Heartbreak in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Mrs Harris. I’ve only seen Idris briefly.’

  ‘I knocked on the door to ask, but no one answered. I just keep praying the war will end and my Robert will never have to set foot on foreign soil. Why did he enlist when he didn’t have to? And him with seven babbies to support.’

  ‘There’ll come a time when they’ll all have to enlist, you mark my words,’ Mrs Price said. ‘What do you think the Derby Scheme’s all about, getting the men to agree that they’ll join the forces in the future? They’ll pour ever more of our lads’ blood onto foreign soil.’

  Sara’s grip on Anwen’s arm tightened.

  ‘Give over, woman,’ came another voice. It was Edgar Williams, the under-manager at the pit, complete with bowler hat. He’d arrived with his wife and younger son. ‘So, our hero’s back on leave, is he?’

  ‘There’s no need to mock, Edgar Williams,’ Mrs Harris said. ‘Just trying to do right by their country and Mr Lloyd George they are.’

  ‘Lloyd bloody George,’ the under-manager said. ‘Him and his pretty speeches. All very well for other men to go and fight, but he’s robbing me of good miners. It’s our quality steam coal’ll help our navy win this war. What are we going to do, get the women to dig the coal out?’ He spat on the ground.

  A young man ran across the road, calling, ‘There you are.’ It was Edgar’s older son Daniel, smiling as profusely as his father was scowling.

  ‘Just talking to the ladies, son,’ he said lightly, as if they’d been discussing a concert at the chapel.

  Daniel chewed at his top lip before saying, ‘Hello, Anwen. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.’

  She noticed the smart tie and his shirt with a fold-down collar. ‘It is.’

  ‘Ah, there are the Merediths at the front of the queue,’ Edgar said. ‘Come along. We will join them.’ He took his wife’s and younger son’s arms and the three of them hurried off, pushing in to join the mine manager and his wife.

  ‘Sorry,’ Daniel said. ‘I’d better go. Perhaps we’ll talk after the performance?’

  Anwen shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

  His smile lingered a few seconds before he ran off to join his parents.

  ‘That’s it, run after Mama and Papa,’ Sara said after he’d gone, injecting her accent with a heavy dose of posh English, copying the phoney inflection of Daniel’s mother, Esther Williams.

  ‘Sara, don’t. He’s a nice boy. At least, he was at school.’

  ‘Never mind him.’ Mrs Harris said, leaning between them. ‘The queue’s moving, so shift along.’

  * * *

  ‘That was wonderful,’ Sara shouted over the enthusiastic clapping, after the last triumphant chorus of ‘Oh, What a Full Delight’ ended the opera.

  Anwen tilted her head towards Sara’s ear. ‘My favourite was “I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls”.’

  ‘Oh yes, that was beautiful.’

  The clapping went on for a full two minutes. After the performers, choir and orchestra accepted the audience’s appreciation, the conductor took his bow. Anwen and Sara shuffled along the chairs, only to be faced with Daniel Williams in the aisle.

  ‘Hello again.’

  ‘Hello.’ Anwen searched her mind for something else to say, as he only grinned. ‘How are you finding the bank in Tredegar?’

  ‘Fine. What are you doing? Helping at home?’

  ‘Screening. At the mine.’

  ‘I see. You should have stayed at school. You were the cleverest in the class.’

  His ignorance grated on her. ‘Some of us need to earn as early as possible, to help our families.’

  She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he didn’t inhabit the same world as her, even though he only lived around the corner on Jubilee Green.

  ‘I suppose so,’ he conceded, holding her gaze.

  ‘We don’t see you or your family at chapel anymore.’

  ‘We go to St Peter’s now.’ He leant forward a little to whisper with a grin, ‘Mama thinks it’s more posh.’

  It was her turn to say, ‘I see.’

  ‘Daniel!’ Esther Williams called over from several rows ahead.

  ‘Coming, Mama.’ His gaze swivelled back towards Anwen. ‘I’d better go and join them.’

  Anwen said quickly, ‘We have concerts at the chapel that everyone’s welcome to.’

