‘Iron ore did that,’ the man told her, and explained briefly what it was and how it was used. He winked at the serious-faced little girl and said, ‘Never marry a docker, lovely girl, you’ll never keep them looking smart and tidy.’ He returned to work, tossing his cigarette into the oily water of the dock.
Cranes swung overhead, lifting huge boxes with ease. Men wrote busily on sheets of paper and shouted orders. Everywhere there was frantic activity, ordered chaos, and Rosita stared in wonderment. Through a pipe in the side of one ship a steady stream of water flowed and Rosita laughed and said, ‘Look at that one! It’s peeing!’ She glared at her mother, daring her to complain at the vulgarity, but Barbara just smiled.
‘How can such a thing float?’ Barbara said, stopping to look at a Greek vessel. She shivered. ‘How can anyone travel on one? I’d be too scared, wouldn’t you?’
‘No fear! I’d love it.’
Barbara didn’t realize that the thought of escape from the institutional life she had been forced to lead was enough to quell any fear Rosita might have had of stepping onto the huge ship.
There was a queue of people waiting for the ferry that was dwarfed by the cargo ships, but seeing the glimmer of excitement in her daughter’s eyes, Barbara decided to wait, and they were rowed across by a man who seemed too small to manage the task.
As they walked up the hill from the docks, the scene changed from the business of import and export to holidays and entertainment. The sound of harsh metallic music filled the air, vying with screams and shouts of people having fun, and there was that indefinable scent of sea and warm sand.
They walked through the fairground and Barbara paid for Rosita to try her hand at hoop-la, roll-a-ball and darts, in the hope that she would win a prize to take back to the home, but her daughter was clumsy and awkward, failing to achieve a decent score.
She was puzzled at her lack of skill but decided it was her bad temper causing the failure. Although, she remembered, Rosita had never been very good at school either. Perhaps her lack of ability to learn was the reason for her bad behaviour and not the other way round?
‘Never mind, dear,’ she comforted, ‘we can’t all be good at games.’
‘Stupid games! These people are all cheats!’
Barbara hurried her away and bought her an ice cream – that was safer.
Walking along the promenade, they went down to the beach, stepping between families who had made themselves comfortable with sand-tables and tablecloths and food spread out around near the mother.
‘You didn’t bring a picnic!’ Rosita complained. ‘I’ve never had a picnic.’
‘Yes, you have. Don’t you remember how we used to take a basket of food and eat it in the cwm below the farm?’
‘No, I don’t! You must be thinking of the other two!’
‘The tearooms are open – we’ll have a tray on the sand,’ Barbara said gently. They ordered a tray of tea and some sandwiches and cakes, and with teapot, hot-water jug and the necessary china, they walked back to the sands to find a place to eat.
Several children nearby had flags and balloons attached to sandcastle turrets. There were buckets and spades, water-wings and towels lying around the family groups and the scene should have been one of bright colours, yet the formal dress of the trippers made the view a sombre one.
Men wore their best suits and shirts with only a few of them allowed to loosen their neck ties and ease their collars from sweating necks. Most still wore their caps. Women were dressed, like Barbara, in long skirts and heavy cardigans, some laden with winter coats. Neither Barbara nor others removed their cloche hats even when the sun strengthened and they were feeling uncomfortably warm. Many hats were awry after constant easing, giving the wearers a comical appearance that amused Rosita and made her point and laugh much to Barbara’s embarrassment.
As they left the beach, Barbara shook her head at a man running around trying to persuade people to take a ride on his small boat but she stopped at the Punch and Judy show, which interested Rosita for a few minutes. There wasn’t a moment when she relaxed, smiled or acted like other ten-year-olds, however. Disappointed, Barbara took her back to the station to get a train to the town.
Refusing every suggestion of things to do, Rosita insisted on going back to the Careys’ to see if Richard had returned. But as before, Mrs Carey was there with the others but there was no sign of Richard or his father.
