War in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  ‘I’ll give you some money before I go, so you can visit the shops later. Hopefully there’ll be some deliveries today,’ said Violet.

  ‘We can hope. You won’t get as much money doing four days a week. You were doing the usual six days when you met my Charlie.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t have little children then.’

  She hadn’t told Olwen her idea to do only four days before she’d left to get the job. She knew she’d somehow persuade her otherwise. She’d got the idea from Enid, who was only doing Tuesday to Friday at the Big House. Bosses were desperate for workers and accepted any hours they could get out of people. That she was missing any of Benjamin’s young years tore at her heart. At least the shift finished before Clarice got out of school; that was the advantage of doing an early one. She should be grateful to Olwen, she knew, for she’d given her the opportunity to earn a few more shillings to add to the meagre widow’s pension, and yet, if she could have had a lodger instead, she’d have had the best of both worlds.

  Violet’s stomach rumbled. ‘Is there any spare bread left, even half a crust?’

  ‘No, only two slices there are, and them not very fresh, but they must go to the babbies.’

  ‘Yes, they must.’ She turned away.

  ‘I’ll see what I can fetch for your dinner when you return, and I ’eard someone from the allotments say yesterday that there might be some kale, cabbage and parsnips at the greengrocer’s today.’

  ‘It’s best to go early, even if there is a queue. There have been a lot more recently, since winter set in.’

  ‘What do you expect, with the boats not getting to Britain? Those allotments aren’t enough to fill the gap. And when there are food shortages it’s always the young, the old and the ailing what go first. So the babbies and me need looking after.’

  Violet felt sick at the possibility of her children becoming ill. Any food they managed to buy would go to them first. Olwen was neither old nor ailing. And hadn’t she come to help look after them? Yet Violet seemed to be looking after her.

  She finished the tea. ‘I’d better get going.’ She picked up her old, thick shawl from the chair and tied it around herself. She’d rather have worn her coat, it being so cold, but it would get too grubby for going out in if she wore it to the pit. And once she got started on the endless work of sorting coal from stone, she’d soon warm up.

  ‘I’ll see you later then,’ said Olwen, pouring herself another cup of tea. ‘Don’t forget your tea tin.’

  Violet nodded, picking it up. Her stomach rumbled once more.

  Outside her front door, stepping into the dark, she rearranged her shawl to place it over her head. She’d only gone two steps when a voice behind her said, ‘Bore da.’

  Hywel, just visible in the lights from the houses, lifted his cap. Idris and Gwilym, beside him, greeted her also.

  ‘First time I’ve seen you since you started screening,’ said Hywel.

  She fell in step with them, comforted by Hywel’s presence. ‘It’s only my second day.’

  ‘I was surprised when Anwen told me you were starting there again.’

  ‘I’d rather not be doing it, but Olwen has been kind enough to stay on to look after the children, so I should take advantage.’

  ‘She’s not staying permanently though, is she?’

  Please God, no. ‘It’s just until I get myself sorted out.’ She wasn’t even sure what that meant. It was only a way of stalling Hywel’s questions. The growling in her stomach was more than hunger, it was a gnawing stress at what the future held.

  ‘Well, here we are.’ Hywel pointed to the gate up ahead. ‘Maybe see you on the way out at two.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  * * *

  Far from passing quickly, the day had gone exceedingly slowly for Violet at the screens, sorting through the coal, her arms wearied by lifting the heavier bits of rock and her hands scratched by the shingle.

  Her heart warmed when she entered her kitchen to see Clarice and Benjamin on the floor, playing with the spinning top.

  ‘Mam!’ Clarice jumped up and ran to Violet. Her brother wasn’t far behind, hollering a greeting.

  Olwen pushed the door from the scullery open. ‘What’s all this noise? Sit down, children.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Violet. ‘For it is lovely to have such a welcome.’

  ‘Undisciplined they’ll be if you let them run wild.’

