Valley in Bloom

by Valley in Bloom (retail) (epub)

  The dogs, sniffing around the gathered legs, had already made friends and the lively party made their way down the path to sit on their macs on the grass. There were eight of them aged from about twelve to sixteen, three girls, one of whom went into the house after easing off her muddy boots to help Nelly with the tea.

  ‘I’m Doreen,’ she said, ‘the leader for today.’

  Nelly looked at the girl’s pleasant smiling face that was covered in freckles and saw a friend. Her brown hair with reddish tints was freed from a woollen bobble hat and fell about her shoulders in untidy curls. Hazel eyes shone with good humour and health. Nelly warmed to her.

  ‘Glad to meet you, Doreen. I’m Nelly, everyone calls me that and I don’t see why you should be no exception. My ’usband is George.’

  ‘He hasn’t been well, has he?’ Doreen whispered.

  ‘No ’e ain’t and I don’t think ’e should be standin’ out there on that damp grass with ’is slippers on.’

  ‘Right,’ Doreen said firmly, ‘I’ll go and persuade him he’s needed in here.’ She went out and returned almost immediately, chattering to George, coaxing him to sit near the fire.

  ‘Now, George, so I can help and not be a nuisance, you tell me where everything is kept. The cups for a start.’

  ‘Down in that cupboard but they’ll need a wash,’ he said. ‘We don’t use that many very often.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ Doreen said, bending and dragging out a box containing some assorted china. She wiped each cup and saucer and placed them on the table, chatting away as she did so. ‘This is very kind of you both. We’re a bit tired and some of the younger ones will be better for a breather like this. Better than a sit down at the side of a field and a slurp of cold water!’

  ‘How far have you come?’ George asked, accepting the first cup of tea handed to him by their bright and friendly visitor.

  ‘My George used to walk a lot, miles he’d cover in a day, wouldn’t you George?’ Nelly said, noting with pleasure the way the girl was looking after him.

  ‘We’ve come seven miles and we have another two to get to where we’re being picked up,’ Doreen explained. ‘But tell me, George, what was the longest you’ve done in a day.’

  ‘About twenty-five,’ George replied and soon the two of them were engrossed in discussions about the various journeys they had undertaken.

  Nelly was beaming. The house and garden filled with young people and with this natural and delightful girl making sure George was made to feel someone special. Her heart went out to Doreen and she wished they could all stay longer.

  When several pots of tea had been consumed and the tin of cakes had been emptied, Nelly and the dogs walked with the group across the lane and up the hill behind the houses where Mrs French and Prue Beynon lived and over to where they were in sight of Leighton’s farm. Doreen found their place on her map and Nelly pointed out the gypsy’s camp far below them. Then she stood with the dogs and waved at the walkers until they were out of sight. She sighed happily and went home. What a surprise. That’ll be something to tell Phil when he called in the morning and wondered why there was no cake.

  A few days later Phil called and surprised them by saying: ‘There’s a letter for you Nelly and George, from Cardiff, and it isn’t a bill!’ Phil poured himself a cup of tea while Nelly opened the envelope, a frown of curiosity on her face.

  ‘It’s from that Doreen,’ she said. ‘Look, George, thanking us fer our hospitality. What d’you think of that then?’

  ‘See the address, Nelly,’ George said, pointing at the top of the letter. ‘They were from a children’s home in Cardiff.’

  ‘All them kids not ’avin’ an ’ome. George, if we were twenty years younger we could take the lot of ’em!’

  * * *

  The gypsies were on the verge of leaving. Nelly had seen, from the top of the hill, that the horses were back from their winter stay in one of Leighton’s fields, tethered close to the vardo. And the piles of wood, gathered for the cooking fires had diminished, the remainder scattered among the hedgerow. Clara and her family were about to set off on their summer wanderings.

  She went up to see them for the last time before going to work. There was joy in every season, each change bringing new delights for Nelly. But this year the departing of Clara, besides announcing the approach of summer, left her feeling anxious.

