War in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  Enid let out a tired moan and plonked herself on the edge of one of the wooden armchairs. ‘I know that, Hywel. It’s nearly thirty-seven you are now, and still no wife or family.’

  This was an old theme he thought she’d given up on. One of the reasons he’d left his and Enid’s home county of Cardiganshire, apart from talk of the money to be made in the mines, was because of Catrin. Even now the name summoned up a vague wave of pleasure and pain. She was the daughter of the farm owner next door and they’d been sweet on each other – at least, he’d thought it mutual. But her father had considered him, a farm hand, not good enough for his daughter. In the end, she’d clearly thought herself a cut above him too. Catrin had married the dairy owner, a good seventeen years older and a widower, without any visible sign of regret, strutting around the town like the lady of the manor. It had cut Hywel to the core each time he’d encountered her, especially as she’d ignored him like they’d never been acquainted. Three years later, at twenty-two, came Hywel’s opportunity to escape to the other side of the country, when Enid suggested he try hewing for a living. She and Madog had seemed to be doing all right, renting a nice little house in a newly built village. He’d already sworn off women by then, not expecting to ever meet one as fine as he’d first thought Catrin. And he never had. Or not until recently.

  ‘Hywel? Have you gone off to your dream world again?’

  ‘Sorry? Oh, no, just thinking.’ He hated arguing with Enid, and they seldom did. He should just get up and go, and that would be an end to it. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He escaped through the door into the hall, then ran awkwardly to the front door before she had time to pursue him.

  Out on the street, he increased his speed, disappearing down Bryn Street. He must look a right sight, joggling along like he was.

  Making his way to the village centre, he turned onto Station Road at the corner of Jubilee Green, which would take him straight down to the pit. Here he slowed to a walk. He wasn’t sure what he expected. His gift was churning out the most trams of coal. There weren’t many who could beat his output. But those days were gone.

  The colliery loomed up as he reached the bottom of the hill, its church-like edifices built only for the worship of steam and electricity. The pit wheels were ominous, overbearing gods, their raspy moaning an instruction to work harder.

  ‘Morning, Hywel,’ said one of the old timers as he entered the colliery. He was leaning against a wall, smoking a roll-up. The man worked at sorting the coal with the women these days.

  ‘Morning Dewi. Mr Meredith about, is he? Or Mr Bowen?’

  ‘Saw Meredith go underground ten minutes since. Think Bowen’s in his office though.’

  ‘Thanks Dewi.’ The under manager would have to do. At least it wasn’t that nasty piece of work Edgar Williams anymore. Though, from what he’d heard, Bowen wasn’t any great shakes in the job. At least Edgar had been able to manage them.

  He knocked on the office door, entering when a sing-song voice invited him to.

  ‘Ah, Hywel Llewellyn. I wondered when we might see you again. Missing your output, we are. How are you then?’

  ‘Fit as a fiddle I am, John. But to be honest, my hewing days are over. Can’t bend the old pin without it stinging, see.’ He demonstrated, grimacing for effect.

  ‘Sorry to hear that, I am. What can I do for you then?’

  ‘I’m reckoning there must be other jobs going like, something which don’t require me kneeling or stretching my thigh. I can walk perfectly fine. I can bend my back to walk through low places.’

  Bowen tapped his chin. ‘Mm. Well, we can always do with firemen of course, having lost two or three to the war, and Philip Hubbard to the explosion. But it takes training see, and some exams.’ He considered Hywel carefully.

  ‘I can do that. But does it mean I can’t earn anything until I’ve done the training?’

  ‘Have you seen the adverts for lessons by post in the Monmouth Guardian, mining exams and what not?’

  ‘I’ve noticed them, yes.’

  ‘If you could get on one of those courses, I could put you in as assistant fireman here, to Johnny Jones, which would get you trained up a bit quicker. He’d still set the shots for the blasts until you were qualified, but you’d do things like erect the brattice cloths for ventilation, examine the fire stoppings and so on. You’re lucky: the previous candidate didn’t last five minutes, and we’ve recently had a vacancy.’

