‘I don’t want to hear from you. Nothin’ wrong with mine work.’
Anwen remembered an idea she’d had, when she’d seen her mam’s brother in the grocer’s the day before. ‘Da, Uncle Hywel is searching for new lodgings, on account his landlady, Mrs Price, is moving her mother in.’
The mumbled, ‘So?’ was barely audible.
‘Well, we’ve got three bedrooms. Sara and I could move in together. We wouldn’t mind, would we, Sara?’
Her sister’s face lit up. ‘No, not at all.’
‘He could have a room, and that would really help us out with money, and—’
‘No.’
‘But Da—’
‘I said bloody no! I don’t want your mother’s brother snoopin’ around here, you understand?’ He pointed the dripping spoon at her.
‘Yes Da.’
Madog slurped at the stew once more. Sara took hold of Anwen’s hand under the table and squeezed it tight.
Chapter Two
Going round the back of the village, slipping home unseen, had seemed like a good idea to Idris at the time. Why had fate put Anwen in the back garden at that moment? He loved her rosy cheeks and the full lips that often smiled, displaying her big-hearted nature. There’d been sadness behind that smile today though. Her hair, reaching her waist on the rare occasions he’d seen it down, had been dishevelled, yet had only served to make her more beautiful. His longing to see her had grown into apprehension in the last few days, because… If he couldn’t bear to think it, how was he going to say it, even to Mam and Da?
He should have gone to Merthyr, to Da’s relatives. There were mining jobs everywhere since men started enlisting. But no, his family needed him. You didn’t think of them when you signed up, he heard his friend Gwilym’s voice admonish him.
He dragged his feet over the hill, behind the houses on Edward Street. He shivered, despite the coat. It had been kind of Colonel Williams to give it to him, even if it was, as he’d explained, an old one.
The hoarse rasp of the pit wheels, a sound he was once so used to he was mostly unaware of it, jarred his nerves.
At the end of Anwen’s terrace he turned slightly right, to head behind Alexandra Street. It continued at the opposite angle to Edward Street, making them together look like open butterfly wings when viewed from the opposite side of the valley. Come on, not far to go. Dread filled his stomach like a heap of coal being tipped into a tram.
A shout went up and he noticed half a dozen boys gambolling down the hill. He knew them all, most of them younger brothers of mining colleagues.
‘Hey, Idris,’ shouted one. ‘You home on leave, then?’
It was Evan, Gwilym’s younger brother, his tanned skin darker still with mud. Idris didn’t want to speak to anyone, but ignoring them would cause more attention. ‘What are you scallywags up to? Shouldn’t you be at school?’
A boy called Cyril came up behind Evan, his red thatch of hair sticking out at all angles. ‘Finished early today, didn’t it? And we’re not up to anything, Idris, mun. We’re collecting sticks for a Guy Fawkes Night fire.’
Were people still bothered about a man who’d tried to blow up a selfish king and a few MPs three hundred years ago, when there were good men being blown up all over the world right now? A simmering anger gnawed at his guts. He pushed it away. ‘Bonfires aren’t allowed now. Nor fireworks. Defence of the Realm Act, isn’t it.’
‘Oh, give over, Idris,’ Evan said. ‘We’ll only make a small one, away from the village.’
‘Well I don’t want to know about it.’
‘You’re in the 2nd Rhondda Battalion aren’t you?’ Cyril asked. ‘You killed anyone yet?’
‘They haven’t gone anywhere yet,’ Evan said. ‘Mrs Vaughan’s Percy told her and she told my mam. And they’re the 114th Brigade of the 38th Division now. They’re still training at Winchester.’
Percy Vaughan. He was fit and ready to march off to foreign lands next month. As were Charlie, Henry, Maurice, Robert and the rest of them. Not like him.
Cyril screwed up his eyes. ‘That right, Idris?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I wish I was old enough to enlist. I’d kill them boche, I would.’ Cyril dropped all the sticks, apart from a large one. He pointed it at each of his pals in turn. ‘Pow, pow, pow, p-pow. You’re all dead!’
Each boy clutched his chest and made a variety of noises, two of them falling to the ground.
