War in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  The doctor sat and took a notebook along with a fountain pen from his bag. He put on a pair of round spectacles. ‘Do you feel restless, always wanting to be on the move, or tired most of the time?’

  Violet considered this. ‘A bit of both, I suppose. I do tire easily, but then I feel like… like, oh, I dunno, like I need to get away and do something.’

  He wrote a few notes, though she didn’t know what as one side of the book was flipped up, concealing them.

  ‘Do you have trouble sleeping?’

  She thought about this. ‘I go to bed exhausted but yes, I do have trouble. Or, I’ll go to sleep quickly and wake up halfway through the night.’ Often she’d been dreaming, knowing her dreams involved either Hywel, Charlie or Olwen, or sometimes all three, but could never quite pinpoint what had happened.

  ‘Do you ever consider harming yourself?’

  ‘No!’ she said. ‘Of course not. And before you ask, I don’t think of harming anyone else.’ That wasn’t quite true. She’d have happily slapped Olwen a few times, if she hadn’t known it would cause endless trouble. This aggressive tendency in herself was awful and hadn’t existed before her mother-in-law had turned up on her doorstep.

  He asked a few other questions about her physical symptoms.

  ‘What I suggest, first of all, is to take some exercise, a walk out with the children. I’ve seen you working on the allotments; that will help too. And to make you feel calmer, I suggest Dr Williams’ Pink Pills. They’re good for melancholia. You need to send for them here, post free.’ He wrote an address on the last page of his notebook and pulled it out for her. ‘They’re two shillings and ninepence a box.’ He wrote that down.

  She looked at the paper. ‘Two shillings and ninepence? I don’t have that to spare.’

  ‘It might be worth trying to save some money for them. They have good minerals in them, ones you should be getting from your food. However, if you really can’t afford them, then you could pick some chamomile flowers or lavender, and make an herbal tea. Both are good for calming the nerves.’

  ‘I have lavender in the garden and have seen chamomile on the hillside.’

  ‘Good, you try those then.’ He stood to put his book and pen away. ‘I must be on my way now. Mrs Jones caught me in between visits, making it sound so urgent I had no option but to come.’

  ‘I’m so embarrassed, doctor, that you’ve been troubled with this.’

  ‘It’s not at all unusual, you know, to feel so down after the death of a loved one, especially considering the circumstances under which he died.’

  She nodded. It wasn’t the feeling down that got to her as much as the constant battle between sadness at Charlie’s death, joy in seeing Hywel and guilt as a result of the two. Was there a cure for guilt, though?

  Olwen came out of the front room at this juncture, closing the door behind her. She folded one hand in front of the other across her stomach.

  ‘Well, where are you sending her, Dr Roberts?’

  The doctor regarded Olwen over his glasses. ‘I’m not sending her anywhere. There is no need. It’s not unusual to be suffering from melancholia after the death of one’s husband. I’ve suggested some herbal remedies and hope you’ll keep an eye on her.’

  Olwen pinched her lips in. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong, doctor. The girl needs time away, to rest.’

  ‘Rest would certainly do her some good. Perhaps you could help out a little more to allow her to do that?’

  ‘I have a job. No, it would be much better to send her away.’

  ‘And who would look after the children while you worked? You really haven’t thought this out.’ Violet was determined not to be a helpless spectator to this conversation.

  ‘That wouldn’t be your concern—’ Olwen started.

  ‘That’s enough, Mrs Jones, senior. I am not having Violet committed. Now, I must get on with my round.’

  When he’d gone, Olwen turned a furious face towards her. ‘Told him your lies, I suppose.’

  ‘I leave that to you, Olwen. I think it’s about time you went home, don’t you?’

  ‘Go home? This is my home now. And the doctor told me to keep an eye on you, and so I shall. And if there’s any more talk of me going home, I shall get Dr Roberts back. Or better still, I shall go over his head and get someone higher up to come, and make sure you’re put away for a very long time. Now, I’m going out to collect some leaves to add to the supper. Don’t you be going anywhere.’

