‘It’s probably better not to know the truth.’
‘No. I saw enough of that in The Battle of the Somme. I advised some of the girls from work not to go, but they said they wanted to see where our shells are being sent. I think they regretted it.’
Elizabeth was awash with guilt, remembering what a shine Gwen had taken to Ralph. ‘That’s a point,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work now?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid I got Mam to go to the motorbus stop this morning to tell one of the other girls I’m ill today. I know I’ll be docked some money, but I’d rather see my brother.’ She looked sheepish. ‘Is that really bad of me? Our boys do need them shells.’
‘I’m sure you do sterling work when you’re there, Gwen. I can’t blame you for wanting to see your brother.’ For who knows how long he has left on this earth? It was a thought she’d had about Tom so many times, especially given his rather reckless attitude to life. ‘Have you ever thought of giving it up, the munitions? I hear it’s dangerous.’ It was better not to draw attention to Gwen’s changing skin tone.
‘Not you as well.’ Gwen tutted. ‘I’ve almost fallen out with Anwen and Violet over this, and my mother. I am aware of my skin colour, for it’s pointed out enough. I’m sure it will get back to normal once the war’s over, for us women won’t keep our jobs at the factory once the men are back. More’s the pity, for it’s a pretty sum to be earning.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to fall out with you.’
‘And anyway, the gentlemen certainly don’t seem to be put off by my complexion. I think maybe it makes me look a little exotic.’ She smiled, like someone keeping a delicious secret.
‘No, I’m sure they don’t.’ Elizabeth didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her by prying. Gwen was perhaps engaged in the early stages of courtship with a young man in the village.
‘I do believe that’s the train now.’
Elizabeth checked her watch. ‘Dead on time!’
The chugs of the train became slower and further apart until its brakes squealed the carriages to a halt. There was a hiss and the smoke billowed around them.
It wasn’t long before the doors began to click open and a variety of soldiers stepped down off the train. All were in woollen overcoats. Knapsacks were handed down before several other men alighted and repeated the performance. People ran to meet their loved ones. Elizabeth moved back and forth, trying to find Tom in the confusion. Finally, he appeared from the end of the train, just ahead of Henry and Maurice Coombes. Gwen spotted the men at the same time and both rushed off to embrace their brothers.
‘Tom, I’m so glad to see you.’
‘Likewise, Lizzie.’
‘Henry, did you and Mr Meredith travel together?’ said Gwen.
‘He was already in the carriage when we got in at Newport,’ Maurice butted in, in his mixture of Valleys accent and London twang, left over from his childhood. ‘Filling him in on conditions out there, we were, seeing as he’ll be going out soon.’
‘I hope you haven’t been unnecessarily ghastly,’ said Gwen, frowning.
‘No, not us,’ Maurice laughed, slapping Tom on the back. ‘And look at this.’ He pointed to Tom’s sleeve. ‘Only gone and bloody made him a second lieutenant.’
Tom puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath.
‘Not jealous, are you?’ Douglas Ramsay shouted over as he passed by.
‘Nah, not me, mun. Seen what ’appens to them poor buggers what are supposed to be leading their men out and don’t ’ave a bloody clue what’s going to hit ’em.’
‘Not in front of the ladies, Maurice bach,’ said Henry.
Maurice bowed from the waist. ‘So sorry ladies, I’m sure.’ He hauled his bag onto his shoulder. ‘See you ’ere in six days when we return to the bl— to the madness.’ With that, he sauntered off.
‘Come on Henry,’ said Gwen, taking his arm. ‘Mam’s cooking a cawl in your honour, and even managed to get some lamb.’
‘Let’s go then. Hywl fawr,’ he called back at Tom. ‘Good luck if I don’t see you on the journey back.’
‘Diolch yn fawr, and thanks for the company,’ Tom replied, lifting a hand in farewell.
Gwen and her brother chatted as she led him to the exit.
‘She’s a pretty little thing,’ said Tom. ‘With her blonde waves and those cerulean eyes.’
