‘Yes. The sergeant came directly afterwards to inform me. I realised, of course, that those papers were missing, even before Mr Smith came into the bookshop to blackmail me. But I didn’t give in to his demands, for who knows how long it would have carried on. I only thought he’d tell people, not that he’d set the building on fire.’
‘What a wicked family they are,’ said Gwen.
‘At least we have been able to source some materials, as difficult as it’s been, and will be able to begin work rebuilding the bookshop soon.’ He tipped his head to one side and regarded it sadly. ‘Whether people will return, knowing now that my good lady wife was born in Germany, I have no idea.’
‘The crowd who saw Gus’s family arrested were quite supportive of you, I feel,’ said Gwen.
‘That is heartening, though I dare say not all will feel like that. Dear Mirjam’s parents moved to Amsterdam when she was ten. That is where we met. She has no sympathy with the Kaiser and his expansionist plan. But people might only consider that she is German by birth. Still, the men helping here have been kind. And I dare say there are worse things happening in the world. Excuse me, I must go and help. Good day, ladies. I hope you will return to my bookshop when it is open again.’
‘Of course we will,’ said Anwen. ‘Please, do pass on our best wishes to Mrs Schenck.’
‘Yes, do,’ said Gwen. When he’d crossed the road, she whispered, ‘He’s always such a patient, forgiving man. I wish I could be like that.’
‘You’ll get over Ralph Tallis in time.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of him.’
But Anwen was sure she was.
* * *
Violet had never felt so lonely as she did at that moment, despite joining a long queue of people outside the butcher’s. Several of them jostled to see what was available through the almost empty window that was normally full of hanging hams and other treats. Only two scrawny rabbits hung there today. The jostling resulted in the people at the front being shoved into the doorway and knocking into others.
‘Stop that now!’ Gertie Pritchard’s voice could be heard barking from within. ‘There’s no point shoving. You won’t get served any the quicker. In fact, I’ll be throwing out anyone who doesn’t behave.’
Violet greeted Rhonwen Evans in front, who she knew only vaguely, then pulled Benjy in closer to her so that someone could pass them on the pavement. Today was her twenty-third birthday. Olwen had clearly not remembered and therefore had not reminded the children, so that they’d failed to produce even a homemade birthday card. Last year, Hywel, who’d still been lodging with her, had organised them, buying some small treats on behalf of the children and taking them to pick wildflowers on the mountain. She felt the hurt swell up in her chest, pushing it back immediately. There’d been a card and a brief letter from her parents, that was all, but nothing from her sister. There’d not even been anything from Gwen, who’d only nodded at her politely in church in the last couple of weeks. She’d looked sad, and Violet had wondered whether she’d done something else wrong.
No point in getting upset here. And who was she, to have her birthday remembered? Oh, but it was nice to be considered just a little bit important by others sometimes.
Mr Schenck came up the road from Noah’s house, smarter today than he had been recently in his overalls.
‘Good morning, Mrs Jones,’ he said, as he joined the queue behind her. ‘My good lady wife has sent me out to seek some meat. The queue seems to get longer each day.’
‘I’m afraid, despite it being just after nine, that there will be little left by the time we reach the shop.’
‘I hungry,’ said Benjy, looking up with appeal in his eyes.
‘You had breakfast,’ she said, in case anyone thought she hadn’t fed him today. It had only been bread and some tinned corned beef scraps, but it was more than she’d had. Her stomach grumbled, confirming this fact.
‘Ah, the young are always hungry,’ said Mr Schenck. ‘Noah’s children, young Anika and Eduard, are always twittering like baby birds for food.’
Rhonwen Evans turned towards them. ‘Well our poor children and grandchildren aren’t going to get the food they need all the time the supplies coming in are being bombed by the U-boats. I feel for my poor Mabel and her little Lily. And it’s not like the separation allowance is as much as her Maurice was bringing back from the mine. Look sharp, like, we’re moving up.’
