“Precious baby!” cried Morfydd, throwing up Jonathon and kissing him and Richard climbed up me with Tara trying to nip him out of it, and in the middle of the commotion in comes Grandfer.
“Whee, there’s an old wacko!” cried Morfydd. “Look, Mam, look! O, love him!”
Funeral suit for Grandfer; bald head polished for glass; breeches and knee gaiters, frock coat and buttonholes either side and a gold-knobbed cane, proper gentry. And the women got him in a ring and danced around him shrieking and laughing, with Mam soothing and patting him, telling what a good boy he was not to let the family down, and Morfydd even kissed his cheek. No damned notice of me, anyone. Set the room tidy, a last brush of clothes, looking for stray hairs on the black dresses and Mam saying her stays were killing her, and then the form up. Hushing for quiet then, fingers to lips, behave to the children, and out of the front we went very sedate and along the road to Osian Hughes Bayleaves’ field where the Fair was set; Mam and Grandfer leading, Morfydd and Mari next, then the boys, and me at the behind to keep them in order. And my heart thumped with pride as we entered the field. Not a glance right or left, keeping our dignity, for there is nothing neighbours like better than a good impression, so we gave them proud Mortymers. Knew their places, too, for the women were dropping curtseys and the men thumbing their hats. Can’t beat the Welsh for politeness in the morning, mind, even if it comes to free fights at night. O, that Fair Day! We came a bit late, of course, which we thought proper, and hundreds were there lining the field, all green and sunshine and colour, with scarves waving and skirts swirling, and some of the couples pairing off already. Saw Sixpenny Jane as we walked in, very pretty, very swelling above the waist, thank God, and the look of adoration she gave me lasted a lifetime. Biddy Flannigan next, wheezing and panting, with Abel, her son, beside her, his brow dark with his plans for burnings.
“Good morning, Mam Mortymer and family. Good morning, Grandfer!”
“Good morning, Mrs Flannigan,” said Mam, inclining her hat, though any other time she’d have gone rings round Biddy. But stepping it out on Grandfer’s arm now – taking the obeisance like a French aristocrat. Saw Osian Hughes by the gate, too, fish face lighting up at the sight of Morfydd.
“A very handsome family, if I might say, Mrs Mortymer,” said Mrs Toby Maudlin scarecrowed in black, her stays creaking for ship’s timbers as she made her bow, hitting her Toby with an elbow till he lifted his hat. On, on, to the middle of the field, turning every head in the place, with the labourers pausing at the field ovens for eyefuls of Mari and Morfydd, easy the loveliest women in the place. Saw Hettie Winetree near the cider barrels with something under her apron, feet itching, hands screwing for a sight of me, then found she was looking at some other chap, could have killed him. Nobody taking a blind bit of notice of me so far, except Sixpenny, and she was man-mad. And then, O, joy! I saw Tessa watching me from Squire’s party in the middle of the field. Pale and thin she sat in her wheelchair, scarfed and rugged against the wind while old Ben, her servant, bowed and grey, stood behind her, watching every move. On, the procession – straight up to Squire Lloyd Parry, and full marks to Squire despite his Trusts. Surrounded by gentry on all sides, he came out and waited – didn’t give Grandfer a glance, but he bowed back low to Mam as she stepped aside and held her skirt wide to her headdown curtsy. Don’t like scraping, mind, but I like good manners between man and maid, and so pretty it looks when they bow to one’s mother. Morfydd next after Mari went down. Stripped naked she would have faced tigers before lowering a knee to a man, least of all Squire, but she inclined her head, and I saw a few gentry ladies whispering behind fans. Ten thousand pounds for a face like Morfydd’s, this, the hauler of gentry trams. Harps and singers were rolling up now, Irish fiddles being tuned, drums beaten, horses neighing and a roar from the crowd as a dead pig was hauled up. Could have wept, for I thought of poor Dai Two back home in Nanty going to his ancestors like a saint. Did it myself, too, God forgive me, had to eat something. A little sucking pig came next, first prize by Squire for the wrestling contest, and I saw Justin Slaughterer smack his backside to send him screaming and then wipe the spit from his chops in anticipation, for he was reckoning to win it.
