War in the Valleys

by Francesca Capaldi

  She wanted to shout at her mother-in-law, but all she said was, ‘Where are Clarice and Benjy?’

  ‘With your mam and da. I needed a rest from them, spending all day with them like I do.’

  ‘I’m going to find them.’ She’d console herself with cuddles from her babbies and they could watch the rest of the races together. The tug-of-war was due soon, which was always entertaining. These cheerful thoughts she used to dampen the tears stinging her eyes. Anwen would almost certainly tell her family what Olwen had said. Not that Hywel would be surprised.

  She spotted her family and put on her biggest grin as she hurried to join them, but inside she was hurting.

  * * *

  Hywel closed the front door and ran across the road, to where Gwilym was bashing a hammer against a piece of wood.

  ‘So what is it you’d like me to do then, mun?’ He raised his voice above the din.

  Gwilym stopped and looked up. ‘Is Idris coming to help?’

  ‘He and Anwen have gone for a walk up Twyn Gobaith. They’re taking advantage while the sun’s out, so Cadi’s in charge of the babby.’

  ‘I guess he has a wife and family to think of now.’

  ‘Aye, he does that.’ Hywel sighed thoughtfully.

  Gwilym put the hammer down on the box of tools beside him and hunkered down on a mound of grass that edged the allotment. ‘We can’t all be so lucky, to meet the love of our lives.’

  ‘It’s not the meeting that’s the problem, though, is it? Not for me. Have you never met anyone you’d like to settle down with?’

  ‘Had a slight crush on Gwen years ago, but, no.’

  ‘Well, you’re only twenty-five. Plenty of time.’

  ‘Have you talked to Violet recently?’

  Hywel was beginning to wish he hadn’t confided in Gwilym. That’s what having a pint at the public house with a friend when you were feeling low did for you.

  ‘What, with Mrs Nosy Parker ruling her life? I’ve begun to wonder whether having Olwen there is a convenient way of keeping me at arm’s length.’ There, he’d said it.

  ‘And maybe with good reason, for it sounds to me, from what you’ve said, that she is fond of you, but still mourning Charlie.’

  ‘Oh what’s the point of going over and over the situation? It doesn’t alter anything. Change the subject, shall we?’

  ‘Whatever you want.’ Gwilym picked up the hammer, turning it in his hands.

  ‘You’d think you’d have enough to do with work and running the allotments without taking on the chickens too.’

  ‘I like to have plenty to occupy me. It would probably help you too, to keep busy.’

  ‘When are these chickens coming?’

  ‘In a fortnight or so, a coupla dozen. We were supposed to get them last year, but Mr Lloyd found he was short in the end. He’s managed to get a load more this year as he’s being encouraged to send eggs to the Front.’

  Hywel sat down beside his friend. ‘Thought he was a sheep farmer, not a poultry one.’

  ‘I guess the government’s trying to get as much out of the farmers as they can. Though I dare say Lloyd will be paid well enough for them. Still, it’s kind of him to set us up with that many. It’ll help out a bit, even if they’re only for the children. Ah, here are Evan and Jenkin. They said they’d help too.’

  ‘How was Mr Beadle?’ Hywel called, knowing they had paid their customary Sunday afternoon visit to him.

  The lads had caught up before Jenkin said, ‘He seemed a bit brighter.’

  ‘He even talked about coming back to lead scouts again,’ said Evan.

  ‘He shouldn’t get ahead of himself, though it’s good he’s thinking positive. Been too down in the dumps recently,’ said Gwilym.

  Hywel worried about Cadoc’s ongoing memory losses. He doubted now he’d ever be back to normal.

  ‘So, you gonna help with this then?’ Gwilym pointed to the planks of wood and the wire on the ground.

  ‘Of course,’ said Evan. ‘Cyril and Emlyn did want us to go up the woods, but I said we were going to help you seeing as we’re working men now.’ He stretched to make himself taller and folded his arms.

  Gwilym cuffed him lightly across his head.

  ‘Hey, don’t do that, mun!’ He straightened his hair so the middle parting was back in place. The new hairstyle was a little too grown up.

  ‘You wait till you’re hewing coal, then you can call yourself a working man.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to the chickens coming. They’re funny creatures,’ said Jenkin. ‘Especially those Houdans Farmer Lloyd has. All mottled with funny furry hats on. That’s what it looks like, anyway.’

