‘Know who you’re up against?’ Joey asked, more to make conversation than curiosity.
‘The police have put up a man called Fred Wainwright, the Somersets a private, Reg Wilde.’
‘Are they good?’
‘Reg Wilde is the one who beat Dai Price to a pulp, but then, Dai’s no boxer.’
‘And Wainwright?’
‘I know him by sight. He looks fit.’
Victor halted when they reached the summit. He turned and looked back down the mountain towards their house.
‘It’s still there.’
‘Let’s hope it always will be.’
‘You worried?’ Joey asked, concerned by Victor’s taciturnity.
‘No more than I am before any fight.’
‘It’s not too late to back out.’
‘With all the strike pay the boys have riding on me?’ Victor turned his face back into the wind. ‘Come on, if we don’t get moving I’ll be forfeiting the match as a no show.’
‘You can punch harder than that, Evans!’ Luke Thomas yelled so loudly that Joey picked up his brother’s clothes and his haversack and moved away. He continued to stare intently at the two figures circling one another on the tump. The police champion wasn’t as quick on his feet as Victor, but for all of that, when his punches hit home they connected solidly.
Victor dodged a left hook aimed at his jaw, only to have a right land below his ribs, winding him. Before he could recover, another left split the soft skin below his eye.
‘I’ve a week’s strike pay riding on your brother. There’ll be hell to pay from my missus if he loses,’ Alun Richards complained.
‘You’ve a bloody nerve backing him after what you did to Megan Williams,’ Joey said angrily.
‘Victor clobbered me afterwards so I’d say that makes us quits. I was even thinking of charging him for using me as a punchbag.’
‘I wouldn’t try it if I were you,’ Joey advised.
‘Get him, Evans! Don’t go soft on us!’ Luke screamed.
Wainwright drew his fist back. Victor feinted and floored him with a single punch to the jaw that split his lip. Wainwright stood for a moment before crumpling slowly, first to his knees, then sideways on to his right arm. As his eyes closed, his seconds ran up and dragged him to the edge of the tump.
Joey went to his brother and draped the blanket over his shoulders. Blood had seeped from the cut below his eye down the left side of his face.
‘You OK?’ Joey asked, as Victor gulped in air.
‘I will be in a minute.’
Joey pulled out the water bottle, tipped it over a rag and used it to staunch the cut. ‘I don’t know what Dad and Lloyd are going to say when they see the mess Wainwright’s made of your face.’
‘Stop boxing,’ Victor suggested succinctly. He tightened the cord on his drawers and wrapped the blanket around his bare chest.
‘You’ve done enough for one day. Someone else can face the army champion.’
‘You know the rules, winner of the first bout fights the next champion.’ Victor took the rag from his brother and pressed it on his eye, leaving Joey free to rummage in his haversack for the tin of goose grease. ‘Besides, I’ve money riding on this one.’
‘How much?’ Joey asked.
‘My winnings from the last double bout.’
‘Five quid!’ Joey paled as he slapped a layer of grease over the cut in an attempt to stop the bleeding. ‘You crazy?’
‘If I win I stand to double it.’
‘And if you lose you will have fought the last bout for nothing.’
‘You fit for the next match, Evans?’ Sergeant Martin studied Victor’s injuries.
‘Fair’s fair,’ Joey answered defensively. ‘Give him a chance to get his breath back.’
Victor looked at the sergeant. ‘Ten minutes?’
‘You got it.’ The sergeant walked away.
‘I can’t stand that man, but you have to admit he’s straight,’ Victor said quietly.
Joey unscrewed the top from the second water bottle. Victor rinsed his mouth and spat before drinking deeply.
‘Your own money on the sergeant major or my brother?’ Joey turned to the non-commissioned officer who had reopened the book to take fresh bets on the last fight of the day.
‘Think I’m dull enough to answer that?’
‘If we had money to finance a book we could make enough to keep two soup kitchens going on the profits.’ As Joey watched, Sergeant Lamb walked up to the corporal and handed him two white fivers. Joey didn’t know why, he just hoped that the money was going on his brother.
‘You sure Sali told Victor that we know he’s boxing again?’ Billy Evans questioned Lloyd, as they walked towards the crowd of men gathered around the tump.
