been chipped away.
That was, until he opened the door and saw his mother’s friend, Rhonwen Evans, sitting at the kitchen table, her two-year-old granddaughter leaning against her knees. Her son-in-law, Maurice, was another who’d joined the Rhondda Pals at the same time as him and Charlie Jones.
‘Hello Idris,’ said Rhonwen enthusiastically. ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re not so well.’
So his mother had already started telling people.
‘Your mam’s gone to find some old books for little Lily here.’ She waved a piece of paper in front of him. ‘Now you’re here I can read you Maurice’s letter.’
All he wanted was to get the soot off his skin and have something to eat. Rhonwen read the whole letter, all about the training, the food, and the fact they were going to be shipped overseas soon.
‘I ’ope the war finishes before they get that far.’ Rhonwen placed the letter in her coat pocket.
‘We all hope that,’ said Meg, strolling in from the hall. ‘These books should keep the young’un occupied for a while.’
‘Thank you, cariad. It’ll help fill the long hours while her mother makes up the money in the munitions factory,’ said Rhonwen.
Idris nodded slightly, waiting till she and her granddaughter left before exhaling noisily.
‘She read you the letter, then?’ asked Meg.
‘Didn’t even occur to her I might not want to hear it?’
‘You’re going to have to get used to that, Idris. People aren’t going to stop talking about the war because you’ve been discharged.’
She went to him, folding her petite body around his broad one, despite the dirt on him. ‘What’s to be done with you, Idris bach?’
He clung onto her, grateful of the comfort. ‘I’ll be all right, Mam. Don’t you worry.’ This was said with conviction, despite being convinced he’d never be all right again.
‘And I heard in the grocer’s that Mr Churchill’s resigned from the Cabinet over the Dardanelles expedition. Not that I understand any of that, but others seem to think it’s a bad step.’
‘Who knows?’ He was too tired to offer an opinion.
She let him go. ‘Come on now, I’m all behind with Rhonwen coming round. I need to get the bath ready. The water’s on the boil.’ He heard the clunk of the bath as she tipped it up to drag it into the kitchen.
He’d wash the dirt off fine. He just wished he could wash the shame away with it.
* * *
Anwen pulled open the threadbare curtain in the kitchen, staring into the blank garden. She rubbed her arms as she went towards the fireplace. It gleamed with the scrubbing Sara had given it yesterday. She’d worked too hard, her exhausted limp last night the proof of this. Anwen kneeled to light the fire. She needed the room warm, the kettle boiled, before Da stepped into it.
She still felt disorientated from the dream she’d had that morning. In it, she and Idris had been in Cardiff, strolling through the arcades with their high glass ceilings and elegant hanging lamps. Idris’s hand had been soft in hers, his laugh warm. They had visited the arcades on a number of occasions before the war, picking what they’d have in their own home if they could ever afford it. What they talked about in the dream she couldn’t recall, probably nonsense that wouldn’t make sense in the light of day. But it had been so vivid, so real, that she’d experienced the gnawing ache of loss as she awoke and realised it was mere fantasy, full of beautiful goods she’d never own and a man who would never be her husband.
Madog appeared in the doorway forty minutes later in baggy long johns, his hair bedraggled. He stretched and scratched, producing a yawn that was punctuated with a belch. ‘Where’s my bloody breakfast?’
‘The eggs and bacon are cooking, Da.’
‘I don’t want the eggs hard. Get on with it. I’m ’ungry.’
She scurried back to the stove, relieved to see the eggs were not overcooked. He left the room, returning shortly with his baccy tin to lean on the doorway.
‘Where’s your sister? She should be starting the other chores.’
‘She had a bit of a cough in the night. Thought I’d give her an hour more.’
He took two stomping paces into the kitchen, throwing the tin onto the table. His hands, gripped into fists, were jammed against his hips. ‘I’ll give her a bloody hour. I’ll give her a bloody hand across the arse.’