  ‘If we look after them properly and keep them looking good like, maybe we could even enter them into a poultry show in Aberbargoed.’ Evan looked hopeful.

  ‘We don’t want to be running before we can walk, eh bach?’ Gwilym passed his brother a piece of wood and a saw. ‘Now let’s get on with it.’

  Chapter Twenty

  It was a pleasant day when Hywel, Gwilym and Idris climbed Station Road after their shift. They headed away towards Jubilee Gardens, Hywel lapping up the cheery brilliance of the May sunshine as it peeped out from behind a cloud. It had been playing hide-and-seek the last couple of days.

  As they approached Schenck’s bookshop, they became aware of a loud rapping. The mine manager’s wife was banging on the door of the baker, next door to the book shop. Mr Schenck was already there, talking to her.

  ‘I’m afraid, Mrs Meredith, that the baker’s has closed,’ he was telling her.

  She turned to look at him, pursing her lips. ‘Why is that? It’s only half past three. It’s supposed to be open until six o’clock.’

  Hywel stepped forward. ‘No, what Mr Schenck means is, it’s closed down, coupla days ago now. Mara Pane’s been losing money since flour’s become scarcer and she’s had fewer loaves to sell. And that was before King George told us to eat a quarter less bread. She’s moved in with her sister in Deri.’

  Margaret stepped back from the door. ‘Well where is one supposed to acquire bread then?’

  ‘Mrs Brace the grocer is now selling it,’ said Mr Schenck. ‘I believe it’s coming from a baker in Rhymney. I doubt they have any this time of the day, but it’s worth a try.’

  The bookshop owner was not his usual jovial self, his posture being somewhat slumped and his hair not as neat as it was normally.

  ‘Really, it’s bad enough that one has to buy one’s own bread.’ Margaret put the back of her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.

  Hywel glanced at Idris with a slight smirk. It would do Mrs Meredith good to see how the other half lived, though it was more like the other ninety percent.

  ‘It’s what everyone else has to do,’ Gwilym said.

  They didn’t notice Esther Williams until she said, ‘Being disrespectful to Mrs Meredith, are you, Gwilym Owen? Don’t know why I’d expect anything else. They’re nothing but troublemakers are the Rhyses, Hugheses and the Owens.’ She gave the three men an unflattering once-over.

  ‘Well I’m in the clear then,’ Hywel quipped, ‘for I’m a Llewellyn.’

  He realised it was an ill-judged attempt at humour when Esther replied, ‘You’re the worst of the lot, you are, sniffing around a married woman.’

  ‘If you are referring to Violet Jones, then she’s a widow,’ said Hywel, attempting to keep calm. ‘Oh yes, I know that Olwen Jones has been spreading rumours about me, as have Rose and Gertie Pritchard. But I have simply been a friend to Violet, who used to be my landlady, and—’

  ‘That wasn’t right, either,’ Esther interrupted. ‘Mucky goings-on with young married women taking in men as lodgers. No, you’re all the same, a Rhys by blood or not.’

  ‘Well there I have to disagree with you,’ said Margaret, looking down her nose at Esther. ‘Anwen was an excellent maid and Mrs Rhys has been an invaluable worker, albeit part time. And if Rose is involved, it’s bound to be a lie. I wouldn’t
believe a word she tells you.’

  Her voice got much louder during the last two sentences. It was soon clear why. Rose had appeared around the corner.

  ‘What are you saying about me now, you old cow?’

  ‘Please, Miss Pritchard, some decorum please.’ Mr Schenck did his customary slight bow.

  ‘Oh bugger off, you silly fool,’ said Rose.

  ‘Please, do not be talking to my husband in that manner.’

  They all turned to see Mrs Schenck standing by the bookshop window nearest the door, her fair hair piled high on her head. Her clothes, a cream, high-necked blouse and a brown skirt, were plain but neat. Under her arm was what looked like a closed ledger.

  ‘It’s all right, Mirjam,’ Mr Schenck said, kindly. ‘I will deal with this.’

  ‘But it is not all right. Already we have suffered misfortune today, and you do not deserve this woman’s words of censure.’

