Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘That’s right,’ said Violet. ‘Anwen and Miss Elizabeth had this brilliant idea to grow veg. We’re helping Mr Lloyd at the same time and he’s helping us.’

  ‘What’s all these, then?’ Gwilym pointed at the plants in the crates.

  Violet explained to him what they were doing, leading him over to study the seedlings. Idris stayed put on the sidelines, taking in the whole field.

  Anwen was about to carry on when he piped up with, ‘Mam said you were all making good progress out here and we should take a look.’

  ‘I think we are.’

  ‘I’ve noticed people working on the land opposite your house.’

  ‘That’s right. We’re hoping to get some things planted up behind the cottages too.’

  There was a pause. Anwen lifted her trowel to continue but he spoke again. ‘What veg are you planting?’

  ‘So far we’ve sown sprouting broad and runner beans, carrots, cabbages, cauliflowers, onions, peas, sprouts, turnips, leeks and parsnips.’

  ‘That’s good. And how is Mr Lloyd helping out, then?’

  ‘He’s provided tools and the seeds in exchange for some of the group to work on the farm on a rota. They’re tending the sheep and learning about shearing for when the time comes.’ She was warming to her theme, happy to have someone else to share her enthusiasm with. ‘They’ve all been welcomed by Mrs Lloyd and Nellie and get good home-cooked food, what with them having their own vegetables and eggs.’

  His mouth slowly stretched into the smile she had missed so much. ‘It sounds like an excellent arrangement.’

  ‘It is. And Mr Lloyd often comes down to see how we’re getting on and to advise us.’

  ‘You’ve all got a lot to do.’

  ‘We could certainly do with more volunteers as spring and summer progresses, so spread the word.’ A bit of mischief got into her, that she wasn’t able to conquer before she blurted out, ‘That Polly Coombes, for instance, she sits and sews all day. If she could spare some hours she’d get some exercise and fresh air.’

  Idris’s eyes widened. ‘What’s she got to do with me?’

  ‘Sorry, I thought she was a friend of yours.’

  ‘No. You could go to Mrs Bowen’s to ask her. Anyway, it sounds like you’re doing a wonderful job.’

  ‘That’s kind of you to say.’ She bit the inside of her mouth, looking around at her colleagues, not knowing what else to do. Goodness, what a mess she must look in this old outfit, mud everywhere, her hair escaping from the pins.

  ‘I had a letter from Charlie,’ said Idris. ‘Seems to be in the thick of it, in France, I think, though he doesn’t exactly say. Not sure why he’s writing to me about it. But I suppose Violet’s told you.’

  ‘The last I heard, he was supposed to be coming home on leave. But maybe things have got worse.’

  ‘I dunno. Not mentioned it to me.’

  Perhaps Charlie hadn’t wanted to worry Violet. You’d think he’d have told her about cancelled leave, though.

  ‘Well – Gwilym and I are going to kick a ball around with Jenkin and Evan now. Good luck with the allotments,’ said Idris. ‘I’ll see you… around.’

  ‘Thank you. Take care.’ The last two words had slipped out without her thinking about it. She didn’t want to sound like she was concerned for his welfare at all.

  ‘You too.’ He ambled back to Gwilym, who had just finished talking to Violet.

  Mary, struggling back with one of the crates, watched Idris and Gwilym stroll away. ‘It’d be good if some of the men would help.’

  ‘They work hard enough as it is,’ said Violet as she joined them.

  This set Anwen thinking. ‘What about some of the retired workers? Digging coal might have got too much for them, but they might manage to dig some soil.’

  ‘You’d have to persuade them first,’ laughed Violet.

  It was food for thought. She’d speak to Elizabeth about it.

  * * *

  Jenkin was first on the field beyond the hospital and West Street Terrace. He dropped the football he’d been carrying and kicked it along the grass. Idris was soon running after it, tackling his brother and taking possession of the ball. Gwilym had suggested the activity at chapel, it being a nice clear day and not too chilly. Idris had missed the odd game of football with his mates, most of whom were now in the army. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood for it, or fit enough, but he didn’t want to disappoint his brother.