Anwen scooped up the eggs and bacon, placing them on the warmed plate. ‘I haven’t done the fried bread yet.’
‘Give it here.’ He snatched the plate from her. ‘I’ll start on this.’
Several minutes of quiet were interrupted only by the sizzling pan and Madog’s chewing. When it was ready, Anwen brought the fried bread and an extra egg to him.
‘Have you organised that job for your sister?’
Anwen had dreaded this moment, envisaging Sara in the cold and damp, the coal dust irritating her lungs. ‘Isn’t she more use here, in Mam’s place, like—?’
He thumped the table, making Anwen jump. ‘She has to pay her way else she’s no use here. That’s the trouble with having only daughters. Not like sons, bringing in a good wage.’
‘Da, I’ve got a new job with a better wage at the House, eighteen shillings instead of sixteen. I start Monday.’
‘What house?’
‘The Big House, working for the manager’s wife.’
‘You’re bloody Lady Muck now, are you?’
‘It’s two shillings more a week, Da. I thought, with the extra, Sara wouldn’t need a job and she could do Mam’s work here.’
‘Are you stupid or just dozy? Two shilling extra a week don’t make up for another wage, do it? You do your fancy job, but your sister’s going to screen coal. If you don’t bloody sort it out, I will.’
‘But Da—’
His hand went out, connecting with her cheek and knocking her off her feet. She landed on the floor, her shoulder hitting a chair as she went down.
The door from the hall flew open. ‘What’s all the noise?’ Sara ran in, stopping short of the table when she saw Anwen sprawled on the floor. She bent down to help her up.
‘Your sister tripped. Bloody clumsy, she is.’
‘Your face is red,’ Sara said, taking Anwen’s arm. It was her way of showing she knew that to be a lie. But if she went too far their father would start on her next.
‘I knocked my face on the edge of the chair as I went down.’
‘She’s getting you a job at the mine today,’ said Madog, dipping the fried bread into the soft yoke. ‘You’ll start Monday. But I still expect the washing, cooking and tidying done, you hear?’
Sara said nothing.
* * *
Anwen spent her whole shift mulling over what she could do to prevent Sara working at the colliery. Her sister had been tiny as a newborn and consequently delicate all her life. She’d rarely joined in with the sports and vigorous activities many of her friends enjoyed. These thoughts brought Anwen always back to the same conclusion. It would be tough, but it was the only solution she could think of.
At the end of her shift, Anwen headed down the gritty path to the pit entrance. The men of the morning shift were emerging too, dusty black but laughing and chatting, happy, no doubt, to be above ground. Two youths passed by, their dark brown hair, a little too long, reminding her of Tomos and Geraint. How old would they have been now? Twenty-three and eighteen. For a moment she imagined it was them, alive and healthy, heading home for some dinner. Mealtimes had been a riot of discussion and sometimes argument, but always good-natured. Da had appreciated a good debate in
those days. Now he tolerated no opinion but his own. Sara was waiting for her at the top of the path out of the colliery.
‘I haven’t seen Da come out yet,’ said Sara.
‘I saw him in Mr Williams’ office as I passed. You need to get along home to get his dinner ready.’
‘It’s all done. And I’ve given Mam hers. I wanted to tell you that I asked at the shops about jobs, but they’re making do because there’s less to sell these days and—’ Sara stopped, directing her eyes behind Anwen, then rolling them as if alerting her to something.
It was Idris, passing by with Gwilym. He glanced only briefly in their direction.
‘Hello,’ said Gwilym, ambling over to them. ‘I heard from someone whose sister works on the screens that you’re leaving the pit.’ He peered back at Idris. ‘Aren’t you coming over, mun?’
‘Got to get home quickly,’ said Idris.
‘Have you?’ He regarded Anwen again. ‘So, are you leaving in preparation for the wedding?’
Hadn’t Idris told his best friend? Everyone who knew them must assume they were still intending to marry. ‘I’m not sure if I am leaving yet.’
‘But—’ Sara started.
