War in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  She held back, sitting on a chair, dog-tired and not wanting to get involved with whatever it was between her parents.

  The shouting stopped. She was about to rise when the door was flung open and Margaret stormed in. Seeing her daughter, she came to a sudden halt.

  ‘Oh, you’re back.’

  ‘It is seven o’clock already. It’s dark outside.’ As if to back her up, the hall clock chimed the required number of times.

  ‘Aren’t you going to get changed? I could do with a hand finishing the meal.’

  ‘I’ve been working on the allotments all afternoon. I need a bath.’

  ‘Your father’s eating out this evening, with the gentlemen’s club lot. I trust you’re not attending another talk with the hoi polloi.’

  She hadn’t been going to tell her mother who she’d gone to the talk with, but she was annoyed now. ‘I didn’t realise you considered Councillor Tallis the hoi polloi.’

  The broad smile was instant. Margaret fluttered her eyelashes and gave a little shiver like a smitten girl. ‘Councillor Tallis, is it? He’s a fine catch. I hear his estate agency is doing very well. Descended from landed gentry, I believe, and has a lovely house, just outside Rhymney.’

  Elizabeth already regretted telling her. ‘Don’t get carried away, Mama; we were only keeping each other company. And please, you must keep it to yourself for now. I don’t want people to know.’ Or rather, Gwen in particular.

  Margaret wasn’t to be discouraged. ‘Will you be walking out again?’

  ‘Did you not hear what I said?’ Yet she’d been waiting eagerly for his phone call.

  ‘There’s no need to speak to me like that. I’m only asking.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Perhaps now wasn’t the time to get cross with her. The argument with her father must have been about him going out again. She couldn’t blame him in some ways, yet no wonder her mother was constantly upset. It was a vicious circle. Her mother had been far more sensitive about such things since Tom had enlisted, yet her father had failed to notice this. Or was he burying his dismay in jaunts out with his friends? She was thinking too deeply about it again. It was her parents’ affair and they had to sort it out.

  ‘Why are you shaking your head?’ said Margaret.

  ‘Am I? I, um, guess I was thinking about all the work that needs doing on the allotments, ready for autumn.’

  ‘Autumn.’ Her mother walked to the window to peer out at the night. ‘October tomorrow already, and it will get dark an hour earlier with us losing the daylight-saving hour. What happened to the summer?’ She let out a long, dispirited sigh.

  This was a different point of view from her mother, who’d declared the new summertime hours, back in May, to be ridiculous.

  ‘Mam, are you all right? You’re not coming down with a cold or something?’

  Margaret regarded her crossly. ‘Mama, it’s Mama! Mam is for babies and, and…’

  She was sure her mother was going to resort once more to hoi polloi, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘It was good enough when we were children, not just babies. It was only when Papa, or Da as I used to call him, became under manager at the Whitworth pit that you made us change what we called you. We were hoi polloi once too. Still are, at heart.’

  Margaret stomped from the window to stand in front of Elizabeth. ‘We most certainly are not. And let me remind you that my father was a bank clerk. Now, get yourself washed and changed, and we shall have dinner together in the dining room.’

  ‘Why don’t we have it here, in the kitchen, with it being just the two of us? It’s much cosier. Like we used to at your mother’s house.’

  Margaret didn’t reply, instead walking towards the pantry. ‘The quicker this war is over and we can get a proper cook again, the better.’

  She opened the pantry door and stepped inside, grumbling. Elizabeth took it as her cue to leave.

  * * *

  ‘Thank you for coming with us, Hywel,’ said Evan, as they entered Cadoc Beadle’s back garden, at the house right at the end of Islwyn Street on the edge of the village. They were all damp from yet another passing shower that day.

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Jenkin. ‘It’s hard to know what to talk about sometimes. We tells him what’s going on at scouts, and how Mr Breckon has taken over, but he doesn’t seem as interested as he was.’

  ‘It’s good of you boys to keep coming,’ said Hywel. ‘It’s a shame Cadoc hasn’t returned to chapel. Thought we might have seen him there this morning, after Pastor Thomas’s visit last week. It seemed promising.’ He knocked on the scullery door and entered. ‘Just us,’ he called.

