War in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘I’d still like to meet up with Hywel,’ said Doris, ‘find out what his intentions are.’

  ‘Oh Mam, if he ever had any intentions, he hasn’t now. He must hate me after what Olwen did, and I did little to help the matter.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault though.’

  ‘But I was also rude about Miss Elizabeth and she overheard me and they got cross with me about that too.’ The guilt of that still laid heavily on her.

  ‘Well, either way, I’m going to pop round to see Enid. Marvellous it was, to see her walking at Easter. Good friends, we used to be.’

  ‘Don’t say anything to Hywel.’

  ‘As if I would.’

  While her mother was gone, and her father was occupied with the children, she took the opportunity to do the washing up and clear up the kitchen. She’d have to think about dinner soon. It was odd, doing normal things, not worrying about Olwen. Would her parents be stopping for supper? She’d managed to get some more mutton today. It might stretch if she used all the vegetables she’d bought. What was she going to do without Olwen’s money?

  ‘By the way,’ said her father, in the doorway. She jumped and laughed.

  ‘Oh Da, don’t creep up on a body like that.’

  ‘When I helped Brynmore bring the bags down, he told me he’d found some money in a drawer. Olwen admitted she’d been keeping back half her wages.’

  ‘I did wonder about that. I knew she wouldn’t be earning eighteen shillings a week like Anwen as she was doing fewer hours, but I did think five shillings a week was a bit low.’

  ‘Brynmore thought you should have it.’ He handed over some coins. ‘She’d been saving four shillings a week, so there’s sixteen bob there. He said he earns a good enough wage at the pit and they don’t need it. It was bad she held it back when you were struggling on the widow’s pension.’

  Violet considered the coins. They’d certainly help fill the gap for a few weeks. Then she’d have to consider what to do next. She placed them into the pocket of the apron she was wearing.

  ‘Only me, come with a guest,’ Doris called, as she opened the back door.

  Violet took a hasty breath when she saw it was Hywel, who looked rather awkward.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling around,’ he said. ‘I’d like to apologise for the way we treated you after Olwen spoke to the police because I know now it wasn’t your fault and that you were in a difficult position what with her threatening you with the asylum and being such a bully and—’

  ‘Slow down,’ said Doris, ‘for we can hardly make out what you’re saying.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Violet. ‘I understood it well enough. I’m sorry Hywel, for the way Olwen treated you. And sorry for ignoring you and putting an end to our friendship, because I did enjoy your company. But Olwen, well, she made it too difficult.’

  ‘I know she did. I’m sorry to the heart of me I didn’t see the full extent of what she was doing to you. I should have realised you weren’t a willing participant.’

  ‘And what are your intentions towards my daughter?’ said Doris, crossing her arms and lifting her not insubstantial bust.

  ‘Mam, he has no intentions!’ said Violet. Really, if it wasn’t one embarrassing situation, it was another.

  ‘Actually, I do,’ he said. ‘I know the year isn’t up since Charlie’s passing just yet, but I’ve been wanting to tell you for months exactly how I feel. From our few meetings, I thought you might feel the same. I suppose now is the time to say it. I love you, Violet.’

  He pressed his lips together and he looked in some kind of pain, maybe worried at what her reaction would be. She knew what she wanted to say, but she’d never been good at saying these kinds of things, not even to Charlie in the early days. What she felt for him was like a huge bag of emotions caught in her chest that threatened to suffocate her if she didn’t let them out.

  ‘Come on cariad, what have you got to say for yourself?’ said Ioan.

  ‘I love you too, Hywel, I really do.’

  ‘I think this is our cue to leave, Doris.’

  The soppy look on her mother’s face became surprise. ‘What? Oh, yes, of course. Let’s see how the children are doing.’

  After they’d gone, Hywel and Violet walked into each other’s arms and held on tight. When he bent to kiss her, she was ready for his warm lips. He sighed and she giggled, stalling the moment.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ he said.

  ‘I thought women were meant to be the soppy, sighing ones. According to the novels I’ve read.’

  ‘Men can be soppy too. And what else could I do but sigh with pleasure now we’re together at last? And I hope for a very long time.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said, and leant towards him to be kissed once more.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘I can hardly believe it’s your wedding day tomorrow, Uncle Hywel,’ said Anwen, pouring some more water into the teapot for their post-dinner drink.

  ‘You can’t believe it?’ he said. ‘I never thought I’d get married, not since, well, Catrin.’

  ‘Catrin?’ said Anwen.

  ‘Oh, her,’ said Enid, sitting at one end of the table sewing a button onto Hywel’s good shirt.

  ‘My first love. Or so I thought,’ he explained.

  Anwen listened as he told her about this young woman he’d never mentioned before. ‘Well, you are full of surprises, Uncle Hywel. How are you feeling, about tomorrow?’

  ‘Nervous.’

  Enid looked up. ‘At least it will be a better August Bank Holiday Monday than last year, which was the day after the memorial for our dead soldiers. Nobody felt much like celebrating then.’

