by Janet Tanner
She looked up at that midnight-blue sky shimmering with a million stars and imagined that one of them might be the winking lights of a plane. Not that a plane would be flying with winking lights to advertise its position now, she supposed. It would move through the darkness with as much stealth as its throbbing engines would allow, unseen by the naked eye yet with this panorama in shades of black and silver spread out beneath it, the landscape marked out like a map by the hedgerows and trees and the shining thread of the river …
‘I wonder where Huw is?’ she said. ‘Do you think he is flying tonight?’
Ralph did not reply. Anxiety stabbed at her suddenly, sharp and sickening.
‘He will be all right, won’t he?’ she asked.
Still Ralph said nothing. He could see all too clearly the course this war would take, and the dangers for Huw and all the young men like him. Too many of them would die before it was finally won or lost. Too many would climb fearlessly into the cockpits of their Spitfires and Hurricanes and Lancasters and would never return. Pray God Huw would not be one of them.
‘Ralph!’ Amy said. There was real alarm in her voice and he stretched his hand out to her.
‘Come to bed, love.’
Her heart sank like a stone. Ralph was not going to pander to her with false assurances. She knew him better than to expect that he would. But what comfort was there in that?
She crossed the moonlit room, turned back the covers and slipped into bed beside him. His arms went around her, holding her, and the strength of his body against hers felt good.
Whatever happens, whatever comes, I should not grumble, Amy thought. I have been very lucky, luckier than most people I know; perhaps luckier than I deserve.
But knowing it did nothing to ease the hollow aching dread that had begun inside her and for all her optimism Amy knew that this was going to be a long, hard war.
In the kitchen of a cottage in the lower reaches of Purldown, Alec Hall, the only son of Amy’s eldest brother Jim, snapped the lid back onto a tin of cream gloss paint, wiped the worst of it from his brush on a sheet of newspaper and straightened up to survey his handiwork. Not bad, even if he did say it himself. By the soft light of the gaslamp the cupboard door and skirting boards gleamed fresh and wet and above all clean. Quite a change from the way it had looked when he and Joan, his fiancée, had seen it for the first time three months earlier. Then it had been, not to put to fine a point on it, filthy – a dirt which not even the dark brown paint had concealed. The huge stone sink had been grained with dirt, the cracked window panes so crusted that Alec doubted a blackout would have been necessary to keep the light from showing down the valley, and every corner festooned with cobwebs. The cottage had stood empty for the last year since the old widow who owned it had died – and judging by the state of it Alec had thought it could not have had a good spring clean for many years even in her lifetime.
At first Joan had balked at it.
‘Surely we can find something better than this, Alec?’ she had said, standing in the centre of this very kitchen as if to get too close to the walls or any of the fitments might contaminate her.
‘Maybe. But this is in a nice position,’ Alec had argued. ‘It’s going cheap, too. I don’t know that we could afford more. And you’d like a place of your own, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, yes, I would. You know that’s what you always said – we’d wait to get married until we could afford a place of our own. But this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’
‘Just wait till I’ve finished with it,’ Alec said. ‘You won’t know it and that’s a promise.’
‘How long is it going to take you?’ Joan had asked doubtfully.
‘Six months maybe, but …’
‘Six months!’
‘That’s not so long, is it? Six months out of a lifetime?’
‘No, I suppose not. But I just can’t wait for us to get married Alec and it seems as far away as ever.’
‘No it doesn’t,’ Alec had argued. To him it had seemed a frighteningly short time, but at least it provided a respite. If they had found a cottage in good condition which they could have afforded Joan would have wanted to get married right away – a prospect which made Alec go cold inside.