  They found Cadoc sitting on a wooden armchair by the range, as always. A book was open on his lap, face down.

  ‘Cadoc, mun, how are you?’ said Hywel.

  ‘Bit cold today, if truth be told.’ He took off his round spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Looks a bit damp out there.’

  ‘Aye, it is.’

  He went to get up, saying, ‘I’ll get us some tea.’

  Hywel put out his hand, ‘No mun, you stay put. We can do that now we’re here.’ He lifted the kettle from the range. ‘Fill this up would you boys? And fetch in the tea things.’

  Evan took the large copper kettle and ran off to the scullery, Jenkin in tow.

  ‘How are you coping, mun? Has Dr Roberts said when you can go back to work?’

  Cadoc looked at his hands, knotted together on the book. ‘He’s not said much. Heard him say to Jozef though that he doesn’t think I’m the full ticket. Whatever that means.’

  ‘Jozef?’ Hywel queried.

  ‘Mr Schenck. Friends we’ve been, for years. Been visiting me every other evening after the shop closes.’

  ‘That’s good of him,’ said Hywel. ‘You know, you took a battering and were unconscious for a good long time. Bound to take a while.’

  ‘I dunno about that. Can’t concentrate on anything. Used to love reading, I did, now I can’t remember the story from one sentence to the next. What day is it?’

  ‘Sunday October 1st.’

  The boys came back with the full kettle and the teapot between them.

  ‘Oh, hello boys,’ said Cadoc. ‘It’s nice of you to come and visit.’

  Hywel looked sidelong at the boys. Did he not remember them being here only two minutes ago? Or maybe it was because he didn’t greet them the first time. He took the kettle and lit the stove.

  ‘Are you boys still going to scouts then?’ Cadoc asked.

  ‘You know we are, mun,’ said Jenkin. ‘We help Mr Breckon, and he’s doing a good job, but not as good as you did. When are you coming back?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. How’s school then?’

  ‘Oh Mr Beadle, we already told you we’d left. I’m a trapper and Evan’s a putter in the mine.’

  ‘Of course, I remember now,’ he replied.

  Sitting himself opposite Cadoc, Hywel asked, ‘Has your sister said when she’s coming up from Porthcawl to visit yet?’

  ‘I think I ’ad a letter. Yes.’ He rose and fetched it from the end of the table. ‘Here we go.’ He opened it. ‘Said she’s busy in school now, so will come one weekend. Doesn’t say when though.’

  She wasn’t busy in the summer holidays when she wasn’t teaching, Hywel thought. She didn’t come then either. He kept this to himself, not wanting to give Cadoc any more reason to be down.

  Waiting for the kettle to boil, the boys chatted on about what they’d been doing at scouts, along with who’d left and who’d joined. Cadoc nodded his head slightly at each bit of news, though Gwilym wondered if he were really taking it in. He asked no questions and his expression was a little glazed.

  ‘There we go,’ said Hywel, when steam flew out of the spout of the kettle.

  Jenkin made the tea while Evan fetched four cups from the scullery.

  ‘There was something I was going to ask,’ said Cadoc, his brow furrowed as he struggled to remember. ‘Chris
topher Williams. What was it now?’ He bent down to pick up a newspaper next to his chair. ‘Here it is, I wrote it down. What happened to the boy? There was some story, I can’t remember what I was told.’

  ‘Edgar Williams tied him up in his bedroom, when he tried to run away to enlist,’ said Hywel. ‘We discovered him upstairs, when we went to the house. Edgar was loaded and admitted to attacking you. Do you remember it yet?’

  ‘No,’ he said on a long sigh. ‘Don’t remember a thing.’

  ‘Only a couple of days now till the court case,’ Evan piped up, handing Cadoc a cup of tea.

  ‘Shh now,’ Hywel warned.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Cadoc. ‘Several people have told me. I know, ’cos I wrote it down here.’ He picked up the newspaper once more to reveal he’d written things in several spaces on the front page.

