Pontypridd 01 - Hearts of Gold

by Catrin Collier

  Evan slumped back on the kitchen chair and looked at the two shillings he was holding. ‘There’s not many rich boxers, son,’ he warned.

  ‘But there are an awful lot of punch drunk ones,’ Haydn said acidly. ‘You only have to look as far as Cast Iron Dean in Phillips Street.’

  ‘He made his money.’

  ‘And spent it. What’s he got to show for it now?’ Haydn demanded.

  ‘What about Jimmy Wilde?’ Eddie bit back. ‘He’s been everywhere. London, America, stayed at the best hotels, eaten the best food. He bought his own farm –’

  ‘There’s a lot more to life than money, son,’ Evan interrupted softly.

  Eddie opened his left eye and looked around the shabby kitchen, the white strained faces of his family.

  ‘If there is I haven’t found it,’ he said stubbornly. ‘All I know is there’s got to be more than getting up in the morning and queuing for the dole, or half a day’s work. If boxing puts money in my pocket and the best food on my plate instead of bread and scrape here, then I’m going to box. And no one in this family is going to stop me. Now or ever,’ he added defiantly.

  The silence after Eddie finished speaking was total - crushing. Bethan continued wiping and cleaning the mess on his face. But after a while she couldn’t see the cuts and bruises. Her tears obliterated everything.

  Even the look of impotent misery on her father’s face.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Look, are you going out with Andrew John tonight or aren’t you?’ Laura demanded of Bethan as she carried two cups of tea over to the corner table of Ronconi’s cafe that they’d commandeered. ‘Because if you are, I’m leaving now. I’m not in the habit of playing gooseberry.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ Bethan repeated impatiently. ‘He’s only just returned to Pontypridd after six years away. He knows no one and he’s lonely.’

  ‘Lonely my eye!’ Laura exclaimed scornfully. ‘Men who look like him are never lonely, they …’

  ‘For goodness’ sake keep your voice down,’ Bethan hissed. She looked up and smiled at Ronnie, who was leaning sideways on the counter within easy listening distance. ‘For the last time he wanted me to go to the Palladium with him, and when I told him that I was going with you he asked if he could tag along, and I said yes,’ she continued in a whisper.

  ‘Do you, or do you not, want me to scarper?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I would if I was in your shoes,’ Laura said philosophically, as she tipped sugar into her tea.

  ‘You’re the one who fancies him, not me.’

  ‘All’s fair in love and war.’

  ‘This is not love,’ Bethan protested vehemently.

  ‘But it could be. Just look at who’s coming through the door.’

  Bethan glanced up and choked on her tea. ‘Honestly, Laura, isn’t there anything in trousers that you don’t fancy?’

  ‘Not much between the ages of eighteen and thirty. Cold enough for you, William?’ she shouted to Bethan’s cousin.

  ‘It’s real brass monkey weather out there!’ William replied as he breezed into the cafe along with a draught of freezing air.

  Charlie walked in behind him, and closed the door with a resounding clang of the bell.

  ‘Two hot teas to thaw out two icemen, please, Ronnie.’ William stood in front of the chipped and scarred wooden counter, and rubbed his hands vigorously together. ‘Charlie and I are blue already and there’s three hours to go before the bell for the bargain rush.’

  ‘I thought they’d drop the prices early on a night like tonight,’ Laura eyed William coyly.

  William gave her the full benefit of his most beguiling smile, but it was the blazing coal fire alongside her table that had really taken his eye. He left the counter and squeezed a chair in between Laura and the fire. ‘No such luck. Nine o’clock bell, not before.’

  ‘Be kinder to the poor people waiting to buy their Sunday meat to ring the bell now.’ Bethan looked out through the steamed-up window at the women and children huddled in layers of shabby clothes, who were walking up and down, shivering and waiting for the moment to come.

  ‘Be kinder to the poor devils behind the stalls.’ William pulled off his fingerless gloves and blew vigorously on his frozen white hands. ‘Thanks, mate.’ He took the tea Charlie brought over from the counter.

  Bethan shifted her chair, making room for Charlie to sit alongside her, in front of the fire. The Russian moved a chair into the vacant space and nodded his thanks.

