“We are all so very pleased at this glad news. We have been more than a little down in the dumps since you departed for Canada and this new baby will be a welcome distraction. Maggie looks very well although she refuses to take things easy. She is the one who has taken over your rabbit traps.
I know this part of my letter will not be a surprise to you son but as you expected your father and brother have returned to work at the pit. It pains me to tell you that it is at a lower rate of pay than before the strike and Maggie’s hunting, though commented upon unkindly by many as a strange activity for a woman, is a necessity. She is much better than me at the process of trading and we now get far more eggs from our neighbours in exchange for a rabbit than we did before.”
Idris tries very hard not to think about this baby and how it came about. He could be the father but he seeks to reassure himself that so might Tommy. Maggie’s belief that Tommy could not become a father could be wrong. No doctor was consulted. There is every good chance that this baby is nothing more than his nephew which is the way things should be and which absolves him of some of the guilt of betraying his brother.
He tries even harder to block from his mind the image of Maggie striding with strong legs and a growing belly across Clydach Vale mountain. Of how beautiful she is. Of how her skin feels when pressed against his own. He is not very successful in his efforts and it is rare that he wakes of a morning without having dreamed of his brother, Maggie or the baby she is carrying.
He has written too to Jean telling her his address. He thought long and hard about posting the letter to Jean. He remembers the look on her face that last day as they disembarked from the boat and feels uncomfortable at the memory. Jean is still a child and it would be inappropriate for him to give her false hope that her feelings for him are returned. Nevertheless he very much wants to hear about her and Janet’s new life and the grand house where they will be in service. In any event he had crossed his heart and hoped to die and he is a man who keeps his word. He finds himself drawing his finger over his chest once more as he pushes the letter to Jean into the letterbox.
It is November by the time he gets a letter in reply. The first snow has already fallen but it is not yet so cold that when he puts his back into his work he does not quickly grow warm.
Dearest Idris
I was so very glad to get your letter. I am very pleased that you have found gainful employment and have a comfortable place to live.
Janet and I arrived safely at the Fairknowe home in Brockville but stayed there only a short while before being allocated our positions.
Regrettably it was not possible to place us together and we find ourselves at separate farms in the Brockville area. Our duties are not solely domestic and include much farm work. I cannot pretend it is not harder work even than I envisaged, but I am glad of the opportunity.
Janet is fortunate in that the family for whom she works have young daughters. By all accounts these girls have taken to Janet and she to them. There are no children at my farm, only Mr and Mrs Barraclough who are not talkative people. Mr Barraclough in particular barely says a word to me.
I thank God daily that Janet and I have a roof over our heads and food on the table and try not to dwell on the fact that the food on Janet’s table seems rather more plentiful than mine.
I sincerely hope that our paths will cross again at some point. This hope is strengthened by the knowledge that you too are in Ontario.
With best wishes, Jean.
Jean’s letter troubles Idris. He feels her loneliness as she attempts to convey in her letter a strength she does not actually feel. Despite them both being in Ontario, Brockville is more than 200 miles away from Toronto and there is no real danger of their paths crossing again as Jean hopes. But he will write to her often. There can be no harm in writing to her.
Watching Toronto grow is like watching a pan of milk boiling on the stove. There is construction work going on all over the City – hotels and factories and civic buildings. New businesses open all the time as more and more people arrive from all over the world. There is constant dust and noise and movement and a feeling of anticipation, as if the City were on the brink of something. Like the pan of milk is boiling so hard it will soon flow over the top. The Rhondda always seemed full to Idris – of pits and people and houses – but there were always the mountains to escape to. Here in Toronto, there is no getting away from the growing pains of the City.
Despite all the construction work and the enterprise of feeding and housing and transporting Toronto’s growing population, there are not enough jobs to go around. Those who have found work are willing to work long hours to keep it and those not in work suffer poverty and homelessness. Idris listens to what the Trades and Labour Congress of Canada has to say about minimum wages and free healthcare and education for all, but he does not join or get involved. The failure of the strike has rubbed the edge off his anger and he has lost faith in trade unionism.
He goes to church a lot. Not because God is filling the gap left by politics but for the social life. Most Welsh families arriving in Toronto find their way to Dewi Sant eventually and there is always something arranged. Choirs and musical evenings and social suppers. The Ontario Temperance Act means that there’s no pub by way of alternative entertainment and at Dewi Sant’s social occasions there are women his own age and of Welsh origin, some of whom when he glances at them glance back.
There is one woman who does more than glance. Her name is Aeronwen James and she is small and fair, as different a woman from Maggie as there could ever be. Her blonde hair is neatly pinned up and she wears dark fitted jackets cut to her waist and long black skirts that fall to just above her sturdy laced black boots. Keeping warm and sturdy boots are important for both men and women in snowy Toronto and there are no flapper dresses to be seen at Dewi Sant.
He first manages to talk properly to Aeronwen on the evening of a Twmpath Dawns, a folk dancing evening. These evenings are very popular with the younger members of Dewi Sant’s audience – they involve set dance steps but also lots of stamping and whirling and changing of partners, an opportunity for the holding of hands and waists, all in plain view and part of the dance. Idris has been to a number of these and he knows the steps by now. He counts the numbers of dancers and their positions and places himself where he is guaranteed of Aeronwen as a partner the most often.
