by Katie Flynn
The doctor, however, a grey-haired, bustling little man from Swansea, had grown serious, warning Glenys that though national events might not be uppermost in their minds at the moment, when the great day arrived they might find themselves with more to consider than a birthday party.
‘It can’t have escaped your notice, even in the midst of the harvest, that Mr Chamberlain has been trying to negotiate a peace deal with those damnable Huns,’ he had said. ‘He’s going to talk to the nation on Sunday morning, at around eleven. I’m sure everyone hopes for peace, and for the brownshirts or whatever they’re calling themselves this time round to back down and stay out of Poland, but I remember the last lot and I doubt it. And Mrs Weather’s party is supposed to be on Saturday, isn’t it? What will you do? Call off the celebrations?’
Glenys had shaken her head. ‘We’ll celebrate Nain’s birthday on the second of September whatever that Hitler decides to do,’ she assured him. ‘Weathercock Farm is a long way from Nazi Germany, thank the Lord, but if it is to be war then we’ll face it when it comes and not anticipate trouble before we have to.’ She gave a small shudder. ‘We went to the flicks last winter and the sight of those evil men bombing Spain . . . oh, well, best not to think of it.’
The party was going to be held in the harvest field, for Nain had made no secret of the fact that she was growing more and more eager to leave the house, and the doctor, a sensible man, had told Glenys privately that he knew the value of a really nice surprise when a patient had been confined for as long as Mrs Weather.
‘I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t appreciate the way you’ve all rallied round and taken on twice the usual amount of work,’ Nain had assured them. ‘But now that I can walk with only a bit of a limp, surely I can actually be of some use? I’d like to watch the harvesters at work and share the harvest tea, and the stories and laughs as well. If you, Glenys my dear, and you, dear Sam, will take an arm each I’m sure you could get me there safe and sound, and it would be such a treat.’
She had sounded so wistful that Glenys almost burst into tears, and it was at that moment that the idea of having the party in the harvest field instead of in the farmhouse was born.
‘All the neighbours will be working on your twelve-acre, so it will be as much of a surprise for them as for Nain,’ she had told Taid as they milked the cows. ‘We’ll bring the sandwiches, sausage rolls and other savouries down first, and then we’ll get Jimmy to blow a blast on his harmonica and you and Sam can process down the lane and into the field with the candles already lit on the cake and we’ll all sing Happy Birthday. Do you think Nain would like that?’
Taid thought it was a grand idea and very soon the children began to talk secrets, planning what they would give Nain for her birthday, arguing and plotting, until Sam told them that they would give the game away simply by their behaviour. ‘You carved a little wooden bird when the big beech fell in the gales,’ he reminded Jimmy. ‘Carve another and give it to Nain; she’ll appreciate it more than the most expensive trifle you could buy in a shop because you made it yourself.’ He smiled at Mo. ‘And why don’t you embroider a Peter Pan collar for Nain to sew on her blue dress? Could you manage that? Just lazy daisies and love knots? Nain would be tickled pink that you’d tried, because she knows embroidery bores you to tears.’
Both children agreed to the plan, and very soon decided to go to bed early at weekends so that they might toil over their birthday presents in peace, and if Nain had an inkling of what such strange behaviour might mean, or wondered about the whispered conferences which ceased abruptly whenever she entered a room, she never said so much as a word.
Now, Glenys slid her legs out of bed and crossed the broad expanse of linoleum to where her washstand with its flowery ewer and basin awaited her. Once, she and Mo had shared this room, but that was because it meant Glenys was handy when the little girl had a nightmare. Now Mo’s bad dreams were a thing of the past, and she slept happily in her own pretty room on the opposite side of the landing, though if she woke first Glenys was apt to come round to find the little girl’s weight on her protesting stomach, whereupon she tried to bury her head in her pillow and assure Mo, with pretended annoyance, that she was still fast asleep.
Because the harvest could not possibly be postponed just because of a birthday party, Glenys washed and dressed as fast as she could and then went down to the parlour, where Nain had been sleeping whilst she found the stairs rather too much. Rather to her surprise, Nain still appeared to be slumbering, but as she turned in the doorway to sneak out again Nain turned her head and grinned at her.