“Is he getting away with that?” asked Morfydd after the reception.
“Who, now?”
“That Justin Carver, wrestling.”
“Never wrestled in my life,” I said.
“O, aye? What was that look from Sixpenny Jane, then?”
“Heisht!” I said, for Mari was in earshot.
“Big and stupid enough, mind,” said Morfydd. “All backside he is. If you fetch him low enough he’d never get up, and I would like that pig. You see to him later or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Justin would cripple me,” I said, weighing him.
“Doesn’t matter what he does to you, just get me that pig. Hey, look now!”
“Where by?”
“Over by there, man, you are getting the eye. Mind you don’t waste it.”
“And what is this about wrestling and sucking pigs?” asked Mam, tapping.
Asses ears, this one, whispers being shouts to her.
“Eh, nothing,” said Morfydd.
“And you the instigator? Being watched today, so I will not have violence. Wrestling, indeed!”
“Do you think I would throw him to Justin Slaughterer?” asked Morfydd. “For the sake of a sucking-pig? And me in love with the family?”
“I am happy I misheard, then,” said Mam. “Sorry.”
“You get me that pig, mind,” said Morfydd, moving away, “or I might drop a word out of place.”
“A lady is waving to you, Jethro,” said Mam, coming back, and her face was flushed with pleasure.
“Tessa!” I whispered, straightening my stock.
Gentry now, a rise in social standards, with the ladies and gentlemen all looking our way and Mam nodding and bowing and he won’t be a minute he’s just coming over.
“Squire is asking for you, Jethro,” said Mari, running breathless.
“Away,” said Morfydd, “and don’t make a pig of yourself.”
“Mind your manners, mind,” said Mam, flushing with pleasure. “Pleases and thank you’s if you are offered anything, remember.”
“And straight back, too,” whispered Morfydd. “None of your Sixpenny Janes.”
“There’s a good boy,” said Mari, brushing at me. “Try to make a good impression. O, there’s an honour for the Mortymers, that proud I am!”
Over the fifty yards or so to where the gentry were standing, with glasses going up and fans coming down and look at that fine young man, good God. As a man to gallows, me, with me going one way and my suit another and my feet all hobnails, red as a lobster, for a hell of a thing it is to be called over to gentry. Nearer they came, grouped and dignified, the ladies on one side of Tessa, gentlemen on the other, all polished bellies and chins and gold-topped canes, and lovely were their women haughty and drooping under their lace-fringed parasoles, sweeping the grass with their long, white dresses. Heard Morfydd’s giggle as I stopped short, and I put my hand to my breast and bowed to Tessa, and the men bowed back.
“Good day, young Mortymer.” Squire now, his voice bass music.
“Good day, sir,” I said.
O, what is it that bites and tears in the breast when you feel unequal? I fought it down in Tessa’s radiant smile, and then my world was made.
“Handsome boy,” whispered Squire to a lady. “And from a handsome line, I would say. Have you noticed his sister? Most respectable people, also.”
“And Tessa appears interested, I can see,” and the fan came up to hide the kind smile.
“Jethro!” Hand out, was Tessa, her eyes burning in her thin, grey face.
“Good day, Miss Lloyd Parry,” I said, going down again. Up and down like a bloody ninepin me, that Fair Day, but it had its compensations, for every eye in the field was on me and Mam coming a bit damp with her and dabbing with pr
ide, no doubt.
“Well mannered, most collected, d’you notice?” whispered a man.
If I looked collected I didn’t feel it for my belt had stopped my breathing minutes back and my new oiled boots were killing me.
“How is your mother, Jethro?” Poor Tessa, a whisper for a voice.
“Most pleasant, I may say, Miss Lloyd Parry. I trust you are better?”
This put a couple of them sideways. Give hobnails a chance and they soon match gentry.
“I have never felt better,” Tessa replied, clutching at her handkerchief. “O, Jethro, what a beautiful day!”
Searing is the sadness that hits you in the face of such courage; when words are empty, useless things. Sick to death she looked at that moment, but with a spirit that would have taken her twenty rounds and stripped to the waist with Justin Slaughterer. She smiled then, her red lips fevered against the paper whiteness of her cheeks and her fingers brushed old Ben’s knee. He drifted away, as did the gentry. Saw Squire move then, pressing his fingers to his forehead, his face turned down.