  ‘No, least of all Violet, of course. But it’s a new start for her.’ Anwen hoped her mother wasn’t going to be in this mood all day. ‘I’m so glad she’s made it up with Elizabeth, and invited her to the wedding.’

  ‘She was touched when she heard that Elizabeth hadn’t made a fuss to her mother about employing Olwen because of their money situation,’ said Hywel.

  ‘It’s hard to believe that Violet will be Mrs Llewellyn from tomorrow,’ said Enid. ‘A bit like the royal family changing their surname.’

  ‘Not quite the same as changing your name from Saxe-Coburg-Gotha to Windsor,’ Hywel laughed. ‘She won’t have to change it by royal proclamation.’

  ‘Talking of the Germans, did you read this in yesterday’s newspaper?’ Idris lifted it up.

  ‘About the Welsh Division fighting?’ said Hywel. ‘Yes. Looks like they’re in the thick of it again after being in the back lines nearly a year.’

  Anwen relieved her husband of the paper. ‘Gwen and Elizabeth were afraid this might happen.’

  ‘They’re fighting at a place called Pilckem,’ said Idris. ‘They reckon it’s the battle which the world has been waiting for, as they put it.’

  Anwen put the lid on the pot and left it to brew. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. Didn’t we lose enough men at Mametz Wood? Though I suppose it might mean it will be over soon. It’s been three years now. That’s surely long enough.’

  ‘Who knows,’ said Idris. ‘According to the report, the Welsh troops have more or less defeated the Kaiser’s top soldiers, the German Guards Fusilier Regiment.’

  Enid stopped sewing and looked at him. ‘I hope our boys are all right. My goodness, so much has happened since the war began. Things will never be the same again.’

  The others all nodded but didn’t comment. Anwen found it hard to imagine now how she’d survived the last few years; her father’s violence, her sister’s death, Idris breaking off with her. She should think herself lucky, but there were a couple of things she still prayed for.

  She popped the cosy on the teapot. ‘It’s coming up to two o’clock and I said I’d meet Gwen at the back. We’re going to decide what flowers to pick for Violet’s bouquet tomorrow.’

  ‘And we’re going to have a look at the lavvy,’ said Hywel. ‘It’s not flushing prop
er, like.’

  Anwen laughed. ‘Uncle Hywel, that’s a very unromantic thing to respond with when we’re talking about flowers for your loved one.’

  Half smiling, half grimacing, he replied. ‘It is, sorry, but it needs doing see.’

  She looked up at the ceiling, thinking about her sister sound asleep in the cot upstairs. ‘I don’t think Sara Fach’s going to wake up in the next five minutes.’ She regarded her mother, hoping, as she did every other time, that she’d say something like, I’ll listen out for her. It was never to be.

  ‘We’ll be near the house, so we’ll hear her if she hollers,’ said Idris.

  ‘All right, thanks.’

  When Anwen reached the bottom of the garden, her friend was just approaching the gate.

  ‘A bit cloudy today,’ Gwen called, pulling her shawl more tightly round her shoulders. ‘And not very warm for August. Hope it’s better tomorrow.’

  ‘Me too. Now, what flowers shall we pick? Twyn Gobaith is filled with wildflowers, too, which we could use.’

  ‘That sounds lovely. What are those pink flowers near the house? They’re pretty.’

  ‘Zinnias. Let’s have a look.’

  They sauntered down the centre path, chatting about the following day. As they neared the house, they heard the holler of a baby in distress.

  ‘Oh no, Sara Fach,’ said Anwen.

  In her hurry to get to the tot, she tripped over the watering can, which had been left on the side of the flower bed, taking Gwen down with her, amid clattering and hollering.

  ‘What on earth?’ said Idris, rushing from the outside toilet. ‘Here, take my hands.’ He held them out to help the women up.

  ‘Didn’t you hear the baby crying?’ said Anwen as she straightened herself.

  ‘What crying?’ he said.

  Sure enough, it had stopped. That wasn’t like Sara Fach at all. There must be something wrong. She ran through the scullery and into the kitchen, only to come to a standstill by the door. Gwen caught her up, almost knocking into her. Anwen thought she must be seeing things at first, for there, in between the two armchairs by the stove, was her mother, cradling the baby and singing the Welsh lullaby ‘Suo Gân’. Slumber child, upon my breast, it is snug and warm…

  Anwen recalled her father singing it at Sara’s funeral, that grim, January day, twenty months ago. Tears coursed down her face, of sadness for Sara, of joy for Sara Fach. One of her prayers had been answered.

  The men came up behind, leaning over the women to see.

  ‘What’s happened then?’ said Hywel. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m back,’ called Cadi, coming through the scullery. ‘What’s the hold-up here?’

  Gwen and the men moved to let her in. Anwen turned to her and smiled.

  ‘Oh my.’

