by Vicky Adin
Gwenna
The Welsh Confectioner
~~~
Vicky Adin
Against overwhelming odds,
can she save her legacy?
(Set in Auckland, New Zealand)
Inspired by a true story, Gwenna The Welsh Confectioner
is a fascinating insight into
life in Auckland, New Zealand at the turn of the 20th century.
From the author of The Cornish Knot and Brigid The Girl from County Clare,
whose writing has been compared with that of Catherine Cookson.
Awarded
IndieB.R.A.G Medallion
Chill with a Book Readers’ Award
BGS Gold Quality Mark:
“This is a wonderfully well written, constructed and edited book. The story moves along at a good pace and the reader is pulled into the world and time in the first chapter.”
~~~
Utter brilliance. I was captivated from beginning to end. Vicky really brings the characters to life and you can really engage with what it must have been like to be a young girl like Gwenna going into business at the turn of the century in a male dominated society. I was totally engaged with every character, each one contributing to make this a truly wonderful story; my only disappointment was when it ended. This is the first book I have read by this author but it won’t be my last.
***** 5-star Amazon review
Copyright 2017 Vicky Adin
www.vickyadin.co.nz
Ebook ISBN 978-0-9951000-2-2
Ebook edited and produced by Adrienne Charlton
www.ampublishingnz.com
Also available as print book on Amazon or
visit www.vickyadin.co.nz – books
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as
the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval systems, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the author, with the exception of a book reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Book Cover Image: Queen Street, Auckland, c. 1895(?)
Courtesy of the Sir George Grey Special Collections,
Auckland Libraries, 7-A4799
Other books by Vicky Adin (see end)
The Cornish Knot
The Art of Secrets
Brigid The Girl from County Clare
The Disenchanted Soldier
Children’s book by Vicky Adin
Kazam!
CONTENTS
Glossary
1 Locked in the Past
2 Frustrations and Regrets
3 Doors open; doors close
4 Life-changing news
5 Dreams and schemes of lovers
6 Nothing changes until something changes
7 When options run out
8 The happiest day of a girl’s life
9 Future hopes
10 Learning to survive alone
11 The joy of reunion
12 Home is where the heart is
13 When circumstances couldn’t get any worse
14 Coming to terms with reality
15 Fortune or fate
16 On the road to discovery
17 A day or reckoning
18 Should he, shouldn’t he?
19 The agreement
20 Hiding the truth
21 A new life within reach
22 Against the tide
23 Surprises
24 The market turns
25 The start of a new dream
26 The grand opening
27 Success comes to those who try
28 Learning to forgive
29 The burden of responsibility
30 Happier times
31 New love overshadows the past
32 Caught in a whirlwind
33 Acceptance
34 Home truths
35 Opportunities come and go
36 Nightmares become reality
37 Schemes and dreams
38 Hope reigns supreme
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Other Books
GLOSSARY
Informal guide to pronunciation and meaning
Bach – barkh – little one
Cwtch – cootsh/cutsh – a special cuddle/a safe place
Bara brith – fruit cake
Karangahape Road – car-rarng-a-har-peh
www.kroad.com/heritage/the-meaning-of-karangahape/
Karapapa – cah-rarpa-pah – a native plant belonging to the honeysuckle family
Kauri – kho-ree – extremely tall New Zealand native tree
Maire – my-ree –New Zealand native tree
Pohutukawa – po-hoo-too-car-wah – New Zealand native tree with red flowers that bloom in summer. It is often referred to as the New Zealand Christmas tree as it flowers in December. Early flowering often means a great summer.
Puriri – poor-ree-ree – New Zealand native tree
Rimu – ree-moo – New Zealand native tree with weeping fronds
Shent-per-shent men – loan sharks
1
Locked in the past
Auckland, New Zealand
March 1899
For the moment, she felt free – deliciously free – only too aware the illusion would pass soon enough.
Gwenna Price hurried along busy Karangahape Road towards Turner’s, the greengrocer. Her boots crunched along the hardened grit as she swung her basket and called a cheery good morning to shopkeepers preparing for the day ahead. She loved watching them sweeping footpaths, cleaning windows or winding out the shop awnings, unless they were lucky enough to have a fixed verandah. Other merchants set their wares out in doorways and along their shopfronts, seemingly indifferent to the rattle of trams and clink of harness, or the clomp of horses’ hooves and bicycles whirring past.
Gwenna delighted in these sounds as the day came to life, exhilarated by all the hustle and bustle. She waved to the girl changing the window display in the milliner’s shop and stopped to pat a horse munching on oats in its nosebag, wishing her life could be as contented. In the distance, the sails on Partington’s Mill slowly turned in the breeze.
One day, she promised herself, she would be a part of all this busyness. One day.
She continued down the street, mentally ticking off her shopping list, thankful for the wide-brimmed bonnet shading her face. Her cool dimity blouse and pale grey skirt swishing around her ankles were a blessing in the warm air on a cloudless autumn day.
