Beth, Audrey, Marged and Lilly went on knitting, sometimes for the soldiers and sometimes for the baby. Olive helped when she wasn’t attending to Ronnie, who walked with difficulty, was easily exhausted and still needed constant attention. Living with Audrey and Maude and Myrtle meant she had help and someone with whom to discuss the future.
‘Ronnie won’t ever be strong on that leg,’ Audrey said one morning when the five of them were finishing breakfast. ‘I don’t think he’ll be able to manage a long day on the beach with Huw and Bleddyn and the others.’
‘What will he do? He loved the beach,’ Olive said, looking sadly at Ronnie who sat half smiling, amused at being talked over as though he were a helpless and not very bright child.
‘I’ve thought of that and I’ve decided what we’ll do, if you agree, Olive,’ he said, and the others stared at him in surprise. ‘I want us, you and me, Olive, to take a market stall.’
‘A market stall?’
‘Selling vegetables, fruit when we can get it, and perhaps fish.’
‘Fish?’
‘Stop behaving like a parrot and listen,’ he teased. ‘The stall at the back of the market, near the door into Frog Street, has had to close as the man who ran it has joined up, so I suggest we reopen it. I’m sure the previous owner would help us with suppliers and all that. I could sit down for a lot of the time. It would be perfect. What d’you think?’
Olive’s first instinct was to say no, but she remembered how happily Ronnie dealt with the crowds on the beach. He liked people, he enjoyed working with them. A market stall would suit him perfectly. For herself she had doubts, but she smiled at him, her eyes shining, and said, ‘Ronnie, love, I think it’s a wonderful idea.’
* * *
During November and December people began to hoard what they could, and save from their rations to prepare for Christmas. Besides trying to work up excitement for the celebration, every household seemed to live for the postman’s visits, longing for news while avoiding thinking about the visits of the telegram boys who brought the worst news of all. Every day, Marged looked out and watched as the postman approached, praying for a letter to tell her Eynon was coming home. He hadn’t been home once since joining up and now she didn’t even know whether he was alive or dead. She was convinced that he must have refused the offer of leave initially, afraid for some reason to face them all. Now the only news of him was the negative kind, when army representatives called to ask if he had made contact.
The last time she had shouted at them, ‘I had him for seventeen years without a problem. You had him five minutes and you lost him!’ Stony faced as always, the men left with a repeat of the warning about informing the authorities the moment she heard from him.
She took out the pathetically few letters and cards he had sent. In the first ones he had told them he was enjoying his training. Then one told her he wouldn’t be coming home on his leave because a friend from Yorkshire had invited him there. Marged relived the disappointment of those words. She remembered how she had forced a smile and said to Huw, ‘Grown up he is and able to choose his friends. He’ll be home next time for sure.’
She now knew there had been other reasons for not coming home. Had he been in trouble? What trouble could there be that he couldn’t tell her about? He must have been desperate if he’d run away. Was he regretting signing up for five years? Had he been wishing he could come home but was afraid of breaking down when he saw all the familiar places and faces?
She still wrote to him almost daily; cheerful letters, full of reminders about the summers to come when he could decide for himself whether or not he would work on the sands.
‘We’ll be so used to managing without you, me and your dad and Uncle Bleddyn, Beth and Lilly, and Ronnie too when he’s well enough, that we won’t have to press-gang you into service,’ she joked.
She had told him about Lilly and teased him about being an uncle. The bulk of her letters were about the family and the people he knew, giving details about them, about where they had been and what they had been doing, telling him that the beach was still attracting visitors this late, and about the stalwarts who swam in the cold months of the year ‘like Bleddyn used to do’.
‘It’s as though he’s in prison with no hope of getting out ever again,’ Marged said to Huw after her most recent letter to him had been returned. ‘So homesick he must be.’
‘At least the occasional card tells us he’s alive, and that’s all he can tell us until he decides to give himself up. Once he decides to face it, he’ll settle down to army life. He must have had a bad start. I don’t think it’s easy for some. Got to be a part of it, see, be thought of as a character, one of the lads. He won’t be down for long, not our Eynon.’