‘We’ll have to go,’ Barbara said. ‘I promised to take you back long before this.’
‘I want to see Richard.’ The stubborn look was entrenched on Rosita’s small face and her dark, resentful eyes glistened warningly as she added, ‘if you don’t let me wait, I’ll run away again and find him for myself!’
As the evening light was fading, they saw two men walking towards them, but they stopped before they reached the house.
‘Policemen they are, and looking for Richard,’ Mrs Carey breathed. ‘Oh, they’ll catch him for sure when he comes back with his father. Oh, why did I insist on Henry going to find him?’
The solitary figure of Mr Carey was seen approaching moments later and he was stopped and questioned by the policemen. He must have satisfied them as, after a moment or two, he continued to walk towards them. A jaunty walk, filled with suppressed excitement. He broke into a run when he saw them all waiting.
‘Good news!’ he called as soon as he was within shouting distance. ‘We own a shop, Mother, and tomorrow we move in and start business!’
‘Where’s Richard?’ Mrs Carey and Rosita asked in chorus.
‘Ah, well then, that’s difficult to answer. He’s gone, see, and with the police wanting to talk to him, I don’t think he’ll be back for ages.’
Barbara stayed a few more days and Mrs Carey was glad to have her there with so many things happening at once, none of them pleasant. First of all there was the loss of Richard, who was the family’s strength. Then they had the noisome shop to clean, and that seemed an impossible task, especially as most of the thirteen cats, whose smells caused such a problem, refused to vacate their home. Then, when they went back to the house on the beach to gather the last of their possessions, it was to learn that Jack and Gareth had left without saying goodbye.
The only intimation of their plans was a note pinned to the tablecloth saying they would ‘be in touch soon’. Losing three sons at the same time and each going without the ritual of parting was hard, and Mrs Carey used all her strength in cleaning the shop, wanting to blot out her misery with exhaustion.
On 21 April, Barbara came again and took Rosita into Cardiff to see the King and Queen arrive by train for the opening of the National Museum of Wales. The excitement of the crowds lining the streets and waving flags thrilled Rosita, especially as she remembered that her half-sisters Kate and Hattie wouldn’t be seeing it, and she wanted to shout and cheer with the rest. But aware of her mother wanting to see her happy, she did not. Flags filled the air with an undulating blaze of colour, every other face wearing a radiant smile of welcome for the royal visitors.
When the crowds drifted away, they wandered around the shops and Barbara bought some clothes for her daughter. A dress for Sundays and some white ankle-strap shoes with white, pink-trimmed ankle socks. She also bought some Celanese underwear for herself. Impractical and foolish, but it gave her satisfaction to own such delicate things. The woollen skirts, thick aprons, the coarse, practical underwear would still be used on the farm, but knowing she had other ways to dress, other ways to live, would help her cope with the monotony of her existence. The thought of returning to the farm and Graham was less and less enticing. Town was an almost forgotten joy.
At the playhouse, there was a comedy on called Just Married. Barbara longed to see it, to be a part of the crowd bent on enjoying themselves, to laugh and relax for a couple of hours, do something far removed from her normal, regimented days. But she had to get Rosita back to the home and there wasn’t time. Perhaps another day.
Weary with their w
anderings, they caught the train back to town to see Mr and Mrs Carey’s newly acquired shop and saw that already Mrs Carey had begun to smarten it up. The smell was still all-pervading but would soon be ousted by the stronger smells of disinfectant and new paint.
The cats roamed around mewing and yowling and Mrs Carey chased them off with a broom, much to Rosita’s amusement. Barbara wondered why Rosita could laugh when she was with the Careys but never showed any sign of pleasure when she was with her. Could a child not yet eleven be capable of showing disapproval of her as punishment?
There were several tins of paint on the counter; already newly painted areas were shining in the gas light and the children were occupied cleaning their rooms. Alun and Billie and Idris were arguing about who had the best rooms and who would share with whom. Ada came for the day to help.
