Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘What are you doing, cariad?’ Cadi asked Sara, noticing the paper shapes and scissors on the table.

  ‘Before the war Anwen and I saw some lovely star decorations in a shop in the arcades in Cardiff. We couldn’t afford them so I’m making my own.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be just as beautiful.’ She followed Anwen out of the room.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to share your bed with me,’ said Cadi. ‘Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience?’

  ‘We can top and tail. It’ll be fine. It’s what we used to do as children…’ She trailed off, recalling the days when Tomos and Geraint were still around.

  Cadi climbed the last step, her face sad. ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to come and help us with Christmas. It’s been a difficult month.’

  ‘No need to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you. How has Sara been the last few days?’

  ‘Not good. She’s found it hard to get out of bed even for her brief time in the garden for fresh air. She’s been coughing more and is exhausted all the time. She insisted on coming down for Christmas Eve preparations, but I don’t know how long she’ll last before she needs to go to bed again.’

  ‘We could make her a bed up on the chaise, then she can join in.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Anwen led the way into her bedroom, pointing to the space at the left side of the bed, next to the small window overlooking the garden. ‘You can put your bag over there.’

  ‘I’ll go and have a word with your mam, then come down to help. Have you got the dinner on for when your da gets in?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m just preparing some bakestones. I managed to find some flour at the back of the larder. I saved some margarine and currants and a couple of eggs, and there’s a bit of milk left.’ Or rather, this was what she’d managed to hide from her father. She was wary of telling his mother that, unsure of how she’d react.

  ‘What a lovely treat for Christmas Eve. I’m looking forward to having my family around me.’

  Anwen smiled, all the time wondering whether her father would stick around for the evening. He usually behaved better when his mother was here. Cadi was planning on staying a few days so it would be interesting to see if he could keep it up.

  Downstairs again and having put a kettle of water on the stove, Anwen went back to the bowl, placing her hands in to knead the as yet rough dough. She hoped the bakestones would come out even half as good as Mam’s.

  Sara had piled up the few items of food Cadi had brought, including biscuits. ‘I’m so glad Mamgu’s come. It’ll be different with her here. Maybe she could persuade Da to let Mam come down. Uncle Hywel could fetch her like he did before, when he comes for his dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She feared even Mamgu could only push Da so far.

  ‘I wish we could have a Christmas tree. Mrs Meredith was talking about getting one for the Big House.’

  ‘They’re expensive and where would we put it?’

  Sara scanned the room. ‘It doesn’t matter. This will be the best Christmas ever.’

  Anwen worked the dough silently, thinking back on many childhood Christmases it would be difficult to beat. That wasn’t what Sara needed to hear. ‘Of course it will, cariad, of course it will.’

  * * *

  Anwen opened one eye, then the other, surprised to spy the first hint of Christmas morning light through her thin curtains. It wasn’t like her to sleep much beyond the time she’d normally get up for work. It must be about half past seven now. Changing position, Anwen realised Mamgu was already awake, sitting up, peering across at her.

  ‘Nadolig Llawen, cariad.’

  Anwen heaved herself up, walked on her knees to the other side of the bed and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. ‘Nadolig Llawen, Mamgu.’ She shivered and rubbed her arms. ‘And it will be a happy Christmas once I get the fire going. I want to make everything ready and nice.’

  ‘I’ll come down and help you.’

  The two of them got out of bed, turning their backs on each other to get dressed. Anwen slipped on an old frock. She’d put on her Sunday best later, after all the preparations had been done.

  ‘Sara was coughing in the night,’ said Cadi. ‘I went in to her, but she said she was all right and not to fuss. I fell asleep and didn’t hear her again.’

  ‘I must have been fast asleep. I didn’t hear anything.’

  Cadi opened the bedroom door. ‘You get the fires going. I’ll start preparing the food for later. It’s lucky Madog managed to get hold of a chicken, isn’t it? Fancy someone managing to get two and wanting to sell one.’

  Anwen smiled but didn’t comment. She wasn’t convinced by her father’s explanation, imagining it had been given only because his mother was there. More likely he’d acquired it in a less than honest manner.