The queue shuffled along a few feet. The older woman standing in front of Rhonwen, who Violet recognised from her years sorting coal, turned round. Her face was grubby, as if soap never quite got all the coal dust off. ‘I don’t think this war is going to finish anytime soon, look you. Not from what my Jim read in the newspapers. Over one hundred and fifty killed yesterday in that raid over London, and over four hundred and forty injured. Highest toll ever, they reckon. So it’s not just the Zepps what’s causing trouble now. And them aeroplanes seem a lot speedier too. Who knows but they might be nipping over our way.’
‘I ’ope not,’ said Rhonwen, ‘for we’ve enough with pit explosions and scoundrels setting fires, without bombs as well, haven’t we Mr Schenck?’
‘We have that, Mrs Evans.’
By this time they’d reached the door. Violet could detect the odour of fresh meat and saltiness.
‘We go gardens, Mam?’ said Benjy.
‘Maybe later, cariad,’ said Violet. ‘You’d like some meat for your supper, wouldn’t you?’
‘I like eggy,’ he said with conviction.
‘We’ll see what’s left at the grocer’s.’
At last they were in the shop itself. Rhonwen went forward to be served by the assistant. It looked like Violet might get Gertie Pritchard, which she didn’t relish. But Rhonwen was finished more quickly than the other woman, so Violet was fortunate to get the cheerful young lad who was not yet old enough to be conscripted.
She looked at what was on offer at the counter. No ‘proper meat’, as Olwen would have put it. A bit of cow’s liver and other offal, some tripe and a couple of pigeons. Then there were the rabbits in the window.
‘Not a lot of choice, is there?’ said the other customer, regarding Violet while her purchase was wrapped.
‘It’s not our fault,’ said Gertie. ‘Lot of meat’s being sent to the Front and we’re left with the scraps. And there aren’t the farm workers there were. Been conscripted, they have. Don’t know how we butchers are meant to survive.’ She handed the parcel over.
As she left, the customer muttered, ‘That’s why your daughter goes thieving, is it?’
‘What was that you said?’ Gertie lifted the meat cleaver.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
The customer walked towards the door and Mr Schenck stepped up to the counter.
‘I’m not serving you,’ said Gertie. ‘Your wife’s an enemy. I’m not feeding the enemy.’
‘His wife is officially Dutch,’ said Violet. ‘And you can’t refuse to serve him.’
‘I think you’ll find I can do whatever I like in my own shop.’
‘I don’t think you can,’ said Winnie Price, who was now near the front of the queue. ‘You’re the only butcher in the village. Against the law that’ll be, not to serve someone. But here’s the person to tell you.’ She put her hand to her mouth and called, ‘Sergeant Harries! Over here.’ She beckoned him.
He was soon in the shop, huffing in exasperation. ‘What’s the problem now?’
‘Mrs Pritchard is refusing to serve Mr Schenck because she says his wife’s German,’ said Violet.
‘As I understand it, she has Dutch citizenship,’ said Harries.
‘I bet this is about Rose being arrested for breaking into the bookshop,’ said Winnie. ‘But that’s the police’s fault, not Mr Schenck’s.’
‘I am not serving a German sympathiser, for that’s what he’ll be, married to a German.’ She crossed her arms and stood her ground.
Stanley Pritchard came into the shop with a tray of fre
sh mutton pieces that made some of the customers who could see it whisper excitedly. ‘What’s all this, then?’ he said to his wife. ‘Refusing to serve customers? You can stop that right now, Gertie, for I’m not refusing to serve no one.’
‘Very wise,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’
‘Now find out what it is that Mr Schenck wants and get it wrapped up for him. I’m not having any more trouble in this family, you hear?’
Gertie glowered at her husband, then regarded the bookseller with cold eyes. ‘What can I get you, Mr Schenck?’
Violet was glad to escape the shop with her offal and mutton pieces. The latter had made a dent in her purse, but it was the most meat she’d been able to purchase for a while. She’d make a stew and bulk it out with vegetables from Mr James and as much as she could gather from the hillside and woods.
About to head up to the greengrocer’s on the corner of Edward Street, she saw a familiar figure go through the doors.
‘There Aunty Anwen,’ said Benjy, pointing up. ‘We see her?’
‘Not now,’ said Violet. ‘I’ve got to go to the grocer’s first.’
