‘Nosy lot around ’ere,’ she grumbled, pointing to where Milly Toogood watched as the van was emptied. ‘Appears like magic she does. ’Er an’ ’er friend.’ She leaned slightly to look behind Milly and there was Sybil Tremain, as usual, standing a few paces back from Milly. ‘Milly Nogood an’ the Pup, I calls ’em,’ Nelly said. She opened the window and called, ‘The rest is comin’ tomorrow, about ten. Just so you won’t be late an’ miss something.’
‘Nelly!’ Amy exclaimed as the two women walked away, Sybil, as always, a few paces behind as if she were constantly trying to catch up.
‘Like magic it is the way them two finds out what’s goin’ on.’
‘If I’d known there was so much interest I’d have sold tickets!’ She walked through to the living room and looked at the furniture with some dismay. ‘It doesn’t look much, does it Nelly?’
‘When Margaret sees that piano she’ll think it’s the best house in Hen Carw Parc.’ Nelly showed her crooked teeth in an excited laugh. ‘Won’t she be thrilled!’
* * *
Margaret had been sent to play with Oliver to be kept out of the way while the move was completed, but Evie had soon tired of having the children under her feet. They had attended church and she had managed to make them sit still during the sermon and had listened with pleasure to Margaret singing the hymns, coming out with a warm feeling and full of envy of Amy’s talented daughter. But within minutes of getting home Evie had suggested they went for a walk.
‘I want you back at one o’clock for lunch,’ she said, ‘Not a moment after.’ And not a moment before either, she thought silently. Children were such a handful. Thank goodness she had only produced one.
They put on their wellingtons and set off down the garden and up Leighton’s field. The day was cold but the rain which had threatened had moved away, the dark clouds driven by a keen wind. They were wrapped up well and soon glowing with the exuberance of youth.
They continued to climb, passing Nelly’s cottage and then the castle on their left, and stopping for a while to look down at the village road snaking away far below them. There were no houses nearby now and, apart from the brickworks, the only building up here on the hillside was the Browns’ dairy farm.
‘Let’s go and see Billie and Mary Dairy and get a drink of milk, shall we?’ Margaret suggested.
There was smoke visible above the farmhouse, a tumbled column scattered by the wind as soon as it escaped from the tall chimney. As they came near, Oliver stopped Margaret’s hurried progress down the steep hill and pointed. In a field ahead of them was a large ewe caught in a deep ditch. ‘She won’t get out of there on her own,’ Oliver said. ‘D’you think we should tell Mr Leighton? She’s probably his.’
‘Tell Mary, she’ll know what to do. She can telephone Mr Leighton.’ Margaret hurried on down the sloping field. She was thirsty.
The farm looked like many others, with scattered sheds and barns, the cobbled yards wet in the mid-November damp. But when they walked through the gate it was clear this farm was different. The sheds were newly white-washed and everywhere was newly scrubbed and sweet-smelling. The whole area lacked the usual evidence of cows, yet the Browns had a large herd of Herefords.
Mary Dairy, as she was called, ran the herd and cared for them herself. The milk was cooled, bottled, and put on to her van in crates and she delivered it around the houses of the village. Some she made into cheeses and the pale leftover skimmed milk was fed to her calves. Her brother Billie attended to the rest of the farm with seasonal help from local people who were glad to earn the odd extra shilling.
It was late morning and they could hear the sound of bottles clinking together and found Billie in the washing shed, with its large metal sinks, washing the bottles, putting them into a second sink to rinse and then draining them upside down in scrubbed crates, ready to be filled after the evening milking. He looked up and smiled at them. ‘Come to help?’ he asked, offering them a bottle brush with a dripping hand, ‘or just for a drink of our wonderful milk?’
‘We saw a ewe and she seemed to be in trouble,’ Margaret said all in a rush and together they told the big man where they had seen her.
‘Should we let Mr Leighton know?’ Oliver asked. ‘She was in a sort of ditch and couldn’t get out.’
