Family Pride

by Family Pride (retail) (epub)

  There was laughter as they fumbled their way over legs and bodies to find a place to sit against the corrugated metal wall below ground level. The occupants of the shelter did not make a sound until they had ceased to move. A few seconds passed while unseen hands fixed the door and rattled a box of matches. Once the door was firmly in place a flame fluttered and caught on the wick of the candle. The fitful light revealed a row of faces emerging out of the black stuffy air like a strange ritualistic gathering. As the candle gained strength, Lucy saw to her disbelief that two of the faces were well known to her: Mr and Mrs Trevor Slade were sitting opposite her, a look of delighted, self-satisfied disgust on their faces.

  “Fancy! Your Teifion’s new girlfriend is the one we told you about, the one we had to sack for improper behaviour, remember dear?” Mrs Slade began.

  “You didn’t sack me! I left! I was unable to stand any more of your husband’s pawing!” Lucy snapped.

  Mrs Slade smiled at her sister. “Now, I ask you, can you imagine it? My husband wanting to paw someone like this?” She smiled at him and he had the grace to avoid Lucy’s eyes, looking down at his knees almost modestly.

  Lucy jumped up and looked at Teifion. “This isn’t true. The moment his wife disappeared he used to chase me and try to kiss me. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer. And they still owe me a week’s wages!” She looked around at the closed expressions on the unfriendly faces. Then at Teifion. Surely he would support her. “Teifion? Well, are you going to listen to this pack of lies?”

  “Lucy, perhaps there’s been a mistake, Uncle Trevor wouldn’t – I mean—”

  “You mean you don’t believe me?” Lucy gasped.

  “Well, I mean, you never said anything about all this to me, and… he’s my uncle, I just know he wouldn’t—”

  Ignoring the candlelight that flared suddenly in the darkness, Lucy struggled to open the door and, using Mr Slade’s shoulder and face as a ladder, she climbed out and ran off into the night.

  She ran and ran until a warden caught her and dragged her into a shelter as bombs began to explode close by. She was panting, her legs shaking from exhaustion. In the anonymous concrete building shaking with humiliation and disappointment, she fumed and sobbed, hurt and anger vying as she thought of how Teifion had let her down. He had believed the Slades, when you only had to look at Slimy Slade to know what he was like.

  The sky was blocked from her sight by smoke and she was choked by the smell of it as she emerged with the others from their underground safety into a world unrecognisable as the one they had so recently left. It was morning. In spite of the darkness she knew that, and now she began to worry about the fate of her mother, shamefully forgotten in her unhappiness. She would have been taken down to the shelter by their neighbour, Arthur, but her anxiety grew as she could see more and more clearly just how severe the bombing had been.

  She increased her speed, running, tripping and half falling over the rubble, ignoring the bewildered people who seemed to be walking around like zombies in the scenery of an alien land. Turning a corner of a half demolished street she looked across to where her house should have been. Field Street was no longer there.

  Frantic demands for help eventually succeeded in her finding her mother who was unharmed. But the work they had prepared for three important orders, and which had taken the four women more than a month, was all gone.

  She blamed Teifion and the Slades.

  Chapter Nine

  Fanny refused to allow Gilly to go into Cardiff again after her narrow escape with Paul in the air-raid. During January Cardiff suffered severe damage from enemy bombing and Fanny insisted they stayed close to home.

  “I know all the arguments about ‘if it’s for you it’ll find you’,” she told a disappointed Gilly, “but near home you can at least get to our shelter and we’ll know you’re safe instead of us worrying about where you are and wondering if you’re hurt.”

  They went to the pictures and to a couple of dances, and attended the National Day of Prayer requested by King George VI but always with others and she longed to have time with Paul alone.

  From the way he looked at her she knew he needed that, too. There was a look of torment in his hazel eyes that pulled at her womanly parts, did strange things to her emotions, things she couldn’t talk to anyone about, things her mother would have told her to forget lest they ruined her life with unhealthy yearnings. She needed him in ways she was only just learning to accept and there was so little time. Soon he would leave her, dress in alien clothes to become a part of the huge army of men dedicated to fight and kill the enemy. The terrifying enemy that had already separated her from her uncles.