The innocent charade made Idris uncomfortable. ‘You boys better get those sticks away before someone else sees you with them, like Harries the Police.’
Cyril gathered his sticks together and the group continued to hurtle across the hill calling, ‘Bye Idris,’ and, ‘See ya!’
The first drops of drizzle moistened his face as the clouds darkened and swallowed the overconfident sun.
Finally at his own back garden, he undid the gate catch, carrying his backpack awkwardly to the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it with caution. The scent of soap was mingled with a vague whiff of meat stock, welcoming him home. The familiarity briefly gladdened his heart, in the way seeing Anwen used to. Still did. Except he didn’t want it to.
‘Hello?’ he called.
There was singing coming from the kitchen beyond. His mother’s voice. He tramped through to see the fire burning brightly in the range, on top of it a steaming kettle, in front a tin bath. Everything was as it would have been any other Friday afternoon he’d lived here.
‘Mam?’
Meg Hughes twisted round. ‘Oh my goodness, Idris!’
He stepped forward and threw his arms around her. ‘Hello Mam.’
‘Good heavens, bach, you scared the daylights out of me.’ She clung onto him, her head barely reaching his shoulder. ‘You didn’t send word to say you were on leave.’
‘No, I’m—’
He was unable to get out any explanation before Meg launched into the latest village news. When she went back to the scullery to fetch more water to heat, there was a faint knock on the front door. He ignored it, glad of his decision when he spied Florrie Harris pass by.
When Meg returned, Idris said, ‘Da not in yet?’
‘No. He probably went to pick up some baccy from Mr Davies and must’ve got chatting there.’
‘Mam, I—’
‘Jenkin will be so pleased to see you. He’s got involved with the scouts and that keeps him and his friends occupied.’
As she finished saying this, they heard the back door open and a voice call, ‘Hello? Whose is this rucksack?’ Isaiah tramped in, grinning broadly, still sooty from his shift. ‘We didn’t know you were due home on leave, bach.’
This was the moment. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m not on leave.’
‘What is it then, desertion?’ Isaiah laughed heartily.
Idris glanced from his father to his mother. His head ached with the pressure of his news.
Isaiah stood in front of the bath, concealing the range with his solid frame. ‘What’s up, lad?’
Idris pulled out a chair from the table, sitting heavily. ‘I’ve been discharged. On medical grounds.’
His mother’s hands flew to her cheeks as she exclaimed, ‘Oh bach, what’s wrong?’
‘My heart beats a bit too fast, that’s all. Not good for soldiering apparently.’
‘But you managed to hew coal for five of your ten years down the mine.’
‘Aye, I did. But we don’t get examined by the doctor at the mine, do we?’
Isaiah shook his head solemnly. ‘No lad, we don’t.’ He released a full throaty wheeze of a cough. ‘Well, bach, you’ll be wanting your old job back, or are you not fit for that anymore either?’
Idris stood up from the chair, stretching to his full height. ‘I can cope with it fine. I could have coped with the war. But they’ve got rules.’
‘Why don’t you have a rest for a few weeks?’ his mother suggested. ‘Till after Christmas. You look all done in.’
The back door sl
ammed shut. He’d better say what he had to quickly.
‘No, Mam. I can’t live off you and Da. I’ll go down Monday, see if they’ve got work.’
‘Oh they’ll have work all right,’ said Isaiah. ‘We’ve had a few newcomers replace those who’ve enlisted, and they’re about as much use as a straw pick.’
Fifteen-year-old Jenkin appeared in the doorway. ‘You’re not going off to war, then?’
‘No, your brother’s staying, thanks be to the Lord,’ said Meg. ‘His heart beats a bit too fast for the army’s liking, but he’s perfectly fine otherwise.’
Jenkin ran to Idris, throwing his arms around his chest. ‘I’m proud of you, Idris, for being willing to fight for what’s right, even if you can’t fight now. It’s nice to have you home though.’
Idris enfolded his little brother in his arms, so touched by the show of respect and affection that he felt a lump form in his throat. ‘Thank you, bach.’ Despite Jenkin’s words, he couldn’t help but feel he’d let him down.
‘Now Jenkin, scrub your father’s back for him,’ said Meg. ‘I want to heat up yesterday’s soup for dinner.’
