Not for her any worries about what Eynon would do or where he would live when he came home. She smiled as she imagined him getting up on his first morning home and going straight to the beach to resume the summer delights of encouraging others to have fun.
They would look for a house and she knew it would have to be close to his family and within easy reach of the beach. Her father had left her enough money for them to be able to choose where they wanted to live and she daydreamed of them selecting their own home, the thoughts warming her – until the fears returned and she wondered if he would still feel the same about her. Until he had joined the Army in 1939 with his friend Freddy Clements, he hadn’t left the town. It was unlikely that after all he had experienced since he would come back unchanged.
* * *
Hannah Castle had anxious moments too. She was older than her husband and although Bleddyn and Hetty did everything they could to make her feel loved and a part of their family, she occasionally had doubts. She had been married before, and had two girls. It hadn’t seemed possible someone like Johnny Castle could love her. But he had gathered them up and taken them to live with Bleddyn and Hetty and hadn’t given the smallest hint of regret.
She was writing to Johnny a long letter to which Josie and Marie would add a postscript and, like Alice’s, hers was full of the activities in and around St David’s Well.
Johnny and his cousin Eynon had never imagined doing anything other than work on the stalls and rides on the sands. She hoped Johnny would have no doubts about returning to them, or to her.
When the letter was finished she set off with the girls to the gift shop, intending to post it on the way. It was Sunday and although the shop was shut she offended a few of the righteous by working in the shop, her sewing machine busily completing her present work, which was a trousseau of night wear and underclothes made from barrage balloon silk, acquired in ways mysterious about which she didn’t ask. There might be a little over and shyly, unable to share her idea with anyone, she had planned to make a set for herself, for when Johnny came home. Blushing at her private thoughts she popped the letter into the post-box and hurried to the shop. She carried milk and the makings of tea, beside a few cakes. Perhaps one of the others would be there and she hurried in anticipation of friendly chatter.
* * *
Alice went to the gift shop that Sunday morning and before she had opened the door the sound of laughter told her there were children inside. Dropping to her knees, she pushed open the door and crawled in, to be at once surrounded by Josie and Marie and Eirlys’s almost-two-year-old Anthony. A chase ensued with Anthony and the girls hiding and Alice, still on her knees searching for the half-hidden, noisy threesome, pretending to be unable to see a fat knee here and a plump bottom there.
‘Hello, Alice,’ Hannah said in mock severity. ‘It’s “goodbye peace” when you turn up!’ Alice busied herself making tea and when they had eaten their fill of cakes she began sewing up the dolls Eirlys had knitted in her few spare moments.
The young women worked well together, each capable of finishing something started by one of the others, except that Hannah had a real talent for dress-making and her toys were of an exceptionally high quality. The best work was always left for Hannah.
Someone had given her an old fur coat and with this she was making teddy bears. With leather paws and feet and glass eyes found in a junk shop, the teddies were of a very high standard and most appealing. They took a lot of time in the making and there was a list of customers waiting for them. That morning she sat with a needle, patiently easing the fur out around the seams so the joins would be as invisible as possible. ‘Goodbye, Teddy,’ Anthony said with a sigh. He had been told the wonderful toy was not for him.
‘Any news?’ Alice asked and took out her much read last letter from Eynon for the others to read. Hannah took out two letters from Johnny and proceeded to read parts of them, being gently teased about the parts she didn’t share with them.
‘My Ken is in Kent,’ Eirlys told them. ‘I don’t expect him home for a couple of weeks. He and his performers are touring the camps, and the hospitals. There are a lot of wounded arriving back from France since the sixth of June.’ This was a subject neither Alice nor Hannah wanted to consider. Alice jumped up and asked brightly, ‘Anyone fancy another cup of tea?’
* * *
The news from France was mixed, with rumours making it impossible for the public to understand the truth. Pockets of resistance held the armies back and a lack of fuel delayed repeated attempts to move on. Wounded victims of the invasion of France and the other theatres of the cruel war continued to return home: strangers, who were sometimes scarred and many having lost a limb. Some young men had white hair and sunken eyes, almost unrecognizable to those who loved them. Equally worrying were those who looked the same but were so changed inside their heads they would remain strangers for always. In spite of it all, hope remained high and in every town plans were being made to celebrate victory when it was finally declared. Alice, Beth, Hannah and Shirley and the rest watched them and offered silent prayers for their own loves’ safe return.
* * *
The activities on and around the beach reached their peak during August. Eirlys worked very long hours, thankful sometimes to relax and do very little when Sunday gave a brief respite from the whirl of arrangements she augmented. Most of the entertainments were repeats of the past few years, with giant chess, dancing by moonlight and the concerts and varied competitions. She always made sure she involved all ages and that evening there was an open-air concert given by school children in aid of the victims of the latest horror raid in London.
Since June, the pilotless ‘buzz bombs’ had terrorized Londoners with their menacingly deadly approach, the almost unnoticed low groan of their engines suddenly stopping and the flying bombs falling to earth at terrifying speed.