‘Tom, don’t you ever stop?’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘Maurice Coombes seems friendly towards you. I don’t suppose he has any idea about the situation with Polly’s baby.’
‘Do you think he’d have been so civil if he had?’
‘He doesn’t strike me as the tolerant sort.’
‘He was all right on the journey, even if he did take delight in telling me all the goriest stories about the war he could think of,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t suppose you have the motorcar.’
Elizabeth swung round to face him, walking backwards as she spoke. ‘No I don’t! It’s only ten minutes up the hill. I got into trouble with Sergeant Harries for “using the automobile too frequently”, as he put it. There’s a war on, you know.’
‘Yes, I had noticed. Shame. Guess I’ll have to struggle up to the house with this.’ He indicated the knapsack with his thumb.
‘You look fit enough to me,’ she said. ‘I reckon that training’s done you some good after all the sitting around with the influenza. Anyway, even if I’d wanted to bring the car I couldn’t have: Mama has taken it to Abergavenny to meet her friends for lunch.’
‘Nice of her to be home to greet me.’ He screwed his mouth up to one side.
They reached the ticket collector at this point, who waved them through with a salute and a, ‘Welcome home, sir.’
Outside the station, they started on their walk round the pit.
‘Was it a good journey?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Very comfortable. When I saw the Pals from here get on board, I assumed they’d ignore me, but very friendly, they were.’
‘That’s because you’re one of the gang now.’
‘Whether I want to be or not.’ He stopped to take a deep breath of the air. ‘Despite the pit, it’s good to be home in the valley.’
‘Nobody wants to be in the war, Tom. It’s simply something to tolerate, something to get done.’
Several women passed by, tipping their heads forward slightly and saying, ‘Hello sir, hello Miss,’ to which the pair of them replied in kind.
‘What’s the training been like?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Strenuous. Not many other educated chaps in my battalion. It’s no wonder they made me a second lieutenant. No damned competition!’ He let out a long chuckle, finishing with an, ‘Oh dear. Lord help us with me in charge.’
‘I assume there’ll be an actual lieutenant.’
‘No idea. We’re being used to fill the gaps in the 38th Welsh battalions, decimated during the Somme battles.’
Elizabeth’s heart sank. ‘You know nearly half the soldiers from here were killed at Mametz Wood.’
‘Of course I do. A good many from other villages too, from what I’ve heard. Oh don’t look so glum, Lizzie. They’ve got second lieutenant Thomas H Meredith to sort the Hun out now.’
He strolled ahead, towards the little bridge over the stream, singing a vigorous rendition of ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag’. Yet for all his bravado, Elizabeth could tell he’d lost some of his spark.
When Tom had finished the song, he turned back towards his sister. ‘So, what are you doing with yourself these days? Sounds like, from your letters, the allotments are still going strong. You tell me so much about the village, but not much about yourself.’
‘That’s because there isn’t much to tell. Come on, let’s get a move on or we’ll never get there.’
* * *
Hywel hadn’t been so sure it was a good idea to come to the McKenzie Arms to have a chinwag with the lads home on leave. But this evening, unlike on their last leave, his erstwhile pit mates were in a bett
er frame of mind and mixed more easily. There were some exchanges of stories of the July disaster, and the mud-filled trenches. All were told in hushed tones. Both soldiers and miners at least now had some time and distance from their pals’ deaths.
‘Mrs Moss has done a good job of running the public house and hotel since old Reg was put away,’ said Idris.
‘Aye, she has.’ Hywel looked around at the larger of the two bars. The rickety chairs had been fixed and a coat of varnish applied, while the whole place was cleaner. She’d even put up a couple of pictures, of Cardiff Castle and the Brecon Beacons, though they’d not been appreciated by many of the men who preferred their sparse, plain bar.
He looked up to find Daniel Williams, Esther’s oldest son, peering down at Idris. He was standing to attention in his uniform.
‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ said Daniel.
‘How’s that?’ Idris looked confused.
Daniel tutted. ‘What, you’ve forgotten already that you married a lovely girl like Anwen?’