‘But Mam, I want to meet up with my friends.’
‘Don’t argue with your mother,’ said Isaiah. ‘The quicker you get it done, the quicker you’ll get out.’ Talking to his wife now he said, ‘Did you manage to get any meat for supper?’ His eyes crinkled in hope.
‘Yes, the butcher had a few rabbits in today so I bought one. The scrawny pigeons weren’t worth the money.’
Idris sat, watching the ritual he’d grown up with. His father shed soiled clothes onto the stone floor before he stepped into the bath. He lathered up the bar of Lifebuoy soap, washing his front then handing it to Jenkin, who had the scrubbing brush at the ready. An inky layer of dust floated on the surface of the bath water.
As they continued with the task, Idris’s mind wandered to his pals still at Winchester, getting ready for the off. When his mother finally tapped him on the shoulder, the bath had been cleared and the table laid.
‘You look fit for bed already,’ she said, placing a bowl of vegetable soup in front of him. He leaned in, taking a deep breath. ‘That smells wonderful, Mam. You put some of your dried wild herbs in here?’
‘One of the things you can still find in abundance. You should invite Anwen over one supper-time. You can discuss the wedding now. You were meant to get married summer just gone.’
Idris pointed his fork at Jenkin. ‘I don’t want everyone knowing the reason for my discharge.’
‘If you give me a coupla coppers…’
‘You do as you’re told,’ said Isaiah. ‘If I find you’ve opened your gob I’ll tan your backside, you hear?’
‘Such a lovely girl is Anwen,’ Meg persisted. ‘You won’t find a finer girl in the whole of the Rhymney Valley.’
He couldn’t argue, because that was the problem. Instead he kept quiet and ate his food.
* * *
Sara appeared in the small scullery as Anwen poured steaming water from the kettle into the sink. She watched as Anwen scraped flakes of Sunlight soap into the water before adding soda crystals and swishing the water around.
‘Mam’s fallen asleep already. She seems even more exhausted than normal today.’ Sara leaned against the dark wood draining board.
‘Meg’s visit yesterday tired her out.’
‘Has Da gone?’
‘Yes. Said he’d have supper when he got back.’
‘The McKenzie Arms isn’t closing any earlier since the Defence of the Realm Act,’ said Sara.
‘So it would seem.’ They both knew the public house would benefit from their father’s wages tonight, as it did most nights.
‘Anwen, do you think Mam will ever get up again? I mean walk. Not just because Uncle Hywel has carried her down.’
Sara frowned and Anwen knew why. Da had kicked up a fuss six months back when he’d come home to find Mam tucked up on the chaise longue downstairs. When he’d shouted at Hywel that it would kill her, Mam had burst into tears. Yet before Da had arrived she’d been the chirpiest they’d seen her in a long while. Uncle Hywel had carried her tiny frame back up and promptly left. He only came round now when he knew Da wouldn’t be there.
‘I dunno, Sara. The hospital said she’s recovered from the fall as far as they could tell.’
‘But they don’t know everything. What about Jane Probert next door but one? They sent her home saying she was all right, and next day she was – dead.’ The last word was whispered. ‘And her with a new baby.’
‘The post mortem said it was a growth in her stomach. They can’t always know that, doctors. Especially as she was pregnant just before.’ Anwen’s sinuses stung recalling the sad demise of Jane, only two years older than her.
Sara, in the middle of wiping a plate, halted. ‘I’m scared.’
Anwen dropped the wire wool into the water before wiping her hands on the pinny. She wound her arms around Sara’s petite body, a full three inches shorter than her own. She rested her sister’s head on her shoulder.
‘What are you scared of, fach? Mam’s doing fine. Her brain’s not been affected by the fall. She enjoys reading the books I get from the Institute library.’
Sara gazed up at Anwen. ‘It’s not a life, though. And her brain must be affected. She can’t remember falling.’
Anwen sighed. ‘I know. But the doctor did say it wasn’t cause for concern.’
‘I wish Da would get the doctor back, especially since it doesn’t cost anything.’
‘Apart from the subs the workers pay towards the hospital each week, but yes, I understand what you mean. I’m not sure the doctor can do anything else.’