  One night in February she left her bedroom after hearing the downstairs clock strike two, and headed for Granfer’s room. To her disappointment he was asleep. She went down the long narrow passages and staircases to the back kitchen. She planned to make a cup of cocoa but, before finding the kettle and lighting the gas stove, she opened the door and looked out.

  It was very quiet. The sky was benign, a canopy richly jewelled with stars. As she stared up she saw, high above, the solitary movement of a plane and she shivered. Paul would soon be up there, vulnerable and so far away from her. His plane would cross the channel and drop bombs on cities, killing people he would never know and against whom he felt no anger. How could he not change after such an experience? He would come back to her a stranger.

  She struck a match after closing the door against the light and pulled one of the two slender chains to increase the glow from the gas light on the wall. Taking two cups, she made cocoa, mixing the sugar and the powder in the bottom of the cups with a little milk and adding water from the steaming kettle. Her gaze became fixed as she day-dreamed about doing this for herself and Paul when they were married. For that was her destiny, she knew that. Smiling, still caught up in the imaginary scene she began to climb the stairs, more slowly now, balancing the two cups with their saucers on top.

  “You awake, Granfer?” she whispered. This time she wasn’t disappointed. She smiled as she heard the rustle of the crisp sheets as he moved. “Fancy a cup of cocoa do you?”

  “Light the candle, then, or I’ll spill some on the sheets and your Mam’ll lambast the pair of us.”

  They sat talking in whispers, mostly about the bakery, Gilly telling him of the new customers and of those they had lost. When they had drunk their cocoa Granfer slid his legs out of bed.

  “Come on, let’s go down and look at the books. There’s no sleep in either of us.”

  Gilly was worried at how much longer it took him to go down the stairs and wondered if she would have to carry him back up. He sat down at the top of each flight and rested, his breathing loud in the stillness of the house. When they reached the bake-house Gilly left him to recover his breath and washed the cups ready to return to the back kitchen. When she turned to speak to him, he was examining a stale loaf left from the previous day’s baking.

  “This looks small to me, Gilly? Who’s doing the baking this week, that Gerry I’ll bet! Lazy bugger that he is. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was guessing the dough and not weighing it at all!”

  “No, it’s Dai Smoky’s baking, helped by Auntie Bessie.” Gilly frowned.

  Granfer weighed the loaf in his small hand and nodded, answering his own question.

  “Yes, it’s out by a couple of ounces.”

  “Never. Perhaps the flour is a bad batch? It happens sometimes doesn’t it?”

  “Not at Jenkins’ bakery it doesn’t! It’s that Gerry, I bet. Damned fool. Did you know he made a batch of Hovis loaves and added salt to the mix, forgetting that the salt’s added to the Hovis flour when it’s cooked at the mill? Can’t trust him for a minute.” He frowned and said, “Go tomorrow will you and ask for the weights and measures to come and look at the scales? Best we tell them rather than them come and tell us. Fined we’d be and disgraced. It would be in the paper!” His blue eyes widened at the horror of it.

&n
bsp; Gilly promised, although she didn’t think he was correct. How could he know just by looking at a loaf and by picking it up in his hand? Just one loaf. She smiled at him as he continued to frown and look at the loaf as if willing it to explain its failure to reach the correct size and weight.

  Gilly helped Granfer up to his room. It was four o’clock before he was back in bed. She decided that it would have to be the last time she would help him down to the snug, much as she loved their secret conversations that ranged over all his life, making her laugh and think and occasionally feel sad. She propped him up comfortably on his pillows, kissed him and sat beside him watching until his breathing eased and he slept.

  As she closed his door she heard the house coming to life. The bake-house fire was being scraped clear of ashes and revived, doors opening and closing as Auntie Bessie rose to begin her work knocking up the dough that had been slowly proving overnight. The best bread of all, Granfer always said and the best for keeping after the slow rising.