  He stopped in the middle of moving away, his eyes examining hers. ‘Will you be singing?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  He nodded and left. When he was out of earshot, Sara said, ‘Does he know you’re spoken for?’

  Anwen frowned. ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘Daniel Williams likes you. You were encouraging him.’

  Anwen let go of Sara’s arm. ‘I was not. I was being friendly to an old school chum. No harm in that.’

  ‘I do hope you’re right. I’d hate for you to end up with Mr Williams as a father-in-law. Or worse, Esther Williams as a mother-in-law!’

  Anwen was about to exclaim her horror at the idea when she spotted Sara’s grin.

  ‘Sara, that is not funny!’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  Anwen laughed. ‘All right, it is. And ludicrous.’

  They started down the steps, weaving through the crowd, towards the exit.

  ‘What a shame Mam’s not able to join us on these nights out anymore,’ said Sara. ‘She did love the musical performances so.’

  ‘Do you remember that operetta we came to about six years back, The Merry Milkmaids?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Sara clapped her hands together. ‘It took a lot of pleading to get Mam to let me stay up for that.’

  ‘I recall Mam singing some of the songs on the way home, even though it was gone ten o’clock. Old Mr Hughes at number ten leant out of his bedroom window to tell her to shut up, as I recall.’

  ‘Oh yes. And because he was always rude to everybody, she sang all the louder! And we joined in too.’

  Both girls giggled so hard they couldn’t stop.

  When Anwen managed to get her breath back, she said, ‘Come on, let’s get home, see if Mam’s awake so we can tell her about tonight.’

  * * *

  Idris hadn’t wanted to come to chapel, not this soon, but he hadn’t the heart to upset his mother. If he sat with his head low enough, as if in prayer, people might not realise it was him. The three-piece suit, purchased for Sundays and special occasions from a near neighbour when her son died, was now too big for him.

  People were entering in a steady stream, filling the simple wooden pews of the Ainon Baptist Chapel. He had the misfortune to look up as Anwen passed with her sister and uncle. He couldn’t bring himself to return her smile, even though the sight of her lightened his heart.

  The service passed slowly, Idris thinking his own thoughts while the minister held forth with much enthusiasm. He spent the time imagining his trip to the pit tomorrow, to ask for his job back, the many scenarios that might unfold, his stomach squirming as he pictured each in turn. Having exhausted all the possibilities, he planned how he’d affect a quick escape from the service.

  But the latter was not to be. As he followed his mother out of the pew she grabbed his arm.

  ‘Let’s get a cup of tea, bach,’ she said, pointing to one side of the chapel, to a room where people were beginning to congregate. Jenkin had already raced outside with some of his friends.

  ‘I don’t think—’ he began.

  ‘No point running away, lad,’ said his father. ‘You’ve got to face people eventually. No shame in being discharged on health grounds.’

  He followed his parents, not acknowledging the smiles or curious glances in his direction. Before he reached the door of the side room, Anwen appeared suddenly in front of him.

  ‘Idris.’

  ‘Anwen.’

  ‘I’ve seen nothing of you since you arrived. When are you due back to camp?’

  Idris’s mouth opened to answer, but he didn’t know what to say. When
he did speak he said, ‘Can we take a walk outside, to talk?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll go and tell Sara and Uncle Hywel.’

  His mother was only feet away, regarding him. ‘Making plans, that’s good.’

  When Anwen returned, she and Idris wound their way through the crowds, exiting down the steps onto Gabriel Street.

  ‘Let’s go along to Mafeking Terrace.’ His heart thumped against his ribcage and he found it hard to swallow.

  They set off to the right. She took his arm, making him uncomfortable. Maybe he should have written, given her some clue. But that was the coward’s way, not his way.

  The street before them was still damp from an earlier downpour that had come and gone within five minutes. The reflection of the low winter sun in the puddles appeared like circles of gold.

  As they passed the last house on the terrace, the valley opened up before them with the mountains beyond. The forest green of the low vegetation, the lighter, lush grass and the earthy browns of the bare trees were picked out in turn. In the floor of the valley stood a separate group of buildings: Dyffryn Gwyrdd Farm.

  ‘So, how long have you got?’ Anwen took no notice of the scene, looking instead along the road that led to Rhymney.