  Gwilym and Evan were soon joining in, each playing for themselves.

  As he was tackling Idris for the ball, Jenkin said, ‘We haven’t watched a match since you got back. I think the last time we went was Rhymney versus Merthyr Town.’

  ‘That’s right, Rhymney won two goals to nil.’

  ‘They’re still playing, you know, though Cyril told me some of the original team have had to join the army. Hey!’

  Gwilym managed to get the ball away from Jenkin, who chased after him as he made for a bush on one side, which they always used for a goal. The other two caught them up and Idris got the ball off his friend, heading off to the bush in the other direction. As he reached it, Evan called for them to stop.

  ‘We’re all over the place, mun. We need some rules and to decide whose goal is where and who’s playing who.’

  Idris let out a huge sigh and bent forward. He already felt overwarm. ‘Not done any running for a while.’ He caught his breath and stood up. ‘I’ve heard there are still matches on, though the newspapers don’t seem to report them so much. Seems odd when the Welsh Rugby Union cancelled all the fixtures back in 1914 and encouraged all the players to enlist.’

  ‘Yes, I remember that poster.’ Jenkin coughed and quoted with gusto, ‘Rugby Union Footballers are doing their duty. Over 90 percent have enlisted. What did it say at the top?’

  Idris squinted as he recalled it. ‘This is not the time to play games. Then something at the bottom about athletes following their example.’

  ‘Aye, and they did.’ Gwilym didn’t sound impressed with that outcome.

  ‘I wonder why they cancelled the rugby and not the football,’ said Evan.

  ‘Because the Football Association of Wales argued it was good for morale and the powers that be realised they could use the matches as recruitment rallies.’

  ‘There’s cynical,’ said Idris, though he did recall speakers at one of the last matches he’d attended, appealing to the patriotic nature of those in the crowd.

  Gwilym took his jacket off and threw it on the ground. He started running on the spot. ‘You know I’m right.’

  ‘Well I miss the rugby, anyway,’ said Evan, ‘for I always preferred it to football.’

  Jenkin picked the ball up from under his foot, where he’d been keeping it steady. ‘I think football’s much more exciting. You agree, don’t you Idris?’

  ‘No, rugby’s much better,’ Evan countered. ‘Gwilym agrees.’

  Idris chuckled. It wouldn’t be the first time the two pairs of brothers had ended up having this argument. ‘We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, bach.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said Jenkin. ‘Are we having a game or not? Me and Idris versus you two. This is our goal, that’s yours.’ He pointed to the bush on the other side.

  ‘First team to get three goals is the winner,’ said Idris. He was surprised at the little jolt of excitement he experienced. He was actually looking forward to it now, though he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to run around for. It took him back to before the war, to a simpler time.

  Jenkin threw the ball towards the middle of the field, and they were off.

  * * *

  Rose was busy at the kitchen table when Anwen came in after her morning cleaning jobs. The cook was putting together a ‘light lunch’, as Mrs Meredith had called it when she’d given out instructions this morning. This entailed lettuce, tomatoes and a good quality ham, along with bread and butter.

  ‘What are you skulking there for?’ said Rose, frowning as she regarded h
er.

  ‘I was just about to put the cleaning things away.’ Anwen carried the tin box and broom to their place in the scullery, able to hear Rose muttering to herself about ‘tasteless salad muck’.

  When Anwen got back to the kitchen Rose moaned, ‘Prefer a good hefty sandwich, I do. It fills a hole. And what’s wrong with a nice hearty soup? I dunno, you get a bit of sun and people run away with theirselves thinking it’s summer. And that Mr Tom’s got his head in the clouds. He told me earlier he’s having lunch in the garden. Imagine!’

  ‘We shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds us, Rose.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? You and your fancy sayings. You’re not one of them, you know. And you’d do well to remember it.’

  ‘What I mean is, they pay us, and quite well too, so we don’t really have cause to moan.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I’m not stoopid.’

