Anwen stiffened her posture. So much for gallant Idris, claiming she’d broken off the betrothal. Resentment was useful when you wanted to stave off sentiment. But Polly Coombes? Well, if that was the kind of woman he liked now, they were welcome to each other.
Anwen joined in the nursery rhyme Gwen had started singing. She sang louder, getting up to dance with Clarice.
To hell with you, Idris Hughes.
* * *
Another Monday morning. It was almost like he’d never been away from the mine, so routine had the work become. Over two months he’d been back now. He was nearing the bottom of Station Road, the dim illumination of the pit buildings in front of him drawing him on against his will. He wanted to stride into the light, not the shadows. Anwen had been his light, yet he’d abandoned her. He didn’t want to become her darkness, for her to resent him in years to come. The men passed through the gate like a battalion advancing to war.
‘What’s wrong with you, Idris, bach?’ said his father beside him.
‘Monday morning,’ he muttered.
‘Aye, Monday morning,’ his father agreed.
As they passed the under-manager’s office, Edgar Williams stepped out.
‘Been waiting for you, Idris Hughes.’
Idris stopped, as did Isaiah.
‘I’ll see you later, Da,’ he said. He didn’t want to get his father involved in whatever gripe Williams had with him today.
Isaiah hesitated before saying, ‘See you later, son.’
Williams waited until Isaiah was out of earshot before snapping, ‘Come inside.’
The desk in the office was piled with papers, as was the filing cabinet. Williams leant his slight weight against the edge of the desk.
‘I hear you were harassing my wife yesterday, Hughes.’
Of course. ‘I would say it was more a case of her harassing the young ladies in the gardens, telling them what they should be doing, in her capacity as Guardian.’
He frowned. ‘You’re confused. She was apparently advising them to support the war effort. No harm in that.’
‘Almost shouting at them, she was. I could hear her clearly from outside the gardens.’
‘The young women were insolent. They deserved a good talking to.’
‘From what I could hear, they were being polite and respectful, considering they had been set upon.’
‘Are you questioning my wife’s version of the events? Anyway, the main reason I’ve called you in is because you haven’t been filling as many trams as you should. Not as many as you did before you enlisted. I’ve checked the paperwork.’
Idris was aware of his shortfall, though he’d been surprised when he’d collected his last pay. He thought he’d been improving each week, yet his pay told him he’d slipped back a little. As he glanced around he spotted, through the murky window, several men gathered outside. His spirit shrank.
Williams carried on. ‘I have men here in their fifties able to shift more coal than you. That Rhys girl you were to marry left her job at the screens. It seems to me, Hughes, that you should take her place, with the women and the old men.’ He released a rapid cackle of a laugh, like a machine gun in full flow.
Idris calmed himself, clasping his hands loosely behind his back. ‘I’ve not got into my stride yet. Being away seven months means I’m out of practice. But I’ll be up to speed soon.’
‘I think you’ve had chance enough—’
The door was pushed open and there stood Gwilym, a group of around six men behind him. Idris groaned inside.
‘Reckon there could have been a clerical error, Mr Williams.’ There were voices of assent behind Gwilym.
Williams considered the gathering. ‘Get to your stalls, men.’
‘Leave Idris alone,’ called Twm Bach, his sing-song voice recognisable though his height rendered him unseen.
‘Watch your mouth, Twm Bach,’ shouted Williams, ‘else you’ll find your tram number decreasing too. And maybe you’ll work with the women: they’re more your size.’
There was a ‘boo’ from one man, alongside the muttering of the rest of them. Was Williams admitting he’d fiddled the figures for the number of trams he’d filled, Idris wondered, or was it merely an idle threat?
He had no time to ponder this before Williams yelled, ‘Now get to work, all of you! Our navy’s waiting for that coal.’
Idris wasted no time vacating the office, making straight for the lamp room with Gwilym and the other men.
There were long hours in the dark to consider what had been said.
* * *
Isaiah sat in one of the armchairs next to the fire, his arms stretched out as he perused the middle pages of last week’s local paper. In the other armchair, Meg darned one of her husband’s shirts. Idris sat at the table, a book in his hands. Isaiah folded the paper in half, holding it near to his face and squinting.
