‘Tell your mother if she wants a van to take her boxes down to the station I’ll have a word with Fred Davies for her. He owes me a favour or two from some carting jobs I did for him.’
‘I’ll tell her, Mr Powell.’
‘Here, give me that little darling.’ Megan held out her arms and took Rachel from Bethan. ‘Don’t forget to give Mrs Ronconi and the children our love.’
‘I won’t,’ Bethan answered, as she followed Luke and Gina down the passage.
Mrs Ronconi was presiding at the family table when Bethan, Gina and Luke walked into the kitchen. Everyone had finished eating, and Mrs Ronconi was sitting drinking coffee with Laura. Eleven-year-old Theresa had assumed authority, and was standing in the washhouse doorway supervising her younger brother and sisters as they cleared the table and washed the dishes.
‘Gina!’ Mrs Ronconi frowned at her daughter after greeting Bethan and giving Luke a suspicious look. ‘Your dress is black. Are those handprints I see?’
‘Just smudges, Mama,’ Gina prevaricated as she examined the marks Luke had made when he’d embraced her on the hill. ‘That’s why I came home to change.’
‘And how exactly did you get into this state?’ Mrs Ronconi demanded, staring hard at Luke.
‘Someone came into the café in working clothes and made a bit of a mess,’ Gina replied, not entirely untruthfully. ‘Mama, this is Luke.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Ronconi.’ Luke stepped forward, hand outstretched, but Gina’s mother pretended not to see it. ‘You were here last night. You’re one of the conscientious objectors who lodge with the Powells?’
‘That’s right, Mrs Ronconi.’
‘I came up to see if anyone in our family can help with anything.’ Bethan braved the awkward silence that fell as soon as Gina left the room to change.
‘Laura and I have discussed what needs doing.’ Mrs Ronconi couldn’t have been more different from the hysterical woman who’d had to be physically torn from her husband’s arms the night before. Calm and collected she’d clearly assumed her husband’s mantle of head of the family, and appeared to have adopted his personality along with the role. ‘We have decided that the best thing we can do is put all the businesses in Laura’s name as she is the only one who will be allowed to remain in Pontypridd for the duration. Thanks to your father-in-law, Bethan, Tina will be able to stay with her for six months. Between them they will have to do the best they can with the cafés. We’ll have to close one of them, and we decided that as High Street is the smallest –’
‘I don’t see why I can’t stay to run that,’ Alfredo broke in sulkily.
‘Because you’re twelve years old and too young to leave school, and because if you stay there and work hard you might make something of your life,’ Laura retorted.
‘Ronnie was working in the cafés at my age.’
‘Ronnie worked, because we had no choice in the matter. There were too many mouths to feed and not enough hands to help in the early days,’ his mother informed him. ‘And I’ve already explained why you have to come with me. I need a man to help me with the little ones, the heavy lifting, all the work of the move, and the decisions that will have to be made when we get there. You’re going to have to take your Papa’s place until he is allowed to live with us again.’
‘There is one way you can keep all three cafés open, Mrs Ronconi,’ Luke proposed courageously. ‘If Gina marries me, she can stay in Pontypridd with Laura and Tina.’
Gina chose that moment to walk through the door. Although she hadn’t heard a word Luke had said, the fact that he was screwing his cap into a ball told her that he’d spoken to her mother, and was waiting for a reply.
Expecting an outburst, Laura handed her baby to Bethan and went to the wash-house, closing the door to shut out the younger members of the family.
Mrs Ronconi looked from Luke to Gina, not saying anything for what seemed like an eternity. When she did finally speak, it was in a quiet, controlled tone that neither Luke nor Gina had expected to hear. ‘How long have you known my daughter, Mr …?’
‘Luke, Luke Grenville. The time doesn’t matter, Mrs Ronconi. I love her. Very much,’ he added resolutely.
‘How old are you?’
‘Eighteen, but …’
‘Both of you are very young. You may change your mind about one another in a year or two.’
‘I’ll never change my mind, or my feelings about Gina, Mrs Ronconi,’ he asserted forcefully.