  ‘Is a man allowed to ask where you two are going all tarted-up like that?’ William studied them over the rim of his thick earthenware mug.

  ‘No,’ Ronnie shouted above the noise of the steamer from behind the counter, ‘they’ll bite your head off.’

  ‘We’re not “tarted-upˮ,’ Bethan protested indignantly. ‘I’ve had this coat for five years.’

  ‘It’s not the coat,’ William smiled snidely. ‘It’s the perfume, the silk blouse you bought off my mother yesterday, when a jumper would be more serviceable, not to mention the smile and whiff of excitement in the air.’ He winked at Ronnie. ‘I think you’d better warn every man who walks in here that these two are out on the razzle and looking for husbands.’

  ‘The men are safe enough,’ Ronnie drawled as he polished the tea urn with a damp rag. ‘Five minutes of Laura’s company shouldbe more than enough to make any man run a mile. If he doesn’t, he’s either a fool or a mad man.’

  ‘You … you …’ Laura looked around for something to throw, but Bethan had already put the salt and pepper pots but of reach.

  ‘Oh … Oh … Oh …’

  ‘Doing impressions of Father Christmas?’ Bethan asked William caustically. ‘Little late aren’t you?’

  ‘Or early,’ he said absently, staring at the door.

  She looked up and saw Andrew standing in the centre of the cafe. ‘Time we went, Laura.’ She jumped to her feet and promptly knocked over her chair.

  ‘Can’t wait to get at him can you, Beth?’ William leaned over and picked up the chair. ‘And by the way, Beth,’ he muttered in a stage whisper, ‘you need more powder on your cheeks. They’re very red.’

  She lifted the spoon out of William’s hot tea as she passed and laid it on the back of his hand. He yelped, but she ignored his cry and carried on walking.

  Andrew smiled when he saw her. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Trevor was at a loose end so I invited him to join us. He’s waiting outside.’

  ‘Trevor?’

  ‘Dr Lewis. Trevor Lewis,’ he explained.

  ‘Of course we don’t mind.’ Bethan gave William a sharp kick on the ankle for pulling on her coat. ‘I don’t think you’ve met my cousin William.’

  ‘Your cousin?’ Andrew raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you do, Mr …’

  ‘Powell.’ William extended his hand.

  ‘Ah yes. It would be wouldn’t it?ʼ Andrew’s smile broadened.

  ‘If you don’t mind I won’t get up, I haven’t thawed out yet.’

  ‘It is cold,’ Andrew agreed.

  ‘Not so you’d notice.’ William reached out and fingered the cloth of Andrew’s coat. ‘Cashmere,’ he nodded approvingly. ‘Nice stuff. If you ever want to sell it, I’ll get you a good price.’

  ‘William!’ Bethan admonished indignantly.

  ‘I appreciate the offer, Mr Powell, but as I’ve only just bought it I think I’ll hang on to it for a year or two,’ Andrew said evenly.

  ‘The offer’ll hold until then. This is a mate of mine, Charlie Raschenko.’

  ‘Mr Raschenko.’ Andrew winced as Charlie took his hand in a bone-crushing grip.

  ‘You’ve met my brother,’ Laura said over sweetly, smiling at Ronnie who was leaning on the counter.

  ‘I’ve had the pleasure.’ Andrew extricated his bruised hand, and walked towards the counter, happy to be heading towards the door and the outside.

  He shook hands gingerly with Ronnie then turned to Bethan. ‘I don’t want to r
ush you, but if we’re to get there on time, we’ll have to make a move.’

  ‘Town Hall pantomime for the kiddies?’ Ronnie enquired condescendingly.

  ‘That’s your taste, dear brother, not ours.’ Laura replied, gathering her things together. ‘Bye, everyone.’ She waved as she followed Bethan and Andrew out of the door.

  ‘Don’t be late or Papa will shout,’ Ronnie called after her.

  ‘That depends on what we’re doing,’ Laura countered cheekily as she closed the door. ‘Some things are worth a shout or two from Papa.’

  ‘The car’s in the station car park.’ Andrew held up his hand, halting a dray-cart so they could cross Taff Street.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to walk to the Palladium?’ Bethan asked suspiciously.

  ‘It would be if we were going there, but Trevor has tickets for the Moss Empire Circus.’