‘I think you ought to ask Idris about the wedding,’ said Anwen, clenching her jaw to prevent her chin wobbling. ‘Sara and I need to get on.’
‘Of course.’ Gwilym frowned as he joined Idris once more.
Anwen waited until they’d got a good few steps away before saying, ‘Let’s get home. Hopefully I can get washed up before Da gets back.’ The queue of men leaving the early shift had dwindled to nothing. ‘Then I’ve got an errand to run.’
It would be a heart-breaking errand, but she’d run out of options.
Chapter Five
A light drizzle was falling when Anwen lifted the knocker on the door of McKenzie House and tapped it twice. This was a foolhardy errand, likely to get her fired before she’d even started, but she had to try.
Anwen was about to knock again when Elizabeth opened the door, grinning at her.
‘Good afternoon, Anwen. How can I help you?’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth. I was wondering if it would be possible to speak to Mrs Meredith.’
‘I’m afraid she’s out. Is there something I can help you with?’
Anwen slumped a little. ‘I need to speak to her urgently about the housemaid’s job.’
‘Oh dear.’ Elizabeth’s face was full of concern. ‘If there’s a problem that needs sorting out, I can try and help?’
Anwen detected a kindred spirit in this young woman, despite their class differences. ‘All right.’
‘Come into the dining room where it’s warm.’
Once in the room, Elizabeth pulled out a chair from the table and gestured to Anwen to sit down.
‘What’s the problem?’
Could she be entirely honest with this woman? ‘My father, who is rather a strict man, has insisted that my sister, Sara, get a job. He has asked me to get her work screening the coal, but she’s only fifteen and has a tendency to chestiness.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I have seen your sister with you at chapel. She is small for fifteen.’
‘She’s a good little worker all the same, but would be much better with an indoor job. She helps with all the things that need doing at home now Mam’s sick. It’s just… the cold and the dust. I worry.’
‘So, you’re proposing that your sister takes the job here, and you continue at the mine?’
‘Do you think your mother would allow that? I could bring Sara up tomorrow afternoon to meet her.’
‘I’ll put forward your case when she returns. Will you be at chapel tomorrow?’
‘We’re always at chapel on a Sunday. Sara and me, anyway. Mam’s not well enough and Da, well, he’s not a religious man.’ Not since Tomos and Geraint’s demise. Angry with God, he was, convinced the Almighty was picking on him personally.
‘If my mother is agreeable, you can bring Sara along to meet her after lunch.’
‘Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. That is very kind of you.’
‘I assume if she doesn’t want to employ Sara that you’ll still take the post?’
Anwen nodded as she rose. ‘I have taken up enough of your time.’
Heading back to the front door, they heard a clattering down the stairs.
‘Goodness Tom, could you make any more noise?’
Young Mr Meredith stood on the bottom step sporting a smart three-piece suit, a shirt with a rounded collar and a striped tie. He held four books in his hands. ‘I’m sure I could if I tried. Ah Miss Rhys. Nice to see you again.’
Anwen was disturbed by the way he gazed at her. She guessed this was just how young men of his class acted.
‘Mr Meredith.’ She bowed her head slightly.
‘Good God. Tom, please. Mr Meredith is my father.’ He laughed long and stridently. ‘Having another recce before you begin work on Monday?’
‘We were just clarifying a few points,’ said Elizabeth, saving Anwen from an awkward explanation.
‘Are you going back through the village, Miss Rhys? I’m off to Schenck’s to sell and buy some books.’
‘Yes I am, sir.’
‘Wonderful! Give me a moment to fetch my coat and I’ll accompany you.’ He ran off towards the understairs cupboard.
‘Is that permitted?’ she mouthed to Elizabeth.
‘It’s getting towards sunset, so I think it would be a good idea for him to escort you down the road to the village, don’t you?’
When Tom returned, there was amusement on his face. ‘Absolutely the gentlemanly thing to do. Come, let us away.’
Anwen couldn’t help but laugh. He opened the door, bowing with particular emphasis.