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’ Hywel asked.

  ‘It is nothing to be concerned about, just, just—’ Mr Schenck stuttered.

  ‘A break-in,’ Mirjam finished. ‘Last night. Some books stolen, and a little money.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’ said Idris.

  ‘Yes, yes, though it’s a paltry matter.’ The shopkeeper flicked his hand to demonstrate how unimportant it was.

  Margaret let out a loud, ‘Hm! Well, we all know who’s the thief around here.’

  Rose returned her glare, jabbing a finger in her direction. ‘Are you referring to me, you old hag?’

  Her skinny frame leapt forward, almost knocking Esther off her feet on the way. Her hands were thrust out, as if to attack Margaret. Hywel and Idris threw their arms out to grab hold of her but missed, while Mr Schenck stepped firmly in front of the older woman.

  Rose came up short. ‘Protect her, would you? More fool you!’

  Esther steadied herself and felt her hat to make sure it was straight. ‘I shall be fetching your father if you don’t go home immediately, you silly young woman!’ A little of the former, authoritative Mrs Williams ‘the Guardian’ was back.

  ‘And you can bugger off too, you bitch.’ Rose’s voice reached a piercing crescendo. ‘You can all bugger off. And you, you gawpers.’

  She was glaring at the crowd starting to form at a safe distance, some of them fresh out of the pit, when Stanley Pritchard’s stout form rushed around the corner.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, girl?’ he hollered. ‘It comes to something when a customer comes to tell you that your daughter’s acting like a hoyden!’ He grabbed hold of her arm. ‘Now get indoors with you and get on with your work. You were only supposed to be getting me some baccy. You’re a damned liability.’

  ‘I hate bloody working in that shop,’ she yelled.

  Stanley pulled her more roughly. ‘Don’t you swear at me else I’ll dock your wages. And you’re not too old for a clip round the ear, either.’

  The noise faded as he dragged her back round the corner to the butcher’s. Mirjam slipped back inside the shop.

  ‘I’ve never seen such an ill-bred brat in all my days,’ said Esther. ‘And for her to pick on the manager’s wife. Well!’

  Margaret came forward two steps. ‘I hardly think you’re in a position to speak when your husband is in gaol.’ When Esther started to interrupt with Enid’s name, Margaret raised her hand to silence her. ‘If you’re about to say that Mrs Rhys’s husband is in gaol too, at least she was a victim and did not know what her husband was up to.’

  ‘Neither did I! I knew nothing of the hoarding and profiteering.’

  ‘We only have your word for that. So please, just go away. I did not ask you to jump to my defence and consider you worse than useless as an advocate.’

  Esther looked at each of them in turn, her final gaze, tight-lipped and pinch-faced, resting on Margaret. ‘You’ll all get your comeuppances, mark my words.’ Looking up at the sky, she wrung her hands. ‘Oh Lord, how long shall the wicked exult?’ At which she turned on her heels and walked off towards Jubilee Green.

  At the same time, Mrs Meredith walked off in the opposite direction.

  Mr Schenck looked left and right at the departing women and shrugged. ‘Good day to you, gentlemen.’ He bowed his head before ambling towards his shop.

  The men carried on up Jubilee Gardens. Everyone seemed to be falling out with everyone else, thought Hywel. ‘Who needs enemies abroad?’ he said, thinking of Olwen Jones more than anyone.

  ‘When we’ve got them on our own doorstep?’ Idris finished.

  ‘That’s worrying, that Mr Schenck should have been robbed,’ said Gwilym. ‘I wonder who is responsible this time. The last lot of thieves from here are all locked up.’

  Idris walked backwards just ahead to look at his friends. ‘It could have been worse. At least no one was hurt.’

  ‘Until the next time,’ said Hywel, who had the feeling this was just the beginning of more trouble.

  * * *

  The bell of the grocer’s door tinged and Hywel turned his head to see Violet entering with a shake and a small exclamation of ‘Oooh!’

  Even in her soggy, bedraggled state his heart leapt at the sight of her. She was a sorry sight indeed, yet, if anything, more beautiful to him.

  ‘Still drizzling then?’ He looked out the window at the foggy air.

  Violet looked up with a start. She’d been avoiding him since Sports Day, when she’d declared that they shouldn’t see each other.

