‘Move along there!’ the guard called as he passed them.
‘Goodness, why is everyone in such a hurry?’ said Anwen as they started following the other passengers out. ‘Was it like this in Winchester when you were there?’
‘Yes, because all the soldiers were getting on and off trains. Dunno what it would have been like normally.’
Dominating the crowded station were men in uniforms hanging around in groups, most with caps, a few with Tam o’ Shanters. They had bags hanging off their backs and slung across their bodies. Their clothes were caked in mud. They passed around cigarettes and chatted good-naturedly. A few eyed Idris up as he went past. He looked straight ahead, but Anwen could tell by his expression he felt awkward. And here she was carrying the case and probably making it worse.
They stopped to ask a guard the way to the underground. When he’d explained and walked away, a voice called over, ‘Oi, mate. You one of them conshies? Out gallivanting with a girl while we fight the war for you?’
Anwen put down the case and sucked her lips in.
‘Ignore it,’ said Idris. ‘It’s none of his business.’
But she was livid with the assumption that her husband was some idler. She wasn’t allowing the soldier to get away with it.
Taking three steps towards the offending soldier she said, ‘Actually, my husband is a coal miner, which is a reserved occupation, see. But he did sign up for the army and did his training nevertheless, and then was discharged because he has Graves’ disease.’ She didn’t expect they’d know what that was, but it sounded serious enough. ‘But still mining the coal, he was. And now we’re here for him to have an operation so he can get on with digging out more good steam coal for our navy. So there.’ She let out a, ‘Hm,’ as a full stop.
The soldier and his friends were wide-eyed with surprise at first. She wondered briefly if they’d understood her accent. She only normally spoke English to those who didn’t speak Welsh, like Mr Schenck, and some of the English and Scottish families who’d moved to Dorcalon. Or the posher families who wouldn’t speak it even though they could. Then she noticed the soldiers all looking embarrassed.
‘Sorry missus,’ said the man, who had a scar down one cheek. ‘Didn’t know, did I? You get a lot of shirkers round ’ere.’ He looked past Anwen to Idris. ‘Sorry mate, no ’arm done.’
‘Easy mistake to make,’ said Idris.
‘Good luck to ya in the op.’
Idris lifted his cap in thanks as Anwen took his arm and, with her head held high, led him away.
‘See, people need to know it’s not only the soldiers doing their bit,’ she said, feeling that he was still embarrassed by the scene.
‘Aye, I suppose so.’
They found the entrance to the underground trains, following the signs carefully and asking directions to make sure they didn’t go the wrong way.
Anwen stopped suddenly when they reached the escalator. ‘Oh my goodness, a moving staircase.’
A woman in a large hat, carrying a parasol, tutted as she almost bumped into them.
‘It’s all right,’ said Idris. ‘It looks like you just step on and it takes you down. Come on.’
Anwen’s heart thumped as he took the case off her and then took her hand to lead her towards the escalator.
For the first time, the confidence with which Anwen had decided she was going to face this trip started to slip. She wanted to stop, to take a moment, but there were people behind them. She jumped on a moment after Idris stepped on, wobbling as it went forwards. When the escalator went over the precipice and started on its downward journey, she almost toppled, realising suddenly she was standing on two steps. Idris caught hold of her.
‘Oh heavens,’ she said on a hefty breath out.
‘You all right, love?’ said an older woman behind them.
Anwen looked up. ‘Yes, thank you. Not used to these things.’
‘Had a bit of a wobble myself when I first went on it. Where’re you goin’ to?’
‘Waterloo.’
‘Ah, you’ll be all right there. It has a lift.’
Anwen sighed with relief once they got off the escalator and onto the platform, for a short while at least. She looked up at the curved, tiled walls and ceiling and the overhead lighting. The wall on the other side of the rail was plastered with adverts. The air was stuffy down here; she soon felt overly warm.
‘How do you bear it, being underground for so many hours?’ she said to Idris. ‘It’s bad enough here.’
