Pontypridd 05 - Such Sweet Sorrow

by Catrin Collier

  ‘It was a good idea of yours to leave the station and do some shopping.’

  ‘The longer you live with me, the more you’ll realise I’m full of good ideas.’

  ‘Was Myrtle very surprised when you telephoned to say we were coming home?’

  ‘Not when I told her you were worried about your mother and William. From what I gathered, your mother’s been putting a brave face on it, but that doesn’t stop her jumping sky high every time the doorbell rings.’

  ‘There’s a newsboy coming down the street now.’ Diana moved from her seat, but Wyn left the table before her.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Wyn was self-conscious about his crutches and the awkward movements he made with his artificial leg, which sat painfully on his barely healed stump, but as Diana watched him go up to the newsboy, she sensed that he was making an extra effort for her. Over the past few days there had been no trace of the self-pity he had fallen prey to in the hospital, and as she looked back she realised there hadn’t been since she’d agreed to marry him. He rushed clumsily back into the tea shop, scanning the headlines as he sat down.

  ‘Have the Germans …’

  ‘They’re still advancing, but look –’ he pushed the paper towards her. ‘The first British troops have been evacuated at a place called Dunkirk.’

  ‘You think they could be the Guards?’

  ‘There’s no way of telling yet, love.’

  ‘But they’ll get them all out?’ she asked anxiously.

  He reached across and took her hand in his. ‘Let’s hope so.’ He kept the thought, ‘if they’re still alive’ to himself.

  At the beginning of the war the Ronconis had installed a wireless in their Tumble café, but it had hardly been used until the German advance threatened the British positions in France. That night, the trouble with Dai Station was forgotten as a crowd of people who couldn’t afford to buy their own wireless sets assembled in the back room to glean what information they could from the news broadcasts.

  The town was awash with rumours. One of the tram conductors had assured Tina that a passenger had already received a telegram from the War Office telling her of her husband’s death, and he was ‘pretty sure’ her husband was in the Guards. A driver argued with him, telling Tina that he’d heard from a mate who worked in the chainworks, who had a brother in the Guards, that the Welsh Guards had already left France. Mrs Evans from Station Terrace insisted that a woman in her street had received a telegram from her husband to say that he’d landed, was safe and well and would soon be home, but when Tina pressed her Mrs Evans couldn’t say what regiment the man was in, or what number in the street the woman lived.

  It was the same whenever Tina or Gina tried to pinpoint the origin of a rumour. Neither of them succeeded in fingering a specific person or address. The only news they could be certain of were the items read out on the wireless, and they weren’t good: German bombs falling on the Rhone Valley and Marseilles; Germans on the march, advancing ever closer to Paris; the hair-raising evacuation at Dunkirk among falling bombs and bullets – and with every bulletin the faces of the men and women in Pontypridd who had relatives ‘somewhere in France’ grew more and more tight-lipped, and strained.

  ‘I wish I could do something to help your sister,’ Luke whispered to Gina as they followed Alexander and Tina up the hill after the girls had closed the café for the night.

  ‘It’s bad enough having to worry about Angelo, Tony and Trevor without having to worry about a boyfriend as well.’ Gina wove her fingers into Luke’s and squeezed tight to let him know how glad she was that he was with her, and not in France. ‘If only we knew where they were it would be something. Sometimes I think it’s the not knowing that’s wearing Tina and Mama and Papa down.’

  ‘The Guards are a crack regiment, aren’t they?’

  ‘The best.’

  ‘Then it stands to reason they’ll be one of the first regiments they’ll bring back.’

  ‘You think so? Judy thought they’d leave them to last, because they’re such good fighters.’

  ‘Evan says that they’ll try to bring all the troops back and regroup them ready to invade Europe again.’

  ‘If the Nazis don’t invade us first,’ she said gloomily.

  ‘Luke, what will happen to the ones they can’t bring back?’

  ‘They’ll be taken prisoner I suppose, but the Germans have to look after prisoners.’

  ‘They won’t kill them?’

