Holidays at Home Omnibus

by Wait Till Summer; Swingboats On the Sand; Waiting for Yesterday; Day Trippers; Unwise Promises; Street Parties (retail) (epub)

  Mr Edwards often cooked them a meal, mashing the food and helping to feed Phyllis, who stared at him with her dark eyes, laughing occasionally as though they were sharing a joke.

  * * *

  Eirlys knew her father still wrote to Teresa and the boys but whether the letters ever reached them she couldn’t tell. There were never any replies. Christmas had come and gone without a word. On the rare occasions when he spoke of them, Morgan told her he knew the boys would get in touch one day. ‘I might not know their address as they move about such a lot, but they won’t forget ours.’

  ‘I just hope they’re safe,’ Eirlys said. ‘London is still being bombed. The Blitz might have ended but the bombs still fall.’ She missed them too. Not Teresa: she blamed her for the death of her mother and the unhappiness suffered by her father, but the three boys had filled the house with laughter, and now there was just her unhappy father, an unhappy husband and nothing to look forward to except an unhappy future.

  Ken came home for one night and he went out in the evening, this time not even asking her to go with him. ‘I’m going to the dance to search for talent for the shows,’ he told her vaguely. ‘We’ve so many bookings we’ve cut the acts into two groups and we’re a bit light on singers. There’s usually plenty of talent in the interval entertainment.’ She knew that it wasn’t the search for new singers that took him to the dance; it was the need to get away from her.

  She called on Hannah as she went home from work the following day and told her of the sad state her marriage had reached.

  ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Do nothing. I think everyone is finding life difficult, all the normal day to day habits and routines are gone. The expectations are no longer the same. One day they will come back and things will settle. Ken is frantically busy, and even when he’s at home with you, his mind is still wrestling with problems of transport, booking acts, writing songs, and all the other things he has to organise.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Eirlys said doubtfully. Then she spoke of something she had been trying to block out, a suspicion which had been growing like an evil cloud. ‘You don’t think he’s like this because he misses Janet, do you?’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Hannah laughed. ‘They worked together occasionally, but he wouldn’t have married you if he felt anything other than friendship for Janet Copp!’

  The derisory tone made Eirlys smile at her suspicions but didn’t succeed in wiping them completely from her mind. Something Evelyn had once said: the unhappy girl’s need to poison other people’s relationships had not bothered her at the time, but had surfaced when other people had casually mentioned the amount of time Ken spent with Janet. She had been telling herself it was nonsense, but the fear gnawed away at her.

  That night she wrote Ken an affectionate letter telling him how much he was loved and how much she was looking forward to the war ending so they could build their lives together in the way they wanted to live. She flattered his ability as a songwriter and told him how she saw them working together to develop his talents, making London their base if that was what was best for him. She ended by saying she would travel the world with him in pursuit of his career if necessary because she had utter faith in his ability to succeed. As she slipped it into the letter box, she felt like a cheat. Deep in her heart she knew that her happiness was in the wrong hands.

  Far away, in Yorkshire. Ken read the letter and felt sick and guilty. He screwed it up and put it into the bin. It was a letter he couldn’t face answering. He had just found out where Janet was stationed and had written a similarly loving letter to her.

  * * *

  Janet hadn’t received the letter from Ken. The sad note from Shirley in which her friend had sounded so depressed had persuaded her to apply for leave and visit her. She was on her way to St David’s Well as Ken’s letter was placed on the counter of the canteen.

  When she knocked on the door of Bleddyn’s house, Shirley called, ‘Hang on a minute,’ then the door opened and she stood there, propped on a stick, make-up adorning her lovely face, her long hair falling to her shoulders in curls, looking the picture of health.

  ‘Janet! Hi yer!’

  ‘There’s no need to ask how you’re feeling,’ Janet said, hugging her. ‘And there’s me thinking you need cheering up!’