Sara stepped back from her sister’s embrace, studying the four walls of the kitchen in turn. ‘Death is all around us,’ she whimpered.
‘The Bible says, In the midst of life we are in death. It’s always been so.’
Sara’s gaze was unfocused. ‘Sometimes I think I can feel it, Death, like Jack Frost, moving through the village, through our house, breathing on me in the night.’
A tremor cut through Anwen to her core. She was unsure how to bring this conversation to an end. Sara, for all her love of musicals, books and flowers, for all her kindness to wildlife and other people, had always been a child of sorrows. She felt losses and distresses most keenly, from a dead bird in the woods to a drooping flower, from a lost friendship to a cruel word from one person to another, she took them all to heart.
‘There’s been so much death in the village, so many of them children. Four on our street alone in the last year. And six miners in the last eighteen months.’
Anwen was relieved when Sara omitted all the deaths from consumption, mainly women. And the old men, and not so old men, coughing their life blood away with years breathing in the black dust.
Anwen squared her shoulders. ‘We’ve much to be thankful for, Sara. Mam’s family worked the fields in Cardiganshire for less money, in pouring rain, summer blaze and freezing wind. The houses here are new. A model village they called it, when they opened the Workmen’s Institute and hospital five years back. So enough of this talk. Let’s get finished up and get ready to go to the Institute.’
Sara’s face brightened. ‘I’m so excited about seeing The Bohemian Girl. Mrs Brace at the grocer’s said she saw it on Wednesday and lovely, it was. Said Mrs Jones from Owain Street is playing the Gipsy Queen. Beautiful voice, she has.’ Sara slumped, a frown taking over once more. ‘I only wish Mam could come with us.’
Anwen rubbed her sister’s back. ‘You can tell her all about it when we get back.’
Regaining the smile, Sara said, ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’
* * *
Between the top of Jubilee Green and the Workmen’s Institute, people were gathering in large numbers when Anwen and Sara arrived. The moonless night was illuminated by the Institute’s lights. Arm in arm, the sisters were wrapped in coats and gloves, their mother’s old hats perched atop their
neatly pinned hair.
Anwen surveyed the line of people. Idris was unlikely to be here. A painful anxiety coursed through her as she recalled his haggard appearance and how cold he’d been towards her. She’d been able to gauge his mood since they were nippers, both recently arrived in the new village. The cheeky smile and wayward black curls of the nine-year-old Idris, three years her senior, had attracted her from the beginning. She’d seen through the cavalier, joking lad to the kind heart beneath. He’d always defended the smaller, weaker children against bullies, gaining him a grudging respect over the years from the more aggressive boys. They weren’t keen to cross him, tall and sturdy as he was.
‘You’re smiling,’ Sara said, knocking her arm gently.
‘Just glad my sweetheart’s back, even if for a short time. Come on, let’s join the queue.’
Sara huddled closer to her. ‘Can you smell that? It’s like a bonfire.’
‘Whoever that is will get into trouble if Sergeant Harries catches them.’
‘I love bonfires,’ Sara said. ‘They remind me of being a little girl. Do you remember how Da used to burn the twigs and autumn leaves at the bottom of our garden? We’d all help him collect them. You and me. Tomos and Geraint.’ She spoke the latter names faintly. ‘He used to keep the garden tidy back then.’
He did, thought Anwen, in those days before their brothers passed on. They’d loved the physical work of the garden, digging alongside Da. Sometimes they’d sing a rousing chorus or two, one or other of them adding a harmony. She’d be tending the flowers with Sara and Mam, or hoeing and pruning. If they’d done a good bit of work, Da would get Mam to make some sandwiches so they could picnic on the hill behind the garden. It was so far away from their lives now, it was like a dream.
Their uncle’s landlady, Winnie Price, joined the queue behind them, flanked by Florrie Harris, a neighbour of Idris’s. ‘I hear your intended’s on leave, Anwen. Florrie says she saw him go through his garden earlier.’
‘Aye, I saw him,’ the older woman said, her threadbare coat obvious even in the dim light. ‘Why isn’t my Robert back then?’ Her face displayed a mixture of worry and annoyance.
Heartbreak in the Valleys Page 2