‘You should get yourself a pair of spectacles, Da.’
Meg looked up from her sewing. ‘I’ve told him that. When you even have difficulty seeing print in this wonderful electric light, it comes to something.’
‘Don’t see why I should waste my money on such things. I can read perfectly well when it’s close up.’
Idris was about to start reading again when Isaiah said, ‘That reminds me. Twm Bach told me Williams had a go at you at the beginning of the week, saying you weren’t making the grade.’
‘You didn’t mention it.’ Meg placed the shirt on her knees. ‘You always used to tell us everything.’
That wasn’t quite true, of course. He’d never told them about scrumping apples from McKenzie House’s garden, nor of the many times he’d kissed Anwen secretly in the woods, before they were officially courting. A longing for those distant, innocent years assailed him.
But these things were not what she was talking about. He would chat about his day once upon a time. Now he spent the evenings almost silent, wrapped up in the books he borrowed from the Institute’s library.
‘What is there to tell, Mam? Williams has it in for me. He will for a while, until he finds some other poor soul to pick on.’
‘Don’t let him get to you,’ said Meg.
‘I gave as good as I got, without descending into rudeness like him.’
Isaiah humphed. ‘Don’t get too far on the wrong side of management. Doesn’t matter for me at my age, but you’ve got years. Perhaps you could be under-manager one day.’
Idris tried to imagine wearing a fancy yet grubby suit every day, like Williams, telling men what to do. Perhaps you had to be that officious to get the job done, but it wasn’t his way. ‘I don’t think so.’
The clatter of footsteps on the stairs was followed by Jenkin throwing open the door. He was wearing a khaki shirt and shorts and thick knee socks. On his head was a broad-brimmed campaign hat, a leather strap hanging down beneath his chin.
‘For goodness sake, bach,’ said Meg, ‘Can’t you do anything without breaking the house?’
‘Sorry Mam. I’m going to be late for scouts if I don’t hurry up. We’re learning exercises to get fit.’
‘You’ll make a fine hewer with a fair bit of muscle on you,’ said Isaiah.
Meg jumped up, dropping the shirt on the chair. ‘He’s not going into any mine. It’s bad enough that Idris ended up there.’
‘That’s not my doing. He sneaked off and got hired.’
‘It’s not happening to our Jenkin. He’s going into an office.’
‘I’m not getting fit to go into an office, Mam! The war isn’t ending any time soon. I’ll be able to sign up in a couple of years, isn’t it?’
Isaiah rose from his chair, standing next to Meg in unity. ‘You’re not going anywhere, bach. The war’ll be over before you’re old enough.’
‘That’s not what the scout master said. I’ll be eighteen in two years and four months. He reckons it could be going for a while yet, like that Hundred Years War in England back in the Middle Ages.’
Meg picked her sewin
g up once more and slumped into her seat. ‘God help us. Who knows how many we’ll lose if that’s the case.’
Jenkin crossed his arms. ‘You didn’t stop our Idris going. Isn’t that right, Idris?’
‘I was over twenty-one, bach.’ The very idea of Jenkin signing up made his head throb. Was that how his parents had felt when he’d left?
* * *
It would be the first time Idris had stepped into the public house since coming home. He wasn’t sure of the wisdom of it as they trod carefully down the sloping street of Jubilee Green, trying not to slip on the recently fallen snow.
‘This is a bit of a celebration, isn’t it?’ said Gwilym next to him, clapping his gloved hands together once before rubbing them. ‘Your first trip to the McKenzie Arms since you came back from the army.’
‘I’ll not stay long. I’m not much of a drinker.’
‘Come on, cheer up. You can’t hide away forever. Here, maybe we’ll see that Polly Coombes down here again, eh?’
‘Let’s hope not.’
Gwilym laughed. ‘Mun, I thought we were going to be stuck with her for the whole hike, yacking on about frocks and lace. Her face was a picture when you told her we were walking all the way to Carn Stwpa.’
‘Not that we did in the end.’