  ‘Not if they surrender.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ She walked slowly towards the white cross painted on the wall. Alexander had already said goodnight to Tina and was waiting for Luke on the corner.

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ Luke waited until he heard Tina going into the house before kissing Gina on the cheek. Even under the cover of blackout he hadn’t felt easy about showing affection to Gina since the night he had lost his head in the café. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him back before following Tina inside. Luke waited until he heard the door close, then walked away.

  ‘You ever regret not signing up?’ Alexander asked abruptly as he joined him.

  ‘I try not to think about it.’ Luke pushed his hands into his pockets as they turned the corner.

  ‘I wish I could stop thinking about it.’

  ‘You changing your mind about being a conscientious objector?’ Luke asked in surprise.

  ‘There’s not much point in standing on your principles when you’re looking down the barrel of a Nazi gun.’

  ‘You really think they’ll invade?’

  ‘Once France has fallen, which it may well have done by now, what’s to stop them?’

  ‘Our troops.’

  ‘In case it’s escaped your notice they’re being hammered in France.’

  ‘Then there’ll be nothing to stop the Germans taking over this country too?’

  ‘If I was Hitler I wouldn’t be unduly worried about a few Home Guard battalions.’ Alexander dug in his pocket for his cigarettes and matches. Too many envious glances at his lighter had led him to pack it away for the duration like so many other things; including, he decided cynically, his hard-thought-out principles.

  ‘Then you’re going to join up?’

  ‘Once France falls. They’re going to need every man they can lay their hands on when the Germans cross the Channel. What about you?’

  ‘I’ll write to my father and ask him what he thinks.’

  ‘Luke,’ Alexander drew heavily on his cigarette in exasperation. ‘You’re doing a man and a half’s job, you’re living in lodgings, you’ve got a girl prepared to follow you to the ends of the earth. Don’t you think it’s time you started thinking for yourself?’

  ‘If I volunteer it would go against everything I’ve ever been taught, everything my family believes in.’

  ‘Looks like you’re going to have to give up your beliefs one way or the other. If not to carry a gun, then to accept and adopt Hitler’s philosophy. I’m not sure what the man thinks of Quakers, but I’d lay a pound to a penny it’s not good. It’s decision time for all of us, boyo,’ he said, unconsciously aping the Welsh slang, ‘and something tells me that every one of us is going to be mourning the passing of at least one principle before the year is out. Let’s just hope that none of us are mourning our friends and neighbours along with our integrity.’

  Tina gazed wistfully through the window of the café at the bright spring sunshine. The air looked warm and inviting; inside the restaurant the atmosphere was close and humid, with a stickiness that threatened to stale the cakes and curdle the cream substitutes the confectionery chef had invented to decorate and fill his creations.

  She checked the tables. It was late afternoon and already the place was half empty. Another half-hour and she could close up and move on to the Tumble café to help Gina. The thought wasn’t an appealing one. Pouring herself a coffee she sat at the table closest to the till. She’d taken to putting a ‘Reserved’ sign on it. Although Laura and her father did most of the
accounts at home there was still a certain amount of book-keeping that had to be done in the cafés, and most of it had fallen on her shoulders since Tony had left.

  She had just settled down with the purchase ledger when the cook burst through the door that led down to the main kitchen.

  ‘I’ve just heard. It’s terrible. What are you going to do about it?’ he demanded excitedly.

  ‘Do about what?’ she asked irritably, expecting yet another wild rumour about parachuting Germans.

  ‘Mussolini has declared war on France and Britain from midnight tonight. You know what that means? Italy’s in the war!’

  She turned around. Expelling her breath slowly she looked him coolly in the eye. ‘Where did you hear that lot of nonsense?’

  ‘It’s not nonsense. Judy just heard it in Frank Clayton’s radio shop.’

  Tina looked across the road at Frank Clayton’s electrical and record shop. He always had a radio blaring inside. Without stopping to take off her apron or overall, she left the restaurant and ran across the road.

  ‘It’s true.’ Frank was standing on his doorstep, Alma Rashchenko next to him.

