It had been quiet then as now, in spite of the crowd; the departing ones having nothing left to say, wanting to be gone, to get the painful parting over with. Those staying behind had given up repeating the same clichés about taking care, avoiding damp socks and eating well, and there were no more promises from both sides to write regularly. It had all been said. Now, waiting for the train to bring Ronnie back, Olive couldn’t help feeling relief and gladness that her husband was coming home safe and relatively sound.
As the train puffed importantly into the station and squealed to a stop, she looked up and down the train as doors opened and people stepped out. Not so many. At three in the afternoon few people travelled. He came out backwards, awkward on his crutches, an elderly woman helping him, much to his embarrassment. Olive ran to him, thanked the lady and hugged Ronnie, almost falling against the train as she did so.
She was glad to hide her shock and distress from him by burying her face against his shoulder. He looked thin and so very, very pale. No sign of the suntan that darkened his face in the summer months. He looked as though he hadn’t seen the sun in years. His hair was unbelievably short and a bandage was visible under his hat. She felt his bony body and wondered how she could hide her alarm.
After a moment, composing herself, she eased away from him, a smile fixed on her face, and stared into his eyes. Although they were more deeply set in his wasted face it was Ronnie she saw there and she knew it was up to her to make the rest of him strong again.
The lady who helped him was standing there, obviously with something to say.
‘I hope you’ll be going back when your wounds have healed, young man,’ she said wamingly. ‘Hitler won’t be beaten if we shirk our duty.’
‘Of course,’ Ronnie said, then, in a whisper, he added, ‘Not it I can help it!’ making Olive laugh.
Linking arms, Ronnie using two sticks, they made their way to the exit where a taxi was found to take them back to their two rooms in Moll’s house in Sidney Street. After greeting Auntie Audrey and assuring her he was really quite well, Ronnie went upstairs. Refusing Olive’s assistance, he sat on the bottom step and went up backwards.
‘Perhaps you’d better have a bed downstairs,’ Audrey said. ‘I can get it ready in no time.’
Ronnie refused. ‘Thanks, Auntie Audrey, but I have a goal in mind. I’m going to get up and down stairs without sticks before the end of the month. I can’t give up that easy.’
The war news was becoming serious and very frightening with stories of air raids and threats that the bombing campaign would get far worse as Hitler tried to destroy cities and lower morale to the point where Britain would surrender. But for Olive that day, looking across the fireside at her husband, the war belonged to other people. Sympathy was there for the families who had lost their homes through the fierce bombing, and the hundreds who had lost their loved ones, but it was lessened by her relief that for Ronnie, the war was as good as over.
* * *
Beth had an occasional note from Freddy and on almost every occasion there was an accompanying letter from Peter. She always gave Peter’s letter to her parents to read as there was nothing more than casual friendship displayed. He wrote amusing descriptions of the people he met, and his observations were real enough for Beth to see them clearly. He wrote of his own mistakes and foolishness, and Beth began to look for his letters with more enthusiasm than for Freddy’s.
Freddy usually filled the short page with complaints, wanting sympathy for his boredom, and often asking for money to help him afford the pictures when a rare pass enabled him to go into the town near which he was based. She wondered whether he had a girl to take. Freddy had never minded going alone, but he preferred someone beside him to share the laughter and the fear and all the other illusory emotions the film world offered him.
Beth hadn’t mentioned the disappearance of their savings. He was a man who had to have money to spend, she knew that. The temptation of knowing money was available was too much for him when there was something he needed or just wanted. In future, any saving would have to be done in her name. She already had twenty-two pounds put aside but she said nothing about it to Freddy.
She knew that both Johnny and Taff both sent money home for Hannah and Evelyn to save for them. It wasn’t much, just a gesture to remind them they were together and planning for the future. She didn’t think Freddy would send money to his mother and he certainly wouldn’t think of adding to their savings. No, Freddy liked money to spend. He had no thought of looking further than today. Looking into the future and planning a home was for her to deal with. Like Lilly with her baby, she was on her own. But she bought a five-shilling postal order and put it in with her reply.
She had continued to take Peter’s letters to his father. Bernard Gregory was always very pleased to see her and sometimes she stayed a while and helped him feed the chickens, stack the firewood he sold or fill barrels with seaweed gathered from the beach, which he sold further inland as manure for allotments and gardens. He was always busy, making a few shillings in one of many ways, occasionally using the donkeys to bring seaweed and wood along the narrow paths from the beach, but whenever possible taking the larger cart and the pony. He delivered for a few shops too, when they lost their drivers to the army, and transported furniture when required. Anything that would bring in a few shillings, providing for himself and the animals by his efforts.
A procession was arranged by the local churches and the donkeys were employed to take part, although this was voluntary. It was to raise money for the Red Cross. Beth went along to help with the costumes, enjoying the unexpected activity when winter and the black-out brought its gloom.
One mid-November evening Marged gave her a cake to take to the old man. She was hoping that Peter would be a greater attraction that Freddy, she admitted to her sister Audrey as they watched Beth set off for Goose Lane.
