Now, sitting in a sheltered crevice in the rocks with the sound of children playing and music from the roundabouts a cacophony blotting out everything else, she felt the same foolish confidence as she had waiting for the hour to pass, telling herself she didn’t need to make a decision, that something would happen and this nightmare would end. She shivered, chilled by the situation rather than the temperature, and pulled her smart red swagger coat around her, trying not to crease it.
Situations like this didn’t happen to people like her. Her mam would come and find her; her father had followed her and was only trying to teach her a lesson. The woman had owned up and admitted she had lied. She pictured her mam crying when they found her. But what if they didn’t? Perhaps a handsome young man would find her and rescue her from disaster? Perhaps Maldwyn would appear like a bespectacled handsome prince and make everything right. Time passed and nothing happened at all.
* * *
Beth lived with her father-in-law Bernard Gregory on a smallholding outside the town. Peter rarely came home on leave. Besides days spent working at the café in the town’s market, in every spare moment she made gifts to sell in the shop she had opened in partnership with Hannah and Eirlys. She also helped her parents in Castle’s Café when they were in need. Time had to be filled; only that way would the lonely weeks pass, the war come to its end and the men return home. Time was an enemy to be defeated by activity, any activity that would make her forget the fear that froze her heart every time she stopped to wonder where Peter was and what he was having to face.
Until this summer she had always worked on the sands, and like the rest of her family had found work for the winter when the beach activities ended. The winter of 1941-2 found her running the market café, and she had decided to stay there until Janet Copp returned. Beth had always loved working on the sands, and as a member of the Castle family it had been presumed she would continue to do so, but this year, with real regret, she had decided not to support the family firm. She had promised Janet she would stay and take care of the business for her until the war ended. When that would be, she had no idea. The war seemed set to go on for ever.
For Peter, the war had been even longer than for most as he had spent many months in France and Germany long before the conflict had begun, setting up contacts which he later used to provide a rescue route for escaped prisoners and others who found themselves on the wrong side of the front line.
During 1938-9 he had made many trips to the now enemy-occupied continent, facing certain death if he had been captured. He had suffered deprivation, starvation and sickness and on one occasion had returned to her more like a skeleton than the man she had married, but she didn’t plead with him to give up on what she knew was a desperately important part of the conflict. Peter, so unassuming and mild, regularly risked his life so others could be saved, and he would never deviate from his determination to continue with his activities, until either peace or his death intervened. She never asked about his work but was relieved to know that, for the moment at least, Peter was in this country, training others to do what he had done for so long.
Everyone was fully occupied for most of the daylight hours and beyond. Most of the men not serving in the forces belonged to the Home Guard and, on a rota system, also spent some hours each week fire-watching. Wardens patrolled the streets looking out for the smallest chink of light escaping between incorrectly drawn blackout curtains.
There were few who weren’t engaged in fund-raising of one kind or another. Women collected rags, metal, paper and anything else that could be reused to save valuable resources. Any waste food was collected to feed pigs. And there was the knitting. Women’s hands were rarely at rest. They would answer the door to a visitor without putting down the socks, gloves or scarves they were making to distribute among Army, Navy and Air Force personnel. Children in school were taught to knit simple garments in khaki, Navy or Air Force-blue wool, though knitting and sewing lessons consisted mainly of making old from new. ‘Make Do and Mend’ was the advice offered on posters and on leaflets sent to every household.
When Beth wasn’t knitting for the gift shop she was making items for the forces. In rare quiet moments at work she picked up the needles and clicked away, joining other helpers from the market stalls in their efforts to fill boxes with garments for the Women’s Voluntary Service to send where there was a need of them.
One Sunday afternoon, while her father-in-law was at the beach with his string of donkeys, giving rides to children, she went to the shop, where she had arranged to meet Hannah and Eirlys.
She greeted Hannah affectionately, leaning over to kiss her and admire the neat smocking she was working on, across the front of a child’s dress. Hannah earned her living making clothes, but when Beth asked who the pretty cream dress was for, Hannah whispered, ‘Hush,’ and nodded in the direction of their friend.
Beth settled down to sew some of the toys Eirlys had cut from remnants of coats and skirts that she had used to make rugs. The supply of unwanted coats had once been unlimited, and Eirlys had begun a business making and selling rugs that seemed set to thrive, but now, with clothing rationed and everyone making do, the supply was dwindling. Good garments were no longer discarded.
Nothing was wasted and the pieces unsuitable for her rugs were cut and sewn into soft toys for children. It was the talented Hannah who made the patterns and did the finishing touches, adding whimsical features that appealed to customers.
The three girls worked companionably together, each doing what she enjoyed most, between them keeping the windows and shelves of their small lock-up shop filled with their work.
Although the shop door had its CLOSED sign in place, they heard a knock. Hannah looked up with a ready smile, expecting to see her father-in-law Bleddyn Castle with her two daughters to remind her it was time for tea, but a strange young woman stood there, peering through the glass, with a hand above her eyes to help her see inside. Hannah put down her sewing, went to open the door and explained that the shop was closed.