‘Pass me my teeth, cariad,’ she whispered. ‘A feeling I have that I’ll be receiving visitors before too long, and I want to look seventeen again and not seventy.’
‘Happy birthday, dear Nain. You certainly don’t look seventy,’ Glenys said. ‘I won’t deny that you looked pretty grim when you were carted off to hospital with all your broken bones, but since then you’ve shed years.’
‘Aye; done me good the rest has,’ Nain acknowledged. ‘You’ve been grand, so you have, and if you have time I’d not say no to a nice hot cup of tea and a bit of a hand to get dressed, but not if you’re too busy. I know what it’s like at harvest time.’
‘I’m never too busy to spend time with you,’ Glenys said with perfect truth, for she and the older woman had grown very attached to one another. She handed Nain the little blue box which contained her teeth and turned to the door, but was called back.
‘A nuisance it has been, having me downstairs and the rest of you up,’ she said firmly. ‘Tonight I intend to go back to my own room with Taid. If you can just put out my clothes each night then Taid will help me dress in the morning. Not that I need much help now.’
Glenys agreed happily, knowing that it would do Nain good to regain her independence, and went to the kitchen to make the cup of tea with which Nain always started the day.
By the time she had carried it through to the parlour there were sounds of stirring upstairs, and when she returned to the kitchen, having left Nain cradling her cup in her hands, the back door opened and Sam and Taid came in. Glenys, measuring oatmeal into the big black saucepan, turned to smile at them. ‘Pour yourselves a cuppa,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ve already drunk mine, and Nain is probably draining her teacup even as I speak.’ She turned to Taid. ‘Morning, Taid. I’ve set out Nain’s best clothes on the chair by her bed. If you take your tea through to her you can give her a hand to dress whilst I make the porridge and Sam does the toast. Knowing the kids they’ll be down as soon as they smell cooking. They’ve been longing for today, and can’t wait to hand over their presents.’
Presently the children bounced into the kitchen, shouted a greeting and went straight to the dresser, in the top drawer of which they had hidden their gifts. They grabbed the little parcels and disappeared into the parlour whence presently came the sound of Nain’s appreciation and praise. Sam and Glenys exchanged smiles. The celebratory day was getting off to a good start.
By the time Glenys had got the children into their beds that night she was exhausted, but very happy. It had been a splendid day, she thought, sitting down at the kitchen table between Sam and Nain and pouring herself a cup of tea, a positively wonderful day. The corn was harvested and in stooks, waiting to be stacked, the guests had been royally fed, and the weather, despite some early fears, had been perfect. The sun had shone from a cloudless sky and not one disagreement had arisen to spoil the atmosphere, though it was a well known fact that some of the guests had not been on speaking terms for years.
‘Well, my love? I dare say you’re wore out, but you’ve given my old girl a day to remember, that’s for sure!’ Taid beamed at Glenys, and then reached over and patted Sam’s shoulder. ‘And I can’t leave you out, Sam, because I know well that you and Glenys planned the whole day . . . and what a day it’s been!’
The four adults were sitting round the kitchen table, the men with mugs of Taid’s home brew, the w
omen with cups of tea. Nain was wearing her new Peter Pan collar, which she kept touching as though to make sure it was real, and Taid, seeing the movement, got to his feet, bent creakingly over, and kissed his wife’s cheek. ‘Well, old lady?’ he said fondly. ‘I think it’s about time you were in bed after such a day.’
Nain protested, but when Sam said that since Glenys had done the washing up he and Taid would dry and put away, she agreed that she was indeed weary. ‘But it’s a happy weariness,’ she assured them, getting to her feet. She turned to Glenys. ‘If you’ve finished the washing up, cariad, will you come upstairs with me and help me to get out of this very fine, Sunday-go-to-meeting dress? Then you can come down again and make sure that the men have cleared away properly.’
Sam and Taid protested that of course they would clear away properly, and Glenys and the older woman headed for the stairs. Pushing open the old couple’s bedroom door, Glenys realised that she had never been in this room before. Taid had dealt with the bed-making and general tidying whilst his wife could not do so.