‘I know nothing about you, Mr Grenville apart from the fact that you’re a conscientious objector. And I don’t mind telling you that isn’t something in your favour, particularly when I think of my Tony and Angelo.’
‘I’m … my whole family are Quakers, Mrs Ronconi. We don’t believe in taking life, but we’re all prepared to work for the war effort, which is why I’m in the pit.’
‘A Quaker. Ronnie marries a Baptist and you find a Quaker! An eighteen-year-old Quaker!’ Mrs Ronconi railed at Gina, momentarily forgetting that the Baptist her son Ronnie had married was Bethan’s sister.
‘We’re exactly the same age you and Papa were when you married,’ Gina pointed out, concentrating on what she felt was the lesser of Luke’s two faults in her mother’s eyes.
‘I know, which is why I haven’t said no – yet. But I’m your mother, Gina. Do you know what that means? It means that I love and care for you, and it’s my duty to ensure that when you make an important decision, like who and when to marry, it will be for the right not the wrong reasons. And with this terrible war forcing us into situations we can’t control, it’s not always easy to see the right reasons any more.’ She faltered for a moment, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she struggled to compose herself. Darting a quick glance at Luke, she asked, ‘What will your family say to this?’
‘When I explain the situation to my father I’m sure he’ll give us his blessing and permission to marry. I intend to write to him tonight. I know I’m only getting a butty’s wages at the moment –’ the Welsh term rolled oddly off Luke’s Cornish tongue – ‘but there’s always the chance that I’ll get promoted to miner, and you can be sure that I’ll do everything in my power to look after Gina, Mrs Ronconi.’
‘Gina, what do you say to this?’
‘I love Luke, Mama. We planned to marry when he was twenty-one and I was nineteen anyway. This just brings it forward by a few years.’
‘Three years are a long time in a young girl’s life. You’ll be spending, some would say wasting, your youth as a married woman. There’ll be no more dances or parties, only housework and drudgery.’
‘It won’t be drudgery if Luke and I are together.’
‘Laura?’ Mrs Ronconi looked to her eldest daughter. ‘You must have something to say about this?’
‘Only that they’re young, but it seems to me that everyone is having to grow up quickly these days, and,’ she smiled wryly, ‘to look on the practical side, miner or not, Luke has an extra pair of hands to help out in the cafés at the weekend.’
‘Of course I’d be glad to.’ Luke seized his chance to prove willing.
‘And you’ll talk to Father O’Donnelly about converting to the ‘one true faith?’’
‘I’ll talk to him, but I can’t promise anything, Mrs Ronconi,’ Luke replied, ignoring the pressure of Gina’s fingers on his arm.
‘At least you’re honest, Luke. I’ll give you that. I wish things were different, but as they’re not, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Presumably your father knows you better than anyone here. If he gives his permission, I’ll allow you to marry Gina.’ Mrs Ronconi turned to her daughter. ‘I’ll write and tell Papa about it tonight. I know it isn’t what he hoped for you, Gina, but it seems to me the best thing you girls can do is marry British nationals, and the sooner the better.’
‘It might be just as well if you and Gina live here after Mama and the children go, Luke,’ said Laura.
‘Tina had better move in with me as she’s supposed to
be looking after me and the baby, and that way both houses will be occupied.’
‘That sounds like a good idea.’ Mrs Ronconi looked to Gina for approval.
‘I haven’t even got enough money saved for an engagement ring,’ Luke confessed.
‘Seems to me you don’t need one.’ Bethan handed Laura’s baby back to her. ‘And wedding rings, especially wartime nine-carat-gold patriotic ones, are somewhat cheaper than diamonds.’
‘As long as I marry Luke I don’t care if I have a curtain ring,’ Gina smiled, starry-eyed up at Luke.