A momentary easing of her busy schedule made Eirlys grateful for her friends and the little shop they had made into a meeting place as well as a growing business. They planned to leave for the concert directly from the shop and Hannah’s two girls, Josie (eight) and Marie (seven), were vainly preening themselves in the dresses their mother had made out of other garments, ready for them to perform.
* * *
Lilly had found a way to write to Sam Junior and it was her new friend, Netta, who had given her the idea. Throughout July and August, she and Sam exchanged letters filled with loving words, by using Netta’s address.
Lilly would hand the letter to Netta, who would privately add her own address on the back of the envelope and post it. Netta was still reticent about where she lived – something that amused Lilly, who believed that with her comfortable home and her being one of the famous Castle family, she made her friend ashamed of her poor home. Sam Junior’s replies were given to Lilly when she met Netta for tea in one of their favourite cafés. Sam Senior would never know and she felt no guilt, telling herself and Netta that if he didn’t know and wasn’t hurt, she was doing no wrong. In fact, she told herself, she was helping Sam Junior to cope with the horrors of war. It was easy to find justification even for something so blatantly wrong. Besides the letters secretly conveyed, she had always added a note at the end of Sam’s letters to his son, trivial words about things that were happening in the town, and remarks about his father’s health. One day, she daringly added a PS that was far from the innocuous comments she normally made. Knowing Sam was in the room while she wrote it was so exciting. She scribbled words of love, assured him that her feelings hadn’t changed, confident her trusting husband wouldn’t read them.
It wasn’t all that daring, she mused, he never did read her postscript, even though she had previously left the envelope unsealed in case he wanted to see what she had written. Her words were brief, just a reminder of their wicked and wonderful time together and telling him how she longed for him to come home. Then she sealed the envelope and smilingly left it on the hall table for her husband to post. He liked the weekly ri
tual of a walk to the post office with his son’s letter and had never shown any curiosity about her brief dutiful additions.
When she went out for a walk with Phyllis, Sam declined to go with her and, with the aid of a steaming kettle, carefully unsealed the letter. He read Lilly’s postscript and resealed the envelope with equal care with Gloy paste. His expression showed no dismay. He appeared calm as he went on with the morning chores, peeling vegetables for their lunch, putting the small piece of bacon to boil.
Plans formed in his mind and were rejected as he considered his response to her betrayal. Ideas tumbled over themselves in his desperation to do something. He couldn’t ignore it, not now: his pain forced him to do something to pay her back. Then the tenseness left him as he made up his mind. He relaxed as further refinements to his plan evolved. He still half hoped that Lilly would confess, plead forgiveness and promise it would never happen again, that everything would miraculously be all right. But the words she had written on his letter to his son gave no credence to that foolish dream. And could he ever forget the sight of his son and his wife on that bed? He knew he could not.
Now wasn’t the time to deal with this situation but he’d better not leave it too long in case he had an accident, or Sam failed to return. He didn’t want there to be any mistakes. First he had to get all the information he needed.
Lilly was in her Auntie Audrey’s café chatting with Netta, whose interest in the Castle family was unabated. Amid flattery to put Lilly off guard, Netta asked question after question, sometimes suggesting something which she knew was incorrect so Lilly would put her right and add more to her knowledge. She learned a great deal about each member of the family, storing the information, knowing the day was coming soon when she would make use of it, to her advantage.
Leaving the bacon simmering, locking the door as a precaution against Lilly returning sooner than he expected, Sam searched their bedroom. There was anxiety clearly showing in his eyes as he opened the first drawer. He hoped against hope he wouldn’t find anything. He had been so happy until his son’s visit had ruined everything.
In a drawer containing underwear, a place he would never normally touch, he found the letters tucked under the lining paper right at the back. They were from his son, and he almost put them back unread, so badly did he want to pretend all was well. But his memory of that awful day when he had seen them together wouldn’t go away. Now he had found them it was impossible for him not to read them.
They were passionate letters, reminders of Sam Junior’s brief compassionate leave and promises for future times. Sam put them back with infinite care, then went out to make an appointment with his solicitor.
When Lilly returned, he was standing in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to the meal. He put down the jug of parsley sauce and went to hug Phyllis.
‘Don’t I get a hug as well?’ Lilly said with a playful pout.
‘See to the table, will you, Lilly? I’ve been out and I’m a little behind with things.’
A brief frown crossed her features but curiosity quickly faded and she picked up a magazine she had bought and sat to read it. ‘There’s no hurry,’ she said. ‘I had a bite to eat in Auntie Audrey’s café. Nice it is. You’ll have to come next time I go.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, but his sarcasm was wasted on his wife.
* * *
The welcome of the townspeople toward visitors didn’t lessen as the season came to an end. The enthusiastic determination to ensure every visitor enjoyed their stay was as genuine at the end of the busy months as it had been at the beginning. Supplies were beginning to run out: the stalls selling requirements for a day on the sands were decorated with extra bunting and small flags to hide the gaps; the paint on the rides touched up when necessary so the sight that greeted them was as appealing as the banter was lively.