  Enid came to the end of the song. ‘I know you’re all surprised, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. After all the nastiness with the Pritchards, and with Olwen trying to get Violet committed, I realised I was becoming as bad as them with all my resentments. I’d had enough of being imprisoned in the bedroom, unable, or unwilling, to walk, and then, when I was mobile again, the anger and hatred became a new type of gaol. I don’t want that anymore.’

  Anwen went to her mother and cuddled both her and Sara Fach. ‘I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind, Mam.’

  ‘Come on now, none of this sentimentality. I suspect this little one needs her napkin changing. I’ll just take her upstairs.’

  Enid walked towards the hall and Idris took her place next to Anwen, placing his arm around her.

  ‘There’s marvellous, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s a prayer come true.’

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder. In so much as Hywel and Violet have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, having given and pledged their faith, each to the other, and having declared the same by the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that you are husband and wife. I ask you now to seal the promises you have made with each other this day with a kiss.’

  Violet looked up into Hywel’s eyes. They were brim-full of love and she knew she’d made the right decision. She hoped Charlie was somewhere in the great beyond, looking down at her and wishing her well. Hywel bent forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes, tipping her face up in eager anticipation of his warm lips.

  When they turned, ready to walk back down the aisle, little Clarice, adorable in her yellow dress and posy of wildflowers, gazed up at her. ‘I got a new da now?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, cariad, you’ve got a new da,’ Violet laughed, the tingle swelling out from her heart and infusing her body with joy.

  ‘You hear that, Benjy, we got a new da,’ she told her brother in the front row, standing with his grandparents.

  ‘New da for Benjy and Clarry,’ he said, his chubby face beaming.

  The tears welled up and spilled over Violet’s bottom lashes. Hywel kissed her cheek and took her hand, leading her down the axisle of the chapel to the strains of Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’.

  Gwilym and Idris were already opening the main doors as the couple approached. Warm air rushed in. Anwen followed on behind with Gwen who was holding Clarice’s hand.

  The couple stepped onto the threshold and looked out onto the village of Dorcalon as Mr and Mrs Llewellyn. Violet gasped with delight. The sun was shining across the valley, lending a golden glow.

  ‘Look at that,’ Hywel said, hugging her to him. ‘Raining this morning, and now a lovely summer day. The children will be happy that they can play in the garden.’

  As if to confirm this, Clarice and Benjamin ran to the couple, giggling with delight when they saw how sunny it was. Violet took her daughter’s hand while Hywel took his new son’s. Together they looked out on the lush landscape beyond the pit, and a fresh future of hope.

  A letter from Francesca

  First of all, a very big thank you to everyone who read the first in the Valleys series, Heartbreak in the Valleys. I was bowled over by the wonderful response it received, along with the many positive reviews.

  I was particularly touched by people’s reaction to the hardship endured by my characters at this period of history. Some have said that they didn’t realise just how difficult it was for the inhabitants of working-class areas like the Welsh Valleys at this time. That I’ve been able to convey even a small sense of their struggle and fighting spirit, as well as tell a story people have enjoyed, has been very encouraging. Over time, the sheer hard slog and sacrifices of those whose work formed the backbone of the nation, not only in Wales of course, but in other industrial areas too, have faded from people’s memories. It’s fascinating to get a glimpse into the past.

  When I started writing the sequel to Heartbreak in the Valleys, I knew immediately that I wanted Violet to be the star. I was keen to explore her story, the mousy housewife married young and stuck in her shabby house with her two little kiddies, struggling to keep it brushed, scrubbed and polished clean, always playing catchup. But of course, I discovered there was much more to her than that. She is symbolic of many women from that time, who battled daily to keep a spotless home and to get a meal on the table, many left without a husband. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading her story.

  If you’d like to discuss the novel with me, or discover more about it, I’d love to chat with you on social media here:

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/FrancescaCapaldiAuthor/

  Twitter: @FCapaldiBurgess

  Or you can visit my blog here:

  www.writemindswriteplace.word-press.com

  Best wishes,

  Francesca xx

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, I’d like to thank Keshini Naidoo and Lindsey Mooney at Hera Books for giving me the opportunity to tell a second Valleys story, and for all their hard work in bringing it to fruition. They’ve been brilliant to work with. Thanks also to Jenny, whose editing skills h
ave been invaluable.

  I’m grateful to my friends and fellow writers, Angela Johnson, Elaine Roberts and Karen Aldous, whose friendship and encouragement, and willingness to natter endlessly about writing, has kept me going through my writing journey.

  I’d like to acknowledge the value of the many writers’ and readers’ groups on Facebook, especially during lockdown when it’s been impossible to meet up for talks and socials. A special hello to the authors of the Strictly Saga group, whose video and messaging chats have been supportive and fun.

  Last but not least, a big thank you to my children, Carmela, Peter, Giovanna and Jack, for all their encouragement.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Hera

  Hera Books

  28b Cricketfield Road

  London, E5 8NS

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © Francesca Capaldi, 2020

  The moral right of Francesca Capaldi to be identified as the creator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781912973439

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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