  ‘I’ve been discharged. Health’s not good at the moment.’ It came out in a rush.

  She stopped, unlinking her arm from his, her brow furrowed. ‘Oh Idris, what’s wrong with you?’

  ‘It’s nothing. Just, my heart beats too fast.’

  ‘Tachycardia?’ Her voice was breathy.

  She was so clever. Too clever for this small place. ‘Yes, that’s what the doctor called it.’

  ‘Oh Idris. I read about it in a medical book I found in Schenck’s bookshop. Thought it might help me find out what’s wrong with Mam.’ She took hold of his arm, caressing it with her thumb. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just the army fussing. I’m returning to the mine.’ He twisted left to look back at the colliery. A few men were doing Sunday shifts now, according to his father. So even on a day of rest he couldn’t escape the audible reminder of his fate.

  ‘You’re going back to the pit with tachycardia?’ There was something approaching panic in her voice.

  He huffed through his nose, a feigned impatience. But it was a fair question. ‘It’s only a fast heartbeat. The doctor didn’t even mention it at the initial examination. They let me go through the training. Probably just an infection.’

  ‘So, you’re home for good?’ She couldn’t hide the relief in her voice.

  ‘I am. But – Anwen, I don’t want to get married now. Not with the war. Not with everything unsure.’

  Her face fell. ‘Surely that’s a good reason to get married. When do you want to do it, then?’

  It’s for her good, if not yours. Just do it. ‘Never, Anwen. I’m sorry.’ He couldn’t say anything that suggested he’d change his mind in the future. He had to give her the chance to find someone else, someone who wouldn’t die prematurely and leave her with little children.

  Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut momentarily. ‘You mean, you don’t love me anymore?’

  He hesitated. ‘No.’

  She gasped as more tears fell. Turning on her heels, she hurried away as quickly as her skirt and petticoat would allow.

  Idris groaned quietly. This was the worst thing he’d ever had to do, even worse than carrying Tommy Morgan’s body from the mine to his family home, three years back. He peered down the long road in the opposite direction to where Anwen had fled. A walk to Rhymney would be best now, to work off this terrible guilt and sadness.

  He hadn’t gone many steps when he found himself rubbing the bridge of his nose. There was a handkerchief in his pocket, which he pulled out, pretending to himself that he was starting a cold and it was irritating his eyes. He wiped at them and blew his nose, but couldn’t stop the briny drops from trickling down his face.

  * * *

  Anwen ran back to Gabriel Street, past the chapel, ignoring her friends Violet and Gwen, who called hello as they stood by the gate. She could barely see for the tears stinging her eyes. She didn’t want anyone seeing her like this.

  Twisting left, she hurried up the hill, past the fancier houses of the traders and under-manager on Jubilee Green, with their bits of front garden and railings. She crossed the road, ran past the communal gardens, finally taking a right past the Workmen’s Institute and onto Edward Street. She hurried down the road until she reached her own home.

  Rushing into the kitchen, she noticed the fire was almost out in the grate. She’d need to build it up again, keep the house warm for Sara. These trivial thoughts she used to divert her mind from the cold reality of Idris’s words. The hurtful truth wrung any joy she’d had from seeing him today.

  She dragged out a chair, before collapsing into it. Alone in the room, she allowed the sobs full reign.

  Idris had told her once that he would adore her until the day one of them left this earth, and then beyond that too.

  Anwen had been the happiest she’d ever been that day. Idris had scooped her behind a tree and kissed her. What happened after was the most wonderful moment of her life: he’d got down on one knee and proposed. She’d only been sixteen, and he nineteen, but she’d known all along he’d be the only one for her.

  Had the army training changed him that much? Or was it his condition? But it did happen; people did fall out of love.

  Anwen raised her head, fancying she heard a sound. Not their father, please. Maybe Sara wondering where she’d got to? No, it was a distant voice calling, ‘Hello?’

  It was Mam.

  Yes, it was her mother she needed now.