  ‘Mussolini really has joined forces with Hitler?’

  Alma nodded gravely. ‘But no one’s going to think any the worse of you or your family, Tina. Not with the boys in France. Look at Charlie, he was registered as an alien …’

  Tina didn’t wait to hear any more. She glanced back at the restaurant. There weren’t many customers at the tables and there was hardly anything left to sell on the shelves. The ladies of the crache who comprised most of the restaurant’s clientele were on their way home to supervise their maids and cooks in the preparation of the evening meal; but then the restaurant’s customers always had been far more ‘select’ than those who patronised the Tumble café.

  ‘Do me a favour, Alma, ask the cook to lock up the restaurant for me?’

  ‘Of course, but ·where are you going?’

  ‘The Tumble.’ Tina ran full speed up Taff Street. Where the pavements were crowded she ran into the road, dodging trams and vans. She bowled into an elderly woman, knocking her shopping bags from her hands. Without stopping to apologise she dashed on, barely registering the indignant cries behind her.

  She heard the noise first. An ominous rumble like the heavy rolling sound of thunder before a storm breaks; then she saw the crowd, mainly men, fists raised, faces and voices contorted with anger. Gina must have bolted and barred the doors of the café, because half a dozen men were hammering on them. Just as she drew level with the gathering, she heard the sound of breaking glass.

  Without thinking what might happen if someone recognised her, she tried to push her way through the throng. An elbow thudded into her chest and sent her flying backwards over the step of the White Hart. Still fighting her way forward, she looked up and saw Wyn Rees leaning on his crutches with his back to the door of the café, Diana at his side as he faced the ugly mob head on. She continued to battle her way towards them, but it was hopeless: an impenetrable wall of noisy, sweating, male flesh blocked her path. She tried elbowing and kicking, to no avail.

  ‘Kill the bastards!’ a voice screamed. ‘The whole family are bloody Fascists …’

  ‘They’re no more Fascists than you or me!’ Wyn shouted, struggling to make himself heard above the noise. His voice was loud and steady, but Tina could see a nervous pulse throbbing at his temple.

  ‘Joined the Fascists have you then, queer!’ The gibe was followed by a second brick that hurtled through the air and shattered the splintered remains of the plate-glass window in front of the café.

  ‘If the Ronconis are Nazis why are Tony and Angelo fighting in France alongside my brother and cousin? I don’t see any of you beating your way to the recruiting office.’

  A murmur went up from the crowd and Diana knew her point had struck home. She lifted her chin and stared defiantly at the mass of men, nodding slightly as she caught sight of Tina out of the corner of her eye. A few people moved away from the outer edges of the crowd. Tina turned and saw a tide of blue-coated policemen walking up from the town, Huw Davies in the lead. She ran up to him.

  ‘It’ll be all right, love. No one’s going to do anything to you, or your family. You have my word on it.’ He caught her and put her behind him. He stopped outside the White Hart and addressed the assembly.

  ‘I’m telling you to disperse quietly. I’m only giving one warning and this is it. You have two minutes before we wade in with our truncheons. Just one thing before you go. If one of you would like to tell me who broke that –’ he pointed to the window – ‘and you’d like to have a whip-round to replace it, we’ll say no more about the damage. If no money’s forthcoming, I’ll be getting out my little black book. What’s it to be, boys?’

  Like a rapidly ebbing tide the body of men fragmented and dispersed, down Broadway, the old tram road, Taff Street and beneath the railway bridge. Before one minute of Huw’s two minutes had ticked past, the Tumble was deserted. Huw lifted his helmet and scratched his head. He’d succeeded in scattering the mob but no one had volunteered the name of the brick thrower or offered to set up a collection to replace the broken window. Yet another headache to add to his list of problems.

  Wyn turned and knocked on the door behind him. He had to knock three times before a tearful Gina finally opened it. A tram crew stood behind her, armed with frying pans and ladles from the kitchen.

  ‘We wouldn’t have let anyone hurt her,’ the leader of the group boasted.