‘No. When we’ve got some good long evenings, we’ll have a go. Mind, she’s a good-looking girl, Polly,’ Gwilym said.
‘You’d better snap her up then, before someone else does.’
Gwilym chuckled. ‘Not me, mun. Not my type.’
‘Then who is?’ Idris immediately wished he hadn’t asked.
‘I’ll know when I meet her. Here we are.’ Gwilym led the way across the road to the McKenzie Arms Hotel.
They entered the front door, peeling off to the larger of two bars. It was already busy with men recently washed, the pervading scent of soap in the air.
‘I’ll get these in,’ Gwilym said. ‘Look, there’s a coupla seats at that table by there.’
Idris did as he was bid, not noticing Philip Hubbard until he started to remove his coat.
‘Now there’s a fine bit of clothing. You didn’t pick that up in Dorcalon, I’ll be bound.’
‘No. An officer gave it me,’ said Idris. ‘At Winchester. It was old to him.’
‘Old! I bet it was. Toff, was he?’
It was a redundant question: all the officers had been, at the very least, middle class.
‘Yes, course he was,’ Hubbard continued. ‘There’s them, disregarding good clothes with plenty of life in them and here we are, patching the patches on ours.’
Idris considered Hubbard’s clothing. He’d seen worse on the streets of Dorcalon.
‘Ah, here he is, the old Janus.’
Idris followed Hubbard’s gaze. Edgar Williams had entered the bar, thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, standing in the doorway as if he owned the hotel.
‘Janus?’
Hubbard leant forward. ‘Two-faced, isn’t it? Acts like he’s on our side when he’s with us, then sucks up to those above.’
Williams strolled through the throng of men. He stopped at the bar, hailing the barman, despite several other people waiting.
Hubbard clucked loudly. ‘Upstart. Thinks he’s the manager, that one. Truth be told, Herbert Meredith’s got more manners than he has, and I’m no admirer of Meredith’s class, believe me.’
Hubbard picked up his glass and took a long swig, giving Idris a moment’s respite from the monologue. ‘At least there’s good news for everyone here. Especially Williams, though it pains me that anything pleases him.’
Idris had no time to ask what the news might be before Gwilym returned with his beer and Edgar Williams’s clamorous voice boomed over the loud chatter in the bar.
‘Silence! Silence!’ The voices in the bar diminished over a few seconds to nothing. ‘Our esteemed comrade, Philip Hubbard, has some news for us.’
Hubbard vacated his seat, clutching the lapels of his jacket, his chin jutting out. He coughed. ‘I thank my respected colleague, Edgar Williams, and am honoured to bring the latest news from London. I have heard, today, that the Military Service Act has been passed by Parliament—’
Conversation began again, positive responses interjected with negative ones.
’Let him finish!’ Williams yelled once more.
‘Conscription has been imposed on single men aged eighteen to forty-one—’
‘Shame!’ a voice called.
‘Someone has to fight the bloody Hun!’ called another.
‘But – exemptions have been made for men in essential war work. That includes us miners.’
‘Does that mean our boys who’ve volunteered will be sent back?’ Idris couldn’t see the speaker, but he knew the voice of Freddie Vaughan, the father of Percy.
‘No, I’m afraid it doesn’t,’ Hubbard said. ‘There are also exceptions for religious leaders and those who are medically unfit.’
‘The ministers here are all too old to fight anyway,’ said one wag. There was a ripple of laughter.
‘So you’re exempted on two counts, Idris Hughes,’ Williams called over.
The laughter stopped dead and there was a brief silence, followed by murmuring at the bar.
‘At least I won’t need to have the old men and the women digging out the coal. What’s wrong with you all? You should be celebrating! Come on, you can get back to your drinking now.’ Williams made his way towards Idris’s table. Was he coming over to administer another of his threats?
As it happened, Williams ignored him and Gwilym completely, saying to Hubbard instead, ‘I’ll see you in an hour.’
‘Aye, I’ll be there.’
Williams wove his way back across the room, twisting to regard the men there when he reached the door. ‘And I want no sore heads in work tomorrow morning.’