At twenty-six Alec was no more ready to get married than he had been at nineteen, perhaps less so, for now he saw those friends who had been so eager to fall into bed with the first pretty girl who came along caught in a tender trap of their own making. They were no longer free to stay drinking in the Miners Arms or the Working Men’s Club until closing time – or if they did they had someone to answer to. They had to be sure their wage packets went home intact or face the wrath of someone with the power to make their lives a misery. And more often than not they had a couple of squalling kids to disturb their night’s sleep. It was not a prospect that enthralled him and the more he thought about it the less he liked it.
‘You take after your Uncle Ted,’ Sarah, his mother, had said to him once. ‘He was just like you; we thought he’d never settle down.’
The idea had pleased Alec. His Uncle Ted had emigrated to Australia ten years earlier and to Alec he had the aura of a romantic figure. But even Uncle Ted had succumbed in the end and married Rosa Clements, who had lived next door to the Halls in Greenslade Terrace and adored Ted since she was a little girl. As far as he was concerned, Alec supposed, the same went for him and Joan.
They, too, had known one another from childhood days for Joan had lived two doors away from his home in Pit Cottages, and as she was the same age as his younger sister May and played with her along the Rank he had been delegated to escort the two girls to the Church school in Hillsbridge. Later, this escort duty had been extended to seeing them home from the dances which were held in the room under the Palace Cinema and when May had got herself a boyfriend he had been left alone with Joan. He could never remember actually asking her to go out with him, it had just happened somehow, and he had gone along with it. Joan had grown into quite a pretty girl, if a little plump, but his father had always advised him to pick a girl he could grab a hold of rather than one of the fashionable skinny-ribs and on that score Joan was always accommodating. She liked nothing better than a kiss and a cuddle though she always put her foot down over going further, a fact which intrigued Alec whilst frustrating him. He went through a few minor flings with other girls but when they came to an end Joan was always there waiting and almost without realising it she had become a habit.
It was when he woke up one day to the fact that most of his friends were married, or about to be, that Alec had finally succumbed to Joan’s gentle pressure and agreed to become engaged. They had gone to Bath to buy a ring – a nice little diamond that had cost Alec the best part of two weeks’wages – and everyone had supposed that he would be the next at the altar. But somehow each time the subject of setting a date had arisen he had shied away.
First there had been his exams as an excuse – he had followed his Uncle Harry’s example and qualified as an examiner at Starvault Pit where he worked, though he knew it was unlikely that he had either the ambition or the ability to rise further – certainly not to the dizzy heights of Uncle Harry, who was now Miners’Agent.
Then there was the excuse of saving up enough money to make a decent start and perhaps to buy a house of their own. For quite a long while that had satisfied Joan who had liked the idea of having a home which reflected Alec’s status. But lately even that had worn a little thin. Joan had begun to be impatient and now the only thing which stood between Alec and final capitulation was the work which needed to be done on the cottage they had decided to buy.
Alec washed his paintbrushes in a jar of turps in the kitchen and wondered how much longer he could spin out the decorating and renovations without rousing Joan to what he privately called ‘one of her paddies’. Though generally good-natured and amenable she occasionally lost her temper utterly and completely, something which Alec, a typically peaceful member of the Hall family, found pro
foundly disturbing.
But perhaps I ought not to spin it out for much longer, Alec thought. With this war who knew what would happen? The bill for conscription had been rushed through when the war was just a few hours old and just because no one from Hillsbridge except the reservists had actually been called up yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t be. The thought of leaving the job of renovating the cottage offended Alec’s orderly mind even if leaving Joan a spinster did not. Finish the cottage and then worry about how to keep his freedom for a few more precious months, perhaps that was the best way …
Raised voices carrying through the wall from the adjoining cottage interrupted Alec’s train of thought. A man shouting. A woman’s shrill protest. Alec paused with the brush still suspended in the jar of turps listening. He could not make out the words but without doubt there was one hell of a row going on – the walls of the cottage were thick solid stone, not like the paper thin ones they were building nowadays.