She pushed the niggling worry of her ailing half-brother Charlie to the back of her mind as the far more pressing worry of the charming and persistent Johnno Jones entered her thoughts. She was tempted to give in to the young man’s pleas, if only to escape life at home, except for one troublesome detail – his father, Black Jack Jones.
She and Johnno had known each other once in childhood days, when his father had been the local carter and used to do odd jobs for her pa, but they’d disappeared years ago. She’d all but forgotten about them until Johnno returned over the summer.
Deep in thought, Gwenna hadn’t seen Johnno appear, as if from nowhere, as he was wont to do. He’d grabbed her hand and spun her round like they were dancing, before his smiling face came into focus. His cap was set at its usual rakish angle. “How’s my favourite girl doing?”
She slapped his arm playfully, laughing, elated at the sight of him. Readjusting her hat, she tried to ignore the melting feeling that swept over her whenever he was near. As a youngster, with his impish smile and cheerful ways, Johnno ha
d been a popular lad for running messages. He still found occasional work, but nobody hired Black Jack any longer.
“What are you doing here at this time of day, Johnno? You near scared me to death,” she teased.
“Hoping to see you, of course. How can you ’xpect a man to go for so long without seeing yer pretty face?” Johnno twisted one of her freshly curled ringlets around his finger as he leaned closer.
At his touch, a flutter ignited in places too intimate to think about. “Away with you now. Enough of your flattery, and it’s not much more’n a week since you saw me last. I’ve work to do, ev’n if you don’t.”
“Aw, Gwenna. Don’t be like that. Walk with me aways. You make my heart glad, that you do, and I need some cheering.”
“So you always say.”
His glorious brown eyes, glowing with desire, threatened to devour her, and she couldn’t resist their unmistakable message.
“All right, then, but only a wee ways. I need to get the groceries home before that stepbrother of mine thinks I’ve been gone too long. I don’t want to feel the sting of his hand this day if I can avoid it.”
“Run away with me, sweet Gwenna, and I promise you’ll never feel the sting of a man’s hand ever again.”
He led her off the main road and down a couple of twisting alleyways until there was not a soul in sight. Gently pushing her back against the warmth of the brick wall, he kissed and caressed her with a lightness of touch that sent shivers through her body. The more she quivered, the more amorous he became. She lost her heart, as well as her hat, as the fiery passions of youth flared.
“Ah, Gwenna, me love. I wish you’d come away with me. What have you got to lose? Jack and me, we’re leaving this night to try our luck down south.” Johnno always called his father by his nickname. There were far too many John Joneses, even in Auckland, not to differentiate them in some way. “The wagon’s all loaded and only needs you to decorate it.”
Gwenna had heard this argument before, more than once, and it was enticing, but not if she had to be anywhere near his father: something evil burned in that man’s dark eyes.
If only Pa were still with us, she wished fervently. He would advise me. She shook her head to chase away her futile thoughts. Her stepbrother, Elias Hughes, was head of the household now, and life had changed.
“We’ve been through this afore, Johnno. Sometimes the devil ya know is better than the one you don’t. And I can’t leave Mam just yet. She’s enough on her plate caring for young Charlie. He’s mighty sickly, and Elias wouldn’t care whether he lives or dies.”
Never to be undone and always philosophical, Johnno shrugged his shoulders. “Well then, give us some more of those tasty kisses to take with me on me travels. I’ll have to store ’em up till I return.”
* * *
“Wherever have you been?” whispered Bethan as Gwenna eased the latch to the door, hoping she could pretend she’d been at home for a time before Elias found her. “He’s been looking for you.”
A trickle of fear turned Gwenna’s stomach sour, but the sight of her stepmam’s tired, wan face unsettled her more. Sitting in the big armchair next to the fireplace, Bethan nursed the sleeping Charlie on her knee. He was almost seven, but small and scrawny enough to be mistaken for a four-year-old.
A lump rose in Gwenna’s throat as Bethan began to sing softly in Welsh ‘Ar Hyd y Nos’ – the old hymn ‘All Through the Night’.
“Charlie’s so peaceful there, Mam. Don’t disturb him. You stay put and I’ll start the soup.”
“Be quick then, chook. He’ll be wanting you to make the sugar ready − not doing my chores. Charlie had a rough go earlier, coughing his little lungs out till he were sick. Poor fellow.”
Gwenna placed the basket of groceries on the kitchen table before going through to the scullery. She filled the pot with water from the butler’s sink and set it on the coal range to heat. Chatting away to Bethan about the gossip she’d picked up at the grocer’s, Gwenna sorted the vegetables.
She didn’t see the blow coming. As she stood up from getting a few parsnips from the bottom of the pantry, Elias slammed the door against her face, sending her staggering into the table. Before she could gather her wits, he was leaning over her, forcing her back into a painful arch. She could smell him. The foul odour of stale beer and sweat made her gag, and his cold, hard stare frightened her. Most times when he lost his temper and spittle flew from his mouth in his rage, he was content to push and shove, and sometimes slap her, but nothing like this.
Even as the blood seeped from a cut to her cheek and pain exploded in her nose, she refused to show her fear.