“There now!” I said, and sat down beside her.
Her hand sought for mine and found it, gripping, unashamed.
“Jethro, when are you coming again to the Reach?”
“Been up six times,” I said. “No sign of you, girl.”
This sat her up. “God bless you,” she said. “O, Jethro, I do love you so. I have been off colour a bit lately, but I will be there again now, for they say I am better.”
“Truly better?”
“And this is the best day of all. Wonderful I feel today, every scent, every breath …”
God help her.
“Jethro.”
“Yes, girl?”
“You … will come to me again?”
“Every Sunday. I promise.”
“And you will wait for me there – no other girls?”
“Just you,” I said.
“O, I am terrible,” she whispered. “Jethro, I am ashamed!”
I thought she was going to cry and longed to hold her.
“Tessa, people are watching.”
“I do not care. Jethro, you are still my boy? There is nobody else? Sometimes when a girl is away …”
“Still for you, Tessa,” I said.
She laughed then, and I saw her father give us a queer old look and a smile.
Strange are gentry. Boiling oil for me twelve months back.
“Before the autumn goes I will meet you,” she said. “I will come down to the river again with Ben, and you will kiss me again as you did in summer?”
“Hush, you are making me wicked,” I said. The woman leaped into her face at this and she clutched at my fingers and closed her eyes, gusty in breathing.
“Jethro.”
“Yes?”
She turned away her face.
“Nothing,” she said, but I knew what she was thinking. Then:
“One day I will love you, Jethro. Truly. One day …”
“Aye,” I replied. People were watching us now. Didn’t give a damn for them, except for Tessa. Gentry eyes were switching, hats coming round.
“One day you will touch me, I promise,” she whispered.
“Tessa, I must go.”
“Yes. Goodbye, my darling.”
I do not remember going back to my family, but I know I went without pride, and Morfydd touched my hand when I got back, and smiled.
“Good boy, you are,” she said. “He can have his old pig. Poor little Tessa.”
Dancing now, in the midst of joy, for the wind had blown up sudden and cold and Tessa went home with a waved goodbye. Just couldn’t have danced with Tessa there.
Dancing to the Irish fiddles now, with the bright red stockings going up in a thrill of lace petticoats, Biddy Flannigan in the middle beating the time, and the leather-jacketed men turning in circles, hands on hips, poaching caps at jaunty angles, linking arms with the maidens, breathless, singing.
“Come on in!” cried Morfydd, whirling me into it, dragging at Mari, and the three of us went into the Gower Reel, taking partners, backwards and forwards, and I noticed Justin Slaughterer prancing away opposite Mari and Abel Flannigan bowing to Morfydd and handing her round. Fiddles were soaring, harps twanging and the drums beating in a medley of joy and movement. The crowd surged round us, laughing and clapping to time. Little Meg Benyon, up with her skirts, handing on to Osian Hughes; Toby and Mrs Maudlin, Gipsy May and Betsi, even Grandfer and Mam now, skirts swirling, boots tapping, O, joyful is the dance! The longer it runs to the rhythmic beat the wilder and wilder it comes, throbbing at the heart, swinging at the senses, and the last, breathless chord comes when you kiss your partner. Biddy Flannigan nearest, so I grabbed her, fighting another man off, and a good old smacker I gave Biddy, bringing down her bun and making her scream, and then I saw Mari. Justin had her – kissed her once and pulling at her again while she fought him off, shrieking and laughing. But her laughter died in the crush of his lips as he hooked her against him when everyone had finished. As a bear he had her then, laughing, his hair ragged while she pushed at his chest and yelled for Morfydd. Fun, of course.
“Oi, Oi, Oi!” shouted Morfydd, coming up, tapping him.
“Oi, Oi,” said Justin over his shoulder and bent to Mari again.
Fun no longer. In a stride I was at him and yanked him away from her.