Benjy pushed out his bottom lip in disappointment. ‘I wish we could.’
She rubbed his hand affectionately. She wished she could too.
And even more so, Hywel.
* * *
It had seemed a long service today at the chapel, what with the minister’s sermon being full of fancy words and ideas that Violet was hard pushed to keep her mind on. It had consequently wandered, tempting her to look across the aisle to where Hywel was sitting. They were only this close because she and Olwen had been late to chapel and had had to sit where they could find two seats. Benjy was perched on her lap. Clarice was in the Sunday School in a room next to the one they would soon gather in for a cup of tea.
‘Hmph!’ said Olwen, alerting Violet to an upcoming moan of disapproval. ‘I see that Gertie Pritchard’s turned up today. Never seen her in here before. Not God-fearing people, them Pritchards.’
Violet wondered what constituted a God-fearing person in Olwen’s mind, given the threats she’d made to have her committed. The horror of that menace hung over her. She hugged Benjy closer, trying not to imagine what it would be like to miss your own children growing up.
‘Shift along now,’ said Olwen. ‘I want my cup of tea.’
Violet did as she was told, carrying Benjy through to the other room. Clarice soon spotted them and left the side of her Sunday School teacher, Miss Mabe, to run to them.
‘Can I take Benjy to play with my friends in the other room?’ she asked. ‘Miss Mabe bringed toys for us.’
‘Of course you can, cariad,’ said Violet.
Once they’d fetched their tea, Olwen joined a group of women discussing the abdication of King Constantine of Greece in favour of his son. Violet stood on the perimeter, looking around for Gwen, the only good friend she felt she had now. She spied her in the middle of the room, but she was disappointed to see she was talking to Anwen.
Gertie Pritchard stood nearby, her head tipped to one side as if listening in.
‘German sympathiser that King is,’ said Winnie Price. ‘Maybe now the son’s in charge, Greece will come in on the side of the allies.’
‘Bit late for my Brenda’s Harold,’ said Mollie Prior. ‘Killed at Mametz, he was.’
‘We know, dear,’ said Winnie. ‘But with more countries getting involved, maybe the rest of our boys can come home the quicker.’
Gertie stepped towards them. ‘Everywhere they are, German sympathisers.’
‘Oh, now don’t you turn this into another outburst about Mr Schenck and his wife,’ said Winnie.
Most of the other women nodded in agreement, except for Olwen. ‘I agree with Mrs Pritchard. Can’t be too careful. We should be ejecting the likes of the Schencks from the village.’
Violet desperately wanted to defend Mr Schenck but was afraid once again of what her mother-in-law would do. Unfortunately, Enid chose that moment to pass by.
‘I don’t know why I’d expect any other opinion from you, Olwen Jones.’
‘I’m allowed an opinion,’ she said. ‘As is Mrs Pritchard here. There are too many people in this village should be brought to book, including lechers. Some men should keep theirselves to theirselves and leave poor widow women alone.’
Why did her mother-in-law have to twist the subject back to that? Violet wished she could be anywhere else right now. Even the asylum seemed a saner place than this. Her heart thumped in her chest and she found it hard to breathe. She wanted to run away but couldn’t move. It didn’t help that other groups of people were starting to pay attention and she felt the room moving in on her.
Enid leant her grimacing face forward, getting ready to throw back a comment, but she was stalled by Gertie.
‘Talking of lechers and Harold Prothero, what about those soldiers in our village who’ve brought back more than tales of war?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Winnie.
Molly Prior stepped towards Gertie. ‘That’s nobody else’s business, look you.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Gertie. ‘Don’t want more people getting the pox, do we?’
‘The pox?’ squealed Olwen.
‘Yes, like Mrs Prior’s son-in-law, Harold, gave to her daughter, Brenda.’
The young woman in question, who’d been close by talking to the minister’s wife, fled the room, barging past people. Violet feared what might be coming, though she knew she was free of syphilis. Anabel Thomas moved swiftly away.
‘You stupid woman,’ said Molly. ‘Where the hell did you hear such a thing?’
‘Keeps my ears open I do, in the shop. Amazing it is, what you hear. Reckon the soldiers are having a right old time, getting up to all sorts with the French whores. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if all the wives were infected.’