  Violet bent down to the children, who attempted to hug her. ‘Let me get a wash and changed first, cariadon, for you don’t want coal smuts all over you.’

  ‘Spoilt, they are. Now sit down and let your mam get washed. I’ve just prepared the bowl and put some clean clothes out by the fire to warm. They dried well today, in the wind. And I managed to get some bacon scraps to have with the small loaf I found for dinner. There were queues at both shops. Then I took the children for a walk in the woods by the stream and found some turkey tail mushrooms to put with the veg at supper. The food’s there for those what look for it. Even in winter.’ Her sniff was followed by a ‘Hm!’ before she went back to the scullery.

  It was then Violet noticed the letter, addressed to her, on the mantelpiece. The writing was her mother’s. She lifted it off and turned it round to find it had already been opened. Her face puckered with annoyance as it became obvious her mother-in-law had read it.

  Olwen appeared once more. ‘Oh yes, I found that on the front mat and misread the initial. Thought it was an O but realised too late it was a V. Easy mistake.’

  Violet considered her mother’s writing. It was very precise. She’d always prided herself on being able to read and write well. She took it with her to the scullery.

  Left alone to wash, she lifted the letter out and was soon involved. Her mother was upset. It seemed she’d come across Brynmore in the High Street at Bargoed one afternoon, and he’d complained of his wife being stuck in Dorcalon, feeling she had to look after Violet and the little ones.

  She wasn’t sure if her mother was upset that she’d ‘chosen’ Olwen to look after her over her own mam, or annoyed that Violet had ‘put upon’ poor Mrs Jones. Violet shook her head. But she’d been too unwell to come over the Christmas period, according to her father’s letter, and too tired to cope with little children. She couldn’t have it both ways.

  Her own mother staying would have been preferable, for she didn’t boss people around or make them feel ungrateful or stupid. She’d suggested her parents move back to Dorcalon a couple of years before, knowing Charlie would never have agreed to move to Bargoed. What was stopping her from moving there now though? The thought of finding a new house to rent, of all the upheaval, depressed her. Her good friends were here. And so was Hywel.

  She shook the last thought away. Brooding wasn’t getting her washed and changed. Her mouth salivated, anticipating the salty bacon and bread. She’d only had tea so far today. After, she’d have to write an appeasing letter to her mother. As tempting as it was to admit that Olwen was unwelcome, she didn’t want to cause bad feeling. The last thing she needed right now was any trouble.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Violet couldn’t believe that at last she had some freedom. It wasn’t the trip she’d planned; she was supposed to be walking into Rhymney with Anwen, who was also to have enjoyed a couple of hours of liberty. Cadi had willingly volunteered to look after Sara Fach, but the little girl had since come down with the sniffles. Since Cadi had now done the same, Anwen felt uncomfortable at the thought of leaving the pair of them.

  Violet had worried about her friend taking on a baby so suddenly like that, but she seemed to be thriving on looking after little Sara. It was a shame Enid had taken against the babby and refused to have anything to do with her. Still, Anwen’s mother worked at the Big House on a Friday, so wouldn’t have been around to look after her anyway.

  So here she was, early Friday afternoon, on her own, passing the last house on Mafeking Terrace. The pit was already behind her. She was cheered by the Fe
bruary sun and brilliant blue sky as it shone on the green valley to her left. Beyond that she could make out the pit at Pontlottyn. The air was more chilled than it had been of late, but the walk warmed her up, even in her worn coat and thin scarf. She’d make the most of her time, looking in windows at items she couldn’t afford, maybe fetch a little sweet treat for the children, if she could find one. The sweet jars in Mrs Davies’s shop had largely been empty of late. Providing she had enough pennies left, she’d buy herself a cup of tea in a pretty café. It was the most personal pleasure she could hope for in life now.

  From behind came a clip-clop sound. She turned to see Samuel Lloyd, from Dyffryn Gwyrdd farm. He announced a ‘Whoa!’ and brought his horse and cart to a halt just ahead of her. He leaned back and looked at her.

