by Lyn Andrews
She lifted the highly polished brass knocker of number ten and let it fall once, wondering now if the blue glass beads looked a bit tawdry.
‘Iris, come in,’ Florence greeted her, smiling broadly. ‘Isn’t it a gorgeous day? I think we’ll sit out in the garden, it’s much nicer than sitting in the living room which gets the sun all day and is rather hot and stuffy.’
Florence led her down the wide, carpeted hallway, which was decorated in shades of cream and eau-de-nil, and into a room at the back of the house: obviously a dining room, boasting French doors opening on to a garden. A plump fair-haired woman, fashionably dressed in a cream crêpe-de-Chine dress embellished with coffee-coloured lace inserts, was arranging flowers in a vase. She felt a little nervous, but as Mrs Taylor looked up and smiled warmly the feeling disappeared.
‘Iris, how lovely to meet you! Florence is always talking about you and she’s fortunate to have such a good friend. My husband is out in the garden, arranging the chairs so you can sit in the shade. Come through and I’ll introduce you.’
She was introduced to a tall, heavily built man; he was probably the same age as her da, she surmised, although his hair was grey and receding and deep lines were etched in his forehead as if he frowned a great deal. However, he shook her hand and greeted her warmly enough and then went back into the house leaving the girls alone. Iris had given her jacket, hat and the cake to Florence’s mother and she sat down beside her friend on one of the wrought-iron chairs that matched the small circular table. ‘This is a real treat, Florence, to be able to sit in such a lovely garden, it’s so … peaceful,’ she marvelled, thinking of their small, cramped back yard and the ever-present noises of the neighbourhood.
‘It was really thoughtful of you to bring a cake, Iris, I know Mother is delighted. Homemade too. She hardly ever bakes, she says it’s so time-consuming and she spends enough time in the kitchen preparing and cooking dinner. She has our bread and cakes delivered from the bakery.’
Iris nodded; it was just another example of the difference in their circumstances. ‘You have a really gorgeous house, Florence, so big compared to ours, but I suppose your father’s business is much bigger and more … profitable than my da’s.’
Florence looked concerned. ‘It’s not bothering you, is it? I don’t want you to think … Well, it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me, Iris, what kind of houses or jobs people have. You’re my friend, that’s what matters. I have never found it easy to make friends, not even at school, but from the first time I spoke to you I liked you.’
Iris smiled at her. ‘I liked you too and no, it doesn’t bother me that we come from different backgrounds.’
‘Good. Now, when is Rose going to stay with your Aunty Gwen? Has it been decided yet?’
‘At the beginning of the week after next. Mam is going to close the shop on the Tuesday and take her. Our Charlie made some enquiries and found that there’s a bus that goes to Denbigh twice a week; you have to change at Mold though. Aunty Gwen’s brother is going to meet them and take them out to Tregarron. Apparently he’s just got a tractor, the first in the village, so they can ride on the cart.’ She giggled. ‘I don’t know how happy either Mam or Rose are about that, it’s not exactly arriving “in style”, is it?’
‘What’s the alternative? Would they have to walk?’ Florence asked, thinking that it would be a very long walk for Rose, who wasn’t exactly strong yet.
‘No, it’s too far. Someone from the village would have met them with a pony and trap or something like that. I think if it were me I’d sooner travel like that than on the back of a farm cart. I’ve advised them both not to wear anything too good in case it gets dirty but Mam’s having none of it.’ She grimaced. ‘She’s already fussing about getting all Rose’s stuff washed and ironed and packed.’
‘Is she looking forward to going back to Tregarron after all these years?’ Florence asked.
‘She is. Da’s trying to persuade her to stay until the next bus comes back to Liverpool, it’s only a couple of days, but she says she can’t close the shop for so long. She’ll only be there a couple of hours.’
‘And is Rose getting excited? Too much turmoil won’t be good for her, Iris,’ Florence reminded her friend.
‘So Mam tells her but she keeps asking Mam things like is there a library in Denbigh? What kind of shops are there? Are there any events going on in the village in summer? She’d drive you mad with her questions.’