‘Thinks he owns the bloody place, that one,’ said Hubbard.
Gwilym slapped him on the back good-naturedly. ‘Cheer up. You got what you wanted with regards conscription, didn’t you, bach?’
‘Aye. At least, for us lot, I suppose.’
Idris put down the glass he was about to drink from. ‘I’m sure all the men would like their jobs exempt from conscription.’
‘Ooh, don’t go on, mun,’ said Hubbard. ‘There’s work to be done here. And if we do it well, perhaps we’ll keep the good rates we’re earning now after the war.’
Idris had hold of his glass again but didn’t lift it. ‘And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? What about the pay of those conscripted? How are they going to get any better?’
Hubbard shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, mun. Not my concern.’
‘No, of course it bloody isn’t.’
Philip Hubbard stood, picking up his glass. ‘Excuse me.’ He joined a group two tables away.
‘Not like you to swear,’ Gwilym said.
‘Well, I’ve had enough of his rubbish. The better pay hasn’t put any more food on the table.’
‘Not sure what any of us can do about that. Lot of it comes from abroad. Can’t get the ships in past the Germans.’
Idris was tempted to leave his drink and abandon this attempt at socialising. Until his butty, Jory Damerell, turned up, beaming widely, obviously keen to join them. He’d have to sit this out and hope the time went quickly.
Chapter Thirteen
Anwen was always self-conscious cleaning in a room where there was a member of the family present. Today, as Anwen polished the drawing room, Herbert Meredith was sitting in the winged armchair with the Telegraph. Margaret Meredith was seated on one of the cream velvet Chesterfields, reading a small green volume. Next to her was Elizabeth, a huge book upon her knees that she was studying intently. Anwen scooped out a small portion of wax from the tin, rubbing it onto the shelves from which she’d removed the ornaments. She breathed in deeply. Lavender, one of her favourite scents.
Mr Meredith tutted, shaking his head. ‘The Arethusa’s been sunk in the North Se
a. Another ship gone. A mine was responsible. Sea’s filled with them, I reckon.’
Elizabeth looked up. ‘And all because of the greedy ambitions of old men. And ordinary folk suffer.’
‘Do not speak of things you do not understand,’ her mother said.
‘What, because I’m a poor, feeble woman who doesn’t have the intelligence to understand anything beyond dresses and running a house?’
Herbert Meredith peered over his spectacles. ‘Now Lizzie, don’t be rude to your mother. I’m sure your opinion is as informed as that of most men on the street. However, let’s leave it to the politicians.’
‘Listen to your father,’ said Mrs Meredith. ‘You don’t want to be considered unladylike or unnatural, like some of those Suffragettes. Politics is not for ladies.’
‘Nor is helping out in the war effort, apparently.’
‘Not at the munitions or screens, for pity’s sake, as you were proposing. That’s not for our class.’ Mrs Meredith removed a lacy handkerchief from her pocket and patted her nose.
Anwen wondered at Elizabeth proposing to work in those places. Maybe it was easy to suggest such things when you knew your family would prevent it from ever happening.
Elizabeth returned to the book, her lips pulled into a thin line as she examined it.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck ten. Elizabeth got up, placing her tome on the table. ‘I believe that signals it’s time for morning coffee. I will go to the kitchen to hurry it along.’
That meant it would soon be time for a sit-down and a cup of tea for her too. Anwen was relieved as today she was more tired than usual. Mam had woken in the night, crying out. Anwen had read to her for half an hour before she’d dropped off again.
Elizabeth, beside her now, said, ‘You have done an excellent job, Anwen. Come along. I’ll help you take the dusters and so forth back to the scullery.’ She winked, picking up the tin box of cleaning items, leaving Anwen with only the duster and polish.
Rose already had the treats on a tray ready to go when Anwen and Elizabeth entered the kitchen.
‘There you go, Miss Elizabeth. I’ve put four cups on there in case Mr Thomas decides to join you. And there’s some of my bakestones and lemon biscuits. I’ve baked a nice Victoria sponge for your afternoon tea later.’
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 14