  ‘It’s George,’ she told Clara. ‘I know the doctor says ’e’ll be all right now the worst of winter is be’ind us, but I felt ’appier knowin’ you were ’ere to give some ’elp.’

  ‘You have some tonic, Nelly, my friend, and with your love and care he’ll come nicely.’

  ‘You really think he’ll be all right again soon?’ Nelly stared into the wise, dark eyes of the gypsy, begging for hope and reassurance.

  ‘Later rather than sooner, but you never fear, he’ll come well, in time.’

  There was a warning rather than comfort in the words. Nelly feared she was being prepared for worse to come.

  ‘I’d ’ate to lose him. Me an’ ’im, we’re so ’appy.’

  ‘Nelly, my friend, you will always be happy. There’s some that never are, always wanting and wanting, missing what’s under their noses. You’re a clever one, clever and wise, accepting what you’ve got and valuing it.’

  ‘I value George, Clara. And will for a long time yet, I ’opes.’

  ‘I’ll see you both next year,’ Clara said, hugging her friend, hoping she was right.

  * * *

  ‘Have you heard from Freddy yet, Sheila?’ Bethan asked. ‘You did write, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, I thought I’d best leave it to his mam. I want him to feel unpressured by me. If he wants to help, well, I haven’t pleaded, have I?’

  ‘Aren’t you scared, being on your own in all this?’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Yes, and I had similar problems to you. My mother and father practically disowned me, then insisted on bringing up Arthur and leaving me to act the grieving widow.’

  ‘I won’t let my mother and father bring up my child, I’d hate to think of her going through what I suffered!’

  ‘It is a disgrace in their eyes, you can’t blame them for worrying.’

  ‘All right, they might be embarrassed by what’s happening now, but what was their excuse for treating me the way they did before all this?’

  ‘Perhaps you were a bit too soon after their wedding,’ Bethan suggested with a laugh. ‘It’s been known, you know. We aren’t the only generation to have emotions we can’t control, even if they’d like us to think we are! Half the village are too scared to celebrate their wedding anniversaries for fear of someone counting the months,’ Bethan added.

  ‘Now there’s a thought for first thing in the morning.’

  * * *

  Freddy waited impatiently for his leave. He couldn’t write to Sheila, not with the chance that she would show his letter to Maurice. His mother didn’t seem too sure about whether they were together or not and until he could see Sheila and talk to her, he thought it wiser to do nothing.

  He was confused and anxious. What should he do? He couldn’t marry Sheila and for the first time there was the tiniest doubt about whether he wanted to. Marrying her had been his dream for so long. She was small and helpless and seemed to attract trouble. She made him feel strong and he wanted to look after her. She hadn’t anyone to care for her and he wanted to make up to her for all the unhappiness she had faced alone. But she wasn’t free, she had a husband. How would Maurice feel? He’ll probably want to kill me! He realised he was afraid to face his friend.

  For a moment he wanted to cancel his leave, or perhaps he would go home with one of his friends, he was always being invited. Best if he waited, said and did nothing, waited until things had calmed down, given Maurice a chance to make his decision. Yes, that was best, him turning up to add his four penn’orth would only add to the confusion.

  He left camp on a Friday towards the end of March.
His decision made he went straight home, leaving the railway station and hurrying through the town to the bus stop; then running up the steps of the bus, head down, ostrich-like, in the hope he wouldn’t see anyone he knew. He went past his mother’s shop, looking down from the bus to see the windows advertising Easter Eggs and announcing that orders were being taken for simnel cakes.

  Getting off the bus at the stop before The Drovers, he shouldered his kitbag and hurried up the drive into his house as if a thousand eyes followed his every step.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Evie had found herself a job. With too little to do in the neat and orderly house with only an orderly husband and an organised son, she found time hanging heavily on her.

  ‘I’ve decided to return to work,’ she told Oliver one morning when he sat eating breakfast. ‘Your father will be here to take you to school in the mornings and I will be home before you finish in the afternoons.’

  ‘Oh,’ Oliver said, swallowing the last of his toast.