Idris laughed. ‘This is luxury in comparison: properly constructed tunnels, areas to sit in with lights. Not much chance of these roofs falling in on you.’
They heard a sound like a wind rushing through the tunnel, before a long, low set of carriages whirred into the station.
‘This is a novelty,’ Idris said, when they were finally settled in the long carriage.
‘When you work underground all the time?’ she asked.
‘I mean travelling so fast underground. Bit different to the ponies pulling the trams.’
‘Just as well, for what a racket it makes. It’d soon have those coal tunnels down.’
They sat in silence the rest of the journey, holding hands, watching people get on and off at the various stops in between. Anwen’s mind wandered. What if the train came to a halt and they were stuck in the middle of this tunnel? She broke out in a prickly sweat. It was the first time she’d been so far underground and it gave her a vague idea what it must be like for the miners in the village.
Idris rubbed his neck, his face creased.
‘Is it the goitre irritating you?’ she asked, referring to the protrusion in his neck that stuck out a little more than an Adam’s apple.
‘No,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s this collar your mother starched and insisted I wear. It’ll be the first thing to come off when we get to our guest house.’
‘She was only trying to smarten you up for London.’
When she noticed Waterloo written on the signs of the next station, she was relieved. ‘Here we are.’ She picked up the case and led the way.
Following the other passengers up and out, they found themselves on the street in front of the station.
‘Everything seems so much larger here,’ said Anwen, peering up at the classical-looking building with ‘South Western Railway’ emblazoned across the triangular pediment. The buildings generally were very much taller even than the Workmen’s Institute and the McKenzie Arms. There was no greenery, no hills to be seen. There were more cars here than even in the larger towns near them at home, interspersed with horses and carts, some piled high with goods. The noise of the engines, with the odd hooting of a horn, was even more deafening than being on the station platform.
‘People are so impatient here,’ she added. ‘And I thought the pit wheels were noisy. Where do people go for a peaceful walk?’
‘I read there were some big parks in London. Not around here though, by the looks of it. We’d better find Roupell Street, and our lodgings.’ He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, containing a letter from the landlady with a basic map and some instructions.
‘Watch out!’ she said, pulling Idris from the edge of the road as a car came speeding by. ‘We’re not walking the streets of Dorcalon now.’
‘Yes, have to have your wits about you here.’ He pointed across the road. ‘Looks like we can go down that side street by the public house. Then turn left and it should be second on the right.’
‘I hope it is that simple.’ Anwen patted her tummy. ‘I’m starving already. I shall be ready for the dinner. I hope the landlady’s a good cook.’
‘I’m so hungry I’d be happy with anything,’ he said.
‘Tomorrow we’ll do our bit of sightseeing. It’s a play in the West End I’m particularly looking forward to, though we need to find out how to get there. I just hope there are tickets available for something worth seeing.’
She thought back to April, when she was still working at the Big Ho
use and Tom Meredith was still at home recovering. He’d asked her to sit with him in the garden for lunch and had told her that one day she must visit the West End. She hadn’t even known what it was till he’d told her. She had certainly never expected to see it.
‘Don’t know why it’d be any better than a performance in our Workmen’s Institute, but we’ll see.’
‘Oh Idris, of course it will be. It’ll have proper actors and actresses.’ She hooked her free arm around his. ‘Now let’s look at these directions and get to where we’re going.’
* * *
Elizabeth and Gwen joined the queue outside the Imperial, falling in behind two older women. Determined to watch The Battle of the Somme, Elizabeth had been keen to come with someone, but now she was having second thoughts about having asked Gwen. She’d seemed quite surprised when Elizabeth had suggested it to her. Whether this was a delighted shock, or the opposite, she wasn’t sure. She only hoped Gwen hadn’t come simply to be polite. She’d been quiet in the motorcar driving here when she was normally so chatty with Anwen and Violet. Perhaps that was the problem: Elizabeth wasn’t an old pal like the other two. It could be she’d got the wrong end of the stick about their friendship.