* * *
Eynon was washing the gash on his head and wondering if it would ever heal properly. The bruises from the kicking and beatings from Kipper had faded to yellow and they would be gone soon.
For the past week he had been sleeping in a barn about five miles outside Aberystwyth. He had been found on the third night huddled in the hayloft with chickens and dogs below, dogs who were friendly and shared his supper of chips, bought in the town with money he had stolen and eaten in the solitude of the barn cold and greasy but sufficient to ease the pangs of hunger. He could have eaten them hot, straight from the shop, but there was a need to pretend he was going home, and the dogs were there waiting for him, a substitute family.
It was when they were sharing the last of the chips that a man appeared in the doorway. Eynon didn’t see him at first, but the dogs wagged their tails and looked towards the door and he knew he had been discovered. He felt a flash of relief that it was over and he could return to something like normal, then the instinct to run.
‘I’m not doing any harm, mister,’ he said softly.
‘Runaway, are you?’
‘I just couldn’t resist the chance when it came. Ashamed I am, but I couldn’t take it.’
The man came in and Eynon was alarmed to see a shotgun over the man’s arm. He foolishly grabbed one of the dogs and held it close to him. He hadn’t suffered all this to be shot in a farmer’s barn, had he?
The man broke the gun and laid it down. ‘Thought you might be a Jerry parachutist,’ he explained.
To Eynon’s relief he was offered a bath and some food before going on his way. The wound on his head was dressed and the farmer told him it wouldn’t heal until it was stitched into place; the lip of it would constantly pull away and start the bleeding until the flap was secured properly. Eynon thanked him but knew he wouldn’t try to see a doctor; not yet. Not until he was ready.
While he was washing the filth of weeks from his skin he listened anxiously, half expecting the police to arrive, but he was allowed to sleep peacefully until the following morning then sent on his way with his pockets filled with food.
* * *
The coming of autumn heralded the start of a more intense bombing campaign on London and other major cities. The Luftwaffe seemed in control of people’s lives, forcing thousands of Londoners to pack their most valued possessions and hurry underground night after night in the hope of evading the bombs. It was a campaign with which Hitler hoped to destroy the capital’s commercial centre.
A new menace increased the danger to shipping and warnings of even greater shortages of food were announced. The war was being fought a long way from St David’s Well but it was involving every man, woman and child in the fight.
Freddy had written to tell Beth he was coming home for three days, and like Olive when she had gone to meet Ronnie after his injury, Beth waited at the railway station and compared the calm of his return with the chaos of his departure.
The train was full with office workers and shop assistants coming home at the end of their day, and she stood near the ticket-office wall looking anxiously around, afraid they would miss each other in the crush.
Freddy stepped out on to the platform right in front of her, and he turned to help a t
rim little WAAF girl, who clearly didn’t need it, putting his arms around her and lifting her down from the step. Beth looked away, wanting to hide so she could pretend not to have seen the incident. Glancing back she saw they were kissing.
She backed towards the fence, urgently needing to run away, but there wasn’t time. Freddy waved and blew another kiss as the girl hurried away through the barrier, where the ticket collector stood checking everyone who went through.
The platform had almost cleared before Freddy saw her. He looked fit and confident and, after a brief hug, immediately asked her if she had any money to spare. ‘For a taxi, see, I haven’t any change,’ he explained as she stared at him in surprise.
‘Freddy,’ she laughed dryly, ‘at least wait until you’ve said hello before you ask for money!’
She handed him a few shillings and they climbed into the back of the Austin, where he immediately put his arms around her and kissed her – a surprisingly passionate kiss, and from the way he looked at her, she knew he wanted more. This was a very different Freddy from the one revealed in his scrappy letters. He missed her, wanted her, and actions were more his way of telling her than writing letters, she thought as the taxi wound its way through the streets of the town.
‘Who was the girl?’ she asked.
‘The WAAF girl? Oh, no one; she’d hurt her arm and I helped her, that’s all.’
Beth wondered how many other girls he had been kind to in such an affectionate way.
There was no one in the house and he coaxed her upstairs under the pretext of wanting to look at the view.