“Good evening, Miss James.”
“Noswaith dda, Mr Maddox.”
“I’m afraid I don’t speak Welsh. My father does – he’s from north Wales – but he brought us up as English speaking.”
“What a shame! It’s what we speak in our family.”
“Maybe you should teach me then.”
“Maybe I will.”
“May I say, Miss James, you look very well this evening.”
“I look very sweaty you mean. I love Twmpath Dawns but it doesn’t half make you out of puff.”
“I thought ladies never sweat, only shine.”
“In that case, I’m shining all over.” Aeronwen grins at him and Idris grins back and they carry on dancing.
Although Welsh speaking, Aeronwen, the baby of her family, was born in Toronto.
“It’s strange,” she explains to Idris during a break in the dancing while tea is served, “I am Canadian but I feel every bit as much Welsh as Canadian.”
“Whereas I’m Welsh and feel every bit as much Canadian.”
“Do you really? Aren’t you consumed with longing to go home? See your family? Go to a real Eisteddfod?”
“Not in the slightest. I miss my family – my parents and my brother, of course I do – and the mountains, I miss them too – but I made the choice to come to Canada and this is where I belong now.”
Idris’ life is busy and he has much to write about in his letters to Jean. He tells her how Toronto grows, stretching east and west and north so that there is room in her arms to embrace all the people that arrive to make a new start. He describes the men he works wi
th on the viaduct, the different languages he hears all around him and the foods the men bring with them to work, cooked in the ways of their own countries, strange and delicious. He tells her of Dewi Sant and its social events. Jean’s own letters say little about her daily life. She writes only that work is hard but that she prefers that to being cooped up inside by the snow and that she looks forward even more to summer because food will be in less short supply. Jean fills her letters with questions about Idris’ life in Toronto, begging for more detail. How high is the viaduct now? How soon till the new station will open? What do pierogi taste like? What dance steps does Welsh folk dancing involve because she thinks it sounds just like a Scottish ceilidh…
Jean does not ask about Aeronwen because Idris has omitted to mention her. In every letter she writes, Jean tells him how important his letters are to her. How they keep her smiling on days that might otherwise be lonely. Idris does not wish to hurt Jean and feels the kindest thing is not to tell her that when he is not working he spends as much time as he possibly can in the company of Aeronwen James.
The winter is long and snow falls most nights. When Idris first steps out of the house on Fairlawn Ave to walk to work in the morning, the ice-cold air punches him in the chest, squeezing all the air out of him. He found it difficult to breathe at first on this journey until he realised that it was because the snot in his nose was freezing and that he needed to wear his scarf up as far as his eyes and to breathe through his mouth into damp, wet wool. The atrocious weather conditions rarely stop work on the viaduct. No work means no pay and the risk of frostbite seems the lesser evil.
Eventually the snow starts to melt and the winter of 1926 slowly becomes the spring of 1927. Even so, there are still a few stubborn patches of snow remaining when a letter from his mother arrives telling him that Maggie’s baby has been born safe and sound, a bouncing baby boy, the spit of Tommy, with a big shock of dark hair just like her own boys had when they were born. He is to be christened David but is already being called Davey. He is the apple of the eye of his grandparents and Idris’ father is insistent the boy shall call him Taid, like he called his own grandfather, not Tadcu, like they say in south Wales. Gwen writes that her grandson can call her whatever he likes. She really does not mind.
Her words swirl up feelings in Idris that work and church and Aeronwen have managed to keep buried all winter. He imagines Maggie sitting in bed, holding her new-born son, and his brother clucking around them like one of the neighbours’ hens, fetching tea and patting Maggie’s hand. But the longing, the sadness and the jealousy are washed away by the strongest feeling of all. Relief that when he counts back the months on his fingers, the baby’s date of birth in early spring proves that Maggie must have been already pregnant when she asked him to sleep with her and that therefore it must be Tommy, not he, who is the father of the baby. Idris feels like the weight of all the snow of winter has melted from his shoulders. The dreams of Maggie stop.
Lighter and freer, Idris pursues Aeronwen with greater intent. Her father, William James, a hat maker with a small, successful shop in Queen Street, invites Idris to come meet with him there one Saturday afternoon.
“Mr Maddox. It’s good to see you are a punctual man. Come through to my office in the back. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“No thank you sir.”
“You seem like a good man, Mr Maddox.”
“I hope so, sir.”
“A man of honesty and integrity?”
“I am, sir.”
“Let me cut to the chase. Aeronwen is my youngest daughter. The others are all married now, which means I have watched this dance you and Aeronwen are doing play out a number of times already. I know my last born very well and I can see she is a willing participant in the dance. I know you very little, yet it seems to me that you are also a willing participant.”
Mr James pauses here and Idris realises that some response is expected of him. Not knowing what else to say he holds Mr James’ eye and simply says, “Sir.”