  She picked up her hat from the chaise longue and pinned it on her head before leaving.

  Violet swallowed hard. She was stuck with Olwen, and furthermore, she had no one left to talk to about it. She’d lost Hywel’s and Anwen’s respect, and no doubt would lose that of others once they got to hear what Olwen had done. There would be some very lonely years ahead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Standing at the bedroom window to clean it one afternoon, Anwen wasn’t surprised to see Idris running up the road, Hywel limping quickly, just behind. Both had their heads down against the rain. She’d been cleaning the glass, taking the opportunity whilst the baby napped, wondering how long it would be before she saw them. She thought about Violet, as she’d done several times that day, trying to work out how to mend that situation. But there seemed no way to do it, not while Violet insisted on letting her mother-in-law stay.

  She hung the cloth over the bucket and leaned closer to the window, confused at first as to why the two men were now belting across the allotment there. The reason soon became apparent. Running away from the side of the field were four lads. She threw the window up to get a better look. Idris and Hywel were hollering. It was then she noticed the boys had a box each. They must have been stealing vegetables, and in broad daylight too. They’d maybe thought nobody would notice in the downpour.

  The two men soon came to a halt, standing and watching as the lads disappeared down the end house of Lloyd Street. After a few moments they both turned and made their way back towards the house. This was the first bit of trouble they’d had at the allotments since the plot behind McKenzie Cottages had been vandalised last year. They’d eventually discovered this had been down to her own father, along with Edgar Williams, Prosser the Meat and a few of their thuggish friends.

  Anwen came down the stairs as Idris and Hywel were removing their coats and moaning about the loss of the precious veg.

  ‘I don’t suppose you saw who it was,’ Anwen asked. ‘I couldn’t make them out from the window.’

  ‘Oh yes, we know all right,’ said Hywel, his expression dark. ‘Two of them, anyway.’

  Enid opened the door from the kitchen. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Let us get in and we’ll tell you,’ said Hywel, pushing his wet fringe back.

  ‘You’re just in time for a cup of tea,’ called Cadi from the stove.

  ‘You haven’t got a drop of whisky to go with it, have you?’

  ‘What’s wrong, cariad?’

  ‘We’ve just chased Christopher Williams, Cyril Davis and a coupla others off the allotment,’ said Idris. ‘Had a pile of the veggies, they did.’

  ‘Cyril and Christopher?’ Anwen said, surprised and disappointed. ‘Cyril’s a bit of a scamp, but Christopher’s always been such a nice boy.’ She recalled rescuing him from his bedroom last summer, where he’d been tied up by his father.

  Enid tutted several times. ‘Like father, like son. What he’s been through with Edgar and with him going to gaol, and having to live with Esther, who I swear is quite mad, well, it’s enough to turn the nicest boy into a criminal.’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away calling them criminals yet,’ said Cadi. ‘It’s bad of them, don’t get me wrong, but it might only be youthful high jinks.’

  ‘I’ll give them youthful high jinks,’ said Hywel. ‘That was climbing trees and making bonfires in the woods when I was their age. I’m going to report it to Sergeant Harries. Maybe Christopher and Cyril will give up the other names too. I’m going to nip it in the
bud before it gets out of hand. Like last time.’

  ‘There’s ironic, you reporting someone to the police,’ Idris laughed.

  ‘Aye, that had occurred to me, but at least I’m not lying.’

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ said Cadi. ‘But after you’ve had that cup of tea.’

  * * *

  ‘It’s an age since I came in here,’ said Gwen, sitting herself down on one of the chairs provided by Mr Schenck in his bookshop. She looked up at the tall shelving and breathed in deeply. ‘Mm, smell that. Paper.’ She picked up the new Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Son of Tarzan, and looked at the front page.

  ‘Are you sure you want to be out and about if you’re not well?’ Anwen asked, concerned at how she’d been coughing on their way here.

  ‘I’m absolutely certain.’ It was said with exasperation.

  ‘I’m only looking out for you.’ Anwen stepped back from the travel shelves with Sara Fach, who’d been trying to pull books out.