  Chapter Three

  Anwen examined the fancy front door. It was dark green with a large pane of glass. In the semi-circular window above the door was written ‘McKenzie House’. She tapped the knocker and awaited a reply. There’d be lost wages for taking a morning off from the pit, but there was nothing else for it. She wanted this job even more now there was no prospect of marrying Idris. A wave of nausea passed through her.

  As she waited, her hands were clammy. She’d seen Mrs Meredith, the mine manager’s wife, around the village. She was a polite woman, but haughty.

  The door was opened by Miss Meredith, who she’d seen at chapel, though her parents attended St Peter’s, the parish church on Gabriel Street, a few yards along on the other side of the road from the chapel. The young woman smiled as she said, ‘It’s Anwen Rhys, isn’t it? Bore da.’

  Anwen was thrown initially by the use of her first language to say good morning. Not many of the elite used it. Perhaps Miss Meredith knew a little and was trying to make her feel welcome. ‘Yes. Bore da. I’m here about the housemaid’s job.’

  ‘Of course. Come in.’

  Miss Meredith appeared a few years older than her, around twenty-five perhaps. Her skirt was short, showing half her calf. Her own father would have belted her from this village to the next if she’d dared to expose so much of her legs. On the young woman’s feet were shoes with a buckle and a heel. Her blouse was white with lace and embroidery. Anwen felt shabby beside her, with her worn-out boots and long skirt that had been her grandmother’s.

  ‘Mother is in the dining room. It’s this way.’ Miss Meredith went ahead along the wide hallway, with its terracotta and green floor tiles. At the end she opened a door, allowing Anwen to enter first.

  Margaret Meredith was sitting at a heavy oak table with papers in front of her. Her hair was expertly pinned up. Close up, Anwen could see that her skin was good for her likely age.

  ‘Mother, this is Anwen Rhys, about the housemaid’s job.’

  ‘Of course. Sit down here opposite me.’ Her accent was only faintly Welsh, in comparison to her daughter’s. ‘Elizabeth, it would be a good idea for you to stay. You’ll need to hire staff when you eventually marry. Take a seat.’ She pointed at the end of the highly polished table.

/>   There was amusement on Elizabeth’s face. ‘Yes Mama.’

  ‘So, Miss Rhys, what experience do you have for this post?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never worked as a maid before, but I’ve helped my mam keep house for these last seven years. The last year I’ve run the house myself, as she’s ill, though my sister helps now she’s left school.’ She was yapping on, as her father would say. This woman didn’t want to know her family history. ‘I’ve also worked for seven years at the pit, screening coal. I know that’s not housework but…’

  ‘I suppose it shows you’re strong,’ Mrs Meredith concluded. ‘A job and keeping house. That cannot be easy.’

  ‘No, but I manage to keep up with it all. And now, with the war, we women all have to do our bit.’

  ‘Quite so, quite so. Are you not tempted, therefore, to work at the munitions factory at Ebbw Vale, like some of the other girls?’

  Gwen had started there a few months back. The money was likely better than here. ‘With my mother unwell, I don’t want to take extra time travelling to Ebbw Vale, or get lodgings away.’

  ‘Very commendable, Miss Rhys, that you value your family.’ She shuffled some papers in front of her, though why was not obvious. ‘Why do you want to change jobs? Your current one is in the village already.’

  ‘Screening is not very… well it’s not—’

  Elizabeth came to her rescue. ‘It’s not a nice job, is it Anwen? It’s dirty and hard.’

  ‘But necessary,’ said Mrs Meredith. She placed on her nose a small pair of spectacles, regarding one of the sheets of paper in front of her. ‘Your duties would start at six a.m., cleaning grates, setting the fires downstairs, before serving us breakfast.’

  She nodded, showing she understood.

  ‘You wouldn’t be cooking, of course. We have Rose for that. After serving breakfast, you would dust and sweep every room. The bathroom is also cleaned every day.’

  They had a proper bathroom?

  ‘Each day, one or two rooms are given a proper clean. The kitchen and scullery, however, are Rose’s responsibility. Mondays and Tuesdays, Onner arrives to wash and iron the clothes. Come, I will show you around the house and tell you what each room requires in detail.’ She kept her back straight as she stood, running her hands down her skirt to neaten it. ‘Elizabeth, you may accompany us.’