To Nelly’s relief, Amy turned and smiled at her. ‘You’re right Nelly, as always.’
When they reached their destination they were at once caught up in the excitement of the occasion. Bunting hung from every available space: from lamp-posts, trees and cavities in the rocks along the shoreline. Music came from groups of musicians and Nelly could see that choirs from schools were gathering to add to the air of carnival. Everyone seemed to be shouting as they tried to make themselves heard above the din of the ever-thickening crowd.
There was colour everywhere. Among the normally dressed onlookers was a large number of people dressed in the clothes of earlier times. Assorted Victorians as well as Edwardians with leg-of-mutton sleeves stood side by side with a modern miss wearing a sleeveless dress and stilletto heels. Nelly wandered through the crowds, with Amy shepherding their charges to follow behind, marvelling at it all.
Along the track, small grottos built of sea shells and attractive pebbles gathered from the beach shone with lighted candles and even, in some cases, torches. The architects of these waited hopefully for passengers and onlookers to throw coins into them as appreciation of their artistic endeavours.
‘Can we have an ice cream?’ Margaret pleaded.
‘Look at the queues!’ Nelly protested. ‘You’ll be there all afternoon,’ but she and Amy shrugged and handed the three children a coin each and prepared to sit and wait for them to be served.
‘Be sure an’ come straight back ’ere!’ Nelly warned them at the top of her voice and, although the noise of the crowd was deafening, they heard and acknowledged with a wave. When they returned, licking around the cornets which threatened to lose their contents in the warmth of the day, Nelly and Amy set off to find a place to sit and wait for the celebrations to begin.
‘Not too far from the station, or we won’t see a thing,’ Nelly warned.
‘We can sit on the sand, can’t we?’ Oliver asked.
‘As long as we stay together we’ll do anything you want to do. It’s your day out,’ Amy said.
As they pushed their way through to find a place where they could spread out their belongings and make themselves comfortable Nelly still looked around her, memorising everything so she could tell George when they got home.
There were groups of flappers in cloche hats, strap shoes and long strings of beads, with skirts just below their knees and even, in some cases, the short Eton Crop hair style that had been popular in the twenties. Bloused tops overhung waists, straight skirts, pleated skirts, and double-breasted jackets, intended to hide any shapely curves and give a mannish slimness, were all represented. As they walked past, Nelly smelt several gusts of mildew from dresses and hats obviously recovered from an attic or a half-forgotten trunk.
‘’Ere, Amy, I bet I could’ve found somethin’ to wear if I’d looked in the back bedroom!’
‘Thank goodness you didn’t think of it, then,’ Amy laughed. ‘We’d’ve been thrown off the bus!’
The shouting from the crowd told them the first train was in sight and, leaving their belongings on the beach, Amy picked up the baby and they all pushed their way forward. From the sea wall, Oliver and Margaret saw the horse-drawn coach approaching. Nelly found a place for Dawn and the camera began to click as the girl took several photographs, not of the train, but of the faces of the crowds watching and cheering its arrival. The coach had open stairs and on these people sat, filling every possible space so that, as the commentary explained, the poor conductor had to swing from passengers and any available hand-hold to move around and collect his fares.
‘He had to use the passengers as a ladder,’ Nelly shouted to Oliver in case he missed the words. ‘Blimey, that must ’ave bin dangerous!’
Dawn climbed down from the wall and, while keeping near to Nelly, managed to take a full film of snaps, sometimes asking people to pose for her, and at others sneaking in to snap the unwary. She went as close as she was allowed and took a picture of the horse, whose name, Oliver discovered, was Kay.
‘Why don’t you take pictures of the coach?’ Oliver asked.
‘You can borrow the camera and take one if you like,’ Dawn offered, so Oliver went through the crowd, watched by an anxious Nelly, to take a photograph of the coach and the horse who was enjoying all the attention.