  ‘Hello, it’s Violet Wynne, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Hello Farmer Lloyd. Yes, and I’m Violet Jones now.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, removing his cap. ‘Your husband was with my sons in the Rhymney Pals.’ His face displayed the unspoken words, that his late son, Bryn, was killed with Charlie. ‘Are you walking into Rhymney, for I’m going in myself and could give you a lift.’

  ‘That would be very kind, thank you.’

  His tall, lean frame leapt from the cart and he gave her a hand getting up on the other side. As it set off once more, she gripped the sides, wondering if she’d been wise in agreeing to this. In her childhood she’d had trips in the cart itself, around a field, with the Lloyd children. She’d been braver then.

  He dropped her off outside the Imperial Cinema, waving as he set off once more. She looked around, wondering where to start. The cinema was as good a place as any. She examined the posters for the pictures it was showing. There was a Charlie Chaplin film, The Floorwalker. She’d never seen one of his, though both Gwen and Anwen had spoken of how comical he was. She moved on down the row, examining the large selection of shops, so many more than in Dorcalon. Mainly, she concentrated on the drapers and outfitters, picking out dresses and fabrics she would have bought, had she been able to afford them.

  So taken by her reverie was she, that she didn’t spot Hywel until he was right next to her. She started, seeing him there, the green in his hazel eyes more obvious in the sunshine. The shock was followed quickly by a wave of guilty delight.

  ‘Why Violet, I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘Didn’t Anwen mention we were supposed to be having an afternoon out?’

  ‘She did, but I didn’t imagine you’d come on your own. Or that Mrs Jones would allow it.’ He gave a chuckle until he saw Violet’s serious face.

  ‘I didn’t tell her Anwen wasn’t coming.’ She bit her bottom lip like a naughty child, until it occurred to her just how funny it was. When she giggled, the wide smile he gave in return showed off his dimples.

  ‘I shan’t tell.’

  ‘If she knew I was talking to you she’d be very cross. She thinks you’re quite the ruffian, isn’t it.’ She couldn’t keep a straight face at this thought. Hywel, so kind and gentle, roused to a passion only when he felt something was unfair or simply wrong.

  ‘Huh! It’s a good job she wasn’t in the village when Madog Rhys was around then.’

  ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ The thought briefly crossed her mind that, despite his words, he’d visited Rhymney on the off chance she’d be here. No, she wasn’t interesting enough for him to bother doing that. Relief entwined with regret, followed by more guilt.

  ‘Having my hair cut. Came straight from my bath, didn’t even have dinner. Mr Connor, the hairdresser in the village, has gone away for a few days, see.’

  She looked curiously at his dark brown mane. ‘I don’t see any difference.’

  ‘I haven’t had it done yet!’ he laughed. ‘You planning on a new spring wardrobe?’ He pointed at the shop window.

  ‘I’m sure you know the answer to that, Hywel. Just dreaming.’ She looked longingly at the blue dress with its wide pointed white collar and long sash belt.

  ‘Ah, we all need dreams.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was thinking of popping into Perilli’s café for a beverage and maybe a piece of cake after the haircut, treat myself, like. Could I treat you too?’ He tilted his head to one side a little, looking hopeful.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, better not, but then she thought, why not? What harm would it really do to have some adult company for a change, the sort that didn’t make you feel you were inadequate at everything you did?

  ‘Yes, Hwyel. That would be nice.’

  ‘I’ll meet you outside there in, say, half an hour?’

  She nodded. He patted her arm, perhaps for reassurance, but the tingle that went down it brought her whole body alive. It confirmed her initial reluctance but the excitement at spending time in his company was too much to resist.

  He grinned broadly, showing some of the pleasure she felt but couldn’t quite display.

  * * *

  Hywel spotted Violet five minutes after he reached Perilli Bros Refreshment House. The look of relief on her face matched what he was experiencing. He’d half expected her to have second thoughts, to have bolted back to Dorcalon. And who could have blamed her?