  She leaned over the bannister, still far from sleepy, and was tempted to go and help. She always enjoyed involving herself in the early morning routine, with the over-heated, bustling scene and the delicious smells within and the streets outside still empty and dark and cold. Sleep seemed impossible. She decided to dress and go down to work beside her aunt for a while.

  She dressed quickly and went out onto the landing. There she stopped. Footsteps coming up the stairs stopped at her mother’s bedroom. Gerry! She waited until her mother’s door had closed then continued down the stairs. As she passed the door she hesitated, some childish need to eavesdrop making her slow her steps.

  Laughter, her mother’s laughter and the creaking of the bed-springs. Embarrassment made her move on.

  “Auntie Bessie, I can’t sleep so I’ve come to see if you need any help,” she announced as she went into the bake-house.

  “I’ll be glad of your help, Gilly, love. Dai Smoky has promised an extra order for the sewing factory and he forgot to tell me. Your Mam’s all fuss and feathers these days thinking of Gerry Daniels and little else. And where that Gerry’s got to I don’t know. Promised to come and help us. It’s his turn, mind. But forgotten he has.”

  “Never mind him, you and I will cope. Just wash my hands and face and I’m with you.”

  “You can start on the trilbys.”

  The restrictions on the loaves they made were intended to cut down on manpower. Loaves that had formerly had three angled cuts across the top now had only one. No cottage loaves were allowed, there being two parts to these attractive loaves – far more time-consuming than a simple sandwich, or so the Ministry decided. They didn’t make long bread-rolls, only round ones, which were quicker. Fortunately the popular “trilby” loaf hadn’t been forbidden.

  The long oval shape was pressed down lengthwise, almost to the table with the baker’s floured forearm and then the loaf was proved upside down, it was then baked, right way up, on the floor of the oven and the resulting shape looked enough like a trilby hat for it to be given that name. Gilly had never been allowed to make them before but this morning, with Gerry still absent and her trying not even to think about what he and Mam were doing, she enjoyed herself.

  The first baking was already out and Gilly was using the long narrow wooden slips to tip small bread rolls one by one into the hot ovens when Gerry put in an appearance. The clopping of hooves told them that Dai Smoky had arrived and was loading up the cart.

  Gerry was dressed as carefully as when he went to the bank. He placed the white overall over his shirt and tailored trousers and smiled his famous smile that appealed to most women but which left Gilly and Bessie unmoved.

  “Sorry, ladies, I forgot I’d promised to come in early. Managed, have you?”

  “Of course we managed! Managed indeed! This is our life and part of our skill is coping with the unexpected,” Bessie said sharply. To Gilly she added in a low tone, “Not that him being late or forgetting to come at all is the unexpected, mind!”

  “Fanny and I have been discussing our wedding date,” Gerry said, flouring the trows ready for a fresh mix. “She and I will be going out later to talk to the Vicar. Will you be our attendant, Gilly?”

  For a moment Gilly felt pleasure at the prospect then remembered that her mother’s idea of a suitable dress would surely be something embarrassing. She looked at Bessie for support and said,

  “Oh, no, Uncle Gerry. I want to be able to watch it all with Auntie Bessie and the others.”

  She watched with almost affectionate amusement as Gerry, with his usual hesitation, delved his hands into the hessian bag of yeast to weigh out the requirements for the new mix. He really did hate getting his hands soiled with work. She shared a grin with her aunt and went to make a cup of tea to take to Granfer. Her mam would have to get her own!

  * * *

  The brief time between the announcement and the wedding were full of irritation for Gilly. To see her mother, usually so prim, blushing and simpering as people came with gifts and offers of help and congratulations and silly jokes about the forthcoming event made her want to run away until it was all over and done with. The only consolation was that, with all the arrangements to make, Mam was less insistent on knowing where she was going and giving her a set time to be back home. She and Paul saw each other almost every day.

  They would meet and spend the evening walking and talking and planning for a future they refused to believe would be any different from the past. Their future was rosy, all they needed was the security of their love. In that they felt strong and utterly safe from harm.