‘I hope it’s not too gory,’ said Gwen, looking worried.
Elizabeth was about to reply when a man’s voice said, ‘Well, Miss Meredith, good evening.’
Gwen looked round Elizabeth, giving the man a quizzical stare as he lifted his bowler hat to them in greeting.
‘Mr Tallis! Have you come to watch The Battle of the Somme too?’
‘Indeed I have.’ He turned his attention to Gwen, giving her a smile. ‘Good evening, Miss.’
‘Oh, where are my manners? This is Mr Tallis, the councillor who came to see the allotments. This is my friend, Miss Austin.’ She hoped ‘friend’ wasn’t too much of a presumption.
‘How very nice to meet you,’ said Tallis, shaking Gwen’s hand. He had a twinkle in his eye as he smiled.
‘Likewise, I’m sure.’ Gwen beamed at him.
Elizabeth felt a twinge of disappointment. She couldn’t really blame him for taking a shine to Gwen. She was pretty, with her large blue eyes and blonde curls, and the most fashionable young woman in the village, apart from herself. Even the yellow tinge to her complexion, caused by her job in the munitions factory, was not so obvious in the evening light, especially with her make-up and the smart hat.
‘Would you mind if I joined you, ladies? The friend I was supposed to be coming with has been unavoidably detained.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Elizabeth. That did at least suggest there wasn’t a Mrs Tallis, otherwise surely he’d be coming with her? ‘I have no idea what to expect, and whether I will regret finding out what it’s like over in France,’ she said. ‘Miss Austin has a brother over there, and mine will be going shortly, you see.’
‘Whereabouts is your brother?’ he asked Gwen.
‘In France somewhere, that’s all I know. He was at the Battle of Mametz Wood recently.’
‘A fierce battle, I’m given to understand.’
Something occurred to Elizabeth that had not at their first meeting. ‘Do you mind me asking why it is you’re not in the army?’
‘Not at all. I have a condition called gout. Not a disease that is likely to kill me, but one which precludes me serving my country in that way, sadly.’
She felt dreadful for asking now. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘It’s fine. There are other ways I can serve,’ he said, his smile stretching the neat moustache. ‘I do want to find out what is going on over there, though. I was going to sit in the front circle. Would you ladies allow me to treat you to that?’
Elizabeth was about to decline, but was pre-empted by Gwen saying, ‘That would be most kind, thank you.’
So be it. It wasn’t as if one of them was with him on their own and he was likely to take advantage. No, he was simply a nice man.
In the theatre they quickly found seats in the second row of the circle. Mr Tallis managed to position himself between them. Elizabeth would rather have been in the middle herself, and able to converse easily with both. The other customers sat chattering as they waited for the first film to start, some clearly wondering what they were letting themselves in for.
‘Can’t say I’m too bothered about the other film, what was it called?’ Tallis clutched his chin as he tried to remember.
‘His Majesty the Baby,’ said Elizabeth. ‘A piece of light entertainment, though odd to match it with a serious battle film. It could be worse I suppose, Charlie Chaplin or a Keystone Comedy.’
‘Don’t you like those?’ said Gwen, leaning forward.
‘I like them well enough normally, and Mr Chaplin is very amusing, but not along with The Battle of the Somme I think.’
‘No, you’re quite right,’ said Tallis.
Soon the lights dimmed and people’s chatter ceased for a while. The newsreel started, showing first a hurricane in Texas. The audience gasped at the brief footage of the damage caused. Next, the white writing on a black background told of two British submarines colliding in the North Sea, eliciting several cries of shock. Whispers of conversation began. A battle between Italy and the enemy on the Austro-Hungarian border was outlined, with several comments and tuts accompanying the news.
The chatter grew in volume once more as they changed the reel. ‘I wonder how the Italians will fare in the end,’ Elizabeth commented, for something to say.