‘No, no of course I haven’t. That was several months ago now.’
‘I’ve not been here though, have I?’
Hywel noted the aggrieved tone, then remembered: Daniel had been smitten by Anwen at one time. Could be he was still carrying a torch for her.
‘No, of course,’ said Idris. ‘Well, thank you, Daniel.’
‘Thought she’d given you the elbow.’
Hywel wondered where this was going and hoped the younger man wouldn’t try to start something. There was an aggression about him that hadn’t been there before he’d left. He’d grown since joining the army, being broader, with a little more muscle on him. He wasn’t one of the original twenty-nine to sign up; he’d been called up last April, after the conscription bill had been passed.
Idris simply smiled. ‘Aye, lucky bugger I am, that she took me back.’ They’d kept up the story of Anwen jilting him, rather than what had really happened.
‘Indeed you are,’ said Daniel. His attention was distracted by one of his fellow Pals calling over, so he took his leave.
When he’d walked away, Idris said, ‘Thought he was up for picking a fight there. Anwen told me he did seem keen on her before he enlisted.’
‘He might have a bit more weight on him now, but it’s a brave man would stand up against your six feet. Or a stupid one. Always respectful of you the lads around here have been.’
‘Apart from Edgar Williams. I don’t know why the others are. It’s not like I’ve ever been handy with my fists.’
‘Just the thought you could be is enough. You’ve got a presence.’
Maurice Coombes strolled over next, patting Idris on the shoulder. ‘How are you mun? Hear you’ve been down to London for an operation. You look well. Better than you did during your stint in the Pals.’
‘Feeling better too, Maurice. Thank you for asking.’
‘Also heard you got married.’
‘That’s right,’ said Idris, glancing at Hywel, maybe also wondering where this was going.
‘Well congratulations to you and Anwen, mun. Our Polly had her eye on you at one point. I even thought you might be – you know.’
The father of her illegitimate child was left unsaid.
‘No, not me, mun.’
‘Polly assured us of that, otherwise I’d have sorted you out myself.’ He chuckled. ‘Wish she’d told us who it was as I’d like to get my ’ands on him, I would.’
Hywel knew that Tom Meredith was the father, but very few people were aware of this. Polly had been paid off by the family. No wonder Tom had enlisted as soon as he’d recovered from the influenza. He had no doubt Maurice would have made a mess of him if he’d found out, for if Idris wasn’t handy with his fists Maurice certainly was, and afraid of no one.
‘Still, it don’t matter now, as she met a man while staying with our aunt in London, and she married him last week. Just as well as the baby’s due any day.’
‘That’s something at least,’ said Idris.
‘Aye. Well.’ Maurice seemed to run out of things to say.
‘You enjoying your rest from the war?’ said Hywel.
‘Bloody relief it is, mun. At least we haven’t lost any more poor buggers from the village since Mametz Wood. We’ve been in the rear lines since then. Kicking our heels, we are.’
Alun Lloyd, the farmer’s surviving son, came to a halt as he passed by. ‘That’s because there aren’t enough of us left to raise a bloody battalion. As for kicking our heels, I dunno what’s worse: running into the line of fire or repairing the miles of battered trenches. Trying to scoop out the slimy mud and knock in more posts to support the trenches and make them habitable. God, it’s bloody endless, this war, whatever you end up doing.’
‘Oh, cheer up, mun,’ said Donald Ramsay, staggering over. ‘Let’s forget the bloody madness while we’re here.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Maurice muttered. ‘Hey, watch yourself now.’ He grabbed his friend to stop him stumbling over. ‘How’re you so drunk? Mrs Moss only lets us have a cuppla pints each.’
‘Gone out, hasn’t she,’ said Donald. ‘Stephen is serving. He thinks we brave lads should be allowed a bit more indulgence, like.’
‘You want to make sure Mrs Moss doesn’t come back and catch you, for it’s mad as hell she’ll be if she finds out,’ said Hywel. ‘Very much for keeping the new laws, she is.’