‘Spoken like a true romantic,’ Laura said gravely. ‘Cling to it, little sister. Something tells me the Ronconis, along with all the other Italians in this country, are going to need every bit of romance and happiness they can get in the coming months.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Bethan, Diana, and the three elder Ronconi girls scarcely had a minute to themselves during the next few days. In between helping Mrs Ronconi decide what should be shipped to the Midlands and what should be left behind, and the best and safest way to pack her cherished belongings for storage in her own, or Laura’s house or transit, they ran the cafés and restaurant, took turns in caring for the babies with Phyllis and Megan, registered to take evacuees from the bombing that was expected to start any day on London and the Home Counties, and arranged Gina’s wedding.
Despite all the bustle and activity, there was a peculiar atmosphere in the town. As though everyone was marking time, holding their breath, waiting for something huge and momentous to happen. Pontypridd had never been busier, the streets were packed throughout the day, and in the evenings it seemed as though the entire population of the surrounding valleys turned out to queue at the entrances to one or the other of the picture houses. The films were incidental: half the time no one registered what was showing, but everyone wanted to see the latest newsreels from Dunkirk in the desperate hope that they’d recognise a face amongst the thousands of men dug in on the shell-torn, bomb and bullet-swept beaches, or patiently wading out into the sea in orderly files; rifles held high above their heads as they waited up to their chests in water in the hope of finding a corner in one of the rescue boats. Occasionally there was a cry of recognition, and one or two lucky families left at the end of the evening, smiling, ecstatic in the knowledge that their husband, father, brother or son was safe and well – or at least had been when the newsreel was filmed. But there was still no official news of the whereabouts of the Welsh Guards, only rumours that escalated into the wilder realms of fantasy and fiction with every passing day.
Gina and Luke arranged their wedding for two o’clock on Thursday afternoon, early closing day in Pontypridd, so there’d be no problem with Wyn, Diana or Alma attending, and exactly one hour before Mrs Ronconi and the younger children were due to leave Pontypridd railway station on a special train bound for Birmingham.
Fred Davies had already been entrusted with the packing cases of clothes, and bare essentials of cutlery, crockery, cooking utensils, bedlinen and towels, which were all that Mrs Ronconi could bring herself to take to equip herself for her new life as the wife of an enemy alien.
She spent the last two days wandering from room to room in her home, picking up ornaments and putting them down again, taking photographs from frames and adding them to the growing bundle in the cardboard case in her handbag – and waiting for a letter from her husband that didn’t come.
‘We have to go,’ Laura urged impatiently as she stood in the kitchen doorway watching her mother pace uneasily between the letterbox and the parlour.
‘I have to say goodbye to the house. There’ll be no time to come back afterwards.’
‘I know, Mama, but everyone’s waiting. The taxi’s outside, and so is Bethan. We only have ten minutes to get to the Registry Office. You do want to see Gina get married, don’t you?’
‘Not this way. A girl’s wedding day is important. It should be one she’ll be proud to remember for the rest of her life, the church decked with flowers, a proper white dress that she can fold away for her own daughters, bridesmaids in long frocks, and her papa to give her away.’ Mrs Ronconi opened her handbag and rummaged in its depths for a handkerchief.
‘We would have all liked that, Mama, but it can’t be helped. There’s nothing we can do now except give Gina the best wedding we can under the circumstances.’
‘I suppose so.’ Mrs Ronconi called to the younger children. Laura had already lined them up in the kitchen for the inspection she knew her mother would want to give them. They were dressed in their best clothes, not just for the wedding, but also for the journey afterwards. Mrs Ronconi walked slowly in front of them, smoothing down their hair, tucking in shirts and blouses, wiping spots she insisted were jam off Alfredo’s face with her handkerchief, much to his disgust.
‘Right, you lot.’ Tina shepherded them to the door as soon as her mother reached the last in line. ‘Into the taxi and behave yourselves.’
‘It’s unlucky to get married on the thirteenth and a Thursday,’ Mrs Ronconi began for the tenth time that morning.
‘Don’t worry, Mama. In wartime everyone makes their own luck. Gina and Luke are in love, they’ll be happy together and that’s what’s important.’ Laura crossed her fingers beneath John’s shawl.
‘I hope so. If only I could be sure that I’m doing the right thing in letting Gina get married. She’s so young. Your papa would have known what to do. I wish I could have spoken with him …’
‘Mama, we really do have to go.’