  Hywel considered the offer. Fireman. He’d never had any inclination to that, not like some, who wanted to get away from the heavy manual labour. But if it meant earning some money, why not?

  ‘Go on then, I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘You’ll have to give it more than a go, mun. If you want me to give you the job, I’ll want to be sure you’ll see the training through and be here a while.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll do that, don’t you worry. Good worker I’ve always been.’

  ‘I know that, Hywel. It’s why I’ve offered it to you. You apply for that course and come back when you’ve heard.’

  ‘Righty ho. And thank you, John.’

  Bowen stood and reached his hand across the desk. Hywel took it and they shook. ‘Mr Bowen it’ll be from now on,’ he laughed. ‘Only at work like, though. Right, I’ve got a round to go on.’

  Out on Station Road again Hywel felt his spirits lift. He passed the McKenzie Arms at the crossroads, half considering a celebratory pint. He’d already dismissed the idea a moment before he remembered they weren’t even open this time of day anymore.

  About to cross to the pavement on the gardens side, he saw Violet crossing with Benjamin from outside Schenck’s bookshop. She’d reached the other side before she noticed him, jumping with surprise as he reached the pavement the same time as her. He was keen to tell her his news.

  ‘Why hello, Violet. Nice to see you. Off to the gardens with Benjy, are you?’

  ‘No, collecting Clarice from school.’ Her words were rapid and she’d passed on before he could suggest he walk there with her, enjoying the idea of her company.

  He watched her departing back, poor old Benjy being pulled along a little faster than he’d have liked as he tried to stop to smell a flower poking through the railings of the gardens. She seemed a little put out. Probably nothing he’d done. He’d find Idris on the allotments instead, maybe give him a hand and tell him his news.

  He was sure Enid wasn’t ready to hear it yet.

  * * *

  ‘Draw the curtain would you, Hywel bach?’

  Hywel did as his sister asked, getting up from the kitchen table, where he was reading a booklet for the fireman’s course, and limping over to the window.

  At the table, Idris sat reading a newspaper whilst Anwen laid the cutlery. Cadi was in the scullery, chopping some vegetables that had been grown on the allotment. Enid, at the stove getting a pot of boiling water ready, stepped over to the light switch to put on the electric lights.

  ‘Now here’s one reason I’d never want to leave a pit village,’ she said. ‘Still using gas lamps on the farm back in Cardiganshire, are our family.’

  ‘So you always say, Mam.’ Anwen gave her an indulgent smile.

  Hywel surveyed his family as he turned back from the curtain. In the last couple of weeks a peace had settled on them. Enid had accepted his new job when she’d heard he’d be training as a fireman. It was something to have a little boast about in the knitting group. And to Mrs Meredith at the Big House on the few occasions she asked how she was. Idris would get back to work soon and then they could all get on with their lives. He didn’t think too deeply about what that meant for him. Or didn’t mean. A brief image flashed before him, of a smiling Violet – rare as that was – her deep brown eyes crinkling with delight, her ebony hair down and nearly reaching her waist. Odd to think of her wearing her hair loose: he’d only spied it a couple of times when lodging there. Mostly it was pinned up simply and neatly.

  ‘Aye, well, I also say—’ But whatever that was
going to be, Enid was interrupted by a loud rapping at the front door. ‘Now who on earth would that be?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Hywel, tramping past his sister to the hall.

  When he opened the door, the first thing that struck him was how light it still was, with the golden sky of sunset. It hadn’t been obvious through the small kitchen window that overlooked the yard and faced the mountain.

  Adjusting his eyes, he noticed a large woman on the pavement, almost standing in the road. She was tall with pitch-black hair, half hanging down, pale skin and piercing jet eyes. He quickly realised she wasn’t so much large as heavily pregnant, with a loose, high-necked blouse stretched over an extended stomach. She wore a blue shawl, but it was open, as if to emphasise her condition.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I bet you’re Hywel, aren’t you?’ she said, as if being ‘Hywel’ was a disgrace.

  ‘You have the advantage over me. You are?’

  ‘You won’t have ’eard of me yet, but you will from now on. Where’s Enid?’