  ‘At the Empire Theatre in Cardiff?’ Laura demanded eagerly.

  ‘Where else?’ Andrew answered for Trevor, who left a circle of young men to join them.

  ‘Boys from my YMCA drama class,’ he apologised briefly. ‘Hope you don’t mind me coming with you?’

  ‘Of course we don’t,’ Laura said generously, thinking about the tickets. ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.’

  Bethan trailed behind Andrew and Laura as they wove through the crowds who were pouring up the alleyway steps alongside Gwilym Evans into Market Square.

  She’d been looking forward to a night out with Andrew and Laura. But a foursome with Trevor Lewis and a trip to Cardiff put quite a different complexion on the evening that lay ahead. A threesome could be put down to innocent friendship; a foursome could be construed as men chasing women. And quite apart from the doctor – nurse fraternisation embargo, there was the question of where Andrew lived.

  * * *

  The Graig and the Common were situated at opposite ends of Pontypridd for very good reasons. Their residents didn’t mix. They had very different life styles and lived in entirely different worlds, and although the depression had affected both, on the Graig it had cut essentials such as food down to two scrap meals, or in extreme cases one, a day. On the Common it had merely cut the servants’ wages.

  Bethan knew that her father would disapprove if he could see her now, and that thought upset her. Too many girls on the Graig had been dazzled by middle-class boys dangling middle-class riches, only to end up as inmates on the “unmarried” ward in the Central Homes.

  ‘Andrew can be a bit overpowering, but he means well,’ Trevor ventured, stepping alongside her.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she agreed noncommittally. ‘Have you really got tickets?’

  ‘Yes, a friend showed them to me when I was having a drink with Andrew after work last night.’

  ‘And Andrew bought them?’

  ‘He did,’ Trevor confirmed sheepishly. ‘He said you wouldn’t mind making tonight a foursome.’

  ‘Of course we don’t mind,’ Bethan said warmly. Even under the uncertain light of the street lamps she could see the shiny patches on the cuffs and elbows of Trevor’s overcoat. She and Laura had noticed soon after going to the Graig that for a doctor,

  Trevor’s shoes and clothes were distinctly shabby. But she liked him all the more for his down at heel appearance.

  It gave him a kinship with her own background. Perhaps his wages, like hers, were needed by his family for more important things like rent and food. And she had elaborated on the few bare facts that she knew, imagining either an unemployed father, or one on “short time” like hers.

  Trevor couldn’t have been more unlike Andrew. Quiet, rather shy, even with patients, he exuded diffidence rather than confidence. He was a favourite with the nurses because his “in need of care and attention appearance” coupled with his gentle manner appealed to their maternal instinct.

  ‘Congratulations, by the way I haven’t had a chance to compliment you or Laura on your results,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Quite a boost for the Graig, getting a nurse with the top marks in the examination. How do you like nursing with us?’

  ‘It’s different from the Royal Infirmary.’ She stepped into the road to avoid a young woman carrying a baby in a shawl wrapped around her coat, Welsh fashion. She was pushing a battered pram loaded with another two children, who were half buried under a mound of newspaper-wrapped potatoes and swedes.

  ‘The patients can’t be all that different. I grew up in the dock area of Cardiff. There are a lot of similarities between the back streets there and the Graig.’

  ‘There are always similarities between one poor area and another.’

  ‘Cockles, love, halfpenny a pint. Cockles, sweet cockles. Go on, sir, buy the lady a bag of cockles.’

  Bethan shook her head at old Will Cockles who stood on the corner of Market Square. ‘Have you any family left in Cardiff?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘My mother, two sisters and a brother.’

  ‘Four children,’ she smiled. ‘Just like us.’

  ‘My father was killed fourteen years ago. He was a docker, in Cardiff. The rigging broke as they were unloading a ship. Two days before it happened I won a scholarship to County School. I didn’t want to take it, but my mother insisted I went. She said she could keep the family until I began work. I don’t think she bargained on my getting a second scholarship to medical college. I was twenty three before I earned a penny.’

  ‘You were lucky your family could hold out that long.’

  ‘Very,’ he agreed drily. ‘My brother and sisters could have done with some of my luck. They’re all out of work now.’