‘I’ll call him later and let him know, but I’ll be surprised if he needs telling. Watches them sheep like they were babies, old Leighton does.’
‘Can we help, Mr Brown?’ Oliver asked.
‘Go on then, carry one of them empty crates across for me and wash a couple of bottles, then we’ll stop and have a drink and maybe find a biscuit or a bit of Mary’s cake. How’ll that be?’
He swiftly drained the bottles out of the rinsing sink and filled the crates they brought him with upturned bottles, then, wiping his hands on his brown overalls, he led them into the living room.
Billie was a tall, muscular man, his arms and chest covered with thick dark hair. But his brown eyes were gentle, and paler, Oliver noticed, now they were under the better light of the room. He took off his overalls, revealing the brown denim dungarees he wore underneath.
The children stayed a while, warming themselves near the huge fire before putting on their outdoor clothes again and setting off up the hill for home. They stopped once to wave at Billie, standing at the entrance of the washing shed waiting for Mary to return from her second round with the last of the bottles, then lost sight of him as they crossed the ridge.
Oliver was still worried about the ewe. ‘It will soon be dark. Shall we go and tell Mr Leighton, in case Billie Brown forgets to call him?’
‘We’ll be late for dinner,’ Margaret said.
‘Lunch,’ Oliver grinned. ‘Mother calls it lunch.’ They talked in an exaggerated imitation of Evie’s voice for a while as they made their way towards the fields owned by Leighton. They did not have to go far out of their way. The old farmer was walking towards them before they were in sight of the village road.
‘We saw this ewe…’ Oliver began, but the old man just nodded and pulled two brown eggs from his pocket.
‘Thanks.’ He walked on with a brief nod, not even asking for confirmation of the ditch where his sheep was trapped.
‘He’ll wear his tongue out.’ Oliver whispered with a chuckle.
In a field to their right was a solitary cow. She was all that was left of Leighton’s herd. With only himself and Sidney Davies to work on the farm, he could no longer keep cattle, but he had been reluctant to part with the last one. The regular visits to the cow shaped his day and made him feel needed.
Oliver and Margaret stopped to look at the cow, but there was something about its shape that was wrong. It was cloudy now and the light was misty and unclear. Margaret thought she had seen a ghost.
Then the figure of the cow separated from the alien shadow and they saw with relief that it was the gypsy girl.
She carried a bowl and, from the way she walked, it was full of milk. Oliver and Margaret looked at each other, then back at the girl who was stealing from Mr Leighton. If Mr Leighton followed them back he would see her. Afraid to shout a warning that might be heard by the farmer, they stood still until the girl slowly pushed her way through the hedge and stood beside them. The enamel bowl was brimming with milk.
‘Don’t you tell,’ she said warningly, her dark eyes glaring at them. ‘’Tis little enough for him to lose.’
‘I – I think he might have seen you,’ Oliver stuttered.
‘We called to tell him about a sheep in trouble,’ Margaret explained, ‘he must have been able to see you.’
The girl gave an explosive sound which they guessed was an oath, and half ran, half walked down the lane, Oliver and Margaret following at a distance.
Margaret began to shiver. The lane dipped at this point and the cold settled in the hollow in a river of cold air.
‘I’m freezing,’ Margaret said. ‘I forgot my hat and gloves, let’s run.’
They ran past the g
ypsy girl still struggling to adjust her pace for maximum speed and minimum spillage, and hurried down the lane to the main road. At a more sedate walk, they continued back to Evie and lunch.
A few hours later, when Constable Harris rode his bicycle up the lane to the gypsies’ camp, a couple of nanny goats, borrowed in frantic haste by Clara, grazed peacefully outside the caravans.
‘Now why would my girl bother to steal milk?’ Clara asked reasonably, pointing to the full udders of the goats, ‘Old Leighton must have been mistaken.’
Inside the vardo, the girl still cried from the hard slapping Clara had given her for being so stupid and dishonest. ‘A good con is one thing,’ she had told the girl between blows, ‘telling fortunes and promising folk what they hope for is good dishonesty. But taking for no reason, that’s bad dishonesty and no good will come of it.’