“No, Jethro, no!” screamed Mari. Too late, for I had him; seeing the swing of his hands as he turned to face me and the square of his jaw. He fell against me, scraping down the front of me, landing at my feet. Just stood there, aware of eyes, and silence, and the searing pain of my hand, for Justin was cast iron. Whispers now. Men bending to pull him off; lay him out tidy, snoring happily. Strange how a man unconscious snores. Stranger his face, alive one moment, lifeless the next. Caught him right – everything right for me, a three inch hook and him running on to it. Didn’t know what hit him, just dropped. Then Mam came up and swung me round, her face blazing, her arm pointing.
“Home,” she said. “Home this minute!”
“Mam,” said Morfydd, her hands out, and I saw Mari weeping.
“Home!” My mother brushed Morfydd aside; tongue-tied, white with fury.
“Mrs Mortymer,” said Biddy Flannigan. “You cannot blame the boy.”
“That is no kind of kissing,” said another. “And she a young married woman. Isn’t decent.”
“And it is not decent to resort to fists. Jethro, I said home!”
“Count me, then,” said Morfydd. “I go with him.”
“Go, then. O, I am ashamed, ashamed,” whispered Mam.
People crowding round her now, sympathizing, women chiefly, but Dai Alltwen gave me a look to kill, though out of the corner of my eye I saw Abel Flannigan nodding and smiling as he bent above Justin who was coming round now, and Abel winked. Soon fixed the Feast Day, put an end to the dancing. Everyone very dull now and thank God Squire had left, might have frightened little Tessa to death, poor soul, and isn’t it a shame having to mix with pugilists, battering each others brains out, you heard about these Mortymers – the same up in Monmouthshire, you heard? The father being the worst, and what can you expect of people not Church, to say nothing of Horeb.
“Pretty good hook that, though,” said Morfydd, going home.
“Shut it,” I said.
“He’d have got worse, mind, if I’d been three feet nearer, the beast.”
Too ashamed to talk, me. Grandfer was standing at the gate, I noticed.
“It’ll be a day or two before he gets his chops into beef,” said Morfydd. “Justin Slaughterer, is it? Justin just slaughtered. Eh, pretty good that. Look out, here is trouble.”
Grandfer barring the way from the field, smiling, his hand up to stop us.
“Do not take it badly, Jethro,” said he. “Your mam will come round.”
“You on our side, Grandfer?” asked Morfydd.
“Who else, girl? Does he stand and watch her ravished?”
/> “The filthy swine,” I said, trembling. “It will teach him to keep his dirty hands off her. Filthy, filthy …!” The anger was coming to me now, strangely, and I saw Morfydd’s glance.
“Just what her husband would have done, Jethro,” said Grandfer, leering. “Rest you in peace, do not have a conscience.”
But I did not really hear his words until I got home. I knew what he meant, and hated him.
“Better go up,” said Morfydd. “You know what Mam is.”
“She wouldn’t dare!” I said.
“I have had it, remember – she can hand out beltings, little as she is. And she don’t know her strength with a three foot willow.”
“I am not being thrashed like a child!”
Morfydd jerked her thumb. “Up, boy, you’ve got to bloody have it. Thumpers and pugilists have got to be brought into line – reckon you’d better fold up the Cambrian. She raised lumps on me last time she belted, and you’ll be lucky with trews on and good sound packing, I was drawers off.”
Fussy walk coming down the path now, Mam meaning business, with Mari running beside her dragging at her and the boys tearing after them for a look at the slaughter.
“Up,” said Morfydd, “lest you have it down by here.”
“Jethro!” Mari at the bottom of the stairs now, weeping, clutching her dress. “O, Jethro, I am sorry.”
I winked, grinning at her. “What Mam gives me now I will give back to Justin, do not worry, girl.”
Mam now, just found the stick after rummaging, working herself into a fury, blocked at the bottom of the stairs with Morfydd and Mari pushing and shoving her and begging her to be reasonable. Don’t know what hit me then but I had to laugh. I threw back my head and rocked with laughter, ran to my room and went full length on the bed. Just hit out flat a fifteen stone slaughterer and running from a five foot mam with a stick. I laughed till I cried and the first stroke hit me. Round the room we went, Mam swinging, me ducking, but she cornered me at last.
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