Her elevated mood lasted until they reached the gate, when regret set in. Such a shame she may not be working here after all.
Anwen needn’t have worried about what to say to Tom. He was full of chat, about the books he’d read and how he often visited Mr Schenck’s bookshop. They took the road that curved round the colliery, coming out at James Street where her friend Gwen lived.
‘Do you enjoy reading, Miss Rhys?’
‘I do. I often go to the library in the Workmen’s Institute. Many of the people here are keen to learn, even if they left school early.’
‘I’m supposed to be at Reading University, but there’s not much point going at the moment. Not with most students in the forces now.’
‘They don’t have to go.’
He went slightly in front, walking backwards to face her. ‘No, they don’t. They just volunteered. But soon I think they’ll have to.’
‘You haven’t gone, though?’
‘No. I was sent home in October. Bout of influenza. Got a bit weak.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. You look well.’ She realised immediately it sounded like a criticism. It wasn’t her business, after all.
‘Why thank you. That’s a nice change to being told all the time by my mother that I look pale. Still got a bit of chest pain, but I’m better than I was. So, what do you like to read?’
‘Novels. Edith Nepean, Gwyneth Vaughan, the Brontës, Jane Austen, EM Forster. And poetry.’ She picked English poets rather than Welsh ones she liked. ‘Byron. Wordsworth. Coleridge.’
‘What good taste you have.’
It was at this point they reached the bookshop on the corner. On the pavement diagonally opposite, several men stumbled out onto the pavement from the McKenzie Arms Hotel.
‘Oh dear, they’re the worse for wear,’ said Tom.
They watched as the men wove their way up Gabriel Street. A version of ‘Ar Lan y Môr’ was battling with ‘Hello, Hello, Who’s Your Lady Friend?’
Anwen, smiling at their good-natured high spirits, turned back to wish Tom farewell. As she was about to speak she saw a familiar figure ambling down Jubilee Green towards them. Idris, carrying a parcel, glanced from her to Tom, and back again as he passed, his expression stern.
‘I’ll wish you a good evening then, Miss Rhys,’ said Tom, about to open the bookshop door. ‘And I’ll see you on Monday.’
She hadn’t told him en route that Sara might take the job instead. ‘Good evening, Mr Meredith.’
She hurried away up the road, glancing back only once to see Idris peering up at her. He twisted round to continue on down Station Street.
* * *
The morning was sunny as Anwen and Sara made their way to chapel. The cheerful light did not improve Anwen’s mood. Today she’d find out whether Sara had the housemaid’s position, in which case she would be asking for a job back that she detested. If not, Sara was condemned to the filthy, back-breaking work at the pit. She was thankful her sister had enough colour in her cheeks today to suggest she was healthy enough to take on the job.
A golden hue inhabited the chapel, lit as it was by the sun’s rays through its top windows. Elizabeth was by their side no sooner had they stepped through the door. It was three quarters full in there, with the seats on the balcony almost entirely occupied.
‘I thought you’d want to know without any delay that my mother has agreed to your request. And she doesn’t require a meeting with Sara this afternoon.’
An equal amount of relief and disappointment flooded Anwen. ‘Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.’
‘What’s this about?’ said Sara.
‘You haven’t told her?’ said Elizabeth.
‘I wanted to know for sure,’ said Anwen. ‘Sara, the housemaid’s job at McKenzie House is yours. You don’t have to work at the pit.’
Sara beamed. ‘They had two jobs?’
‘No. I’m continuing with my old one.’
‘No! Oh Anwen, don’t give up the job for me. You wanted it so much.’
‘It’s a lovely house and you’ll like it there.’
‘Please Anwen—’
‘Shh now. Get our seats for us, and for Uncle Hywel, as near the front as you can.’
‘Would you mind if I joined you?’ Elizabeth asked hesitantly.
‘Of course not,’ said Anwen, delighted that she should want to do so. ‘Get a seat for Miss Meredith too.’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 5