  ‘Only “oh”, Oliver?’ Evie smiled.

  ‘I thought you might say I have to go to Gran’s, er, Grandmother’s every day,’ he admitted. ‘Lots of the boys in school have to go to their grans until their mothers finish work.’

  ‘We aren’t like that, Oliver. Your father and I will make arrangements for you between ourselves.’

  ‘If Father has something important, then I’ll have to go to Gran’s, won’t I?’

  ‘If Amy or one of your other friends can’t help, well, yes, maybe.’

  ‘Good. George, I mean Grandfather, isn’t well enough to work and he’ll be glad of my company.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Evie said, tight-lipped.

  ‘So am I,’ Oliver said guilelessly. ‘Quite sure, he’s always saying so.’

  ‘I don’t think it will often be necessary, Oliver.’

  ‘Where will you be working?’

  ‘In an office in Llan Gwyn. I – I’ll have to try to pass my driving test again soon, then I won’t be out of the house so long.’

  ‘Will I have to sit while you take lessons?’ Memories of long, boring hours sitting in the back of the car while his mother practiced three point turns and hill-starts came back to him with clarity. ‘Perhaps,’ he said hopefully, ‘you’d con-cen-trate better if I stayed with Gran or Margaret?’ He smiled, pleased with himself for remembering that long word that Gran had explained. His mother seemed not to notice.

  ‘We’ll see, Oliver. Now hurry boy, you are such a dawdler. Your father will be down in a moment expecting you to be ready to leave.’

  * * *

  Margaret crossed over the road and went into the shop-cum-post-office after school had finished and looked quizzically at her mother.

  ‘Freddy home yet, Mam?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him, Margaret love. Perhaps he’s gone straight to the house.’

  ‘Can I go home now and see?’

  ‘No, in case he hasn’t, I don’t want you there on your own. Mavis will be down in a minute and we can leave together.’ Mavis arrived a few moments later and they hurried away.

  With Margaret skipping beside her mother, they walked along the main road to their house. It was not yet dark and seeing no light on in the house didn’t surprise them. Opening the door Amy called, ‘Freddy?’ she shrieked with delight when he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Saw you coming and I put the kettle on, Mam,’ he said over the rich red hair of his sister’s head as he hugged her. ‘Finished early, did you?’

  ‘We weren’t sure what time you’d be here. We don’t want to waste a moment of your leave,’ Amy said as she hung up her coat and went for her welcoming hug. ‘Glad to see you, Freddy.’

  ‘Sorry about all this, Mam,’ he began, but he stopped when Amy shook her head and frowned and instead asked Margaret about her recent exam.

  Margaret had seen the warning flash from her mother’s eyes and her heart sank. So there was a secret and she wasn’t to be included.

  ‘Oh, it was all right,’ she said offhandedly. ‘Mam, shall I make the tea while you and Freddy get your boring talk over and done with?’ She half-closed the kitchen door, rattled a few cups and crouched to listen behind the door.

  ‘Is it true, what Sheila says?’ Amy asked in a low voice. ‘I need to know all the facts, Freddy, so I can decide what’s best to do.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mam. With Sheila you never know, but it’s possible, mind.’ He looked away from her a blush creeping up his cheeks. ‘Maurice has been home, hasn’t he?’

  Amy thought, as she looked at his reddening face, that he looked young and unprepared for this situation. Too young surely for this to be happening? He was still a boy.

  ‘It is possible?’ Her tongue refused to form the necessary words. ‘You and she have…?’ She stared at him, his blue eyes behind the rimless glasses again sliding away from her gaze down to the floor where he followed the pattern in the carpet with his foot. ‘Freddy, answer me.’

  ‘Yes, Mam, it’s possible.’

  ‘Why?’ Exasperated she sighed and looked at him. ‘Why Sheila of all people. You knew she was married and to your friend, too.’

  ‘Sorry, Mam.’

  The kettle was boiling its head off and Margaret still knelt and listened uncomprehendingly behind the door. The sound of the rattling kettle lid reached Amy’s ears and she stood up in time to catch Margaret just rising from her knees.