  Dressed now and in the kitchen, Anwen swept out the grate. Cadi was in the scullery, washing the few vegetables they’d managed to get hold of. After finishing with the fire and washing her hands, Anwen went to a drawer in the dresser, pulling out the one tablecloth her family owned, white cotton with a crocheted lace trim. The lace had been made by Anwen’s other grandmother.

  Cadi entered the kitchen. ‘I’ll take cups of tea to Enid and Sara. Then I’ll pluck that chicken.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d like to have it all ready by the time we leave for chapel. The chicken can cook while we’re out.’

  Cadi made the tea, commenting as she poured, ‘Don’t suppose Madog will be bothered just yet. He never was an early riser when he didn’t need to be. That’s why I was surprised when he changed shifts to the morning one in the spring. Night owl, he is.’ She lifted the two cups and saucers. ‘Sara won’t want to miss too much of Christmas day. Like a child she is still, bless her.’ Cadi left the room to deliver the tea.

  Anwen went to the drawer to fetch the cutlery for breakfast. As she was about to lay the knives and forks on the table, a piercing scream came from upstairs. Her body jerked with fright, her hands dropping the cutlery.

  Almost tripping on her skirt, she rushed up the stairs. The door to Sara’s room was open. Slumped against the bed, was Mamgu, sobbing. There was broken china around her. Enid’s voice from the other room was shouting, ‘What’s happened?’

  Anwen stepped slowly in, an icy chill climbing up from her toes, making her legs weak. The metallic smell caught at the back of her throat. She gasped. Even in the dim light of the room she could see Sara was lying on her back, head flopped to one side. Her skin was pale, her eyes staring up, her lips apart. On the sheets and her nightie were copious amounts of blood, both brown and red. Anwen’s hand flew to her mouth, all breath sucked from her lungs. Her parents’ bedroom door creaked. Anwen was aware of her father’s form in the doorway. Mamgu began a rhythmic lament on a low note.

  ‘What’s bloody going on here?’

  Anwen turned to her father, the tears flowing down her cheeks. He looked from her to his mother, who was now rocking back and forth.

  ‘What, what is it?’ he asked quietly.

  A voice from the next room called, ‘What’s happened? Please tell me.’

  ‘Da, Sara’s gone,’ Anwen sobbed, seconds before the intense buzzing stress in her head rendered her unconscious.

  Chapter Ten

  The pony-drawn cart reached the cemetery gates and the small coffin was retrieved from the back of it by Idris, Isaiah, Hywel and Gwilym. Anwen was being clutched by Mamgu as they watched. For several days before there had been sleet, but today the sun was shining as if Sara in her heavenly home had ordered it.

  Earlier, there’d been a short service led by Pastor Richards in their home, attended only by her family and Idris’s. When they’d left the house, the street had been lined with villagers. Anwen and her family had followed the cart as it was drawn away, beginning the three-mile slog to Rhymney cemetery.

  The villagers had fallen in step behind, singing four verses of ‘Guide Me, O Thou Great
Jehovah’, after which they’d fallen silent.

  Now at the gate of Rhymney cemetery, they entered the grounds, Madog marching ahead of them.

  Anwen peeked behind. There were still plenty of people following. Idris, Isaiah and Jenkin were close behind in their Sunday suits, walking parallel with Gwen and Violet. Elizabeth was walking behind them with some other ladies from the chapel. She had offered the motorcar for their journey, though they’d turned it down. Anwen recognised a couple of girls who’d once been school friends of Sara’s, who’d drifted away when she’d become poorly. The group of ladies who cleaned the chapel made a solemn group. Her mother had once been part of them, many of them had been her friends as a young mother in the village. Everyone else she spotted had played some part in her and Sara’s lives, however small.

  They trudged down a path past two fields of headstones, turning left to tramp across the grass to an open grave. She recognised the spot; she’d been here several times before to visit her brothers. Da was mean with many things, but for the burial of his family he always had enough money to do a ‘decent job’, as he put it, despite his threat not to buy another coffin.