‘Freddy, when were you interested in a view from a window?’ she laughed as he pulled her up the lino-covered stairs behind him.
‘Who said anything about looking out of a window?’ he said, pushing her jacket off her shoulders and kissing her neck, his lips moving lower until they reached the swelling of her breast. ‘I love you, Beth, and I’ve been dreaming of this moment.’
Alarmed, tempted, afraid of discovery, imprisoned by desire and frightened by what was happening to her, she tried to push him away. His hands were everywhere and eventually fear blocked out desire and she hit him hard, on the side of his face.
Shocked, he stared at her and in a bewildered, little-boy voice said, ‘Beth, the way you kissed me in the taxi, I thought you wanted me as badly as I want you. Come on; I have to have something to keep me going while I’m away. I might not come back, Beth; you know that, don’t you? Hundreds are dying and I could easily be one of them. This is embarkation leave. This could be our last chance.’
The dreaded word ‘embarkation’ almost persuaded her, but not quite. It was a vision of Peter that kept appearing in her head that prevented her from succumbing to desire and blackmail, so that she did refuse and allowed her anger to show.
‘Stop it! What have you been up to, Freddy Clements? What makes you think you can come back here and treat me like some common tart?’
‘I love you, Beth. I’m going a long way from home and I want memories to take with me. What’s wicked about that, eh?’
‘Three days? I thought embarkation leave was longer?’ she said as he sat and stared at her.
‘It’s all I’ve got, then I’ll be sent abroad and I won’t get any home leave then. Please, Beth.’ He stood and walked towards her, his arms spread wide, but she slipped past him and ran down the stairs.
Whenever they were alone he tried to persuade her to make love, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to refuse. But refuse she would. She didn’t want to be in the same position as Lilly. Freddy might tell her how much he loved her, but she had a thinly veiled conviction that his love wasn’t strong enough to cope with her having his child. However passionately he loved her, she didn’t think Freddy was ready for marriage and responsibility. That brought a shadow of sadness to the three days he was home.
Freddy didn’t spend the whole time with Beth. She thought her refusal was the reason for his disappearances but he explained that, faced with a long absence, he wanted to say cheerio to his friends. In fact the only friend he saw was Shirley Downs, and although his leave was actually seven days, he had kept the other four days free. He didn’t want to spend it all here, where, besides being uncooperative, Beth restricted his activities. He had grown away from all that. He had quickly discovered that not all girls were like Beth. With the girls who were attracted to the uniform, there wasn’t much persuasion needed before moral stands were abandoned.
On the last of his three days he and Beth walked over to St David’s Well Bay to the now empty sands. There was no sign now of what had been a holiday beach. The stalls had long gone, and only a few people strolled, perhaps remembering the frenzied activity of the past summer, when the clean golden sands, the varied stalls and amusements had attracted hundreds of families to come and have fun.
Seeing the café with its boarded-up windows shocked him.
‘I’d forgotten about the fire,’ he said. ‘Did you find out who started it?’
‘Not really. But Mam and Dad are convinced that Mrs Downs was responsible,’ she said.
‘What d’you mean, responsible? Was she careless about things? Like leaving the gas burning?’
‘No, worse than that. They think she burnt it down deliberately. She hates my parents and accused Granny Moll of stealing her grandfather’s business or something. I don’t remember the facts, although it’s a regularly told story.’
‘That’s a lot of rubbish!’ Freddy said angrily. ‘Mrs Downs wouldn’t do anything like that! They shouldn’t say such things.’
‘Mrs Downs accused Granny Moll’s grandparents of cheating, of stealing the business from her family.’
‘Who told you that? Granny Moll, I’ll bet! Her grandparents bought it from Mrs Downs’s grandparents. How can Mrs Downs resent that? It’s all in Granny Moll’s head. She made it up!’
‘Freddy, it’s true, you know it is!’ Beth was alarmed at his anger and his refusal to support her.
‘Damn it all, Mrs Downs worked for them, didn’t she? If they really believed she hated them enough to burn the place, would they have employed her? Just using her as a scapegoat they are, and you’re as bad for repeating it. What’s Shirley or her mam ever done to you, eh?’