  ‘Come in and tell me what you’ve been doing.’ Shirley limped back to her room where a bright fire lit the room with a red glow. Papers were spread over the bed and the armchair was facing the fire with a table beside it covered with more paper.

  ‘What’s been going on? Haven’t you heard of saving paper for the war effort?’ Janet teased.

  ‘Promise you won’t laugh. I’m trying to write some songs.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. Get me a cup of tea while I have a look.’ Janet picked up one of the sheets of paper on which Shirley had carefully written the words and another on which the notes were carefully marked in pencil with the words underneath them.

  ‘Hey, I’m the invalid, why should I wait on you?’

  ‘Rubbish. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Shirley Downs. You’re fine, so get that kettle on!’

  Shirley pretended to grumble as she went into the kitchen and set a tray. Leaning on the table she managed to get everything together and only when the tray needed carrying did she admit defeat and ask for help.

  Janet hummed the melody, and they began to add the words as the tune was learned.

  It was a lively number and when Hetty and Bledd’yif came back from the lunchtime session at the chip shop they were delighted to hear the two girls singing loudly and strongly,

  ‘Don’t be sad ‘cos the world’s gone mad, let’s dance.

  Kick those heels, shake those hips, let’s dance, dance, dance, dance.

  Have some fun ‘cos the Hun’s on the run, let’s dance.

  Kick those heels, shake those hips, let’s dance, dance, dance, dance.’

  Janet was dancing and Shirley was managing to move around with the aid of a stick. Both were laughing helplessly. Within minutes, the girls were rearranging the words into verses and chorus and making up fresh verses. Hetty was singing with them and Bleddyn was tapping an accompaniment with the poker and the coal scuttle.

  ‘I don’t think Ken would give it much praise,’ Shirley said, laughing, as they collapsed exhausted into chairs and on to the bed. ‘But it’s done wonders for me!’

  ‘I think you should show him,’ Janet said seriously. ‘It needs work but he might be able to do something with it. It’s certainly a lively tune.’

  ‘Do you keep in touch with Ken?’ Hetty asked. ‘You and he worked closely together, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, when I moved away from St David’s Well I left behind everything, apart from a few good friends.’

  They changed the subject then and Janet told them of her application to serve overseas. That seemed to bring the war closer and the happy mood left them.

  When Janet left for the train that would take her back to camp, Shirley felt stronger and more in control of her life than she had for weeks. By the time winter ended she would be on her feet, on a stage, and she would be singing.

  * * *

  Joseph’s mother began to feel weaker, less able to do the daily tasks that had once seemed so easy, and during February it became apparent to Joseph that his life was undergoing a change. The meals were not always there when he got home and there were occasions when the clothes he needed would have to be hastily ironed by his clumsy and inexperienced hands. The assistance willingly offered by kindly neighbours faded as the need increased and he finally faced the fact that for the first time in his life, his mother needed his help.

  Concern for his mother was secondary as he once more bemoaned the fates that had handed out such cruel deals. If only Dolly hadn’t died. If only Shirley would accept his love. If only—

  Following the advice of one or two of his mother’s friends he arranged for someone to come in twice a week and clean th
e house. The weekly rations and whatever else was needed were delivered and it was up to him to note their additional needs, such as household cleaning materials he hardly knew existed, and add these to the weekly order.

  Arranging to leave the money for the milkman and the baker every Friday and for the insurance lady each Monday was simple: he put it under a flowerpot behind the gate. Finding someone to deal with the washing and ironing solved the laundry problem. Then there was only the cooking. Mrs Beynon was not bedridden and between them they somehow managed to prepare and cook their meals.

  Joseph hated the inconvenience of it all but comforted himself in the belief that once Shirley and he married, everything would revert to normal. The fact that she was still refusing to see him seemed nothing more than a minor hiccup.

  * * *

  Letters and telegrams still brought comfort and fear to the town. Johnny was in North Africa with the Eighth Army and, so far as they knew, Eynon was still somewhere in England.