  He stepped forward to fill the doorway. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Just get her.’

  ‘Who is it?’ came Anwen’s voice as she entered the hall.

  The woman shifted back and forth in an attempt to see behind Hywel.

  ‘It’s no one,’ he called back.

  ‘Is that you, Enid?’ the woman shouted, her voice rising up the scale.

  Anwen nudged her uncle to the side. ‘No, it’s not. Who are you?’

  Good luck with that, thought Hywel.

  ‘Someone who do want to see Enid!’ she yelled, her arms folded across the top of her belly. ‘Now be a good girl and fetch her. Anwen, is it?’

  Hywel noticed his niece’s shoulders stiffen. The woman couldn’t have been many years older than her.

  ‘I might if you tell me who you are and what your business is.’

  ‘What’s all this shouting?’ said Enid, rushing into the hall. ‘It’s not that Esther Williams causing trouble again, is it?’ She parted her brother and daughter, frowning at what she saw.

  ‘At bloody last. You must be Enid, surely to God.’

  ‘Don’t you swear and blaspheme on my doorstep you… you… hussy. And what exactly are you wanting with me?’

  A young couple, with two older women behind them, had stopped several yards down the road to peer over at the spectacle. One of the group was Florrie Harris. Just what they needed, thought Hywel, someone to spread their business around the village.

  ‘Well look here, I’m Madog’s woman, see, and now he do be in prison, I’ve no one to keep me.’

  ‘Don’t be so daft,’ Enid spat out. ‘Where’d he have got the money to keep the likes of you?’

  It was obvious really, thought Hywel, what with Madog keeping most of his wages and making a good deal of money from the stolen goods. Perhaps his sister was being purposefully naïve in order to call the woman’s bluff.

  ‘How should I bloody know? But he did, see, and now you’re responsible for getting him locked up and I’ve got no means of support and I’m with child.’

  ‘Could be anyone’s,’ said Enid. ‘You look like a right strumpet and a liar to boot. As for it being my fault he’s in prison, you should know he pushed me down the stairs and shot my brother here, as well as abusing my daughters.’ Now she’d started, she was like a horse accelerating downhill. ‘And if he hadn’t been so cruel to our Sara she’d still be alive for he did push her into work she wasn’t well enough to do.’ She took several steps towards the woman, who in turn took several steps back. ‘So if anyone’s responsible for him being in gaol it’s him himself.’

  The woman almost fell in the road as she stumbled down the pavement.

  ‘Now get gone from my house and don’t you dare come expecting money from me for I swear I’ll fetch the police and get you thrown in gaol.’ Enid walked backwards until she reached the front step. Hywel placed a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ he said to the woman.

  ‘I’ll go for now, but don’t think you’ve ’eard the last of me. Oh no, for I’ll make sure you’ll be sick of the name Delyth Bryce by the time I’ve finished.’

  With this she patted her belly, lifted her over-long skirt and marched back down Edward Street, all eyes on her.

  When she was well out of earshot, Enid said, ‘What on earth has that man brought upon us now?’

  Anwen shut the door. ‘It might not even be true. She seemed like a right floozy.’

  Enid, making her way back down the hall, turned as she was about to go through the kitchen door. ‘Of course it’s true. As soon as that trollop said it, I knew it was. It explains that new suit and the other clothes he bought, and his stinking of that cologne. That wasn’t for his drinking or thieving pals, was it? I thought it odd he’d stopped his… night-time attentions. And do you know what? He called me Delyth a couple of times, and I put it down to him getting me confused with my sister.’

  ‘But he never knew her,’ said Hywel. ‘She died before he came to work on the farm.’

  ‘I know, but that’s how I explained it to myself. I think deep down I knew. But I didn’t care.’

  He couldn’t help but agree with his sister. ‘I also think it’s highly likely this Delyth Bryce is telling the truth.’

  Either way, Hywel decided he was going to find out more about it.

  * * *

  Monmouthshire County Gaol was intimidating as Hywel entered it. The stone bricks, arched doorway and foreboding height were like those of a castle. The illusion was added to by the fake arrow slits in the walls.