* * *
The removal men had gone and Amy, Victor and Nelly had stopped for a snack when Phil Davies arrived.
‘Post on a Sunday?’ Amy asked.
‘’E can smell a teapot and cakes faster than a fox!’ Nelly laughed, taking down another cup. ‘’E usually ’as three breakfasts and on a Sunday ’e feels deprived!’
Phil laughed good-naturedly and explained, ‘I came to see if you need any help, Amy. Our Maurice is on his way with a clothes line and a post. Sidney’s walking down with him. Mam said you didn’t have one.’
‘Thanks Phil. That is kind of her. What about putting these light bulbs in for me, you’re taller than me.’
Maurice and Sidney arrived with a pole carried between them and cemented it into the ground while Nelly and Amy busied themselves filling cupboards from the boxes. By late afternoon everything was straight.
It was dark when there was a knock at the door and Maurice, being nearest, answered it. A beautiful girl stood there and for a moment Maurice was too surprised to speak. In the light shining from the hall, he saw a slim, fur-wrapped figure, legs encased in boots and hands hidden by furry gloves. Her hair was almost lost in a pale fur hat, its colour blending with the wisps of hair that showed around her face. She looked at Maurice with her beautiful large eyes and as he met their gaze, the world seemed to stand still. So little of her showed from under her coat that it seemed ridiculous for him to know that she was beautiful, but he seemed able to see through the wraps to the loveliness underneath. He stuttered like a schoolboy until she smiled brilliantly and said, ‘I’m Delina Honeyman. Is my father here?’
‘Hello, lovey,’ Vic called. ‘Amy, I’d like you to meet my daughter. Come on, Maurice, let the girl come in!’ Vic laughed at the effect his daughter was having. Delina came in and handed Amy a pot of miniature roses.
‘From my mother,’ she smiled. Vic smiled at Nelly.
At the same time that Amy and her friends were busy at the new house, called ‘Heulog’, which Amy had learnt meant ‘Sunny’, Sheila’s parents were moving their possessions into the flat. Ralph walked down after seeing the furniture taken from his mother-in-law’s home and by the time he reached the shop and had used the new key to open the door at the side, the place was looking organised, though rather too orderly and unwelcoming. It would take a few weeks of living there before it felt like home.
‘Can I walk up to Gran’s for a bit of fresh air?’ Sheila asked.
‘No you can’t!’ Mavis was sharp with her daughter these days. Ever since finding her half-dressed at the fireworks party, she had watched Sheila constantly and had even telephoned the shop to make sure she was at work, and not out gallivanting with some man.
‘When you tell me what you were doing up in the woods and who you were meeting, and where you got the money for all the new clothes I found in your drawer, then, perhaps, you can go out again without me on your tail!’
‘I told you, Mam, I saved for the clothes. What d’you think? You think I’ve been paid for it, don’t you?’
Mavis was shocked. Such things were hardly thought of and certainly not spoken of in decent company. She was holding back tears of despair when she heard Ralph’s footsteps coming up the stairs.
At seven o’clock the family sat down to eat. Then they made up the beds and unpacked the last of the boxes.
‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ Sheila said. ‘I’ll take a book and read for a while.’
‘I won’t be long after you. I’m tired, and I have to be up early to start my new job tomorrow. Good night, dear,’ said her father.
At ten the flat was quiet, but Sheila waited, listening to the small sounds that were strange to her in the new room. The traffic was not heavy but there were more cars than she had heard from the bedroom in St Illtyd’s Road. Lights swished across her curtains and she wished she was out there, driving along with Maurice and leaving her parents and Hen Carw Parc for ever.
The light in her parents’ bedroom clicked off and still she waited. Only when no one had stirred for a long time did she rise and tiptoe to the landing.
The only sound was the gentle snoring from her father and she went slowly down the stairs, treading at the side and holding her shoes in her hands. She was fully dressed and only needed to put her shoes on and throw a coat over her shoulders as she stepped outside. She walked softly across the road and up Sheepy Lane to the track leading to Maurice’s house.