  Rose was definitely in a contrary mood today, and had been since the episode with the stolen food. She’d apologised to Anwen for accusing her of the theft, though only because Elizabeth had insisted. She suspected the cook still thought she was responsible, especially as no food had disappeared since.

  Remembering that the dustpan and brush were still near the front door, she left Rose to her slicing and mumbling. In the hall she bent to pick them up, but froze on hearing raised voices from the study. She knew she should move on, not eavesdrop, but recognising one of the voices as Tom’s, she lingered.

  ‘I don’t have an endless pot of money, Thomas.’ It was Mr Meredith. ‘If you want to indulge in such extravagance, you will have to find work. Come to the mine. I could find you an examiner’s job.’

  ‘What about my degree?’

  ‘You’ve missed this year now. Besides, most of your fellow students have enlisted, and some of the tutors too. There will be no completed degrees until after the war finishes.’

  ‘Father, I would die of boredom. I’m not asking for much more than my allowance.’

  ‘Your allowance is more than generous. I’m a mine manager, not Lord Aberconway.’

  ‘You do well enough.’

  Anwen considered the furnishings, even in the hallway. Yes, Mr Meredith was doing all right. However, she was indignant about Tom’s attitude. Other able-bodied men had to enlist. He’d recovered from his influenza, surely.

  ‘Work for the duration of the war,’ said Mr Meredith. ‘A job in the mine will be considered essential. You can avoid being called up, if that’s what you want. The doctor’s note’s not going to last forever. You appear well enough now.’

  ‘Are you all right, Anwen?’

  She jumped. So eager was she to hear how Tom would defend himself, all the while bent in readiness to pick up the dustpan, that she hadn’t heard Elizabeth coming down the stairs.

  She straightened herself. ‘Oh yes, Miss. I left the dustpan here and was just collecting it.’

  ‘Good heavens, is that my father and brother arguing?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m going out to meet one of my old school friends. Haven’t seen her since the war began as she’s with the Voluntary Aid Detachment. Has my mother left you any errands to run this afternoon?’

  ‘She said to start on one of the rooms on tomorrow’s list unless one of the family have something for me to do.’

  ‘You could call on Farmer Lloyd if you have time. See how things are getting on there. He said he’d be getting hold of more seeds for us so you could fetch those back.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’

  ‘Thank you. What would we do without you? I’ll see you later.’ She went to open the front door but turned back abruptly. ‘Oh yes, another thing. I have three tickets for the Shakespeare tercentenary performance at the Institute on Saturday. An amateur troupe from Ebbw Vale who are supposed to be quite good. Only Tom and I are going, so there’s a spare ticket. Would you like to join us?’

  Anwen had asked Gwen, Violet and Uncle Hywel if they would like to go. Uncle Hywel was doing an extra shift at the mine and neither of the other two could make it. She’d asked Mamgu as a last resort, but her response, as she’d expected, was that she didn’t understand that funny oldey English, and to give her something in Welsh any day. Anwen hadn’t the heart to go on her own.

  ‘Thank you, I would love to join you.’

  ‘Wonderful. See you later on.’

  Anwen picked up the items on the floor, preparing to move off when Tom appeared from the study, his father close behind.

  ‘I’m going back to work,’ Mr Meredith announced. ‘You think about what I said, Tom.’

  Anwen quickly lifted the bowler hat from the stand, hiding the dustpan behind her back as she handed the hat to her employer.

  ‘Thank you, Anwen. Tell Rose I will not require lunch.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He put the bowler hat on and left.

  Tom regarded her with amusement, thumbs in his trouser pockets, shirt half untucked. ‘I, on the contrary, am famished. I’ve already told Rose I’ll be having my lunch in the back garden. It would be a crime to waste such a beautiful day.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  ‘And I assume it will be lunchtime for you too?’

  ‘After I’ve served you, yes.’

  ‘Please join me for lunch, stop me getting lonely.’

  ‘I’m not sure—’ His attitude toward his father still irked her.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Can Rose come too?’

  He pulled a face. ‘Is she likely to want to?’