When the next train arrived they were in a better position and watched the approach of the steam engine with its bustled and long-skirted passengers in the carriages behind. Cinders blew back from the engine and the passengers were all dishevelled and dusty. Dawn ran forward and, ignoring Nelly’s shout, managed to reach the train in time to snap a woman who ran out in a red flannel petticoat and a cap. She was carrying a bucket which she filled with hot water from the engine and began to wash the train free of the grime that resulted from the short journey in a replica of a once-regular routine.
Nelly laughed as young boys cartwheeled beside the train and girls skipped and danced to music, filling the area with colour and happy sounds. Nelly absorbed it all, although rarely taking her eyes off Dawn, Margaret and Oliver. It was so easy to become separated with so many crowded into the small seaside village and once she became worried when Dawn was lost to her sight. She was only missing for a moment and, when Nelly learnt that the little girl had asked a man to refill her camera with fresh film – which he paid for – she doubted her wisdom in bringing her. She was not sorry when, after the electric train had deposited its passengers, Oliver announced that he was hungry and was it ever going to be time to eat?
They returned to their spot on the sands and began to unpack their picnic. Nelly and Amy exchanged glances as Dawn ate with great enthusiasm. The girl did not say much but tried occasionally to squeeze between Oliver and Margaret. This manoeuvre Margaret swiftly thwarted, much to Nelly’s amusement.
‘There’s me thinkin’ your Freddie’s too young fer girls an’ look at my Ollie,’ she whispered proudly, ‘got girls chasin’ ’im already, ’e ’as!’
Flirting seemed a major part of the afternoon and when Gerry Williams and Pete Evans turned up, it was clear they were intent on finding a girl with whom to spend the evening. Amy and Nelly watched them teasing and laughing as they approached some of the prettiest girls, and wished Freddie were with them.
‘That’s what Freddie should be doing, having fun with lots of girls, not bogged down worrying about someone like Sheila, whatever you say about him being sensitive,’ she said as she waved to the two friends.
People pushed past and Nelly was constantly brushing the dirt from the cloth set out on the table of sand made by the children. When one of the passers-by stopped, she did not look up for a moment. Then a voice said, ‘Cafe open, is it?’ and Phil sat beside them and helped himself to a sandwich.
‘Phil, there’s a cheek you’ve got,’ his wife scolded gently.
‘Sit down, both of you. There’s plenty,’ Amy invited. ‘We thought Fay and Johnny might come and one or two others, so tuck in, you.’
‘Bert and Brenda Roberts are here and Milly and her daughter with that son of hers. I haven’t seen Johnny and Fay though.’
When Johnny did come he was on his own.
‘Fay must be working,’ he explained. ‘I went home to fetch her but there’s no sign. No note either so she must have decided to work. Can’t stop her and that’s a fact. Never idle, that girl.’
Nelly thought he really meant Fay was never at home.
The food was rewrapped and the children once again queueing for ice cream when Victor and Delina found them.
‘Missed all the fun, have we?’ Victor groaned.
‘By the look of things it will go on for hours yet.’ Amy pointed to where there were couples dancing and he gestured to her to join them.
‘Go on, Amy, Catrin and I’ll look after Sian,’ Nelly coaxed, but her smile of encouragement was forced. She was afraid that Amy was heading for another disaster if she became seriously involved with Victor Honeyman. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ she went on, hiding her fears. ‘Y
ou don’t get many days off.’ She watched as Victor led her through the crowds, a protective arm around her shoulders. Why can’t she settle for that Billie Brown? she thought sadly. Delina felt uneasy as she watched her father escort Amy towards the dancers. They looked like a couple; relaxed and comfortable with each other. Should she show her disapproval instead of encouraging them? Then she thought of the barren life her father led because of just one mistake, and she knew she could not. Loyalty to her mother fought against love to her father, and lost.
‘Give me the baby,’ Delina offered. ‘You go and look around for a while.’ Nelly shook her head. ‘Me legs ’ave done enough lookin’,’ she said, laughing at her confusing remark. ‘Glad to sit down,’ she admitted, ‘although Gawd knows ’ow I’ll get up again!’
The baby was restless, aware of the strangeness of her surroundings and Delina picked her up and cuddled her.
‘Will her mother be well enough to take her back soon?’ she asked.