* * *
A light showed, and looking through the unclosed curtains she saw Maurice sitting reading, beside the fire. Opposite him Ethel sat crocheting and a radio played quietly. She pulled a thin branch and tapped the glass with it, waving to attract Maurice’s attention without disturbing his mother.
After what seemed an age he looked up, stared in surprise but did not answer her smile. Her heart thumped as she waited for him to join her. She risked an occasional glance, feeling more conspicuous now Maurice knew she was there and not wanting to be seen by his mother. She saw him close his book and stretch. He said something to his mother who nodded and went on flicking the hook in and out of the white wool.
Shivering in the cold night air, she saw him take a coat from behind the door and as the door opened, heard him say, ‘Won’t be long, Mam. Just a stretch before I go to bed.’
The door closed behind him and Sheila ran to him, pressing herself against his warmth, exaggerating the shivering.
‘Warm me, Maurice, warm me now.’
* * *
Nelly stayed late at Amy’s. She watched Victor Honeyman and he knew that she would not go until he did. Maurice had offered to walk Delina home, and they had left together some time earlier. Everyone could see he was entranced by the girl, and she had seemed to find him equally fascinating.
‘Tell Mam I won’t be long,’ Vic had called after them with a challenging smile in Nelly’s direction.
Margaret came home with Timothy at seven. She wanted to see her bedroom first but Amy coaxed her into the living room to fetch more cups.
‘What? Already finding me a job to do,’ she sighed in mock dismay, ‘before I’ve even seen my own room?’
They all waited silently for Margaret to see her piano and were surprised to hear, not cries of delight, but tearful sobbing.
‘Mam, it’s beautiful,’ the girl wailed. ‘I wish Freddy was here to see it.’
‘Freddy’s already seen it,’ Amy said. ‘He helped me choose it. And he bought the music case for you.’
This resulted in more tears and Margaret only cheered up when she sat down to try out the piano.
Amy yawned a little later, after Margaret had played a few of her pieces, and Nelly nudged Victor Honeyman.
‘Give us a lift ’ome, why don’t yer?’ she said firmly.
* * *
It was strange for Amy to walk to the shop the following morning and take out a key to open the door feeling rather like an intruder. The shop flat had been her home for so many years and, with first Freddy leaving, and now renting the place and going to live at ‘Heulog’, she had a sense of unreality. It was like finding yourself on holiday without any memory of setting off.
<
br /> She unbolted and unlocked the back door with the new keys, having had to satisfy the post office over security before the changes. She moved as quietly as she could, conscious of every small sound, afraid of disturbing her new tenants.
The green grocery had arrived and was stacked against the back wall. She carried it in and began putting it outside the shop window for Constable Harris to make his usual complaints. She was filling the till, putting a selection of coins in each compartment, when the sound of footsteps came clearly through the locked door at the end of the shop near the side door. There was only oil-cloth on the stairs and Sheila’s feet clattered as she hurried to catch her bus.
A few minutes later a second, more sedate set of feet followed as Ralph went outside to wait for his lift. Amy wondered if Margaret had caught her bus and wished she could have waited with her this first morning. She waited for the third set of feet but remembered that Mavis was starting her new job a little later. She was surprised therefore to hear Mavis come down and enter the shop.
‘Did you know the tap drips?’ she said. ‘It kept us awake all night. I’d be grateful if you would get it fixed straight away.’
The visit was the first of several. Mavis asked agitatedly for an extra cupboard, a new mat for the kitchen as the one there was old and a little frayed, and even for different pillows as the ones Amy supplied were too thin. Amy sighed louder at each request but promised they would be attended to.
‘Well, furnished is what it says, you know,’ Mavis said and Amy just nodded patiently.
Milly Toogood was the first customer, wanting a tuppeny-ha’penny stamp. ‘For the football pools,’ she explained. ‘Settled in all right, have you? Plenty of helpers you had. All right for some, getting left a house then half the village turning out to help you move into it.’
Valley Affairs Page 12