‘Where’s Gina?’ Mrs Ronconi looked around for the bride.
‘Here, Mama.’ Gina walked down the stairs in a red costume she had bought in Leslie’s Stores. Apart from the shoes it was the only new thing she was wearing. She’d borrowed Laura’s best navy blue hat, blouse, handbag and gloves.
The sight of her daughter in her wedding finery jolted Mrs Ronconi out of her uncertainty. Whatever the outcome, the events of the next hour were inevitable. ‘You look very nice. Just make sure you take care of yourself when I’m not here to watch over you. Air your underclothes properly and eat plenty of –’
‘I’ll be fine, Mama. You’re not to worry about me. I’ll have Luke to look after me from now on. Are you sure you can manage without us in Birmingham?’
‘With Alfredo to do all the work, there’ll be nothing for me to do except turn into idle crache.’ Mrs Ronconi squared her ample shoulders and faced the door. ‘Come on, it’s time we went. Bethan is waiting for us outside in her car.’
Laura gave Gina a knowing wink before following her mother down the steps.
Luke sat nervously in the ante-room of the Registry Office sandwiched between Alexander and Evan, who’d had a devil of a time persuading the pit management to give them all a half a day off in the middle of the week.
In Luke’s hands was the envelope that had arrived in the post yesterday morning. He had tried to forget the letter it carried, a vitriolic, angry letter absolutely and expressly forbidding him to marry an enemy alien and a Catholic to boot. He had torn it up as soon as he had read it, flushing the pieces down the ty bach, before replacing it with another letter in his own hand giving him full permission to marry Miss Gina Ronconi, and wishing them both well. Suppressing his qualms, he had signed it with his father’s name.
Logic told him there was no way anyone in Pontypridd could possibly know the difference between his own rather immature, rounded script and his father’s more spidery hand, but at that moment logic had lost the battle against nervousness. He felt as though forgery was a sin every bit as unpardonably dreadful as murder. Then he turned and saw Gina walking through the door in her new red costume, clutching her bible which had been decorated with an early rose one of the girls had scavenged, and all his doubts faded. What if he had told one small lie? It was nothing set against Gina’s happiness, and there were a lot of miles between the valleys and Cornwall. Miles no one would be travelling until after the war was over.
For the first
time he found himself wishing that the war would last until he was twenty-one. His father could say or do whatever he liked after 1943; once he was a man in law, words wouldn’t be able to hurt him or Gina. Just three more years. Then he considered just how many soldiers might die in that time and he was ashamed of himself.
Rising to his feet he took Gina’s hand, tentatively returned her smile, and led her through the open door.
‘You’ll write, Mama?’
‘I’ll write.’ Mrs Ronconi’s bottom lip trembled. ‘You three girls look after one another; and you –’ she kissed her new son-in-law on the cheek – ‘you take care of my girls. You’re the only man in the family able to do so now.’
‘I’ll take care of everything,’ he assured her solemnly.
‘Goodbye, Mama!’
The whistle blew and Laura, who couldn’t wait for the leave taking to be over, slammed the carriage door on her mother and brothers and sisters. Ordering Alfredo to keep everyone in the carriage, she stepped back.
Up and down the platform goodbyes were being shouted in a mixture of Italian, Welsh and English as other families leaned out of the windows of the train to catch a last glimpse of Pontypridd station. Some were trying to put a brave face on their deportation, but most of the women were in tears, and Laura burned with a white hot fury at the injustice of it all and her own impotence in the face of this mindless, heartless bureaucracy.
‘What’s Mrs Ronconi going to do in Birmingham?’ Alexander asked Evan as they leaned against the wall of the waiting room out of the way of the Ronconis’ farewells.
‘Survive for the duration, the same as the rest of us.’
‘I’m going to find it difficult to think of Luke as a married man. He should be still in school, not keeping a wife.’ Alexander watched Luke put his arm around Gina’s waist as the train chugged slowly down the tracks and around the bend that led towards Treforest and Cardiff.
‘He’s grown up fast in the last few weeks, and Gina’s the same age Maud was when she got married.’
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