Good grief they’re going at it hammer and tongs! thought Alec. Even Joan, with her temper up, made less noise. There was a thud followed by another as if furniture was being overturned and Alec shook his head in disbelief, then went on packing up his brushes. It was nothing to do with him if his neighbours wanted to have a full scale row in their own home. He just hoped they wouldn’t do it too often!
After a while Alec heard what sounded like the back door being slammed and then all was quiet. His neighbour must have gone out to cool off, Alec decided. He knew the man slightly – Eric Latcham, who worked at one of the pits in South Compton – but apart from passing the time of day if he saw him in the garden Alec had never really spoken to him. And if he’s got a temper like that I don’t know that I want to, Alec thought.
He finished cleaning his brushes before putting them away and packed up the sheets of paint-streaked newspaper from the floor. Time to be going home – after a hard day’s work and an evening’s decorating he was just about ready for bed, though he might stop off at the Miners Arms for a pint on the way, he thought. He put on his jacket and let himself out of the cottage. The moon was shining but it took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust after the brightness of, the gas-lit kitchen and the outhouses where he had left his bicycle were in deep shadow. He locked the door, pocketed the key and turned around – then almost jumped as he saw a darker shadow cowering back against the door of the outhouses. Someone was there.
‘Oh – goodnight,’ Alec said.
For a moment there was no reply but a soft sobbing breath. Alec peered more closely, curious in spite of himself. The figure moved slightly as if uncertain whether to stay in the shadows or move away and Alec saw that it was a woman.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, but her voice was shaky.
‘Hey – are you all right?’ It came out before he could stop it though he was instantly embarrassed by his own boldness. This must be Eric Latcham’s wife, he guessed, though in all the times he had been to the cottage he could never recall having seen her. And it was she, not Eric, who had gone out when the door had slammed.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said in the same shaky voice. She moved awkwardly away from the outhouses and in the light of the moon he saw a tall but slightly built girl wearing a cardigan over a floral print dress. Her hair was short and dark but he could see little of her face as it was in shadow and half of it was obscured by her hand.
‘That’s all right then. I’ve – I’ve just been doing some decorating. I’m the new owner here …’ Alec crossed towards his bicycle.
‘Oh good.’ She made to attempt to move and on impulse said:
‘I’m Alec Hall, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘No. I’m Bryda. Bryda Latcham.’
‘Well, I expect we’ll get to know one another better before long.’ He bent to put on his cycle clips and still she stood uncertainly. Then she blurted out:
‘I’m sorry if we disturbed you tonight.’
‘No, no – you didn’t …’ He was embarrassed again.
‘It’s Eric,’ she said all of a rush. ‘He gets in a temper sometimes. But he doesn’t mean any harm. You mustn’t take any notice of him. He – well, you know what it’s like when you have a drink.’
Alec looked up at her quickly, overbalanced and knocked into his bicycle. It rolled on its handlebar against the wall almost falling over and the girl made an instinctive grab to save it. As she did so she removed her hand from her face and in the light of the moon Alec clearly saw the angry weal and the swollen cheekbone which she had been trying to hide.
‘Oh – your bike – I thought it was going to fall …’ She half-laughed, quickly covering her face again.
‘Thanks. It’s all right.’ He took it himself.
She shivered and pulled her cardigan around her with her free hand.
‘It’s going cold, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, nights and mornings …’ Oh, the strain of conversing normally when he had seen and she knew that he had seen …
‘I’d best be going then,’ Alec said. He picked up his bicycle and swung his leg over the crossbar. ‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
She was still standing there as he rode away. Afraid to go back in, he thought. It was hardly surprising if Eric had been hitting her about. The thought shocked and angered him – that a big bloke like Eric should take his ill temper out on his wife. But still it was none of his business.
The Miners Arms was blacked out but Alec guessed that some of his mates would still be there enjoying a pint. He propped his bicycle up against the wall and climbed the three broad stone steps to the door, which had also been blackout trapped.