‘My Charlie wouldn’t have got up to those tricks,’ said Olwen.
‘Mrs Pritchard, could I ask you to come this way please,’ said Pastor Thomas, appearing through the throng. Anabel must have been to fetch him.
‘Yes, go away,’ said Molly. ‘For you’re not a regular here. In fact, never shown your face before.’
‘Not till I’ve had my say. The soldiers’ wives here need to watch out they don’t have the pox, especially your Violet.’ She pointed at Olwen. ‘For she’ll be spreading it round the village, if what you say about the men here chasing after her is true.’ She turned towards Enid. ‘And, of course, she’s been seen with your brother Hywel, so he probably has it now.’
Pastor Thomas tried again. ‘That is quite enough, Mrs Pritchard.’
‘You can shut up too,’ said Gertie.
Where was Elizabeth when she could be really useful, thought Violet, for she had more authority than most. She hadn’t seen her in chapel today.
Hywel came charging through the congregation out of nowhere as Enid said, ‘Don’t you talk about my brother like that.’
‘And don’t talk about my son like that,’ said Olwen, turning against Gertie now.
Her son, not her daughter-in-law, not Violet. No, she had no worth. Who cared about her reputation and feelings? Violet was on the verge of screaming. Maybe she really should be in the asylum.
‘I suggest you don’t talk about anyone like that,’ said Hywel, ‘for it’s slander you’ll be taken to court for.’
‘To hell with you, for it’s not slander when my Rose saw you, and her,’ she jabbed her finger in Violet’s direction, ‘hiding away on the path at the end of Lloyd Street. God knows what you were getting up to but no doubt you’ll get the pox too, and serves you right.’
Violet’s head was spinning. How had a conversation about the Greek king become about her and Hywel and… Her thoughts stalled as she dropped her teacup and blackness descended.
* * *
Anwen panicked when she saw Violet slip to the ground in a faint. About to run to her side, Gwen beat her to it. It was probably bet
ter not to go, what with Olwen kneeling next to her, shouting that it was all Gertie’s fault. The pastor’s wife hastily cleared the broken china.
Hywel leant over her, calling, ‘Violet, Violet.’
‘Get away from her you, you depraved creature,’ Olwen shouted.
He rose immediately, but took only one step back, his face filled with concern.
Anwen wondered what to do for the best. Then she remembered Dr Roberts had been talking to someone by the pulpit as she’d come through for her tea. He didn’t seem to be in this room, so maybe he was still there. She ran out, spotting him in the same place.
‘Dr Roberts! Come quickly. Violet has passed out.’
The doctor leapt forward, following her into the other room. A path cleared for him.
‘What happened?’ he asked, hunkering down next to Violet.
Gwen moved out of the way to give the doctor room and stood with Anwen, but Olwen wouldn’t budge. The room was now silent, all eyes towards the source of the trouble.
‘It were her,’ Olwen hollered, pointing to Gertie. ‘Her and her filthy talk of the pox and French whores and of soldiers giving it to their wives here.’
‘Stop yelling, Mrs Jones,’ said Dr Roberts. ‘You are not helping.’
‘I’m only telling what I’ve heard,’ said Gertie. ‘That Brenda Prothero got the pox from her Harold. Makes sense the other soldiers would pass it on too if they’ve all been to the whorehouses. Now it looks like Violet’s got—’
‘That’s enough,’ said the doctor, taking her pulse and examining her. ‘Now, what happened?’
‘She just fainted,’ said Olwen. ‘I hope she’s not pregnant.’ She glared at Hywel.
‘Don’t you be looking at me like that,’ said Hywel, ‘for I’ve done nothing like you’re thinking. And Violet is a respectable woman, despite what you say. You’re the one with the dirty mind here… And you.’ He looked towards Gertie.
There was a groan and Anwen was relieved to see Violet coming round. What could be wrong with her? She’d become even thinner of late. A chill ran through her. What if it was the consumption? Since Sara’s death, she’d been obsessed with the disease, seeing it in everyone who was a bit poorly.
War in the Valleys Page 33