‘And are there any “events”?’ Florence was curious.
‘Mam says she thinks there is some kind of agricultural show or flower show, though what Rose would find there to interest her, I don’t know. And as for the shops in Denbigh, I think they’re all small and sell mainly food and household stuff. I hope she’s not going to expect anything like Frisby Dyke’s or Bunney’s or Blackler’s.’
Mrs Taylor appeared carrying a tea tray and both girls got up to help her set the table. There were small sandwiches, minus their crusts, laid out on top of a lace doily on one layer of a cake stand, some small fancy cakes on another and in pride of place the Victoria sponge, which had been cut into neat slices. It all looked very appetising and Iris made a mental note to tell her mam about it all.
‘Tell your mother this is the lightest sponge I’ve ever tasted, Iris. I had a small piece as I cut it up, it’s delicious! How is your sister now?’
‘Oh, she’s so much better and looking forward to her trip,’ Iris replied.
‘She just might enjoy it so much that she won’t want to come back. I think I could settle quite well in the country. I’ve been talking to Mr Taylor about moving somewhere away from Liverpool when he retires but he says he doesn’t envisage doing that for a long time yet.’
‘I don’t know if I’d enjoy living somewhere like Tregarron permanently,’ Florence added, thinking it was the first she’d heard of this. ‘But it would be lovely for a change.’
‘It would drive me mad! No, Rose will have to come back home whether she wants to or not. She can’t stay with Aunty Gwen for ever. Even if she doesn’t go back to work in that hotel, she’ll have to get some kind of a job,’ Iris said firmly, sipping her tea.
‘Perhaps she could help your mother in the shop, Iris?’ Mrs Taylor suggested.
Iris nodded, wondering if this was something her mam had thought of already.
‘Before you go, Iris, I’ve some magazines I’ve finished with; perhaps you could take them for your mother?’ Mrs Taylor offered.
Iris nodded but privately wondered just when her mam, between running a home and a shop, would get the time to read them. Maybe her mam and Rose could look through them on the bus to Denbigh.
When she arrived home she deposited the magazines on the kitchen table thankfully; they’d been a bit of a nuisance to carry and also rather on the heavy side. ‘Florence’s mam sent these for you to read on the bus,’ she informed Kate.
‘What, all of them? How long does she think it takes?’ Kate asked, eyeing the pile and thinking there must be at least a dozen of them.
Iris shrugged as she took off her jacket and hat. ‘She also said your cake was delicious, the lightest she’d ever tasted. According to Florence they only ever have shop-bought bread and cakes.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t bake their own bread for a large shop-bought loaf cost sixpence and didn’t go very far in a big family. Surely a woman in Mrs Taylor’s position had plenty of time to bake? But she was pleased by the compliment just the same.
‘She seems quite taken with the idea of moving to somewhere like Tregarron when Florence’s da retires,’ Iris went on.
‘Is he thinking of doing that? He can’t be all that old,’ Bill asked.
‘I think he’s about the same age as you, Da, or perhaps a bit older. At least he looks it, but I don’t think he’s about to retire. I think it’s just wishful thinking on Mrs Taylor’s part. I did enjoy myself though; we sat out in the garden at the back of the house and had o
ur tea there. It was so quiet, Mam, and they have a small front garden too.’ Iris sat down opposite her mother.
‘Oh, wouldn’t that be a treat? You certainly wouldn’t want to sit out in that yard. Now, tell me all about the house and Florence’s mother,’ Kate pressed, wanting to learn more about this woman who didn’t work or run a business, who lived in a house with two gardens and who didn’t bake.
Charlie appeared engrossed in the article he was reading in the Sunday newspaper but he was listening intently to everything Iris was saying, remembering too how she had said Florence’s father looked older than his da. Running a business on the scale of Taylor’s Coal Merchants must be quite worrying, he thought, and with no sons to either help or leave the business to – only Florence and what would a young girl like her know about business? The wife didn’t seem to be all that interested in it either. If Iris was to be believed she wanted him to retire and move out of Liverpool and maybe in time he would, providing there was someone he could trust to run the business for him … a son-in-law perhaps?