Barbara regretfully left them to it and took Rosita back to the home. She watched the girl go inside carrying her gifts and mementoes without a word or a backward glance. She felt defeated by her daughter. Not once had she shown happiness at their being together. She only became animated when she was with the Careys. Out of them it was only Richard who interested her and he was on the run from the police.
Barbara visited again, aware that she was nothing more than the necessary means of getting her daughter out of the home and to visit the Careys. There was never the slightest hint that Rosita took any pleasure in her mother’s company. But Bank Holiday Monday would surely persuade Rosita out of her scowling mood. With hope for a successful visit, leaving Kate and Hattie behind again, she took her to the seaside, where holiday-makers were enjoying warm sunshine.
It was mid-afternoon before they reached the sands, after a journey standing crushed with other cheerful passengers on the packed train. Everywhere was filled with happy, laughing people. Barbara became immediately caught up in the spirit of the day, forgetting momentarily the years of working on the farm, and becoming once again the lighthearted young woman she had almost forgotten being. Even the surly expression on Rosita’s face couldn’t spoil the atmosphere for her.
It was as though everyone was celebrating some great event. The beach was crowded with parties of people who had travelled there by every imaginable means of transport. Besides the sixty extra trains and the buses that unloaded regularly, there were some less usual vehicles disgorging families set on having a good day out. Everything from huge furniture vans and lorries to small cars and bicycles. There were even milk floats drawn by ponies and filled with passengers instead of churns and crates of milk.
Several men had brought mouth organs and banjos and music mingled in a dozen melodies at the same time and people danced wherever there was space to do so. The Charleston was performed high above the crowds on the roof of the promenade, and below, a party of young people danced to their own voices, singing, ‘I wish I could shimmy like my sister Kate.’
On the sand, beautifully dressed young women with their elegant partners were unwilling to leave, even after the sun had dropped below the horizon. The mood changed. The women’s sleeveless tops that shimmered as the wearers moved were covered in jackets as the air cooled. Beautifully dressed men offered their blazers and white jackets to their partners, draping them around shoulders and using the move to steal a sly kiss. They all looked incongruously smart in such a setting. A number of men gathered driftwood from where earlier tides had left it and lit fires. One brought out a gramophone and the groups gathered near the fires to sing, laugh and then dance some more.
Barbara was grabbed by a man wearing a smooth grey pin-striped suit, from which he removed the jacket, revealing a crisp white shirt and expensive braces. His shirt sleeves were held at the correct length by silver armbands. Laughing, she allowed herself to be led, still clinging to Rosita’s hand into the dance.
He tried to pull Rosita into the throng but she wriggled and shouted and he gratefully dropped her back onto the sand, where she sat and glared every time her mother looked at her – which wasn’t often.
The man’s braces were exactly the same blue as his tie, his hair was flattened back with pomade and his shoes, scuffed already by the sand, were patent leather.
‘Surely you must have intended to go somewhere different from the beach?’ Barbara asked, giggling like the rest of the crowd.
‘Dressed for fun, my dear, wherever I might find it,’ he replied, jigging enthusiastically to the music, his fingers tapping out the rhythm on her spine.
Barbara couldn’t remember ever feeling so young and excited and she wanted the day to go on for ever. Even Rosita seemed content to sit and watch the unusual scene. But the day did end, as the daylight waned, and she knew she would be very late getting Rosita back to the home.
She told herself that to stay was unfair to everyone, irresponsible, selfish, but eventually gave in to her longing for the evening of fun. She took a delighted Rosita back to the Careys and telephoned the home to say she was keeping her for an extra day. With more apprehension she spoke to a very disgruntled Graham, explaining that both she and Rosita were tired, and that she would be home the following day. She then went back to the beach, filled with a delicious feeling of guilty excitement. She was irresistibly drawn back to the partying people not far from the seawater swimming pool. Another night away from Graham and the girls wouldn’t matter, and anyway, she excused, it was far too late to get back tonight, so why waste an opportunity for fun?