  ‘Ah, now I can see you have had your hair cut.’ She gave his head the once-over. Her deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners. He noticed her black hair was in a neat plait wrapped around her head like a band. It was a style she normally only adopted on high days and holidays. He’d always thought it a little austere for her slim face with its high cheekbones.

  ‘Does it meet with your approval?’ he said.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Shall we go in?’ He pointed at the shop. The window was not rammed full of merchandise like it had been in the past, having but few examples. He opened the door and allowed her to go in first.

  ‘Oh my goodness, it is fragrant in here.’ She looked around at the shelves and displays of cigars, tobacco, pipes, jars of sweets and chocolates. As in the windows, there was less than half of what he’d seen here previously.

  ‘Haven’t you been in here before?’

  ‘Never. I haven’t been to Rhymney in a long while.’

  A deep sorrow inhabited him. As far as he was aware, she’d barely been out of the village since she’d married Charlie. He’d never been one for spoiling his wife, from what he could tell. She’d been such a happy soul when she was younger. Now a shroud of despondency always seemed to surround her. Poor, sad Violet, enclosed in her tiny world.

  ‘Good afternoon to you,’ said a stout man with an Italian accent. He had a spotless white apron wrapped around his middle. ‘How may I ’elp you?’

  ‘We’d like afternoon tea, please,’ said Hywel.

  ‘If you’d like to queue by the menu stand, you will be shown to a table.’ The man bowed slightly and indicated the place with his hand.

  They stepped over to the stand, looking into the tearoom area with its stiff white cloths, red napkins and little vases of greenery.

  ‘This is very smart.’ Violet bit one side of her bottom lip and looked worried. ‘The waitresses look like maids with their black dresses and white pinnies and caps.’

  A waitress came towards them. On her badge was written the name ‘Assunta’. She showed them to a table by the window and handed them each a menu.

  ‘We don’t have the variety of cakes and pastries we used to, I’m afraid, especially since so many of the boats with sugar on board have been sunk. Just scones, fruit buns and Garibaldi biscuits.’

  They both chose tea and a bun. Violet leaned back and seemed to relax at last.

  Hywel went to speak, then thought better of it.

  ‘You were going to say something?’ Violet asked.

  ‘It’s just, I was wondering, how you’re getting on with Charlie’s mother now.’

  She looked at the table for a while then out of the window as two young lads went scuttling by. ‘I’d rather she wasn’t there, but… needs must as the devil drive
s, as they say. The devil has driven me to a widow’s pension, so I need to work. Having Olwen there allows me to do that.’

  His heart sank. It was as if she expected life to get ever harder and had little fight left against it.

  The waitress returned with a tray full of tea things and the buns. ‘I’m afraid we have to ask our customers only to have one spoonful of sugar with their tea, as we might run out otherwise.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Hywel. ‘We both gave up sugar in tea a while back.’ He grinned at her to relieve her worried face. No doubt some customers had complained about this. It worked and she went off with a smile.

  ‘Has Charlie’s mother left his father?’ He knew he shouldn’t pursue this again, but it had popped out of his mouth without him thinking much about it.

  Violet looked weary, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘I really don’t know what’s going on. He keeps writing to her, but I don’t know what the letters say or if she replies to them. I just recognise his untidy scrawl. I’ve tried to ask her a couple of times, but she tells me only that things will work out, whatever that means. In a way, if she was going to live with me, I wish she’d brought Brynmore too. He’s a funny soul and much more reasonable.’

  ‘Perhaps you should suggest it? What about your mother. Has she recovered from her cold at Christmas?’

  Violet seemed a little happier talking about her own parents. ‘She’s taken a while but is apparently much better now. I had a letter from her yesterday. It’s a shame really.’ Her face fell into a frown once more.

  ‘What is?’

  She took a sip of the tea before replying. ‘That they moved away from Dorcalon. They went to Bargoed to help Ivy when she was unwell after the birth of her fourth baby.’

  ‘Aye, I remember Anwen saying.’