  Mrs Brace was weighing some cheese on the scales. ‘Fog and rain in the middle of May. Where’s the sun and warmth gone?’

  ‘At least that would make up a little for the lack of food,’ said Hywel.

  ‘Not my doing,’ said the grocer, following her comment with a tut and a shake of her curly grey hair. ‘It’s this war, robbing us of necessities – and young men.’

  Hywel realised she was thinking of her two sons, both of whom had lived in Merthyr Tydfil before being conscripted.

  ‘Anyway, good afternoon to you, Mrs Jones. If you can call it good.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Brace.’

  ‘We were just talking about the bus drivers’ strike. Taking advantage during a war too. Whatever next. Of course, Mr Llewellyn here has a different viewpoint to me.’ All the while she kept her eyes on the cheese she was wrapping.

  ‘It’s the government what takes advantage, Mrs Brace. We can’t allow that either,’ he said.

  She grunted and placed the item in a sack bag. ‘Last of the cheese that was, so I ’ope you weren’t wanting some too, Mrs Jones.’

  ‘Not especially, though it would have been nice.’

  ‘Need to come in earlier then, you do. Of course, you’re working, but your mother-in-law could have popped round.’

  Violet looked crestfallen. ‘She was, um, feeling under the weather, apparently.’

  The addition of the last word made Hywel suspect she was nothing of the sort. More like being lazy and taking advantage. Anwen had told him she believed that Violet was having to do things in the house after work that Olwen could have done.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Mrs Brace. ‘Now, is there anything else, Mr Llewellyn?’

  ‘That loaf of bread, please.’ He pointed to the last one in the basket.

  Turning around to regard Violet once more, he saw the look of disappointment as she followed the bread’s journey to the counter.

  ‘Did you want some bread?’ Hywel asked.

  ‘It was one of the items, but if that’s the last one, you were here first.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ said Mrs Brace. ‘I don’t get as much delivered from the baker in Rhymney as Mrs Pane used to make though—’

  ‘You must have it,’ said Hywel, his tone insistent, knowing she’d turn it down otherwise. Already she was shaking her head. ‘Yes, you have little ones to feed. That’s far more important.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Violet. ‘Thank you, Hywel.’ She looked at the ground like a child who’d been
told off.

  ‘I was going to say,’ Mrs Brace carried on, ‘that I do have some homemade potato bread rolls that my daughter’s been baking in the back, if you can wait five minutes or so.’

  ‘Potato bread?’ Hywel didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘No need to turn your nose up till you’ve tried it. My daughter found a recipe in a magazine. We baked some and very nice they were. You do know the bread we sell has rye, barley and oats and even potato flour added now, don’t you?’

  ‘Does it?’ said Violet. ‘That would account for why it’s not as good as it used to be. And it’s more expensive.’

  ‘I had read that somewhere,’ said Hywel, omitting that he’d also read that it sometimes had chalk in it.

  ‘It’s up to you, of course.’ Mrs Brace looked put out.

  ‘Oh, go on then. Might as well give them a go,’ said Hywel.

  ‘Righty ho. I’ll go and see how they’re doing.’ She disappeared through a door behind the counter.

  Violet was examining the stack of tins of corned mutton and corned beef.

  ‘The butcher’s had some chicken in earlier, and a bit of beef,’ he told her.

  It was a few seconds before she replied, ‘This is cheaper.’

  ‘Ah. How are you and the children then?’ He purposefully didn’t mention Olwen the Ogre, as he’d recently nicknamed her, having remembered the fairy tales he’d read as a boy.

  ‘We’re fine, thank you.’

  He carried on staring at her, so she added, ‘Clarice is doing well at school. Benjy is growing at a pace. He’ll be three in August. It’s hard to believe.’ This was all delivered as if he were merely a neighbour she occasionally passed the time of day with.

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, ‘And is there any sign of Mrs Jones going home?’

  She let out an impatient sigh. ‘Hywel, I’ve already explained this to you.’

  ‘But she’s a controlling busybody who isn’t allowing you to lead your own life.’ He was going to say it, even if she no longer wanted to hear it.

  ‘I’ve said all I’m going to on the matter.’ It could have been his mother talking to him. Or Enid.