‘We hope so, but she’s still poorly. I think Amy’s got Sian fer a long time. Pity really, it doesn’t ’elp ’er chances, does it?’
‘Chances?’ Delina queried. ‘Chances of what?’
‘Finding a ’usband,’ Nelly replied.
‘Damn me, Nelly, you don’t think that would stop anyone falling for Amy, do you?’ Phil laughed.
‘Yes, a good catch she is, with the shop an’ everything,’ Johnny agreed.
‘I can see that having a child would be an extra strain on a new marriage but if the love was strong enough it would work,’ Delina said.
‘I don’t know, ’ow would you feel if you fancied a bloke an’ found ’e ’ad a baby to look after. Put you off, wouldn’t it?’
Nelly was surprised to see Delina blush. Blimey, she thought, there is someone. That didn’t take ’er long!
Dawn came back and, with an ice cream held awkwardly, took some photographs of the group around the sand-table. She glared at Delina, who tried to talk to her, ignoring Delina’s attempts at conversation.
‘Have you had a good day, Dawn?’ she asked, ‘What have you enjoyed best? Tell me about the trains, I missed seeing them. Will you let me see the photographs you took when they’re developed?’ To all these, Dawn made no reply. She just hung her head and looked sulky.
‘What you got against ’er then?’ Nelly asked when Dawn helped her to pack the wicker basket.
‘She’s a teacher, isn’t she? Fishing for something to complain about, that’s all she’s doing.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Nelly said.
‘Well, why else would she want to talk to me? And she isn’t seeing my photos either.’
‘Tell me then. ’Ad a good day, ’ave yer?’
‘Best I can ever remember.’
* * *
When it was time to leave, Victor offered Amy and Margaret a lift in the van he had borrowed but Amy declined. ‘I came with Nelly and I’ll go home with her. Although,’ she added, ‘if you could take the luggage it would be great.’
But eventually, Amy, Margaret and Oliver did go with Victor, delighted at the prospect of a ride home in the back of the van. Johnny, Phil and the rest travelled home with Nelly and Dawn on the bus. Nelly could see the sense in Amy having a more comfortable journey with the baby but she was not happy about the increasing ease with which Victor was slipping into her life. He had a wife and Amy had had enough trouble with her love affairs. Why hadn’t Billie Brown come to take her home? She had hinted to him and explained where he would find them.
‘Life ain’t never perfect, is it, Dawn?’ she sighed. Dawn was mystified but didn’t ask Nelly to explain. She was over-full with food and lemonade and ice cream and very tired. She wished she could have gone home with Oliver but she didn’t mention that to Nelly, contenting herself with pouting all the way home to show that her day had been far from perfect too, in spite of her earlier remark to the contrary.
They all left the bus at the bottom of Sheepy Lane and Nelly began to walk up the narrow road to the council houses. A car approached, the engine screaming protestingly as the driver accelerated in a low gear and Nelly turned to see that her daughter, Evie, was driving. She waved, but Evie seemed to be looking down at her feet and she did not acknowledge her.
‘See that, Johnny?’ Nelly shouted as he strode ahead, anxious to see if Fay was home. ‘My Evie’s drivin’ Tedious Timothy’s car! What d’you think of that, then?’
‘I think she should stick to using buses!’ Johnny laughed.
‘Don’t you think she’ll pass ’er test?’
‘Snowball in hell’s chance! Too conscious of herself to think about driving, and she’s cruel to cars!’
‘But if she’s determined?’ Nelly insisted, shouting at the top of her voice as Johnny had all but disappeared.
‘I wish her luck, but she’ll never be as good as my Fay.’
‘My Dad says women shouldn’t be allowed to drive,’ Dawn said.
‘Another endearing trait! ’E’s determined to be popular, ain’t ’e?’
Chapter Seven
Earlier, on the day of the Mumbles celebration, Sheila Davies had a visitor. She had not encouraged the visitor to stay and had stood watching Ethel Davies walking painfully and slowly down the hill. She felt no sympathy for the effort Ethel had made to walk up Sheepy Lane and the steep St llltyd’s to see her. Sheila still thought of Ethel as Mrs Davies and was unable to refer to her as ‘Mother-in-law’. How could she have a mother-in-law when she didn’t have a marriage, or a wedding ring? When she had no husband?