She looked around her appreciatively. There was a rose-patterned carpet on the floor, and the curtains at the window, she saw when she went across to draw them, were also covered in roses. There were two bedside cabinets and a washstand – more roses – two easy chairs, and a walnut wardrobe and dressing table. Nain had followed her into the room, and now smiled around possessively as Glenys said: ‘What a pretty room! Knowing how fond you are of roses in the garden I suppose I should have guessed that you’d have them in your room as well.’
Nain nodded and sank into one of the easy chairs – basketwork, with roses on the cushion – with a little sigh. ‘It’s good to be back,’ she said, as though she had been away for years. ‘This was my parents’ room when I was a girl and I had the room you have now, which was Grace’s room, as I expect you’ve been told. Of course the furnishings are different, but the view is the same.’ She was regarding Glenys and obviously expected a reply.
‘Yes, Sam mentioned it once,’ Glenys said, feeling a little awkward. ‘You don’t mind? My being in Grace’s room, I mean.’
Nain smiled fondly at her. ‘Mind? My dear, you’ve been like a daughter to me, and if you had ever known Grace you would know that she was not only pretty but generous and sweet-natured as well.’ She got to her feet and crossed the room to her dressing table, picking up a photograph in a silver frame and handing it to Glenys. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a photograph of our girl. She was only sixteen when this was taken, and I dare say life changed her a little, but not very much.’
Glenys took the photograph and stared down into the lovely oval face. ‘She’s not just pretty, she’s beautiful,’ Glenys said softly. ‘And . . . yes, there is a striking likeness to Mo. No wonder Sam found it so painful.’
‘I must tell you, my dear, that you and Grace would have loved one another like sisters, because in some ways you’re very alike,’ Nain said softly. ‘You’ve been so good to my grandchildren, to say nothing of how good you have been with Taid and me, and then there’s Sam; you get on so well together and he’s not always an easy man, as you know. But you’ve tamed the dragon. Oh, I know you’ve had your disagreements, but there has been no hint of bitterness, and believe me, Taid and I are grateful for that. You love the farm, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ Glenys acknowledged, then added gently: ‘But you mustn’t think I’m trying to take Grace’s place.’
‘My daughter was a wonderful girl,’ Nain said. ‘But she wasn’t strong, and farm work . . .’
She might have said more, but at that moment Taid called up the stairs. ‘Would you like a mug of hot milk by your bed, Myfanwy?’
‘Yes please, Gethin,’ his wife called back. ‘One teaspoon of sugar, remember.’
‘I’ll get it and bring it up to you on my way to my own bed,’ Glenys said tactfully. She could just imagine how much milk would be left in the mug if Taid attempted to carry it upstairs. ‘Good night, dear Nain. Do you realise how rarely I’ve heard you and Taid using each other’s proper names? Myfanwy; how pretty that sounds!’
Nain chuckled. ‘Go on with you,’ she said affectionately. ‘Goodnight, cariad.’
The next day dawned as fair as the previous one. Nain always prepared and served a cooked breakfast on Sundays, not just porridge but bacon and eggs with plenty of crisp toast and marmalade to follow, but today, Taid announced, when they were all gathered round the kitchen table, would be anything but a normal Sunday in other ways.
‘Mr Chamberlain is going to tell us how Hitler has responded to our ultimatum that his troops get out of Poland or put themselves on a war footing with Great Britain,’ he reminded them. ‘I know we’ve all refused to let the thought of war affect our lives but this announcement is too important to miss, so I’ve told Pete the Sheep and the families who rent the other two cottages that they can come and listen with us.’
Nain had been helping the children to lay the table, but at these words she stopped short and sighed. ‘Oh, I do pray it will be peace,’ she said. ‘Women were not expected to fight in the last war, but I knew girls who nursed sick soldiers in France and had some dreadful tales to tell. We don’t want that again.’