  The immediate family gathered round the grave, everyone else standing at a discreet distance. The coffin was lowered as the minister spoke solemn words. Anwen was barely listening, concentrating more on not being sick. She crossed the large lapels of her coat one over the other, gripping them with one hand. When will this be over?

  Another grief lurked behind her one for Sara. For all the comfort given by Uncle Hywel and Mamgu, how much more solace would she have received from Idris’s loving arms? She wanted to look round for him, gather at least a tiny piece of comfort by his presence, but she didn’t allow herself to raise her eyes from the grave.

  The minister finished. Madog picked up the first clod of earth, throwing it onto the coffin. Anwen went next. She ungloved her hand, bending to pick up the soil. It scalded her with its deathly chill. In it went, the last contact between her and her beloved sister. Cadi went next, then Uncle Hywel. The minister said a few more words.

  It was all over, people parting to let them through, when her father broke into the Welsh lullaby, ‘Suo Gȃn’. Slumber child, upon my breast, It is snug and warm… She had not heard him sing for many years and was surprised at how clear and melodic his voice was.

  As one the crowd stopped, facing the grave once more, slowly but surely joining in. It touched her soul while at the same time extending her anxiety. How long before she could leave this place of the departed? Idris was behind his father, his face sombre, singing with the others. Willing herself to look away, she focused on the bare trees.

  Finally the singing finished and people departed once more.

  Cadi took her arm. ‘We must get to the gate to speak to people as they go through.’

  ‘Can’t we just go home?’ said Anwen. Her body was as weary as her spirit. All she wanted was to hurry to the warmth of her house. She yearned to sit with those she knew best.

  ‘People have taken the time to come. They’ll want to give their condolences.’

  Anwen nodded, submitting to the necessary tradition.

  They walked together as a family to the gates, her father slightly ahead.

  Madog set himself up opposite the three of them at the gate. They were the only family. Mamgu’s sister, Great Aunty Maggie, had told her she couldn’t spare time for the funeral when Mamgu returned to Abergavenny briefly to impart the news. Enid’s family in Cardiganshire had conveyed in a letter that it was too far to come.

  People drifted by them, shaking hands and mumbling awkward words of comfort. Even Polly Coombes, a classmate at school and a shallow creature if ever she’d known one, took her hands and squeezed them. The shop keepers were represented by Mrs Moss, the landlady of the McKenzie Arms, and Mrs Prosser, the butcher’s wife. Gwen, Violet and Elizabeth were just behind them.

  When will this end, please, when will it end? Anwen couldn’t bring herself to reply any more than a murmured thank you, the repetition of which made her want to scream. She imagined herself doing so, running from the cemetery, throwing herself in front of a cart, or a train, to rid herself of this all-enveloping ache.

  So much in a world of her own was she, that Idris went unnoticed until he was in front of her. She almost jumped, working hard to keep her face devoid of any kind of reaction.

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Anwen,’ he said. ‘She was a lovely girl, full of affection for everyone.’

  His heartfelt words made her want to throw her arms around him and sob, to hold onto him forever. This was the first day she’d seen Idris since Sara’s death, even though Meg and Isaiah had been round with offers of sympathy and help.

  ‘Thank you for your kind words, Idris.’

  He gave a brief nod, moving on to Cadi and Hywel, only shaking their hands, adding nothing. Isaiah came next, close to tears himself, only patting her shoulder but not speaking.

  When will this end?

  * * *

  Anwen heaved a sigh of relief as she entered her home with Cadi after the three-mile trek back.

  Meg Hughes appeared in the hall. ‘You must be frozen with this chill. I’ve lit a fire in the front room and there’s a kettle on the boil.’

  ‘Thank you for stepping in to do this,’ said Cadi. ‘How’s Enid?’

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  Anwen was almost in the kitchen when she heard others at the front door. Isaiah entered with Idris, though Jenkin was not there. She had difficulty swallowing, anticipating the awkwardness. Still, the day was not about her, but about Sara. That’s who they would speak of, reliving happy memories, if other such teas were anything to go by.