  Hywel looked now at the grimy clock above the entrance of the visiting room inside. He felt uncomfortable in his suit, which he normally only wore to religious occasions, but he’d felt the need to look tidy, to separate himself from the likes of Madog Rhys.

  He glanced around the room. The other visitors were a varied bunch, from a neat little man with a bowler hat, spats and a mutton-chops beard, to a woman in a loose cream dress that must have been two dozen years out of date and had seen better days. Another woman, eyeing up the other visitors nervously, held herself stiffly.

  There was a barking of orders as the guards led the prisoners in. Those waiting, slumped in their various reveries, sat to attention as the prisoners were directed to different tables.

  ‘Uh, it’s you,’ Madog groaned as he thudded down on the simple wooden seat.

  ‘Aye, it’s me. Who did you expect, the lovely Delyth?’

  Madog’s eyes darted up. ‘Delyth? Who’s that, then?’

  ‘Don’t give me that. She called by the house a week since, her belly inflated like a balloon, claiming she was carrying your child.’ He said the last words softly.

  ‘No idea what the hell you’re talking about.’

  ‘Claims you’ve been keeping her. No wonder you had no money for your wife and children. You’re a disgrace.’

  Madog sat forward, placing his arms on the small table. He glared at Hywel, clearly trying to unnerve him. But Hywel had no fear of him, this vile scrap of humanity, sick in the head. He never had done.

  ‘Now you listen to me, you pitiful excuse for a man,’ Madog hissed. ‘I’ve never heard of no Delyth Bryce, you hear? And you can tell that stoopid wife of mine to come and visit next time, and to bloody bring some ciggies. She’s got to be good for something. Fancy the bitch being able to walk all that time and just lying in bed.’

  ‘Lean back there, Mr Rhys,’ said a guard. ‘Keep your hands down and your tongue civil.’

  Hywel laced his fingers together. ‘So, who is Delyth Bryce?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know.’

  ‘I only asked about Delyth. I never mentioned her surname though, right enough, it is Bryce.’

  ‘What game are you playing? You bloody did say Delyth Bryce.’ But Madog didn’t look at all sure about the statement.

  ‘No matter, you’ve answered my query well enough, which is whe
ther she was telling the truth about carrying your child.’

  Madog didn’t comment, using his thumb to remove dirt from his other fingernails. Eventually, he said in a low rumble, ‘You wait till I get out of here.’ He smiled, presumably for the guards’ sake. ‘I’m going to appeal against this injustice. You’re all liars, for it were you who attacked me. And when I get out I shall see to my dear wife and that brat Anwen, and you, for landing me in here, see if I don’t.’

  Hywel gave a small chuckle. He lifted his eyebrows. ‘You think you have a chance in hell of appealing when you pleaded guilty?’

  ‘It were the lawyer suggested it. Said it’d be worse for me if I did otherwise.’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten what the judge said about you in his summing up.’

  ‘I’ll get out eventually. That Idris Hughes, he won’t know what’s coming to him. Insult my family, he did, discarding my daughter like she were fit only for the scavenger, then punching my lights out. I’ll find him and give him what for.’

  ‘Your daughter now, is it? She was “that brat” a moment ago. And you wouldn’t have far to look for Idris, for he’s in your house, being your son-in-law.’

  Madog thumped his fist on the table. ‘What?’

  ‘Mr Rhys, I won’t tell you again,’ said the guard. ‘One more incident and visiting time will be over for you.’

  Madog lowered his head, his lips pinched in. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Married in August, they were. Nice little wedding at the chapel, lots of the village there to wish them well. Honeymoon in London.’ He didn’t mention the operation.

  ‘Idris bloody Hughes at my hearth, no doubt playing master of my bloody house.’

  ‘No, Enid’s master of the house, and no mistake.’

  ‘A bloody woman can’t be master of nothing.’

  Hywel rose from the seat. ‘There we’ll have to disagree.’

  ‘Always did support those bloody trouble-making Suffragettes, you did.’

  ‘Goodbye Madog. I hope I won’t see you for a good long time – if ever.’