Taid nodded. ‘You’re right, old lady,’ he said. ‘War’s a wicked thing, but it’s up to the strong to protect the weak, and Poland is a little country. The Nazis have already gobbled up Austria and Czechoslovakia and it’s time someone stood up to them, like we did in the last lot.’ He swung round and pointed a finger at Jimmy, who was staring at him, pink-cheeked and starry-eyed. ‘You think it’d be a lark, a bit of fun,’ he said. ‘Well, you’re wrong, but each generation has to make its own mistakes. And now you run down to the cottages and tell them if they want to hear Mr Chamberlain’s speech they’d best be here by a quarter to eleven.’
Jimmy beamed, but then his face fell. ‘Do I have to go before breakfast?’ he asked. ‘Oh, Taid, can’t it wait till after?’
Everyone laughed, and Taid looked up at the big clock over the mantelpiece. ‘After will be fine,’ he said.
Glenys, who had stopped filling their plates to listen, started to dish up once more. She disliked Pete the Sheep, who was now a permanent part-time employee of Weathercock Farm. Nasty, dirty, creepy little man, she thought to herself as she slid eggs on to the warmed plates. The minute he gets into this kitchen he starts hinting that he’s had no breakfast and can smell bacon, or anything else he happens to fancy. I still think Taid might have employed someone else, but he says he couldn’t do that, not with Pete living in one of the farm cottages. If only someone could persuade him to wash from time to time . . .
Sam, making toast in front of the open range, turned and grinned at her. ‘You don’t like Pete, do you?’ he said, reading her mind with uncanny accuracy. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him; he’s just an appetite on legs. Is that why you don’t like him? Because he comes up here when we’re eating and makes everyone feel uncomfortable?’
Glenys turned and smiled at him. ‘How petty you must think me! No, it’s not just his never-ending appetite and his freely expressed opinions.’
Sam returned her smile. ‘It’s the dirt, I suppose,’ he said. ‘He’s got a tin bath in his cottage and the use of the well, so he has every opportunity to clean himself up. I dare say it would do him good to dip his head into a bucket of water occasionally but he’s a darned good sheep man. And if we’re going to expand our flock we shall need his expertise.’
‘Right; then I’ll put up with him,’ Glenys said. ‘And now sit down and have your breakfast before—’
There was a crashing thump from outside the back door and it burst open to reveal the subject of their conversation, who came straight across the room and settled himself in the nearest chair. ‘Mornin’ all,’ he said cheerfully, seeming not to notice the startled looks trained on him. ‘I ‘member yesterday – cor, that were a grand party, missus – the master said old Chambermaid was goin’ to make a speech today about this
’ere war, an’ we was all invited up here to listen. The O’Connells is comin’, but I don’t know about the Davieses, ’cos I couldn’t ask ’em – they don’t let me into their garding, let alone the cottage.’ He caught Sam’s look and hastened into further speech. ‘It ain’t nothin’ to do wi’ me; never a cross word have I uttered to that stuck-up bitch . . . well, well, less said the better, but I don’t know what I’ve ever done to them.’
The last words were uttered in a self-pitying whine, and Glenys would have sworn that he was slurring his speech; surely he could not be drunk at this time of the morning? And suddenly his proximity was too much for Glenys’s self-control. Before she could prevent them, words popped out of her mouth. ‘I expect it’s the smell,’ she said sharply, ‘or the muck, of course. Try washing, Pete, and the chances are you’ll be invited to Buckingham Palace, and perhaps you’ll be welcome at the Davieses’ too. And the broadcast takes place at eleven, not eight o’clock.’
To her surprise a slow brick-red blush crept up from the man’s filthy, collarless shirt to invade his face. He thumped his fist on the table and half rose to his feet. ‘That weren’t called for, missus,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s all very well for you, you’ve got yourself a tidy billet up here and think you’ve got no need to be polite to old Pete the Sheep.’ He pointed a trembling finger at Glenys. ‘I may be dirty . . .’
‘You damned well are,’ Sam interposed, having obviously decided to take Glenys’s part. ‘And now if you’ve had your say, Pete, you’d best toddle off home and come back at eleven to hear Mr Chamberlain . . . Chamberlain, Pete . . . talk to the nation.’
Pete swung round to face Sam. ‘You’re no bloody angel,’ he said in a hissing whisper. ‘If I were to tell what I know . . .’