His anger frightened her and she backed away from the furious expression on his face. He ran off then and after a moment’s hesitation she hurried after him. A bus came around the corner and was moving off as he reached the bus stop. She slowed down in disbelief as he jumped on it and left her standing there.
She was furious about the way he had treated her, accusing her of lying about Mrs Downs, walking off and leaving her to walk home alone like an abandoned puppy. She walked fast, releasing her anger, but slowed as outrage left her. By the time she had reached home she had calmed down and was able to put his unexpected outburst down to his stress at the end of his leave, and having to go back and face the dangers of the front line. But she did wonder why he was quite so vehement in his protection of Shirley’s mother, a woman he barely knew. Unless, as many hinted, Shirley Downs really was more than a girl he occasionally bumped into at the pictures.
Nine
Ronnie and Olive’s market stall idea was under way by the end of November, but it was a bad time to begin. Seasonal fruits were finished, apart from a few scruffy apples, the import of bananas and oranges had all but finished permanently, and there were few vegetables to be found.
Leeks and cabbages and carrots and swedes were the mainstay, with potatoes being the most important item they offered. The government was beginning to suggest more ways of using the vegetables that were available, to make them more interesting, but sales were poor and Ronnie and Olive were afraid the stall would only support itself until the spring. Profit was an unlikely outcome.
Olive continued to work at the factory, but helped out on the stall when she could and, to her surprise, began to enjoy it. The bustling market with its hordes of busy shoppers looking for bargains or a commodity i
n short supply gave her an excitement she had never found on the beach. There were no frantic crowds fooling about and looking for excuses to laugh and shout, just people quietly searching for ways to feed their families. The place hummed with activity whereas the beach had shrieked.
They were situated close to the back entrance to the market hall and close by there were shoe stalls selling bargain-priced footwear and handbags and purses. Another vendor offered remnants of floor covering, mostly linoleum and cheaper imitation, and rugs of various sizes. On occasion there would be a few pieces of carpet at very low prices and, as though by bush telegraph, the news went out and a queue would quickly form.
‘If only we were in the other entrance, catching the customers as they come in,’ Ronnie sighed as a couple of chattering women walked past with their baskets packed high. ‘I hope we didn’t make a mistake.’
Olive looked around them.
‘No, Ronnie love, I don’t believe we did.’
‘You like working here, don’t you?’ Ronnie asked her later as she took the money for a few tired-looking tomatoes they had bought from Mr Gregory.
‘Yes, I do. I didn’t think I would. I imagined the market would be the same as the stalls on the sand, but it isn’t. The customers here are more inclined to stop and chat for one thing. When we’re busy on the beach I seem to do nothing more than look at their hands, take the money and return the change. I often stop and realise that I haven’t looked at a face for ages. And—’ she looked at Ronnie, touching his arm, hoping he wouldn’t be offended – ‘I think part of the reason I’m so happy is that it’s ours, yours and mine, and we don’t have to do what others tell us.’
Ronnie had to sit on a high stool for much of the day, but his cheerfulness and ready wit attracted customers and they were soon recognising the same people returning once or twice each week. Their names were unknown and they began to give them nicknames, which they would whisper to each other. One elderly lady always wore a startlingly bright green hat; another carried a basket made from raffia-covered milk-bottle tops sewn together, in which a tiny Pekinese puppy travelled. These women received polite names, but others did not. Adenoids, Woodbine Winnie, Big Nose and Slipper Feet were some of the names they would whisper. Others were named for the words they always used, like ‘What you got then?’ and ‘Too dear’ and, one of their favourites, known to every stall-holder selling food in the hall, ‘Any throw-outs I can use to make a soup?’ These and many others became regulars. Then there were the wounded men who came past on crutches or with a sleeve folded and pinned, and the sad-faced women who looked as though everything it was possible for them to bear had already weighted down their shoulders. There were those with children being carried or walking holding their mothers’ skirts for fear of being lost. To these Ronnie and Olive were generous, even though their profits were almost nil.
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 50