  ‘Looks like you could do with a notebook, mun,’ said Hywel. ‘I’ll see if I can get you one.’

  ‘That would be kind.’ He took a long slurp of the tea.

  The boys gabbled on about an overnight trip that Twm Bach, or Mr Breckon as they called him, had taken them on, camping in the evergreen wood near McKenzie cottages. They didn’t notice Cadoc was miles away, staring at the fire in the range.

  ‘Why don’t you lads do the washing up now,’ Hywel said when they’d finished their tea.

  They gathered the crockery up. Hywel waited until the boys had gone into the scullery before saying, ‘Are you going to be called to court at all?’ There was no reply. ‘Cadoc?’

  He looked up in surprise. ‘Mm?’

  ‘Court. Are you being called to Edgar Williams’s hearing?’

  ‘No point. I don’t remember nothing.’

  ‘That wouldn’t stop his lawyer. Could be to his advantage. But I’m glad they’ve decided not to call you. Now, if you want anything doing mun, let me know.’

  ‘The women do come in to help, so I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I’ll pop in again another day.’ Hywel stood and stretched.

  ‘As you wish.’

  When the boys had finished and said their goodbyes, they left via the back door and headed down the path behind the houses.

  ‘Is he off his nut, do you think?’ said Evan, with no preamble.

  Hywel considered how best to answer this. ‘I think he’s still recovering. Time will tell how much damage was done.’

  ‘I ’ope he recovers,’ said Jenkin, slinking along with his hands jammed in his pockets. ‘For I do miss him from scouts. Mr Breckon’s fine, but, he don’t quite have Mr Beadle’s enthusiasm.’

  Hywel patted him on the shoulder. ‘He’s rather down at the moment, so let’s all do our best to cheer him up, eh?’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Here it comes, another shower. Let’s get home before we get soaked.’

  * * *

  Anwen held her mother’s hands in her lap, looking down at the proceedings in the courtroom at the Monmouth Assizes, from the seats on the balcony. At last the day of the court case had come, and soon, hopefully, Madog, Edgar Williams and the others involved in the thefts from carts and motorvans, and the subsequent profiteering, would get their comeuppance. The judge sat in a high-backed seat, akin to a throne, raised above the other attendees in the court, a wooden, triangular pediment above him, as if he were sitting in a Roman temple. All the benches in the room were made from a dark brown wood, lending a gloominess to the already glum proceedings. She glanced towards Gwen, Violet and Elizabeth, on the other side of her, who’d come along to support her and Mam today. Cadi had agreed to look after Clarice and Benjy as she had no intention of coming to the courthouse.

  At the other end of the balcony sat Esther Williams, with whom they had not exchanged a single word, though she had treated them to several pinch-faced glares. On a bench at ground level was a group of reporters from the press. Anwen dreaded to think what might be written about her family in the newspapers.

  At least all the prisoners had pleaded guilty, including her father. She’d been surprised about this, with him and Edgar, along with Iolo Prosser the erstwhile butcher and Reginald Moss, the former landlord of the McKenzie Arms, being the sort to fight everything. It meant none of them would be called as witnesses and precluded the sorry incident lasting longer than a day. This had been a relief to Idris who hadn’t yet felt up to travelling to Monmouth.

  The prisoners, lined up in the dock, were awaiting sentence. The three men who had been accessories to the thefts and the profiteering were given nine months imprisonment. Enid clutched Anwen’s hands tighter.

  ‘It doesn’t seem like much,’ Gwen whispered behind her hand.

  ‘I’m sure the others will get longer,’ Anwen murmured back.

  Next, Iolo Prosser and Reginald Moss were given three years’ penal servitude. They had been among the organisers of the scheme and more involved, so were more severely punished. The look on their faces was of immense shock. Their wives were notable by their absence.

  ‘Don’t look so smug now, do they?’ said Gwen. ‘What is penal servitude?’

  ‘Hard labour,’ Anwen mouthed.

  ‘Good job too.’

  ‘Edgar Iago Williams, you are sentenced to five years’ penal servitude.’