An idea was taking shape in his mind. Why not? Florence was pretty enough, well brought up and probably not as strong-willed as Iris. It could be just the opportunity he was looking for to become both successful and well off and as far as he could see opportunities like that were as rare as hens’ teeth. He’d survived the war and he’d sworn that he wouldn’t waste the rest of his life, which was just what he would do if he remained a clerk with the Blue Funnel Line for ever, slaving away for a pittance to put money in someone else’s pocket. No, he hadn’t endured the horrors of the trenches just to come back to a menial position and a hand-to-mouth existence. He wanted something far better than that.
Chapter Five
ROSE WATCHED THROUGH THE window of the bus as the Cheshire countryside slipped by: green fields dotted with trees in the shade of which rested black and white cattle. She’d bade a rather bittersweet farewell to her da and Iris and Charlie. Her emotions had been torn between the exciting prospect of a stay in Tregarron and the fact that she would miss them all. There had been tears in her eyes as her da had hugged her and said how he’d miss seeing her every day and Iris had said she’d have no one to relate the events of her day to; even Charlie had said it wouldn’t be the same without her chattering on at suppertime. But it was only for a few weeks, she’d reminded them.
The fields gradually gave way to gently rolling hills grazed by sheep as they travelled on and into the Vale of Clwyd. Kate had taken this rare opportunity of some leisure time to read one of the magazines Mrs Taylor had sent her and they were both quite surprised at how soon the bus stopped in the small town of Mold. Kate helped Rose with her case as they transferred to another vehicle.
After an hour they reached the market town of Denbigh. Rose stepped on to the pavement outside the pub where the bus service terminated and looked eagerly around. In front of her was an open cobbled space where a tractor and cart had pulled up; the narrow street they’d come down was steep and lined with small shops and there seemed to be plenty of people about. Of course it was nearing lunchtime, she realised.
Kate was eyeing the farm cart with some apprehension as Gwen’s brother Bob climbed down from the tractor and came towards them, smiling broadly.
‘My, but you’ve grown up a fine woman, Katie Fairfax!’ he said in his musical voice, taking her hand.
‘It’s a long time since anyone called me that, Bob. It’s good to see you again. I hope the family are all well?’
‘Megan is looking forward to meeting you and those lads of mine can’t wait to meet young Rose but don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on them,’ he laughed, turning to Rose. ‘She must take after her da, Katie, but you’re a fine-looking girl just the same and very welcome, Rose.’
Rose blushed as she smiled at him. He took her case and effortlessly stowed it on the back of the cart.
‘Cause quite a stir in the village with those looks, she will, Katie,’ he said quietly to Kate. ‘Now, I’ll give you a hand up. There’s clean straw and a rug over it so you should be comfortable. We’ll get back quicker than you would if old Glyn Morgan had come to fetch you in that little trap of his, the pony’s nearly as old as he is and can’t even manage a trot these days.’
To Kate’s relief they were both quite comfortable and as they drew out of the town and into the countryside she began to look forward to seeing Tregarron and Gwen again. Meanwhile Rose clung quite happily to the side of the cart, eagerly anticipating her first sight of the village.
When finally they reached the place where the road forked Kate pointed left. ‘Down there is Bob’s farm. They call that part of the road the “Garn”, it more or less goes in a complete circle around the village.’
‘So we’re here?’ Rose asked, noting a fine house with a yard behind it and a board which proclaimed it belonged to ‘Jenkins’s Builders & Carpenters’.
‘We are. There’s the school and chapel over there and beyond that is the forge, then over there is the lane that leads to the mill,’ Kate informed her gaily, thinking the place had hardly changed at all over the years.
Small cottages lined the road and then there was a butcher’s shop, a general store and finally the post office. ‘That must be Gwen’s cottage, just beside the shop,’ Kate said as the tractor slowed down and finally stopped. Bob jumped down and came to help them down.
Rose looked curiously at the small stone cottage; it looked just like something you saw on the lid of chocolate boxes, she thought. It wasn’t thatched though, the roof was of slate, but the windows were small and there was a miniscule garden in front full of flowers and a climbing rose around the front door, laden with deep pink blooms.