  Alice still wrote to Eynon and, overcoming her shyness, she would sometimes share the snippets of news she had gleaned from him with his family. When a couple of weeks passed and she hadn’t heard from him, she went to ask the family if they had been more fortunate.

  With her husband Wilfred, Marged’s sister Audrey lived in the big house that had once been the home of their mother, known to most as Granny Molly Piper. Ronnie and his wife Olive lived there too with their baby girl. So when Alice called, there was usually someone home. On this occasion there was not.

  Not being married or even engaged to Eynon, meant that any news of him being hurt or captured would go to Marged and Huw and it was a foolish superstitious fear of bad news that made her call on Audrey rather than his parents, Marged and Huw.

  Receiving no reply to her knock on that evening, she forced herself to knock on the house a few doors down to ask Eynon’s mother if there was news of him.

  She was welcomed and offered tea but she stood anxiously waiting for an answer to her question. ‘Have you heard from Eynon?’

  ‘Two letters yesterday,’ Huw told her. ‘I should have called round to tell you, but I’ve been too busy. Sorry, love.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mr Castle. As long as he’s all right.’

  ‘He’ll be fine. Our Eynon has shown us how capable he is of looking after himself. Imagine all those months on the run and surviving unscathed.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, but I do get a bit anxious when I don’t hear for a while.’

  ‘Come here any time. Treat this as a second home,’ Marged said. ‘Eynon’s friends are always welcome, specially you.’

  Alice thanked them, drank the tea and went back to her sad little home.

  * * *

  It was Myrtle who delivered the weekly order for Joseph and his mother and she was the one to tell Shirley about his mother’s illness.

  ‘He brings the order into the shop now, and it’s him who calls again to pay, so I’ve heard. Heart attack they say, poor woman.’

  ‘Is she in hospital?’ Hetty asked.

  ‘No, home she is, but resting a lot of the time, not able to do much.’ Myrtle giggled then as she went on. ‘He mops the kitchen floor and shakes the mat at night, hoping none of the neighbours will see him, would you believe! Shamed he is, having to do women’s work.’

  ‘You had a lucky escape there, Shirley,’ Bleddyn said.

  ‘He’s the sort to expect you to take over and run the house while he carries on just the same as before.’

  ‘Lucky escape? You must think I’m daft. I only used him as an escort to see Janet and me safe home. No chance of my marrying someone like Joseph Beynon. I’ve never pretended, mind: I’m sure I haven’t ever let him think there could be anything serious between us.’

  ‘Poor man. Besotted he is. I think he still hopes to marry you one day.’

  ‘Yes, one day, when I’ve given up on a career and I’m willing to settle down to be a dutiful wife!’ Shirley’s expression made it clear what she felt about that idea.

  Myrtle stood up and said. ‘I’ve put it off long enough, I have to deliver the order for Alice’s father now. I hate going there, but there’s no one else to do it today.’

  ‘Want me to come with you?’ Bleddyn offered. Myrtle thanked him but declined.

  ‘He’s harmless, just a bit frightening, that’s all, him being wounded in the head an’ all. I’ll be all right. I’ve only got to hand over the box without dropping it.’ She giggled again. ‘Biscuits and eggs, they’re the worry of my life!’

  As she drew closer to the neglected shop the humour of the situation left her and she wished more and more that she had agreed to Bleddyn going with her. Big he was, that Bleddyn Castle, and even Colin Potter at his worst wouldn’t start making a fuss if he were around, she thought anxiously.

  She was unaware that as she headed for the old shop premises, walking alongside the carrier bike rather than riding it, Bleddyn had followed and kept up with her with ease. He was smiling as he watched her, her skinny legs in their black woollen stockings straining in a knock-kneed stance as she fought with the heavy machine to keep it upright as she turned a corner.

  She propped the bicycle against the wall and knocked on the door before walking back to collect the boxed groceries. Her hands were cold and the box slipped as she stood there and, as the door opened, Colin saw a tin of baked beans slide out and fall to the ground. In seconds his temper had exploded.