‘Selfish and greedy, that’s what Freddy Clements is, and I’d be delighted if she gave him the push and married Peter Gregory instead.’
‘We all make our own choices,’ Audrey said. ‘Beth would find someone else if she thought Freddy’s selfishness was going to be a problem. Some women like a man to have faults, it makes them feel needed. People say that Mam was selfish, stopping Wilf and me from marrying,’ Audrey went on. ‘And that’s true, she was.’ Her eyes went misty as she thought back to those difficult times. The memories were still painful. ‘She did it because it suited her. No other reason. Wilf and I wanted to marry but once the problems we had were sorted, there was never any great urgency after a while. I began to think she had been right, but she wasn’t, she was just selfish.’
‘Beth wouldn’t marry him if she wasn’t sure he’d change. It isn’t down to us to tell her how to live her life.’
‘Freddy is cheating on her and he used money that was for their future. Yet she still plans to marry him.’ Audrey stared at her sister with a quizzical tilt of her head.
‘What are you saying? Beth wants to look after Freddy and feels the need to accept him faults and all?’
‘Some women like that, enjoy being a bit of a martyr. Although with Freddy it might be different. Perhaps Freddy doesn’t want to get married but hangs on to Beth in case he doesn’t get a better offer, and he wants to make sure there’s someone to look after him.’
‘Audrey! That doesn’t say much for our Beth!’
‘It says even less for Freddy,’ Audrey retorted.
When Beth arrived at the cottage on Goose Lane there was no sign of Mr Gregory. The door was never locked and she went inside, intending to leave the cake, the letter and a note for him. She was stepping into the kitchen when she heard voices. Calling to let Mr Gregory know she was there, she stepped out into the back garden, still bright with fuchsia bushes, dahlias and a few late roses, and saw Mr Gregory walking up from the beach with Peter. A sudden shyness overwhelmed her and she darted back into the kitchen, hoping to avoid being seen.
‘Beth?’ Peter called. �
�Is that you?’
‘I only brought a cake for your father,’ she said shyly. ‘Mam sent it. Not much fat in it, rationing, see, but I hope you’ll enjoy it,’ she prattled on, backing away as though in a hurry.
‘How kind,’ Peter said, running forward and taking both of her hands in his. ‘I hope you aren’t dashing back home? You must stay and taste it with us. Dad?’ he called back to where Mr Gregory was putting the harness away in the shed, which he rather grandly called the tack room. ‘The kettle is as good as on, don’t delay.’
He busied himself in the kitchen, putting china and cutlery on a tray, which he carried to the table. Beth felt the need to help, but having had no female to run the house in the past ten years, she could see that setting tables and the tasks usually dealt with by the woman of the house came easily to him.
She usually cycled to call on Mr Gregory but today she had chosen to walk, so Peter offered her a lift home.
‘No need,’ she said, longing to accept. The prospect of another half an hour in Peter’s company was alarmingly tempting, but she had to refuse. ‘I can easily walk,’ she assured him. ‘You need to spend as much time as possible with your father. He looks forward so much to your visits.’
‘He values your visits too,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much for being kind to him. I really appreciate it. I’m very fond of the old boy, you know.’
She hesitated so long about how to reply that she ended up saying nothing and felt silly for being so unaccomplished a conversationalist. She imagined that Peter’s girlfriends would always know exactly what to say.
He handed her her coat and as she put it on she felt a wave of disappointment flood over her. Why hadn’t she said yes, she would like him to walk home with her? Why hadn’t she acted the helpless woman and told him she was nervous out alone in case there were parachutes falling out of enemy planes and… She knew she couldn’t act the helpless woman and she’d make a mess of it if she tried.
Turning to call goodnight to Mr Gregory, she saw that Peter was putting on his overcoat. A repeat protest almost reached her lips, but not quite.
The night was clear, the moon a Chinese lantern floating in a velvet sky, large and bright as though lit from within. The lights from the town were blocked by the black-out curtaining and wardens stalked the streets warning people to ‘put that light out!’ if a glimmer were allowed to escape. Peter took her hand and tucked it under his arm companionably.
‘I’d hate to lose you,’ he teased. As they walked, they talked about their plans for the future. Peter wanted to move to Cardiff and run an agency finding work for people, covering all occupations.
‘I have some qualifications in running a business,’ he explained. ‘Accountancy and other aspects of the day-to-day running of a business of my own. And I have a theory that once this war is over, nothing will be the same and, among other things, employment will change dramatically. Women are beginning to realise that they needn’t stay at home all day every day to run a home. Until they have children and when the children are grown, or even when the children are at school, they can spare a few hours a day to earn some extra money. I want to expand on that.’
‘I can’t imagine working anywhere else but the beach,’ Beth told him. ‘Mam and Dad have always worked there with Granny Moll. Even when we were small we went over to the sands with them. I can’t imagine doing anything different. I work in town in the winter, of course, but there’s always the beach to come back to.’
‘I think you’re very fortunate to have a dream and be able to live it. So few of us manage that.’ He squeezed her arm against him and smiled down at her, and in the intimacy of the darkness his nearness was as exciting as a kiss.