‘Yes.’ Lloyd noted the dark blue and khaki uniforms in the crowd. ‘Given the number of policemen and soldiers up here, now would be a good time to stage a demonstration against the garrisoning of the town.’
‘Given that most of the miners are also up here, who do you suggest stages it? Bloody hell, that must have hurt!’ Billy exclaimed as a crack, louder than the shouts of the men, rent the air.
‘Give it him back with interest, Victor!’ Ned Morgan turned around as Billy tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Your boy’s good, Billy.’
‘He may be good, but so is his opponent.’ Lloyd cringed as Reg Wilde landed a punch on Victor’s damaged eye.
‘Victor didn’t pick up that cut in this fight. They both started with injuries,’ Ned informed them.
‘I always thought bare-knuckle boxing was inhuman. I was wrong, it’s barbaric.’ Billy flinched as yet another of Reg Wilde’s blows landed on Victor’s face.
‘Victor’s giving as good as he gets,’ Ned shouted excitedly.
‘Is he?’ Billy couldn’t see any further than the damage being inflicted on his son.
‘There’s Joey.’ Lloyd forged a path through the crowd towards his younger brother, who was stationed in the first line around the fighters. Before he reached him, Victor reeled from the impact of a punch that landed in his stomach. Blinded by pain, his sight obscured by blood, Victor retaliated without taking the time or trouble to aim. Reg was crouched, preparing to follow his blow. Victor’s punch caught him on the temple. He toppled to the ground like an axed pit prop.
Victor sat on the ground swathed in the blanket, his knees drawn up in front of him to minimize the pain in his chest and stomach, his head thrown back so Joey could tend to the cuts on his face.
‘You did great, butty,’ Luke congratulated. ‘Thanks to you, there’ll be a few families putting jam on their bread next week.’
‘You showed the bastards what we’re made of, Victor. Good on you,’ Ben Duckworth congratulated.
Besieged by miners anxious to pat his brother on the back, Joey had to fight to retain his position.
‘How’s Wilde?’ Victor asked.
‘Who cares about a bloody soldier?’ Luke swore.
‘I do.’ Victor raised his head and glared at Luke, as much as someone could glare with both eyes swollen and half closed.
‘I’ll find out for you.’
‘Lloyd?’ Victor turned his head. ‘You came to see me box?’
‘We both did, son.’ Billy crouched on his haunches beside Victor. ‘When are you going to give this up?’
Victor continued to sit patiently while Joey tended to his cuts.
‘When?’ Billy repeated.
‘When the strike ends and life returns to normal.’
‘Not long then,’ Luke jeered.
‘Reg Wilde’s out cold but his friends reckon he’s been worse,’ Lloyd informed Victor.
‘He’s going to recover?’ Victor asked in concern. ‘I didn’t do any permanent damage?’
‘By the look of you both, I’d say you inflicted no more damage on him than he did on you,’ Lloyd replied.
‘You came up trumps, Evans,’ Luke gushed as he returned from the corporal with a fistful of winnings.
‘I threw a lucky punch.’ Brushing Joey’s hand aside, Victor rose to his feet, picked up his clothes and pulled on his trousers. Discarding the blanket, he yanked on his vest, felt in the pocket of his shirt and handed Lloyd a ticket. ‘There should be ten pounds on that.’
‘I hope it was worth it, son.’ Billy handed Victor his cap, as Lloyd joined the queue of men waiting to be paid out.
‘If it covers my own and Joey’s fines, and enables me to put enough aside to pay Megan’s father off and keep her from working in that lodging house until she’s old enough for us to marry, it will be worth it,’ Victor said flatly.
‘Same time Wednesday, Mr Evans?’ Sergeant Martin asked.
‘I’ll be here.’ Victor buttoned on his shirt.
Chapter Fifteen
‘If you’re trying to conceal those cuts, you won’t do it with goose grease, Victor.’ Sali watched him as he stood in front of the shaving mirror in the kitchen and smoothed a film over his battered face. ‘It’s fine for stopping the bleeding and helping wounds heal, but by putting a shine on the bruises it highlights them.’