“What I need to understand from you Mr Maddox is whether your intentions in relation to my daughter are good. That is, that you are not just dancing with her?”
“I don’t entirely follow you Sir, but I can assure you my intentions in relation to your daughter are honourable and that I’m dancing with her with…er…a view to the longer term.”
“Excellent answer. Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Right, now that you’re here, how about I fit you for a hat? Something you can wear to the opening ceremony of the Union station. Edward, Prince of Wales is going to cut the ribbon you know. Us Welshmen better look smart for him.”
On the morning of 6 August 1927 Idris, Aeronwen, her father and the rest of the James family form part of the large crowd gathered at Front Street to greet His Royal Highness, Edward, the Prince of Wales. There is great excitement amongst the crowd at seeing their future King, accompanied by his brother and sister-in-law the Duke and Duchess of York, British Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin and Canadian Prime Minister William Lyon Mackenzie King. Many of the crowd arrived as soon as it was light that morning to secure the best view, waiting patiently in the summer sunshine which is already hot.
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Idris grumbles to Aeronwen. “How is he going to be king of this country all the way from over there in London? This is Canada’s Diamond Jubilee year for heaven’s sake. Why do we even need a king?”
“That’s treason that is, Idris,” Aeronwen rebukes him, reaching up and tilting his new hat so that it covers his eyes. “You want to watch yourself or else the king’s guards will come rushing out of that station and you’ll get yourself hung, drawn and quartered. Which would be a grave shame as I’ve grown really rather fond of you.”
Later they read in the papers how the Prince arrived at the station by private train at 10.30am. He walked around the Great Hall for ten minutes or so before using a pair of gold scissors to cut a ribbon, announcing “You build your stations like we build our cathedrals.” One paper comments that there was one minute of pomp for every year the construction of the station had taken. All the crowd sees of their future king is the two minutes it takes for him to come out the front of the station, wave a little at his adoring public, before stepping into an automobile and is whisked off to City Hall.
Years later when Prince Edward becomes King Edward VIII and then abdicates within the year, to be with Wallis Simpson, people who were in this crowd will say they could tell even then that Edward didn’t have a strong enough sense of public service to be the monarch. But on this day in 1927 the crowd disperses good-naturedly if a little disappointedly and, like Idris and Aeronwen and the rest of the James family, goes in search of somewhere out of the strong summer sun to eat the picnic lunches they have brought with them.
It is after 5pm by the time Idris starts walking home. He hums to himself as he walks. It has been a good day for Toronto. The first thing that people arriving in this City will now see is the wonderful new station, a station whose size and architectural beauty shout loud to all the world that Toronto is investing in itself and its future and will welcome all who arrive. And nothing adds to the enjoyment of a historic day such as this one more than spending it in the company of one so pretty and so much fun as Aeronwen James.
As he approaches the house in Fairlawn Avenue, he sees that Mrs Williams is standing in the window of the front room. When she spots him she hurries out to meet him.
“Idris, thank goodness you’re here. I’ve been a nervous wreck waiting for you to come home. You’ve got a visitor, a young lady. She arrived about lunchtime in the most awful state – I had to practically carry her inside. She says her name is Jean.”
Chapter 10
Carol’s white witch skills start wearing off after the apple tart and custard is all eaten.
“Please may I leave the table,” Eloise asks. “I’ve got homework to do.”
“You go ahead, love,” Carol says. “Front room is nice and quie
t and the wifi is great there. The rest of you can go watch television if you like.”
Carol and Richard have an enormous 90” television which they claim they need for Davey whose eyesight isn’t what it used to be. The children find it absolutely fascinating.
“I’ll keep an eye on Jake,” Grace says. She unbuckles him from his highchair and he chuckles and reaches his arms up to her. Grace picks him up and swings him onto her hip as if she’s been doing it for years.
“Don’t turn the telly up all the way though.” Carol calls after them. “Next door complain it sets their dogs off howling.”
“Shall I go dig out those photos for you then, Gareth?” Davey asks.
“If you tell me where they are, I’ll go fetch them Gramps.”
“They’re in a box on the top shelf of my wardrobe.”
It has been a long time since Gareth has been in his grandfather’s bedroom. After Nana Rosie’s death, his parents decided to move back into the house that Richard’s father grew up in so as to keep Davey company. Carol had glossed and laminated and B & Q’d every inch of the house to make it her own except for this room which she was forbidden to touch. It still has the same padded silky orange quilt on the bed, the same framed embroidery above the bed, of a lady in a bonnet and crinoline dress holding a bunch of flowers. It still looks and smells like it did when Nana Rosie was alive and Gareth would stay overnight with his grandparents when his parents went to the Double Diamond club for a night out. Davey would get kicked out to the spare room and Gareth got to sleep next to Nana. She used to wait until he was fast asleep before taking her teeth out but Gareth, who was fascinated by his grandmother’s removable teeth, would wake early. He wanted to see what Nana’s mouth without teeth looked like. If he saw that she was waking up, he would pretend to be asleep again so she would not know he had been watching her. When he did finally catch sight of her open, toothless mouth it was not a sight he needed to see again.
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