  ‘My father’s on half time and my youngest brother out of work,’ Bethan commiserated.

  ‘Come on, Trevor,’ Andrew called from the bridge opposite Rivelin’s. ‘We don’t want to be late.’

  Conscious that they’d been dawdling, Bethan and Trevor quickened their pace but they didn’t catch up with Andrew and Laura until they reached the station yard.

  Andrew’s car was pale grey with chrome trimmings, very shiny and judging by the strong leathery smell of the interior, very new. He unlocked the door, and the interior light showed rich, gleaming walnut facias and pale grey upholstery. Bethan caught a strong whiff of expensive men’s cologne as Andrew held the door open for her and Laura to climb into the back. When he closed the door behind them she glanced out of the window, to see if anyone was watching. The usual ladies of the town were standing in front of the old stone and red brick wall that enclosed the yard. One of them sidled up to a passing man, her garishly painted face shining like a clown’s under the artificial light.

  ‘Nice car,’ Laura commented, settling her skirt around her knees.

  ‘Glad you like it,’ Andrew called over his shoulder. He grinned at Trevor. ‘Crank’s under your seat.’

  Trevor fumbled beneath his seat, lifted out the crank and went to the front of the car. Three turns and the engine purred into life. Once Trevor had climbed in again, Andrew slid the car into gear and manoeuvred out of the station yard.

  Bethan and Laura sat back and tried to look as though they drove out to take the air every night of their lives. Apart from a few odd trips in Ronnie’s Trojan baker’s van, it was the first time either of them had ever travelled by private transport. But, whereas

  Laura revelled in the experience, allowing the sense of luxury to wash over her like a warm, perfumed bath, Bethan was beset by guilt. It was more than just the fact that Andrew and Trevor were doctors. It had something to do with her own sense of self-value, as though Andrew – the trip – the car were too good for her, and any moment he’d find out the truth.

  That she, Bethan Powell simply wasn’t worth the time and attention he was expending on her. Or, worse still, was the outing simply a ploy on his part to get her alone and defenceless in an isolated spot where he could “take advantage” of her?

  Laura, bubbling over with excitement, began to talk about the circuses she’d seen. Tr
evor was infected by her mood and joined in with Andrew, who was concentrating on driving, chipping in the odd remark. They reached the outskirts of the city just after seven o’clock and Andrew dropped them outside the Empire Theatre while he went to find a parking space. As they waited for him in the foyer, Bethan used the time to study the clothes of the women around her. She wished she’d taken the trouble to dress up a little more although, as she was wearing the new grey crepe de chine blouse she’d only just bought from her aunt, and her best navy blue serge skirt, it was difficult to know what, besides the red dress or her black figured velvet, she could have put on.

  Trevor dug into the pockets of his overcoat and produced the tickets. Laura shrieked in excitement.

  ‘You’ve a box!’

  ‘Purely by default. A friend of mine bought it for his family but they’ve gone down with influenza. He sold it cheap. He said he owed me a favour,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘You must belong to the same tribe as my brother.’

  ‘Tribe?’ Trevor looked at Laura blankly.

  ‘Someone always owes my brother a favour.’

  ‘Then he’s luckier than me.’

  ‘The favours Ronnie’s owed never extend to theatre boxes.’

  ‘This was a one off.’ Trevor looked around the crowded foyer searching for a glimpse of Andrew.

  ‘I hoped you’d wait.’ Andrew suddenly appeared behind them, his hat pushed to the back of his head, his face glowing pink from the cold. ‘Shall we go up?’

  Neither Laura nor Bethan had been to the Empire theatre before. Their acquaintance with the glamorous world of live shows had been restricted to the dog-eared, slightly grubby New Theatre and the Town Hall in Pontypridd.

  Shortage of money in both theatres had meant that the tarnished gilding remained tarnished, the marked paintwork stayed marked, and the once plush seats in the auditoriums stood as shiny, bald pink monuments to the depression.

  Here everything gleamed newly restored, painted and sparkling in royal opulent colours of red, gold and cream. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt anywhere and as they mounted the stairs to the circle Bethan noticed that even the people crowding in through the doors that led to the stalls seemed better groomed than those in Pontypridd.