‘I don’t want Megan to worry.’
‘My face powder might cover the worst, but Megan isn’t stupid. One look at you, and she’ll know exactly what you’ve been up to.’
‘Now that is something I would like to see,’ Joey laughed. ‘Victor wearing women’s face powder.’
‘Isn’t it your turn to man the picket line outside Ely pit today, Joey?’ Billy asked abruptly.
‘Yes.’
‘Then finish your meal and get going.’
Victor had set aside a pound of his winnings to buy coal from the men who were working the illegal drifts on the mountain. He hadn’t dared work in them himself since he’d been arrested, but he had no qualms about supporting the colliers who were prepared to risk fines and imprisonment to keep the people in the valley in fuel. And since it was Megan’s afternoon off and snowing, he’d decided to build a fire and keep it in all day. Sali had taken full advantage of the luxury. Rising early, she had baked bread, made a chicken stew from an aged broiler chicken he had slaughtered and vegetables from the allotments, as well as two tarts from wrinkled apples he had stored in the attic.
Lloyd poured his father, himself and Harry second cups of tea. ‘I’ll never take the kitchen being warm, cosy and full of good cooking smells for granted again.’
‘I’ll see to it that it’s still warm and cosy for you when you come back from Pontypridd.’ Victor looked from the mirror to the window. The valley and surrounding mountains were covered in a compassionate layer of snow that had transformed the slag heaps into glistening Alps and obliterated the scars inflicted by the mines. ‘Switzerland couldn’t look better at the moment.’
‘The Swiss might think so. Wrap up warm,’ Billy cautioned Joey, as he pushed the last piece of eggy bread from his plate into his mouth. ‘Keep your temper and stay out of trouble.’
‘Do you need to ask?’ Joey flashed a smile and left the table.
‘Yes,’ Billy growled. ‘Seems to me you’ve forgotten what happened a couple of weeks ago a bit too quickly.’
‘I’m a changed man. No more loose women for me.’ Joey checked his hair in the mirror and went to fetch his coat.
‘What’s a loose woman, Dad?’ Harry asked.
‘One who doesn’t tie her shoelaces properly,’ Joey answered, earning himself a scowl from Sali.
‘If you wait, we’ll walk down the hill with you,’ Lloyd called after Joey.
‘You going down to Pontypridd with Sali?’ Billy asked Lloyd.
‘I thought I would, as it’s the first trustees’ meeting since our wedding. Who knows, Sali’s brothers and sister may even condescend to have tea with us. Geraint and Llinos haven’t gone back to school, have they, Sali?’
‘Not as far as I know.’ Sali wiped egg yolk from Harry’s mouth with her handkerchief. ‘But as we’ve only had a Christmas card from them with their names scribbled at the bottom I’m not sure. Although Mari wrote to say that she’s looking forward to seeing us.’
‘Harry and I thought we’d look at the books in the nursery and see if there are any that we want to bring back here,’ Lloyd saw Harry make a face as he sipped his tea. He picked up the milk jug and poured in an extra helping.
‘Mam says I can borrow them, and Dad says the horse and carriage will be waiting at the station to meet us.’ Harry finished his tea, slid off his chair and carried his plate and cup to Sali at the sink.
‘If you come downstairs with me, Harry, I’ll give your boots a quick once over,’ Joey offered. ‘You can’t go to Ponty with them scuffed like that.’
‘When are you two going to tell Harry that Ynysangharad House and Gwilym James are his?’ Billy asked, after Joey and Harry left for the basement.
‘When he’s old enough to understand the responsibility that comes with his inheritance,’ Sali replied.
‘And when will that be?’ Billy pressed.
‘Sooner rather than later if my brother continues to make trouble at the trustees’ meetings. I’m dreading today.’
Lloyd saw that Sali wanted to change the subject. ‘Going to the County Club?’
‘Where else? We can’t do much for Victor and Megan besides give them the house to themselves one afternoon a week.’ Billy left his chair. ‘Ned and I have arranged to draft a new proposal with the strike committee that we intend to present to the owners when they condescend to meet us again. If we don’t start talking to them again soon, we’ll be facing a hungry spring and summer. And I’m not sure how much more of this hardship our members can take.’