‘I should be doing more to help, but Dad says what I do on the sands is part of the war effort, helping people to relax and have fun and pretend for a while. So my conscience isn’t too troubled.’
She asked him about his occupation in the forces but he told her it was secret work and it would be tantamount to treason if he revealed the details of what he was doing.
It wasn’t until they were almost there that Beth realised she had been talking about herself and not her and Freddy. She thought perhaps she was guilty of a different kind of treason for enjoying Peter’s company so much. Again an explanation almost reached her lips, but not quite.
‘Come again tomorrow,’ Peter suggested. ‘We can go and see the donkeys in their winter quarters.’
‘Love to,’ she said at once, willingly pushing thoughts of Freddy Clements from her mind.
* * *
Investigations into the cause of the fire had ended with the conclusion that the fire had begun near the door, but there was no evidence about how it had started. Anything combustible that might have been either thrown behind the door or pushed through the letter box had been swallowed in the flames.
Whatever the cause, Marged and Huw decided that there would be no letter box on the new door. It had never been needed and people had been known to push rubbish through. Perhaps a cigarette end had been included with an empty packet or matchbox, they suggested to the investigators.
Both really believed that the fire was a deliberate act, perpetrated by a resentful Mrs Downs, and Huw constantly reminded Marged of his suspicions about the woman and of how his warnings about her had been ignored.
* * *
Beth returned to Goose Lane the following day, the last day of Peter’s leave. She should have cycled, but the thought of Peter walking her home again made her decide to walk.
They sat and talked for a while, Mr Gregory smiling, puffing on his old pipe, contented it seemed to see the young couple enjoying each other’s company. He knew Peter had plans for when the war ended, plans that would take him far away from St David’s Well, but he hoped that, with a local girl stealing his heart, he might change his mind and stay closer to home.
He didn’t go with them when they went to see the donkeys. ‘I’ll be going up later with the food,’ he said. In the summer the donkeys managed with grass and an occasional treat, but as winter approached their feed increased and they were given mash each evening before being locked into their stables.
Peter didn’t walk Beth home that evening. Instead he used the pony and flat cart and they clip-clopped slowly around the lanes, in no hurry to reach their destination. As the streets with their darkened windows were reached, he stopped the pony, turned to Beth, and kissed her.
‘There, complain if you must, but I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.’
‘Why should I complain?’ She leaned towards him and they kissed again.
‘Please write often,’ he whispered, his breath feather light on her check. ‘I look forward to your letters more than you can imagine.’
‘Kiss me again,’ she replied, ‘in case I forget how it feels.’
‘I’ll never forget our first kiss. Never,’ he said drawing her close to him.
‘I’ll remember every moment,’ she whispered, before being silenced once again by his lips.
* * *
Lilly was still up when Beth went in and a glance told her that Beth had done more than walk down to Goose Lane. ‘Peter home, was he?’ she asked.
‘Peter was there, yes, but he’s going back tomorrow.’
‘He didn’t make you forget you’re engaged to Freddy Clements, did he?’
‘Of course not,’ Beth said, too quickly.
‘Oh, like that, is it? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Don’t make me laugh! Plenty of men will come home to disappointment after this war.’
‘Oh, Lilly, he’s so nice. We talked so easily and about everything. I don’t remember enjoying myself so much in ages. I like him so much I feel’ – the word came back to her – ‘like a traitor, forgetting all about Freddy while I was with Peter.’
‘How d’you think I feel? I encouraged – him – and I feel traitorous when I think about his wife. It wasn’t just a nice chat and a casual kiss.’ She patted her slightly extended belly. �
��This isn’t a pimple, is it!’
* * *
Work on restoring the café on the cliffs above the beach began in earnest once the insurance company were satisfied that no further investigation was required. Bleddyn and Huw had to do much of the work themselves as so many builders had left to serve in the forces. Finances were another consideration. They were worried that they might no longer be able to depend on a good summer season to boost their income. They had to conserve as much of their savings as possible in case the worst happened and the beach had to close.
The framework of the building was metal and the wooden floor was made of thick timbers, which in most areas were scorched rather than seriously damaged. So apart from cleaning, sanding and replacing the windows and some of the furniture, decoration was the biggest task.
Huw and Bleddyn left the choice of colour to Marged, but when she chose what he considered a rather dull yellow and a dark blue, he ignored her and bought white.
‘Now and then I have to remind her who’s boss,’ he joked to his brother, but he made sure Bleddyn wasn’t there when Marged saw their effort for the first time.
Expecting a row, he was relieved when she agreed with his choice. ‘Practical having all one colour, and cleaner looking too,’ she said. ‘We’ll stick to blue for the curtains and tablecloths, shall we?’
Huw frowned. Why was she asking his opinion – was she building up to ask a favour? Something he wouldn’t like?
Huw found work for the winter in a factory, and was alarmed when given a reminder that when the new season began he might not be able to leave. War work was increasingly important and more and more people were having to accept work in stores or factories. There were dozens of items needed to keep the army supplied: uniforms, kit bags, metal tools, cooking equipment, cutlery and survival gear, besides the many and varied weapons.
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 49