  He pushed Myrtle, making her stagger, and grabbing the box of groceries, he threw it on to the path and with a hand on each of her shoulders, began to shake her.

  ‘The eggs! You’ve smashed the eggs,’ he snarled.

  ‘No, no eggs this week,’ she shouted, her voice wavering with the violence of his attack. Then Bleddyn was there, pulling the man off, holding him against the wall warning him to be still.

  Myrtle was crying. Then Bleddyn said, his voice surprisingly calm, ‘I’ll hold him here, Myrtle, you go and fetch the police.’

  Two hours later, Colin was locked up. Leaving Myrtle with Hetty and having sent for Maude, Marged and Huw, Bleddyn went to find Alice.

  Seeing her father in the police station was upsetting for Alice, yet she nursed a hope that perhaps now, the doctors would find a way of helping him. He hadn’t always been like this. Until the blow to his head during that final boxing match had caused damage to his brain, he had been a loving, affectionate father. Looking at him drooped and defeated, his hands over his face, she forced herself to remember how he had been, not what he had become.

  ‘Dad, I’m here and I won’t let anything bad happen to you.’ Whether he heard she wasn’t sure. He looked up and stared at her but didn’t seem to know she was there. ‘If only Eynon was here,’ she said aloud. ‘I’d be so glad to have him here to help us.’

  ‘No men in the house!’ Colin said sharply.

  ‘Oh,’ she smiled, ‘so you do know I’m here.’

  It was decided that Colin Potter should go into hospital and remain there for the foreseeable future. Instead of relief, Alice was alarmed. How would he cope in a place he didn’t know and with strangers running his life? What would happen to her? Without the money her father contributed from his savings and his pension, she couldn’t afford to stay on in the rooms behind the shop. Besides, she didn’t know whether she could live there alone. It was an unfriendly, frightening place.

  Ancient woodwork creaked and groaned, water dripped like tiny footsteps and plaster dust dribbled in brief showers on to the bare floor.

  In the days her father was absent she had slept in the room next to the kitchen, afraid to face the dark staircase and the empty rooms above. She had to find somewhere better to live, but with the small wage she earned, it was an impossible task. If only Eynon were here, she thought time and again.

  She didn’t know what he could do that she couldn’t, but was certain he would find a solution. At least she would be able to discuss the few alternatives open to her. Cleaning the plac
e and renting out another room was a possibility but she didn’t think she could do that alone. There were repairs to do and it wasn’t as simple as wallpaper and paint; the dilapidation had gone too far for that.

  She wrote to Eynon, trying not to sound too miserable. She wanted him to know the situation but not to worry uselessly when he was unable to help her deal with it. To her delight, Eynon wrote back telling her to telephone him at a call box at seven the following Friday, which she did. He had found a solution, although it wasn’t one she had expected.

  ‘Let’s get married,’ he said.

  After a short, frantic conversation, she emerged from the telephone box, flushed, her eyes glowing with happiness. Tonight she wouldn’t be afraid to sleep alone in the awful house. She was going to marry Eynon, be Mrs Eynon Castle and live happily ever after, just like in the films.

  The euphoria lasted as she approached the old shop but then began to fade. When a figure stepped out from the darkness she almost screamed, convinced that her father had come back and was in a rage.

  ‘Alice?’ Marged said, ‘Sorry to frighten you, love. Have you spoken to our Eynon?’

  ‘I thought it was Dad,’ Alice whispered, ‘afraid he’d be in a temper.’ Then Marged was hugging her and leading her away from the dilapidated doorway and back to Sidney Street.

  Lending her a few clothes was not a problem, although they were all too large for the slender girl, and she slept in a clean sweet room and was woken at seven o’clock by Huw bringing her a cup of tea.

  ‘I’m not making a habit of this, mind,’ he said with mock severity. ‘Just for your first morning as Eynon’s fiancee and my future daughter-in-law, to let you know how pleased we are. Right?’