Her recent partner seemed to be waiting for her. She walked straight into his smiling welcome as soon as she reached the shelter of the promenade. He took her in his arms as naturally as she had once thought Bernard would have done, and led her down to join the noisy, laughing throng.
It was easy to begin talking to the people and she was soon a part of a gathering around one of the largest bonfires, drinking from assorted bottles of wine that lay about in plenitude, and singing with the rest. Old songs, sentimental songs, popular songs from the music halls and, best of all, slow, romantic ones, with her partner looking into her eyes in the flickering light of the fire and doing strange things to her breathing.
When the fire burned low she settled with the man who had been her partner for the dancing and dozed unselfconsciously, feeling like a seventeen-year-old again.
Laughter disturbed her and she sat up, sleep less important than experiencing this wonderful night. The fire still flickered as fresh wood was occasionally added and shadows could be seen like fringes around the drowsy groups. Music could still be heard and one or two couples were dancing although much more slowly than previously.
‘My name is Jim,’ her companion said. ‘Will you stay for tomorrow? It threatens to be even better than today.’ He leaned closer and added against her cheek, ‘And tonight the best part of all.’
She hesitated, longing to agree with the implication in those few whispered words. She hated the thought of returning to Graham in that brief moment. She didn’t have to tell her new friend about Graham and the girls; she could say nothing. Lying by default, they called it; not as wicked as a downright lie. And it wasn’t as if she really planned to do anything wrong, just a bit of innocent flirting. But she couldn’t trust herself. So in the end she said a regretful no.
‘I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning,’ she told him. ‘I’m expected back by midday. I promised my husband,’ she added, forcing herself to say the necessary words.
‘My wife expected me back two days ago, my dear, but it’s party time and we should have fun,’ he replied lightly. He offered her some more of the wine she had been drinking without thought, from the time she had returned. She drank, allowed him to kiss her, then as his hands began to wander, pushed him gently, reluctantly away.
They spent the night with their arms around each other, dozing a little, waking to talk and kiss a little. Jim was so fresh, so sweet and clean; his skin smelled deliciously of soap. She knew she would remember him for ever.
While the rest of the group were still sleeping, huddled against each other i
n untidy heaps, Barbara slipped away. She wanted so much to stay and enjoy another day of fun but she hadn’t the right. Her fun was to be found with Graham or not at all. Groggy with the unaccustomed drink of the evening before, she found her way to the station and caught the first train to the beach and the Careys to collect Rosita and return her to the home.
Rosita complained most of the way back but Barbara seemed lost in a daydream and unaware, so eventually she gave up and sat looking out of the window, ignoring her mother completely.
In a strange way the hours of impromptu holidaying had eased the situation between Barbara and Graham. Knowing there was an escape, that waiting for her was an opportunity for fun any time she wanted it, made it less important. She smiled a greeting when he came out to meet her and that night she returned to his bed.
Winter began early that year. Frosts and even a few flurries of snow came before December began. Graham had increased his flock of sheep and he spent hours up on the hills, checking they were safe. Sometimes Barbara went with him, walking beside him to the hut where he sometimes stayed overnight, when lambing was a full-time activity. On occasions, she left the girls in the care of a neighbour and stayed out with him. Those nights in the silent world of the snow-clad hills, just the two of them wrapped in isolation, were magical, filled with contentment.
Kate and Hattie were growing into quiet, well-behaved children, and she and Graham had reached one of their periodic happy phases. There was no shortage of good food and Graham rarely showed signs of the anger of previous years.
Rosita was safe and cared for. She would grow up and sort out her difficulties without her mother’s help. Barbara had slowly accepted that she had been right to send her away, that she was not the one to help her untangle her problems and was able, now, to discuss her behaviour with Graham, who reassured her.
Gull Island Page 17