  Even from where they were sitting, they heard Esther gasp. Everyone in the balcony looked at her. He’d got two years more than Prosser and Moss, no doubt because of beating up Cadoc Beadle and imprisoning his own son, in addition to his deep involvement in the profiteering scheme. Williams showed no emotion whatever.

  There was only Madog left now. The spectators leaned forward as one. Enid’s eyes were wide with anxiety. She surely didn’t think he’d be let off. Or maybe, like Anwen, she was worried he wouldn’t get long enough.

  ‘Madog Rhys, you are sentenced to three years’ penal servitude…’

  The courtroom erupted in surprised exclamations, with Enid yelling, ‘That can’t be right! He tried to kill me and my brother.’

  The judge hammered his gavel against the block several times, shouting, ‘Order in court!’ When the crowd was silent once more, he said, ‘If there are any more disturbances, those causing them will be ejected from this court.’ He narrowed his eyes and peered round, taking each layer of seats in turn. ‘Now, if you’d let me finish… You are sentenced to three years’ penal servitude for your part in the thefts and the profiteering and a further nine years’ penal servitude for two attempted manslaughters, making twelve years in—’

  He hadn’t finished before Madog started bellowing and swearing. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly, but Madog simply pushed past his fellow felons and attempted to get out of the dock. Two constables rapidly grabbed hold of him. By this time there was uproar in the court with people chattering and the judge hammering with his gavel.

  The scene was so farcical that Anwen had the urge to laugh. This urge was brought to an abrupt end when Enid turned to her with a face like thunder.

  ‘I’d have put him in there for life and thrown away the key. Or sent him to the hangman’s noose.’

  Anwen offered no reply. The reality of capital punishment had long concerned her. Where did forgiveness and compassion sit with such a verdict? Yet could she blame her mother for feeling this way, after what he’d done to her?

  ‘Si – lence,’ the judge finally yelled. The courtroom fell silent. He straightened his wig, which had slipped slightly over his forehead in his frantic attempt to quell the noise.

  The prisoners were hauled away, Madog struggling all the while. She knew they’d be taken to the Monmouthshire County Gaol in Usk. Enid stood, pulling herself up tall as she removed the gloves from her old, battered handbag and placed them on. She headed for the door without a word, followed by Anwen and the other three.

  They lost her in the crowd, looking round for her as they made for the exit. Anwen scrutinised the six large arches of the stone building, trying to find her.

  ‘There she is,’ said Violet.

  Enid was looking up at the statue of Charl
es Rolls, who held a small aeroplane aloft.

  ‘You took your time,’ she said, spotting them.

  Since working at McKenzie House, Anwen realised, her mother had never really kept still for any length of time, always finding something to do. It was as if the job, along with Madog’s arrest, had given her a new lease of life. Mrs Meredith had certainly been pleased with her efforts.

  ‘Would you like to get a cup of tea before I drive you all back to Dorcalon?’ Elizabeth asked Enid. ‘I should think you need one.’

  ‘I would indeed. And a piece of cake too. That was an experience I do not intend to repeat. I noticed a nice tearoom on our way here. So let that be the end of that. That’s the last time we need to worry about Madog Rhys.’ Enid turned right and headed off down the street.

  Anwen suspected that it would not be as simple as that.

  Chapter Nine

  Hywel had endured enough now of his sister’s hectoring tone. He was ready to go out, down to the colliery, his cap placed firmly on his head, but still her voice was like a chain, shackling him there in the kitchen, on a seat by the door to the hall.

  ‘But it’s too soon, bach! You’re still limping.’

  ‘And may be doing so for the rest of my life. But I can walk fine now. I feel well in every other way. I can’t sit here for evermore, pondering the stove or pottering in the allotments. Madog’s convicted and won’t be contributing to this household anymore. There’s not enough to keep us all in food and clothes in the long run and the doctor reckons Idris needs another month’s rest.’

  ‘You can’t kneel down all day with that leg.’

  ‘No I can’t. But there are plenty of other jobs in the mine that don’t require that.’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘You’re my sister, and a good one at that, and I appreciate you looking after me, but I’ve got to go and do something for myself. You still see me as your baby brother, but I’m all grown up now.’