‘Sorry I am to disturb you, but I wondered whether you knew of any jobs going. You being in business, like. I thought you might know of someone needing help.’
Hannah turned to Beth. ‘Do you think they need anyone on the beach?’ she queried.
‘They are short-handed, but they won’t want just anyone.’ Beth replied.
The young woman stepped inside and looked from one to the other, sensing the decision about to be made. ‘Good worker, I am. Not afraid of hard work or long hours.’
‘I don’t know,’ Beth said hesitantly. There was something decidedly bold about the young woman. She had an air about her that hinted of trouble. She was what the local people described as ‘fit’, an expression that suggested someone who could look after herself and would brook no argument.
‘Why not let your mam and dad and Uncle Bleddyn decide?’ Hannah whispered back. After a nod of agreement from Hannah, Beth wrote down her parents’ address in Sidney Street and suggested to the stranger that she might call about seven that evening.
‘I’m Vera Matthews.’ The newcomer held out a hand solemnly. ‘But if anyone asks about me you’ve never heard of me. Right?’
Beth looked at her suspiciously. ‘Are you in any trouble? If so I don’t think—’
‘Not trouble, just a bit of a quarrel with my family. You know how it is. They might come looking for me.’
Without giving them a chance to change their minds about her talking to Mr and Mrs Huw Castle, she thanked them and hurried out.
Beth called in to her parents’ house before cycling home, to tell them what she had done. ‘I don’t think she’ll be suitable, Mam,’ she explained. ‘Something about a bit of trouble with her family.’
‘Don’t worry. If we take her on I’ll keep a sharp eye on her, love,’ Marged assured her.
* * *
Vera Matthews was smiling when she left the Castles’ home with the promise of a job. She would work really hard for the fi
rst week, to impress them; after that she could let her enthusiasm slide a bit. Now she had to find somewhere to sleep. The last two nights on the beach, with everything from her assorted bags covering her, had been far from pleasant.
She had left home with less than four pounds in her Post Office account, plus a few National Savings stamps. If only she’d had some warning, some hint that things were coming to a head, she could have prepared properly. She regretted the time she had sat looking at the clock and waiting for her father to change his mind. She could have used that hour more productively.
If she’d known about nights sleeping on the beach, a couple of blankets would have been a better idea than her dippers and the frilly underwear she had brought so her sisters wouldn’t have them!
Vera’s suitcase had been packed in such haste, she doubted whether any of the stuff she had brought would be of any use. It was still at the railway station in the left-luggage office. Hiding the rest of the things she had brought in the rocks, she walked up and collected it, then wandered along the row of houses offering accommodation. Unfortunately, with the holiday season getting under way, the cost was higher than she’d expected. After a momentary lowering of spirits she shrugged, hid the case and bags in the rocks where she had spent the previous nights, and went to where some railway carriages gave a promise of shelter. She didn’t look around to see if she was being watched. Appearing confident and walking purposefully was a way of avoiding suspicion.
The first carriage door she tried wasn’t locked, and from the look of the dusty floor it was not in regular use. She would be safe here for a week, until her first wage packet made it possible to find a room. Food wouldn’t be a problem: she was sure to find all she needed during her hours at the café, and if she missed her bedtime drink that wouldn’t ruin her life. It was only for a week.
She collected her belongings and cautiously returned to the railway carriage. To her relief she was not seen. The area was deserted.
* * *
The following day, Beth’s parents came into the market café and told her the young woman had been employed as an assistant in their beach café.
‘Only on a week’s trial, mind.’ Marged said. ‘I don’t know her or any of her family and I don’t like employing complete strangers. She’s from away,’ she explained, waving an arm vaguely and frowning as though that fact alone was sufficient to make her suspicious.
‘Getting very daring, you and Dad.’ Beth laughed as she handed them both a cup of tea. ‘First Maldwyn Perkins and now this Vera Matthews. Look out. Mam, you’ll be employing men from the moon before we know where we are!’
‘As long as they can count,’ Marged grinned. ‘We’ve had quite a job getting staff this summer. You running the market café instead of helping in ours, our Ronnie injured and with a market stall around the corner from you, our Eynon in the Army and our Lilly - well, she’s useless.’
‘Not that she’s ever been any different!’ Huw muttered. ‘I’ll go and tell Bleddyn and Hetty,’ he offered, and set off for his brother’s house in Brook Lane. When he got there he was surprised to see Bleddyn and Hetty standing near the back door but making no attempt to go in. They warned him to be quiet and together they went into the kitchen, from where they could hear Shirley singing along to a gramophone record, her voice strong and melodious, the tapping of a stick her accompaniment.
‘She’ll do,’ Huw said emotionally, and Hetty nodded proudly.
‘Yes, our Shirley’s got guts all right. She’ll do.’
* * *
Maldwyn Perkins was nervous at leaving home. The promise of a job had been alarmingly easy. He had imagined it would take weeks before he found something that would pay enough for him to survive alone and that he would enjoy. Then there was the accommodation. That too had been quickly managed.