  Gwen’s face softened. ‘I know you are. I do think my mother was overzealous, going to the motorbus to ask Mabel Coombes to tell my manager I was ill and wouldn’t be going back to the munitions until after the Whitsun holiday. Goodness knows what they’ll make of that. I’m just a bit tired. My wages will be docked two days. And I was supposed to be going to the pictures this evening to see The End of the Trail.’ She huffed and slumped once more.

  Anwen patted Gwen’s shoulders. ‘Well cariad, I’d say you’ve earned enough up till now to survive without a coupla days money.’

  ‘You’re probably right, though why Mam insists I’m unwell then sends me out for fresh air, I don’t know. And I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of management and lose my job.’

  ‘I’d say that was unlikely,’ said Anwen. ‘They’re always advertising for more munitionettes. A couple of days rest will set you up for when you go back. And this Ralph, who I presume you were going to the pictures with, will surely understand.’

  ‘I’m sure he will.’ Gwen raised her eyebrows and gave a cheeky grin.

  ‘When are we going to meet him?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Mr Schenck wandered over, having just bid farewell to another customer. His back hadn’t regained its usual posture since the break-in.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies. Is there anything in particular you are looking for?’ Even his voice sounded weary.

  ‘Just looking for something that takes my fancy,’ said Gwen.

  The tinkling bell made Mr Schenck start. He looked round and seemed relieved to see Violet and the children. She spotted Anwen and Gwen immediately and looked set to flee, except the children had already run into the other room.

  So far, Enid was on her third day of working alongside Olwen at the Big House. Luckily, her mother didn’t have to spend too much time in the same room as the other woman, who worked in the kitchen while Enid cleaned all over the house. However, this hadn’t stopped her having a long moan about Olwen when she’d returned home both afternoons. At least they only had to see each other three days a week, since Enid didn’t work Mondays and Olwen had Fridays off.

  ‘Hello Violet,’ said Gwen, who, although sympathising with what Anwen’s family had told her, had no quarrel with Violet. Anwen supposed that was fair enough.

  Violet’s reply was muted.

  ‘Mrs Jones, good afternoon,’ said Mr Schenck. ‘How may I help you today?’

  She looked self-conscious as she replied, ‘I promised Clarice and Benjy we could come and get a new book after school, just from the second-hand section.’ Violet pointed to the other room, where they could just spy the children sitting on two tiny chairs by the window, examining a display of books on a stand.

  ‘Ah, bless them. They do seem to enjoy their trips here.’ Mr Schenck gave them an indulgent smile. ‘They are always so well behaved too. Not like some I have had in recently who should know better.’ He looked glum at the memory.

  ‘Have you had more trouble, Mr Schenck?’ asked Violet.

  ‘Indeed I have. The day before they stole the vegetables, Christopher Williams and the other boys were in here, making a hullabaloo. I believe some of it may have been a distraction to steal books. Despite the great number, I am quite well acquainted with my stock and also keep a book with the titles in. I do believe there are a few missing, some Arthur Conan Doyles and an Oscar Wilde or two among them. Nothing obvious, like some of the new editions, but maybe other items. I had to ask them to leave, which, as you can imagine, did not go down well.’

  ‘I’m so sorry you’ve had to put up with that,’ said Violet. ‘You provide such a wonderful service and so many lovely books to escape into, it is upsetting to hear of people disrespecting you.’

  He gave a wry chuckle. ‘It certainly would not be the first time and seems to run in the family.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Anwen. ‘I remember that incident last year with Esther Williams and her band of cronies, coming in here to tell you to shut up shop and do something more useful. The cheek of the woman!’

  ‘You and Mr Hughes defended me admirably,’ said Schenck, bowing his head.

  ‘Have you reported it to the police?’ said Gwen. ‘It could be they’re the ones who broke into your shop.’

  ‘I think stealing vegetables and shoplifting a few books is one thing but breaking in quite another. I wouldn’t want to get them into trouble for something they probably didn’t do.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Anwen, spotting a figure outside, looking in at her in a most unpleasant manner. ‘I fear there could be more trouble.’