  The days sped by and the preparations for the wedding gave the house and shop an air of excitement that flooded Fanny’s face with a look of happiness that was almost beauty, and Gerry’s with a look of determined sorrow.

  Giily and Paul watched and, with the confidence of youth, smiled inwardly and determined that one day soon they would show the main participants how it should really be done.

  On Monday 17 February, soon after General Rommel arrived in Tripoli, Fanny and Gerry became Mr and Mrs Gerald Daniels.

  The shop closed for the afternoon and the family travelled by taxi to the church in the main shopping centre. They stood in an expectant group on the pavement and waited for the car bringing Fanny and Sticky Vic, who as an old friend of Granfer was giving her away. Gilly looked for Paul but he was late, obviously held up by things at the bake-house. She forced a smile back on her face and watched for the bridal car.

  Ivor looked ill at ease as he stood in his new suit and with his hair brushed and greased flat. The new cap he had been told to wear had fallen silently from his hands and was now in the dust of the church entrance while his hands fumbled as if still holding it. As the car came in sight he was grabbed by Bessie and hauled into the dark chill of the church with the rest.

  The crowd that had gathered cheered and ooh-ed and ahh-ed as Fanny stepped out of the car, helped by Sticky Vic, who could hardly manage to hold himself up. He teetered precariously once or twice but managed to get into the church and down the aisle without mishap.

  The group waiting outside had increased as passers-by stopped to watch the bride and groom emerge from the grand doorway. Among the crowd was Marigold and, half hidden by the trees near the gate, a disbelieving Maisie Boxmoor. She hadn’t really believed that he would go through with it.

  “Gerry Daniels, married. I’d never have thought it,” she confided to a woman standing near her.

  “Neither would I, the pig,” the pregnant woman beside her replied. Marigold pushed her way out of the crowd and went home.

  Fanny wore a dark blue dress and jacket in a fine woollen material and her hat was also blue, trimmed with feathers and a veil in a paler shade. The navy was a mistake. With greying hair and a rather faded complexion, the colour gave her a drab look and aged her considerably.

  Gerry’s light-grey pin-striped suit, which was new and very elegant and which fitted him to perfection, had been bought by his
mother, and the beautiful leather shoes, the white shirt and neat pure-silk tie had also been bought by her. As a part of her wedding gift she also gave him a cashmere pullover, a dozen pairs of socks, and a pair of casual trousers in fine wool-cloth with two shirts, summer-weight shoes and a jacket to match. A wedding present usually meant something for the couple’s home, but Gerry thought a couple of new outfits for himself a far more sensible gift.

  Mrs Daniels wasn’t at the wedding. Gilly searched for her to see that she found a seat in the cars taking them back to the shop but there was no sign of her, or of Gerry’s Auntie Megan. She discovered later that the troublesome Megan had begun celebrating her nephew’s wedding too soon and had once more been given overnight accommodation in His Majesty’s Prison.

  Gilly and Shirley were the most attractively dressed of the women, Gilly having managed to avoid her mother’s attempts to advise her. They had both chosen blue dresses with full skirts and short, boxy jackets, high-heeled shoes, the first Gilly had owned, and tiny, useless handbags, Shirley’s in cream and Gilly’s in pale green straw, which matched their small frilly hats.

  “Blue and green don’t go together,” had been Fanny’s comment when Gilly had shown her what she had bought.

  “Oh, Mam! Tell that to the bluebells!” Gilly had said sadly before running upstairs to get Granfer’s approval. He wouldn’t put her down and make her want to hide in embarrassment or wear something old and ordinary instead of walking proudly to the church with Paul and his mother.

  Paul finally arrived, breathless, hatless and with his clothes obviously put on in a hurry; the tie less than neatly knotted, the jacket unfastened regardless of the chill wind and the snow from a few days before that lay in hard, grey patches on the pavements. He accompanied Gilly and Bessie back to the shop where a meal had been set out in the living room.