He had found a room in a quiet part of the town, about thirty minutes’ walk from the beach. His landlady promised breakfast and an evening meal in return for his ration book and a pound a week. He wouldn’t have much left from his wages, but he didn’t think he would need it. Living in St David’s Well town and working in St David’s Well Bay, he would have all he wanted — except a family. He thought of his familiar bedroom with its dark furniture and memorabilia of his childhood: the teddy sitting in the Lloyd Loom chair, the train set on top of the wardrobe with a cricket bat he had rarely used, and the compendium of games that had bored him but that he had played to please his father.
He tightened the strap on his suitcase angrily. It just wasn’t fair. His job in the florist’s hadn’t been exciting, but he had been content. Living at home and being looked after as he’d always been, he had seen no reason to change anything.
They went to the railway station, struggling with the suitcase and three other bags beside a rucksack in which his stepmother had packed food and drink for a joumey that wouldn’t last more than an hour. An exhibition of her guilty conscience, he decided, as she pushed another bar of Cadbury’s chocolate in beside the biscuits and cake.
They travelled to the railway station in silence, neither knowing what to say. After packing the last of his cases into the railway carriage, he jumped down and hesitantly gave Winifred Perkins a hug. ‘You’ve got my address if you need me for anything,’ he said. ‘Anything at all, mind.’ Please, write and tell me you need me to come home, he pleaded silently as he forced a smile and jumped back into the train. Surely she would relent and beg him to come back? Her smile was stiff and false but it didn’t waver as she waved him off.
Yet she was crying as she handed in her platform ticket and began to walk home. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she’d promised his father that she would make him leave, do something positive towards his future before he settled too comfortably into premature middle age.
His real mother had been over-protective once it had been revealed that his sight was not good. It was natural, but not the best way of dealing with a problem. He had to be independent, and leaving the safety of his home was the first step. One day he would find out she had been untruthful when she had told him she was leaving the house — his house — to her niece. She hoped he would forgive her.
* * *
Maldwyn woke the next morning and was at once confused. He couldn’t understand why the window was in the wrong place. There was the unlikely sound of traffic: horses and cans and a few cars, bicycle bells ringing impatiently and errand boys already up and about, whistling as they went about their daily journeys. At home in Bryn Teg, it had been the sound of heavy boots marching past the house as men went to the pit to begin their shift that had always been the first recognisable noise on waking.
For a moment or two he lay there wondering what had happened, but then realisation dawned and he felt his spirits lowering as he remembered that this was the first day of his new life, a life miles from home and completely on his own. He went over his arrival at his lodgings and the daunting list of dos and don’ts with which he had been presented; the reminder that breakfast was eight thirty, even on Sundays, unless he was prepared to manage without; and the strange bedroom with its view of roofs and chimneys instead of fields and hedges.
He glanced at the clock on the table beside the white-counterpaned bed — seven thirty. Best he didn’t close his eyes, he was too afraid of over-sleeping. He tried to remember where the bathroom was. It would be embarrassing to walk into his landlady’s bedroom by mistake! He’d never had a bathroom. At home they had dragged the tin bath off the coalhouse wall and filled it with hot water from the washing boiler. He wondered whether he’d be expected to wash in cold water. No one to bring up a kettle full of hot water this morning, he thought sadly.
To his surprise he was wrong about that. There was a loud knock on his door and Mrs Prosser came in with a steaming saucepan. ‘Hot water for washing and shaving,’ she announced. ‘Please to bring the saucepan back and put it in the kitchen.’ As Maldwyn stuttered his thanks, embarrassed at having a strange woman in his bedroom and him i
n his vest, she added, ‘Baths on Fridays. The geyser isn’t to be used except on Fridays. Right?’
‘Right,’ he agreed.
When he reached the café high above the sands at half-past nine that morning, he was surprised to see the counters already filled with food and the oven sending out appetising smells of cakes cooking.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologised. ‘I’d have been here before but Mrs Prosser insists on breakfast at eight thirty on the dot,’ he said.
‘Old trick that is,’ Marged laughed. ‘Too late for anyone working, so she gets out of cooking it. She doesn’t cut the price of your lodgings, mind, I’ll bet.’
‘I’ll give breakfast a miss tomorrow and be here to help you set up,’ he said.
‘You do that, and we’ll find you something to eat,’ Huw promised. ‘Only a bit of toast, mind, and maybe an egg now and then, when there’s time.’
Maldwyn was being shown the routine of the rides when Vera Matthews anived to start work. Marged had told her to arrive at ten on her first morning, giving the others the chance to get everything under way. Maldwyn and Vera greeted each other hesitantly, both wondering what had brought the other to St David’s Well beach. There was no time for questions, though. The first customers were wandering into the café for coffees, teas and toast, and Vera quickly saw what was needed and helped Marged deal with the simple orders.
At eleven thirty the chips were blanched, that is, cooked under a lower than usual heat so they did not brown. Then as the lunch orders got under way they were quickly reheated a few at a time in very hot fat and browned to an attractive finish. Vera served while Marged cooked and a young girl called Myrtle helped serve and took the money.
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 94