  They all followed her eyeline.

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time she has caused an argument in here,’ said the bookseller. ‘From what I hear, she is as proficient as Mrs Williams in looking for trouble.’

  ‘Oh sweet Lord, here she comes,’ said Gwen.

  The bell above the door clanged, announcing the arrival of the sour-faced ex-cook, Rose. Her blonde curls were dishevelled from the wind.

  ‘I see you’re all congregated here, like the three witches in Macbeth,’ said Rose.

  From being bowed, Violet pulled herself up straight. ‘Witches, indeed. I leave that kind of performance to you and your mother, always tittle-tattling everyone’s business in the butcher’s, much of it not true.’

  ‘You want to be careful I don’t get my father to ban you from our butcher’s altogether,’ said Rose.

  ‘I do not believe he would be allowed to do that in the current climate,’ said Mr Schenck. ‘For it is the only butcher’s shop in the village. Apart from which, I do not believe your father would want to lose the business.’

  Rose didn’t have an answer for this. Instead, her attention went back to Violet. ‘But it’s not all untrue, is it? For I saw you and that Hywel Llewellyn, sneaking down the end house of Lloyd Street back in February. You’re a bad woman, Violet Jones. And now you’ve got Mrs Meredith telling lies about me. I heard her, two week back, and that Hywel was there, and him.’ She plunged her finger in Mr Schenck’s direction.

  ‘Unless you have come in for a book, Miss Pritchard, could I respectfully suggest you leave?’ he said. ‘We do not want to be upsetting the children now, do we?’ He nodded his head towards the other room. ‘If you want to return later, when these young ladies have gone, and have a quiet look round, you are, of course, welcome.’

  ‘As if I’d buy a book when I can get them for nothing at the library at the Workmen’s Institute. I’ve looked in here before. Too expensive, they are. No, I came in to have words with Violet, who is spreading Mrs Meredith’s lies about me being a thief.’

  ‘I have done no such thing!’ said Violet. ‘I heard about the argument two weeks before, but I don’t know why you think I’m responsible. Did Mr Llewellyn make such a claim?’

  Oh dear, thought Anwen, this could turn into another argument if Violet believed her uncle had said something out of turn.

  Before Rose got to reply, Gwen jumped up off the chair. ‘If anyone is
lying, it’s you, Rose Pritchard. You lied about stealing up at the Big House and now you’re lying about Violet and Hywel. We’ve all known Hywel since he moved here, what, fifteen years ago? He’s Anwen’s uncle and has been like an uncle to us all, and if we want to walk along the street and chat to him, we will! And one day, if Violet chose to walk out with another man, being a widow like, I’m sure it would be none of your business.’

  ‘You’re all bloody bitches and I’ll see you all in hell!’

  Clarice came running into the room, calling, ‘What’s wrong, Mam?’

  Violet hunkered down. ‘Nothing’s wrong, cariad. Just grownups getting a bit cross. Don’t worry. Let’s go back to Benjy.’

  She took Clarice to the other room and shut the door behind her. Anwen felt a huge relief at her leaving.

  ‘What is this shouting about?’ Mirjam Schenck came through a door at the other end of the shop, remaining in the doorway.

  ‘Mind your own bloody business,’ screamed Rose.

  Sara Fach jumped and burst into tears. Anwen walked up and down, trying to soothe her. ‘There there, cariad, there there.’

  ‘I would rather you did not address my wife in that way,’ said Mr Schenck, looking unusually cross. ‘For she has done nothing to you.’

  ‘Of course, Saint Mirjam, isn’t she, like Margaret Meredith, on this committee and that, organising good works to raise money for the soldiers. Sick of bloody hearing it from my father. “Why don’t you and your mother do some good works for a change,” he says. Well it’s all right for them what’s got time to do it. I’ve got to work.’

  ‘As has my wife, for she does all the accounts for this business.’

  Anwen had often wondered why Mrs Schenck rarely served in the shop. And even though she was active in organising many of the activities in Dorcalon, she seldom made much of an appearance at them. That had been particularly true since the war had begun.