  ‘Jenkin’s decided to go home,’ said Isaiah. ‘I think another old school pal dying has got to him. He lost Bertie Smalls a few months back.’

  Anwen remembered this sad death. A fourteen-year-old boy, down the mine, caught in a rock fall. She entered the front room. The place that had so recently housed her sister’s coffin was now laid up for tea, the table covered with their only cloth. Mamgu had managed to persuade the butcher to keep them a pig’s head from which Meg had prepared brawn to put in the sandwiches. Next to them sat a small pot of mustard. There were even some bakestones with a pot of Mam’s homemade apple jelly. On the upright piano a framed photograph of Sara had been given pride of place. Anwen switched on the light before stepping back into the kitchen, where Meg was placing a kettle on the stove.

  ‘Where’s Da?’

  Meg looked round. ‘Isn’t he with you?’

  ‘He went ahead. I thought he’d be here.’

  ‘No, cariad, he hasn’t arrived yet.’

  Hywel appeared in the front room doorway, his face serious. ‘I’m going to fetch your mam down. It’s not right she’s in that bedroom day in, day out. This is her daughter’s funeral. Your father can’t object on a day like this. If he shows up.’ The last sentence was delivered with some venom.

  ‘She’s dressed and presentable,’ called Meg. ‘She insisted on putting on her Sunday best.’

  ‘I’ll get Idris to give me a hand.’

  Anwen helped Meg take milk jugs and cups into the front room, placing them on the table.

  ‘About time Enid joined the land of the living again,’ said Isaiah.

  Cadi clucked her tongue. ‘I’ll have to speak to Madog about this again. Dr Roberts didn’t think there was any reason for her lying in bed forever more.’

  Anwen wanted to curtail this conversation. ‘Is there anything else I can do, Mrs Hughes?’

  ‘Dear me, no, cariad, you sit and rest after your long spell in the cold, get yourself warm. And what’s all this Mrs Hughes business? You’ve called me “Meg” since you were sixteen.’

  She did as she was bid, relieved to be given permission to sit. Meg left the room with Cadi and Isaiah. Soon there were sounds of a confused conversation and something being dragged. Cadi came in, moving chairs along, ahead of Isaiah a
nd Meg who were struggling with the chaise. Once in position, Hywel carried his sister in. Idris came up behind with two folded blankets, handing them to Cadi to tuck around Enid.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Enid, her tone sad. Her eyes were red and puffy. ‘I cannot stand being locked away from everyone when my daughter has just been buried.’

  Locked away. It made her sound like a prisoner. Was that how her mother felt?

  Cadi pointed to the food on the table. ‘Come on now, everyone, we’re all ready for something to eat, I’ll be bound. Meg’s done us proud and I’m very appreciative that she offered to do this.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ said Enid. ‘She is a true friend.’

  Meg was framed by the doorway, rubbing her hands on her apron, her face neutral. ‘I’m just doing my bit.’

  ‘Take the apron off and come and join us now.’ Enid indicated the seat next to the chaise.

  Idris sat on a seat away from the fire. It was also as far from Anwen as he could get. Despite not being at all hungry, Anwen went to the table to show her appreciation. Two quarters of a sandwich and a tiny piece of mustard was all she took. She’d got back to her seat before Idris got up to help himself, the last of them to do so.

  ‘Are you comfortable, Enid?’ said Cadi.

  ‘Very much so. It’s more relaxing in some ways than sitting in bed.’

  ‘Then we must bring you down more often.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Anwen’s intense frustration almost surpassed her distress. She wished she were a man, able to handle her father. Or that Geraint and Tomos were still around to do so. None of her siblings had got past fifteen. She squeezed her eyes tight as the grief of the loss of all three of them collided into a massive sorrow.

  ‘Are you all right, fach?’ said Cadi next to her, touching her arm.

  ‘Yes, Mamgu. Just remembering them all.’

  Cadi nodded. ‘So many to remember.’ She had suffered her own lost children and siblings, having many more to recall than Anwen.

  Meg rose. ‘The kettle must have boiled now. I’m sure a cup of tea will be welcome to everyone.’