Several miners in the bar muttered their confirmation. The cutting back of hours and restriction of alcohol to abide by the new rules had gone down badly with most of the public house’s patrons, yet there was also a grudging respect for Mrs Moss, for keeping a better house than her husband had.
‘To hell with her tonight,’ said Donald.
A new batch of civilians came through the door, a rowdy group, with David Keir, the new union representative, at its centre, bellowing the punch line of a bawdy joke. The way he was swaying suggested he was already drunk. He spotted the three soldiers talking to Hywel and Idris.
‘Hey, Maurice mun. Your sister had her flyblow yet?’
Hywel stretched his eyes wide, unable to believe the clumsy blunder as Idris lowered his head onto his palm.
Maurice stormed over to where David was standing. ‘What’s that you said?’
The two men with David told him to shush and come away, but he tottered forward to meet his adversary.
‘What the hell’s got into Keir?’ whispered Hywel. ‘He’s a big mouth in the union, but keeps his trap shut otherwise.’
‘Don’t you remember Polly telling us, on that walk last January, that Keir had been trying to court her, but she was having none of it?’ said Idris.
Hywel didn’t get a chance to reply before Maurice socked David Keir straight in the jaw, knocking him to the floor.
‘Hey, you can’t do that, just ’cos you’re a bloody soldier,’ said one of the union rep’s friends as he and the other man made a beeline for Maurice.
They didn’t reach their target before Alun and Donald ran to defend their pal. Soon there was a scrap between the six of them. Shouts of encouragement came from both sides, miners and soldiers. Others shook their heads.
Idris scraped back his chair. ‘Reckon we should do something? Stephen doesn’t seem about to.’
‘Aye. You go and fetch Harries the Police and I’ll see if I can calm things down,’ said Hywel.
Idris headed to the door into the lounge bar and went out that way. By this time, a couple more men had joined in, with the cheers and taunts getting louder.
‘Right now, lads,’ said Hywel, weaving his way through the baying crowd. It occurred to him Idris should be doing this, with his larger presence, but it was too late now. He stepped into a gap between the onlookers and the fighters. ‘This is no way to act, is it? You don’t want your time on leave spent in a cell in Rhymney now, do you?’
Alun brought his flailing arms to a halt and considered Hywel. Good, he might talk some sense into one of them at least, who mig
ht then persuade the others.
The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the floor of the bar.
Chapter Twelve
Elizabeth stood in the hall waiting for her mother so they could take a walk into the village. She opened her handbag quickly and pulled out the letter she’d received that morning. What a relief to have got to it before her mother, who might have guessed its contents.
An interview at the council office for the job of clerk in the overseer’s office: just imagine! She wasn’t sure why she’d been reconsidered; all the letter said was that the job was available once more. She was to go for an interview on Thursday 21st December, only two days away. She had that to look forward to, as well as the trip out with Ralph tomorrow, to the Theatre Royal and Empire in Merthyr Tydfil. She placed the letter back in her handbag and picked up a bag of presents she wanted to drop off in the village.
When her mother appeared from the study Elizabeth called up the stairs, ‘Cheerio Tom, we won’t be long.’
‘Shall I drive today, or will you?’ Margaret asked, unhooking her umbrella from the hat stand.
‘Mother, it’s but a short walk, and you know the authorities are unhappy about unnecessary motorcar journeys.’
‘I know, but I’ve been so weary recently.’
‘Then the walk will do you good.’ She pulled the door open, pleased to breathe in the fresh air, despite it being near freezing. It tasted like freedom after her mother’s constant niggling.
The walk on the path round the colliery was filled with Margaret’s chitchat about Christmas, what presents and food to buy, how they might decorate the drawing room. Elizabeth retreated into her own head, her thoughts straying to the last time she’d seen Ralph.
Reaching Jubilee Green, and about to enter the grocer’s opposite the McKenzie Arms, they came across Matilda Bowen, the wife of John, the under manager at the pit.
‘Good morning to you, Mrs Meredith, Miss Meredith. I suppose you heard about the spat at the public house last night, between the miners and the soldiers on leave?’
War in the Valleys Page 14