Victor saw his father, brothers, Sali and Harry out of the house before slipping on his coat and cap. He opened the front door and glanced out. It had stopped snowing, but the sky was heavy with cotton-wool clouds the colour of a dove’s breast, and the temperature had risen slightly. A sure sign that snow was about to fall again. He took the old umbrella from behind the basement door, turned up the collar on his coat and glanced in the mirror on the hallstand. There were no windows in the hall but the damage to his face was apparent even in the light that filtered through from the open front door. Checking the kitchen door was firmly closed to keep the warmth in, he walked outside and down the street.
Betty Morgan was sweeping snow from the pavement in front of her house. When she saw him she propped her brush against the wall and waved. ‘I need to have a word with you, Victor.’ Treading carefully on the icy pavement, she joined him.
‘Mrs Morgan.’ He tipped his cap.
‘I heard that Mr Walker, the minister of the chapel, has written to Megan’s father about your engagement.’
‘Has he?’ Victor said non-committally.
‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘Megan and I knew that her father would find out about our engagement sooner or later when I gave her my mother’s ring, Mrs Morgan.’
‘The minister thinks he’ll come hot foot to get her and drag her back to the Swansea Valley.’
‘I see.’
‘Is that all you can say, Victor Evans?’ she snapped irritably.
‘There doesn’t seem to be much else that I can say until Mr Williams gets here, does there, Mrs Morgan?’ Victor tipped his cap again and went on his way.
Sergeant Lamb was standing in the doorway of the lodging house talking to Constable Wainwright, who was sporting even more bruises than himself. Ducking into the alleyway, before they saw him, Victor went to the back door and tapped it. Megan opened it, already dressed in her cape and hat.
She gave him a broad smile before turning back to someone in the room and shouting, ‘I’m off now.’ She stepped out, hooked her arm into his, glanced up and her smile became a look of horror.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he lied. ‘The Post Office first?’
‘The police?’ she asked.
‘In a way, but self-inflicted.’
‘You’re boxing,’ she reproached.
; ‘I have been for a few weeks and you haven’t noticed.’
‘Presumably because you’ve been lucky enough not to get hammered before now.’
‘The Post Office?’ he repeated.
Not wanting to spoil their one afternoon a week, she reined in her temper. ‘Yes.’
‘The quicker we get there, the quicker we’ll be back home. I’ve lit a fire and Sali’s been baking. I’ve been looking forward to a nice, quiet afternoon.’
‘You probably can do with the rest. Why did you do it, Victor?’ she asked sadly.
‘Because I need money to pay my own and Joey’s fines –and something else that I want to talk to you about. Come on, Megs, before we turn into snowmen.’ He opened his umbrella as flakes fluttered down, coating her cloak and hat.
‘Perhaps we should ask Mari to look after Harry so that you can go to the trustees’ meeting with me?’ Sali suggested. She, Lloyd and Harry watched the falling snow transform the bleak Rhondda valley into something resembling a pantomime fairyscape .
‘Why?’ Lloyd moved closer to Harry, who was standing at the window of their carriage, tracing the build-up of snow on the pane with his mittened hands.
‘Because I should formally introduce you to them now we’re married. Especially as I want to make you Harry’s guardian in case anything should happen to me.’
‘You think you need to do that officially?’
‘Considering what Geraint said at the last trustees’ meeting, most definitely. The only real home Harry has ever known has been with you and your family. Do you mind legally adopting him?’
Lloyd turned to Harry, who was still ostensibly engrossed by the snow, although he suspected that the boy was also listening intently to every word. ‘What do you think, Harry? Do we need a piece of paper that says I’m your dad?’
‘You are my dad,’ Harry answered with childish logic.
‘That says it all,’ Lloyd smiled.
‘Not if I’m out of the picture and Geraint has his way.’
‘You’ll never be out of my picture.’ Lloyd grasped Sali’s gloved fingers. ‘But if it will set your mind at rest to make Harry’s and my relationship legally binding, go ahead. But the trustees’ meetings are something else. You know my views on keeping Harry’s affairs separate from me and my family.’
Winners and Losers Page 27