Gwen Roberts appeared in the door of the post office, a neat navy shop coat over her white blouse with its cameo brooch pinned at the neck, her brown hair confined tidily in a small bun, her dark, bird-like eyes full of delight. ‘Kate! Ah, isn’t it lovely to see you,’ she exclaimed as she hugged Kate and then turned to Rose. ‘And you too, Rose, how are you feeling now, cariad? Come on into the shop till I finish sorting out Mrs Davies’s parcel, then I’ll close up for lunch and we’ll get Rose settled and have a bite to eat.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Bob, will you wait for a cup of tea?’
‘No thanks, Gwennie, luv. Megan will have the dinner ready for us. No doubt I’ll be seeing you again soon, Rose, and it was a real pleasure, Katie, to see you. Megan said be sure to tell you to call in if you’re passing by.’ He waved as he climbed back on to the tractor and Kate and Rose followed Gwen into the shop.
Rose was introduced to old Mrs Davies who inspected her closely from head to foot. The whole village was aware that the girl from Liverpool who had recently been poorly was arriving today and she was pleased she was the first to see her. Then Gwen put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door and they went next door.
‘Oh, it’s lovely, Gwen! Haven’t you got some nice things? I remember that clock, didn’t your mam have it in the hall at Bryn-y-Garn?’ Kate asked, looking around the small living room with its chintz-covered sofa, gate-leg table and chairs, bright rag rugs and many highly polished brass and copper ornaments and utensils above the black-leaded range and the grandfather clock.
‘She did! Fancy you remembering it, Kate. Most things in here were Mam’s; Bob kept a few bits after she died and I got the rest. Now, I’ll put the kettle on and while it’s boiling I’ll take you upstairs and show you where Rose is to sleep.’
Rose followed her mother and Gwen up the very narrow stone staircase set beside the range which led to the two small bedrooms above, one either side of the tiny landing.
The room seemed smaller than her room at home but she deduced that was because of the much lower ceiling and small, low window. There was pretty flower-patterned wallpaper on the walls, a comfortable-looking bed with clean white sheets and pillowcases and a patchwork quilt, an old-fashioned marble-topped washstand with a china bowl and jug set and a fresh white towel, a wardrobe and a chest. As Kate compli
mented her friend on the comfort and cleanliness of the room Rose looked out of the window, kneeling on the cushion placed in the deep embrasure. There was a small garden at the back and beyond that fields stretching away for miles, bounded by dry stone walls, and in the distance she could see a copse of trees.
‘We’ll leave you to unpack, Rose. I’m going to help Gwen, then before I have to go back for the bus, we’ll take a walk around the village,’ Kate said before following Gwen downstairs where Rose heard them chatting and laughing happily.
She pulled the sash window down further and breathed deeply. She could smell the perfume of the flowers in the garden and the only sounds were birdsong, the buzzing of the bees amongst the flowers and the faint, far-off lowing of a cow. It was so quiet, so peaceful here and she had immediately loved the cottage and felt at home. Yes, she really believed she would be happy here, just as Mam had been all those years ago, and she was looking forward to seeing the rest of the village.
Their progress on their walk was rather slower than Kate had envisaged for people called to them over garden walls or stopped to chat, a few remembering Kate but most only knowing what Gwen had told them about her friend and her daughter. When they were stopped by the minister’s wife, Kate remembered her as Bethan Jones who had been a friend of Gwen’s since they were at school.
‘It’s a very long time since I last saw you, Bethan. Quite a tomboy you were then if I remember rightly,’ Kate remarked.
‘Not an attribute that suits a minister’s wife, Kate, doesn’t go down too well with the parishioners,’ the woman laughed. ‘No, thankfully I grew out of all that. Since I married Owen Williams I’ve been dignity personified. This must be Rose. I hear you’ve been ill, dear?’
‘I’m much better now, thank you, Mrs Williams,’ Rose answered, wondering if everyone knew absolutely everything about everyone in this village.