  He knew as well as she did that Rose mostly ate as she worked, picking at food. It was probably why she was so skinny. ‘No.’

  ‘What if I command you?’ There was a twinkle in his eye that diminished her vexation with him.

  She’d only heard part of his conversation with his father. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions. ‘Command me?’ She hoped the light-hearted question didn’t come across as insolence.

  He threw his head back and let out a ‘Hah!’ Grinning broadly he said, ‘I’m not sure I’m capable of commanding anyone. Please, join me outside for your lunch break.’

  His parents had gone out. Elizabeth too, though she wouldn’t have cared: she was always crossing class lines. What if Rose told on her? What would there be to tell? Tom had instructed her.

  ‘Yes sir. I will join you.’

  * * *

  They passed the first five minutes of lunch in silence. Anwen admired the flowers Mrs Meredith tended, now her gardener had enlisted. The cerise peonies with the bright yellow centres, the dusty plum hellebores and flushed tulips showed her employer had a preference for pink flowers.

  Opposite her, Tom finished the first page of the newspaper he’d taken out with him. Folding the paper but holding it aloft, he said, ‘What do you make of this rebellion in Ireland?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m in a position to make anything of it, sir. I only heard very vaguely about it this morning from one of the delivery men.’

  ‘A rebellion on Easter Monday, of all days, my father said earlier. Not sure any other day would make it any better.’ He folded the paper noisily and placed it to one side. ‘Rebellions, demonstrations against the war in Germany – even those who aren’t soldiers are fighting in their own way. The Russians rebelled ten years ago. Who’s to say they won’t again? The war doesn’t seem to have given any party any proper gains, though the Germans have made advances. Gallipoli and the whole Dardanelles campaign was a travesty. It could go on a long time.’

  ‘But I read in my father’s paper that the Russians have taken Trebizond and the British troops are advancing on German lines in the trenches.’

  ‘But only by a few hundred yards. The Germans have dispatched thirty thousand shells in forty days in Verdun. They’ve started on a fresh offensive in the Meuse. They’ve just torpedoed another ship that was only carrying passengers on a voyage, for pity’s sake!’ Tom slumped in his seat. ‘Tell me, Anwen, what is your opinion on
war poetry?’

  ‘You mean Jessie Pope?’

  Tom laughed drily. ‘Miss Pope is maybe not the best for representing the war as it is. I was thinking more of Brooke, McCrae and Binyon’s work.’

  She hadn’t heard of them but didn’t want to admit it. ‘I regret they have to write about it at all; that anyone should go to this silly war because some duke got killed. If we all went to war every time someone killed someone else, why, we’d always be at war.’

  He finished his mouthful of food. ‘It’s not that simple, of course. I could explain some of it, but do you want to hear the history of different countries’ power struggles over the last fifty years?’

  ‘Not today. Recommend a book, or lend me one, and I’ll read it.’

  He raised his glass of water to her. ‘I like you, Anwen Rhys. You’ve got spirit. I hope you have a sweetheart who appreciates your quick wit and intelligence.’

  Her cheeks glowed with embarrassment. She’d never felt comfortable with compliments, unsure always if she deserved them. ‘I have no sweetheart.’ She was going to leave it at that, yet something compelled her to continue. ‘I did have. We were engaged. Childhood sweethearts, wasn’t it. He enlisted over a year ago: Rhondda Pals.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. Has he been—’

  ‘Killed? No. He was discharged in November. Ill health. But he came back changed. Didn’t want to be betrothed anymore, see.’ It was an effort to relay it without emotion. She pretended to herself that she was talking about someone else.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Why would he be? He didn’t know her, not really. It was something to say.

  He followed it up with, ‘The man’s a fool.’

  ‘Thing is, he isn’t. He’s very clever.’

  ‘You can be clever and be a fool. Believe me, I know.’

  She enjoyed being imbued with some worth. Nevertheless, she was eager for lunch to be over so she could escape to her duties once more. She knew where she was with that. With this in mind, she finished up her lunch as quickly as was polite and shortly before he did.