‘A few of our allies must be regretting by now they ever joined this mess,’ said Tallis. ‘I wonder how long it will be before every country in the world’s involved.’
She was about to reply when the pianoforte struck up at the front and the first film came on. Elizabeth found herself only half concentrating on His Majesty the Baby, as charming a story as it was. The audience cheered the protagonists on while Elizabeth’s mind wandered.
The film they’d come here to see started at last, the piano pieces accompanying it less chirpy than they’d been for the previous film. Elizabeth adjusted her position and her skirt to make herself comfortable, then placed her blue leather handbag in her lap.
Mametz was mentioned on the first shot of writing. There were comments from the audience. She guessed there would be others in attendance with men who had fought there, maybe even some who’d lost family and friends.
A mountain of ammunition was displayed, with a comment of thanks to the munition workers.
‘That’ll be me,’ Gwen told Tallis, smiling.
‘Well done,’ he replied.
When the huge Howitzer guns came on screen, being loaded and bouncing as they fired their shells, people yelled with disbelief. ‘It’s as big as a steam engine,’ exclaimed a woman behind. The gasps and ‘oohs’ came ever swifter. The pianoforte, in response, mimicked the unheard explosions, making several people jump. The images of the artillery were interspersed with those of the various battalions, some of them in shorts or kilts. Many smiled for the camera, some clambering to get in shot.
Between the reels, five in all, the multiple conversations became louder, concerned, full of tuts and huffs. Two young women left after reel two, shaking their heads.
Elizabeth noted the living conditions – the trenches, barely habitable, or, in some cases, fields of tents. This had been filmed at the end of June and beginning of July, this summer. What would it be like in winter, with cold frost, freezing rain, mud and snow? She shivered, thinking of it.
‘Are you all right?’ Tallis asked, turning a concerned expression towards her.
‘Yes, it’s an eye-opener, even when you think you know something of what’s happening.’
‘It is indeed.’
When two men were seen to rescue a comrade, Elizabeth thought of brave Charlie, the tears stinging her eyes even though she’d never known him. She was touched once again when British soldiers were seen bringing in the wounded from both sides. They carried the Germans as carefully as their own. That
they could still display some human kindness in the midst of that lot was wonderful indeed. This time she couldn’t prevent one tear spilling onto her cheek. She gently pulled her handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her eye, trying not to make it obvious. Luckily, Tallis seemed oblivious, mesmerised by the screen. The tears came again when scenes of the dead from both sides were displayed.
The film ended with smiling troops and a caption that informed the audience they were getting ready for the next surge. A Worcester battalion waved their tin hats in greeting, as if the whole thing had been a jolly jape. Elizabeth guessed it was all part of keeping up the hopes of those on the home front. Much of the audience waved back and cheered.
The lights went up and people started to stand, chatting about all they’d seen.
‘To be continued, as they often say on these series,’ said Tallis. ‘You look a bit pale, Miss Meredith.’
‘All the loss of life.’ She shook her head.
‘I don’t think it’s right to be showing the dead,’ said Gwen, ‘though at least they’re not pretending everything’s wonderful and we’re winning. And I dare say it’s worse than they’re making out.’
The three of them stood and shuffled out of the row. As they left, Tallis talked of the allotments and how much he’d enjoyed the tour. Gwen was silent.
Outside the picture house it was now dark. Tallis nodded his head towards each of them in turn. ‘It’s been a pleasure to spend the evening with you, Miss Meredith, and you, Miss Austin.’ His eyes lingered on Gwen. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Elizabeth, ‘as I have my motorcar here.’
‘Hopefully I’ll see you ladies again. Good night.’
When he was out of earshot, Gwen giggled and said, ‘Oh I do hope so. When Anwen talked about his visit she didn’t say how handsome he was.’
‘Probably because she’s smitten with Idris. I wonder how they’re getting on?’
‘Having great fun by now, I should think. I would so love to visit London.’ Gwen looked wistful.
War in the Valleys Page 7