Ethel had called on numerous occasions following the travesty of the marriage between her son and Sheila Powell after which Maurice had hurriedly left for Australia. She had brought gifts of knitting and crochet for the expected baby, the grandchild she was longing to welcome and love. Unfortunately, the baby had died but she still came, bringing not clothes for the infant but cakes and an occasional pie. This time she had brought a sponge cake, flat and rubbery being fatless, but generously filled with homemade jam, and cream illegally made from surplus milk on one of the local farms.
Turning away from the sight of the limping figure, Sheila closed the door and went to put the cake in the kitchen. She had not invited Ethel inside to rest after the walk up the hill. She was still bitter over the fact that although Ethel now often suggested she called in to the house on the lane, neither Ethel nor Maurice had invited her before the proposed wedding made it necessary to convince the neighbours that Sheila was welcomed into the family.
When Ethel had produced the cake from her shopping basket, Sheila had waited to see if she would have anything else for her: a letter, or at least news of Maurice. A change of heart perhaps and a promise to send for her, or to return home to look after her. She had not asked if there was news from Australia but when Ethel offered none, she took the cake rudely and bid her a good morning.
She put the cake on the wooden draining board and looked around her. The kitchen was a mess. Another reason for not inviting Ethel inside. Washing was piled up on the tiled floor in sorted heaps ready for washing in the oval galvanised bath set up on a bench near the sink and half filled with soapy water. The sink was filled with clear water for rinsing the clothes once they had been washed and a bowl of blue water stood ready to receive the whites. With a sigh, Sheila threw the table cloths, tea towels and white pillow cases into the suds and began to rub them against the ribbed wash-board.
The whites should have been boiled but she could not face that steamy, tedious and dangerous task. Ladling them out of the boiler with the short wooden stick and lifting them into the sink for rinsing was a job she dreaded and, with her grandmother out, was one she determined to avoid.
As garments were rubbed against the wash-board, wrung by hand and thrown into the rinsing water, Sheila grew tired and bored. She spent less and less time rubbing them clean until the last garments had no rubbing at all, just a moistening and a half-hearted squeeze before being thrown into the sink. Her face was flushed
and her hair hung around her face, damp and lacking in any curl, when she heard the knock at the door. She hesitated and almost did not answer it, but curiosity overcame her reluctance to show herself in such an untidy state and, giving a desultory push to the strands of hair across her forehead, she opened the door.
‘Freddie!’ she gasped. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘Don’t look so surprised, I haven’t come from the moon!’
‘Come in.’ She wished she had at least combed her hair. ‘You’ll have to excuse how I look. I’ve been doing the week’s washing.’
Freddie was shocked by her appearance. When he had collected her from the hospital she had been expecting him and had made up her face with care. Her hair had been neatly brushed and she had appeared surprisingly fit. Now, there was no colour in her cheeks and her fair hair, of which she was so vain, looked like that of an old woman. He had never ever seen his mother looking so unkempt, and it frightened him. Sheila must be ill.
‘Help me put the washing on the lines will you?’ Sheila asked. ‘Gran won’t be back for an age and I want to get it dry and ironed if I can.’
‘Sit down, you, I’ll see to it.’ Freddie put down the rucksack he was carrying and guided her to a chair. ‘Sit by there and watch me through the window, then I’ll come back and make us both a sandwich and a pot of tea.’
‘If you say so, Freddie,’ she whispered, widening her blue eyes as she looked up at him. They spent the afternoon sitting in the comfortable, if shabby front room, and when Sheila’s grandmother returned from a visit to a friend, Freddie stood up to leave.
‘Hello Freddie,’ the elderly woman smiled. ‘Sheila, why did you do all that washing? I told you to leave it till your mam came to help. Still weak, you are. You should have more sense.’ She tutted as Freddie helped her off with her coat and then headed off into the kitchen, leaving Sheila and Freddie alone.
The Changing Valley Page 12