“I’ll break you in two one day, I will, if you don’t learn to do as you’re told. One hour, I said, then back here and ready the sugar. But what do I find?” Elias’s temper was rising and Gwenna’s body relaxed a fraction. He ran out of steam quicker when he was angry and often mistimed his blows. “I find you missing for more’n half the morning, the ol’ woman in there caring for the crybaby an’ you doin’ her chores instead of yer own, that’s what. An’ I won’t have it. Do you hear me? I’m head of this family now, and you’ll do what I tells ya.”
The open-handed slaps jerked her head first to one side then the other. As she prepared herself for the next blow, he turned away. Crossing to his mother, he grabbed her by the bun at the back of her neck and forced her to her feet. She barely had time to put the now wide awake and whimpering Charlie down before Elias shoved her in the direction of the scullery. “Get in there and do ya chores.”
Tripping from the force, Bethan would have fallen had Gwenna not caught her.
Elias’s hand was raised to strike again when the sound of the adjoining door stopped him in his tracks.
Hugh Powell filled the doorway. His muscles bulged under the rolled-up sleeves of his collarless white shirt, as he wiped his hands on a towel. His jaw clenched within a grim face.
“What do you want?” snapped Elias, spinning around and combing his fingers through his hair.
The women stood silent, watching from the safety of the scullery door, waiting for Elias’s next move. Hugh was broader than his employer and a good half-head taller. Elias had never challenged him, but there was always a first time.
“I’ve finished that batch of boiled sweets,” said Hugh.
Wise to his boss’s temper, Hugh said little. He had become a thorn in the other man’s side and someone Elias viewed as a necessary evil – someone with both the strength and skill needed to keep the business viable, but who saw what he shouldn’t.
Elias glared between the two women and Hugh, before pushing past him, and stormed into the back room where the large sugar-boiling kitchen was housed. Hugh followed, closing the door behind him.
“Let me see, Gwenna, bach,” Bethan coaxed, as she soaked a towel under the tap.
Gwenna, pale with shock and pain, leant against the door frame, holding her hands to her face, unable to control the trembling in her legs. At times like this, she sorely missed her pa George, who had died two years earlier of the bronchial disease Charlie now suffered from. Elias would not have dared touch her or Mam had Pa been alive.
“Come, sit down,” Bethan said, pressing the cold compress against Gwenna’s nose, and led her to the table. Gwenna’s sky-blue eyes filled with tears as she gaped in bewilderment at her beloved stepmother – the only mother she’d known.
“Why, Mam, why? He’s never been that vicious before.”
Bethan subdued her own tears as she fussed around inspecting the damage to Gwenna’s face, cleaning up the blood amongst the tears and runny nose. “I can’t answer you, my dear. I don’t understand him any more. He wasn’t like this as a child. You remember, don’t you? He was never moody and bad-tempered. Not until his father died. But now – since your pa’s gone – he seems to have lost his way.”
Gwenna’s memories of Elias’s father, Owen Hughes, were few, except as a funny, kind man. She’d been six years old when her widowed pa had
taken his two daughters to live with the Hughes family in Treorchy, in the Rhondda Valley of South Wales. Their life had been blissful for two whole years – until the accident.
Owen and Pa had built up a healthy trade together, boiling and stretching the sugar to make medicinal lozenges and every variety of sweets she could imagine. Every month Elias would hitch up the wagon and happily traverse the hills and valleys with his father, selling their goods for days on end.
One day, Owen didn’t come home.
In time, Gwenna had been told the full story of how, on a wet day, the wagon had got stuck in a muddy rut on a hill. How Owen had put his shoulder to the back, yelling at the boy to drive the horse forward, but the squealing, terrified animal kept slipping in the mire. As the cart lurched backwards, Owen was crushed under the wheels. Even now, Gwenna could picture the scene and hear the screams of both man and horse. She felt the agony of a young Elias who could not save his father. The scene had haunted her for years.
“Do you remember how inconsolable he was?” asked Bethan. “Elias blamed himself for his father’s death, and his grief was unbearable. Overnight he changed from my happy-go-lucky boy into a morose young man.”
Gwenna understood how barren Elias had felt, now she had lost her own father – and guilty. She understood guilt too.
“I remember, but that’s no excuse. Elias shouldn’t treat you like that, Mam. It’s not right.”
Nor me, she thought, as she ran her finger down Charlie’s cheek and smiled at the silent boy sitting on the chair next to her. His eyes, too big for his thin face, were troubled.
Bethan put ointment on the cut on Gwenna’s face, and placed a fresh, cold cloth over the girl’s throbbing nose. “He says I betrayed his father’s memory. Betrayed him, too. It was bad enough when I sought your father’s advice to keep the business running, but when I married George, and Charlie was born ...” Bethan drew another shuddering breath. “... Elias never forgave me.”
Once Bethan had finished tending to Gwenna, she tidied up and returned to the scullery. Picking up her favourite knife, Bethan began to chop the vegetables, the knife blade flashing as she vented her anger. Still holding the compress to her face, Gwenna watched.