As he had expected the usual group of regulars were gathered around the tables – Ewart Brixey, Tommy and Reg Clements and their father Walter, and Colwyn Yelling, though Stanley Bristow had already left. ‘At my age I don’t want to be out in this blackout!’ he had explained. As Alec went in they greeted him cheerfully and when he had bought himself a half of bitter at the bar he took it over to their table and pulled an extra chair into the circle.
‘Thee’m a bit late bain’t’ee, Alec?’ Ewart was always the first to come out with what everyone else was thinking. ‘You bin courtin’ I s’pose.’
‘Working, more like,’ Alec said amiably.
‘Oh ah – tell us another! Look, he’s got white on his coat! You’ve been round the outhouses with Joan!’
‘Fat chance. I’ve been painting.’
‘Painting! That’s a new name for it. Painting! I like that!’
‘So does Joan,’ Reg Clements said and there was a roar of ribald laughter.
Alec laughed with them and took a pull of his beer.
‘Straight up, I’ve been decorating the cottage we’re buying. Doing up the kitchen.’
‘She didn’t take long to get you in harness, Alec!’ Tommy joked. ‘If she’s got you decorating now, what’ll she be like when she’s got a ring on her finger?’
‘It had to be done,’ Alec said mildly, wiping the foam off his mouth. ‘We couldn’t live in the place as it was.’
‘Where’s the place you’m buying, Alec?’ Walter enquired.
‘Down the bottom of Combers End. In Purldown really. Next door to Eric Latcham.’
‘Oh ah.’
‘Do you know the Latchams?’ Alec asked.
‘I d’know Eric,’ Walter said. ‘I knew his father. I can mind when he worked at Middle Pit.’
‘What are they like?’
‘You ought to know if you’m going to live next door to them.’
‘I’ve hardly seen them,’ Alec admitted. ‘I do know Eric of course but …’ He broke off, unwilling to relate his experience of the evening. ‘What about his wife? Who did he marry?’
‘Bryda Deacon,’ Tommy said immediately. ‘We were at school with her weren’t we, Reg? You remember her don’t you, Alec? Pretty girl, dark. She’d be older than you, but surely you remember her?’
Alec thought. Bryda Deacon. Yes
, now he came to think of it he could remember her. As Tommy said she had been a pretty girl with a mass of brown wavy hair and a pair of legs that had made the boys whistle. Now, however, he found it difficult to equate that girl with the wraith who had cowered in the shadows of the outhouses.
‘They had a little’un, didn’t they?’ Reg said. ‘About a year ago. Though she lost several before that, I heard.’
‘I seen her not so long ago,’ Ewart said. ‘In the doctor’s surgery it was, when I had that bit of an accident underground and did me ribs in. She were in there with the little’un waiting her turn. She had changed though – I’m not surprised Alec didn’t know her. She’d got very thin and she were as white as a sheet. I put it down to whatever it was she’d done to her eye.’
Alec shifted in his chair. ‘Her eye? What had she done to it?’
‘I heard her telling the woman next to her she’d walked into the door. A real shiner it was though. Nasty.’
Alec said nothing, unwilling to put into words what was going through his mind. Rough and tough these miners might be, ready enough to join in a brawl or take the strap to a son who needed to be taught a lesson, but wife beating was not their way; and for the most part it would never enter their heads that someone they knew might indulge in it. Even with the evidence of the row he had overheard and Ewart’s description of Bryda’s black eye, he could scarcely believe it himself. But one thing was for very sure. Healthy young women didn’t make a habit of walking into doors.
‘Have you heard about th’ick rook that brought down a power line?’ Tommy asked, changing the subject. ‘T’were in the paper – Newhaven, it were. The bird perched on the wire and brought, the whole bloody lot down and the rook fell on a sheep in the field and set his wool on fire.’
‘Dead, were it?’ Ewart asked.
‘Oh ah, the rook were, but the sheep were all right. The firemen had to put it out. But a lot of folk’s Sunday dinners were spoiled when the electricity went.’