  ‘Margaret, love, when it’s time to involve you in something I’ll tell you. Until then don’t listen to things that don’t concern you and which you won’t understand.’

  Margaret was shocked. It wasn’t often her mother scolded her and this seemed so unreasonable. It must be something dreadful.

  ‘Freddy’s my brother and if he’s in trouble I ought to know.’ She ran to her room and closed the door firmly. She waited but Amy didn’t go up and explain as Margaret expected.

  The light outside her window faded, turning the glass into mirrors. The sun, disappeared long since, sent its last glow across her ceiling as she lay on her bed and listened to the murmur of talk from below. She was hungry and cold but she wasn’t going down until Mam came to fetch her. Childishly she switched on her light, picked up a book and began to read. She would look quite unconcerned when her mother eventually remembered her. In her gymslip pocket, stuck with a few hairs and oddments of fluff, she found a sweet and, after licking it to remove most of the surplus, she began to suck it noisily.

  When Amy went up after preparing their meal, she found a scowling Margaret still reading and refusing to come down.

  ‘I’ll give you and Freddy some peace so you can decide what to tell me,’ she said in a prim tone. ‘I know I’m not old enough to understand.’

  ‘Margaret, love. This is something that’s private to Freddy. When it’s sorted, then we can discuss it, not before. All right? Now, come down and see what Freddy brought home for you. A whole packet of Devon cream toffees. And dinner is ready on the table. Poached haddock, your favourite.’

  The thought of food made Margaret put her book aside after only token hesitation and follow her mother down to the warm fire and appetizing food and Freddy.

  * * *

  On her way to the farm on Saturday morning, Dawn stopped, changed her route and went to see the Honeymans instead. She noticed that many of the gardens already had borders filled with small plants and saw several polyanthus and pansies showing colour amid the spring display of daffodils and grape hyacinths. Others had cleared the ground and neatly dug it ready for the displays of annuals planned for the competition.

  She sighed. Their front had only some scruffy grass and a few straggly remnants of last autumn’s blooms. Some of the neighbours had promised them some flowers but Dawn began to resent the organisation behind the majority of houses and felt an impulse to destroy their efforts in an attempt to bring them down to the level of her and her father. It wasn’t fair.

  She cheered as she approached the house where Delin
a lived. Theirs wasn’t that good. The hedge hadn’t been regularly cut and it showed gaps where the boys had pushed their way through. The grass, hidden from the sun by the over-tall privet was poor and the flowerbeds weren’t neatly edged as in most of the other gardens. Mr Honeyman was too busy looking after Amy Prichard’s garden, or so she had heard people say. She thought she would tell Delina what a mess her garden looked.

  No one answered her knock for a while and she began to wonder what she would call Mr Honeyman if he were to become her father’s father-in-law. Grandfather-in-law? That sounded funny. She had written down all the relationships with her father’s help the previous evening and now, as she knocked at the back door and waited for someone to open it, she suddenly remembered that if Delina married her father besides Delina becoming her step-mother, David and Daniel would be her uncles. She had been told but until now hadn’t given it a second thought.

  David opened the door and Dawn smiled at him and said, ‘Hello, Uncle David, is Uncle Daniel in?’

  ‘What game are you playing now, Dawn Simmons?’ David asked grumpily.

  ‘No game, David, you really will be my uncle when your sister marries my dad.’

  David frowned at her as if about to argue then his face opened into a smile.

  ‘Really? I’ll be an uncle? How odd.’

  ‘Can I come in, Uncle David?’

  ‘You can’t stay, I’m going into town with Dad.’

  ‘Pity, I thought you might like to come to the farm with me. We’ve got a secret.’

  ‘Boring.’

  ‘Not this one. It’s something we’re practising in secret. Only Uncle Billie and Auntie Mary knows.’

  ‘You and Margaret and Oliver I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll have to ask them before I can tell you.’

  ‘Boring.’ But he put on his coat and called to his father that he would only be a little while and followed Dawn through the garden and out into the fields.