  Gina saw Tina and ran to her. She looked up at Wyn and Diana.

  ‘I don’t know how we’re ever going to thank you.’

  ‘There’s nothing to thank us for. You would have done the same for us.’ Diana turned to view the damaged window.

  ‘We heard them come across from station yard. It’s just war fever,’ Wyn said dismissively. ‘It will soon be forgotten. ‘

  ‘We hope.’ Huw pulled out his notebook. ‘I’ll send one of the boys for a carpenter; the sooner you get that window boarded up the better. I reckon you were a whisker away from being looted here. And if I were you I wouldn’t bother to open up tonight.’

  ‘We won’t,’ Tina replied. ‘I’ll give Gina a hand to clear up and then we’ll go home.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’ Diana asked.

  ‘Be a darling, go down to the restaurant and make sure the cook’s closed up for me.’ Tina handed over her keys. ‘Tell the staff to clear the place. If anyone makes a fuss, give them their money back. I know it’s half an hour early, but I think we’ve all had enough for one day.’

  ‘You know what to do, constable?’ the sergeant asked Huw Davies.

  ‘I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.’

  ‘Take half a dozen men, the Black Maria and a driver.’

  ‘And I’m in charge?’

  ‘Handle it any way you want, just try to avoid trouble at all costs. Here’s the list.’ Unable to look Huw in the eye the sergeant walked through the door that led down to the cells. He’d given Huw a foul job, but the way he viewed it, he had little choice in the matter. Huw was the oldest, steadiest and most level-headed of the constables on the Pontypridd force, and consequently the one most often landed with the worst tasks. Unfair on Huw, but it made for fewer choices for him.

  Grim-faced, Huw pushed his helmet on to his head and left the station. Six constables and a driver were standing alongside the black police van in the car park.

  ‘I’ll need four of you.’ Huw looked at the men. Handel Jones, a young constable who’d only joined the force three months ago, was the least threatening. ‘You,’ Huw pointed at him. ‘Sit alongside the driver in the front of the van, the rest of you in the back with me. And none of you as much as breathe without my permission. You two –’ he turned to the men he’d rejected – ‘I want you patrolling Taff Street with the beat coppers. One of you to be within hailing distance of every Italian café in town at all times.’ He looked back at the clock on St Cather
ine’s church tower. The sergeant had waited until dusk before striking, deciding that operations like the one they were about to embark on were preferably done under the cover of night, but it was still light enough to see the hands on the clock face. Nine o’clock. There was a lot to do before dawn.

  ‘Where to first?’ the driver asked as he opened the door.

  Huw checked the list. ‘Graig Street.’

  ‘There’s no one on that list who lives in Graig Street.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I want you to go there.’

  ‘It seems funny to be out in the evening like this.’ Gina picked a sprig of purple heather from the clump beside her and wound it around her finger.

  ‘Did you tell your father you were meeting me?’ Luke asked.

  ‘On top of everything else that’s happened? He would have had a heart attack. Fortunately he doesn’t know you exist, otherwise he would never have let me go down the Powells when I said I wanted to see Bethan’s baby.’

  ‘I’m glad you came.’ Luke dared to move a little closer to her. They were sitting on the side of the Graig mountain on a rug Gina had brought from her house. Below them shadows were lapping around the town, immersing it slowly but surely in darkness as twilight fell. They’d been enjoying the panoramic view as well as the beautiful late spring evening, but Luke was conscious that in order to admire the vista spread out before them, they’d put themselves on display, and could be seen by anyone who cared to look up at the mountain. ‘It would be marvellous if we could do this every night,’ he murmured softly.

  ‘You miss the countryside?’

  ‘More than ever after a day spent underground.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to find you a different job when the war is over.’

  ‘Do you ever wonder what it will be like for us then?’

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘I know it’s sinful, but I wish I could see into the future.’

  ‘It’s funny, here I am up to my neck in work in the café, and you working every day as a miner, and whenever I picture us married we’re living on a farm.’