There wasn’t much spare time for those involved in the holiday activities but whenever a chance offered, many went out into the woods to collect wood for the winter fires. Bernard Gregory began sawing lengths of wood and filled sacks ready to sell once autumn came. The brightness of the beach and the enthusiasm of the late summer crowds couldn’t hide the fact that winter was approaching with its shortages of fuel and no let-up on the limits of food rationing.
* * *
Audrey saw Cassie Davies in her café often as the summer of 1944 faded and autumn began to hint of cold dark days to come. One day when Cassie called in to buy a cup of tea after closing the shop, Alice and Hannah were there. Alice was behind the counter helping to serve a group of young people who were on their way to the pictures after work. The sudden bustle with only Audrey serving had threatened to make the customers impatient. A brief offer of assistance and Audrey had accepted her niece’s help with relief.
When the lively crowd had settled at their tables, Alice sat with Cassie and could tell at once that the woman had news to impart.
‘I’m going to open another shop,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ve been looking around with the plan half made, and when I saw the premises that used to be a sweet shop, I decided.’
‘What will you sell?’
‘Flags, bunting, anything red, white and blue that people will need when the war is over and the celebrations start.’
‘But there’s a long time to go yet,’ Alice said, then she looked at Cassie and wondered once again whether she had information others hadn’t been told. ‘Hitler isn’t dead, is he?’
‘No, but the Allies have kicked them Germans out of the Channel Islands and now the armies are in Paris and that will make them give up. The Germans must know they’re beaten now they’ve been kicked out of Paris.’
‘Berlin’s a long way from Paris,’ Alice said gloomily. ‘And heaven alone knows where Eynon is. His letters tell me very little these days.’
‘D’you know they’re talking about ending the blackout next month? If that doesn’t tell you Hitler is beaten nothing will. Imagine it, the streets lit up again. And soon the shop windows able to show what they have to sell.’
Alice’s eyes glowed. Perhaps it was true and the end of the war really was in sight.
‘We’ve as good as won,’ Cassie said with conviction, ‘and as soon as the announcement comes I want to be ready with all the needs for the street parties and decorations. Marvellous it’ll be.’
Cassie went home almost as excited as if the announcement had already been made. It had to be soon. Joseph would come home and they would work together just as they always had. A few more years and they would sell up and move into the Vale, where they planned to spend their retirement.
She took the long step-ladder from under the stairs and carried it up to the landing. Pushing the loft door open she climbed up and with the aid of a torch began to look through the collection of boxes. The Union flags in various sizes were a bit dusty but still sound after waiting all these years and she noticed some of the bunting had been nibbled by mice. Apart from those few problems the rest of the stored materials were as good as new.
One of her suppliers had told her about a firm in Cardiff where more of the celebratory red, white and blue items might be for sale. As soon as the end was imminent she would go there and buy what she could. She didn’t want to miss anything but there was no sense buying too soon: money lying idle was not good business sense. She would ask Joseph to make enquiries when he next came home. She sighed. He hadn’t taken a weekend off for three weeks. She told herself he was helping the war effort and earning extra money and how could she complain about that? It wouldn’t be for much longer. She stifled the persistent niggle of doubt.
* * *
Audrey was closing the café that evening and Keith was helping her. She told him about Cassie’s regular visits and explained that it was probably loneliness, her husband working in Cardiff and only occasionally able to get home.
‘War work, she says, and she implies his work is secret, but between you and me I think she’s exaggerating his importance. Boring little man he was as I remem
ber and I doubt the war has changed him.’
‘If you’re talking about Joseph Davies the draper, then I saw him recently. Remember I did some work in Cardiff a few weeks ago? Painting a shop front I was, and he was pointed out to me as a shopkeeper from St David’s Well, so I introduced myself. He didn’t seem very keen to talk, though. He hurried away like I had the plague and later I saw him again and he walked past pretending not to see me. Perhaps he didn’t see me. Overalls and a tin of paint and no one gives me a second look and he had other things on his mind. It wasn’t far from the station and he stood there obviously waiting for someone. I watched him as he greeted a young woman. Laughing and hugging they were, far from boring each other, believe me. I thought they looked like – well – you know, lovers on a date.’
‘You must have been mistaken, Keith. It doesn’t sound like his wife.’
Keith smiled at her. ‘I know love when I see it,’ he whispered softly.
‘Poor woman.’
‘Lucky man! I wish everyone could be as happy as you’ve made me, Audrey Kent.’
* * *
With the last of the entertainments finished and the trickle of visitors slowly dying out, the stalls on St David’s Well Bay were dismantled. They were transported to a warehouse to be stored until the new season began. The sands looked naked without them. The store where the deckchairs were stacked during the summer was also taken away, a loss to lovers and the occasional stray dog. The remaining prizes left over from the hoopla and other games were carefully wrapped, the chalk figures stored in the loft of Marged and Huw’s house in Sidney Street, rag dolls offered to Alice and Hannah to sell in their shop, the sad little goldfish given to some of the local children.
Holidays at Home Omnibus Page 151