‘That won’t be round here,’ David’s father prophesised. ‘Come on, boy, drink up. It’s Christmas Eve. Time to bath and celebrate. Let’s see what your mother and Ellen have for our tea.’
Joe returned the last load of clothes to the house. Huw stood behind him when he lifted out the clock. He took it from Joe and returned it to Mary’s kitchen. When Huw returned, it was to see the Mary’s mirror and the boxes Annie had packed, heaped on the pavement.
Joe was in his van. He slid open his window. ‘When can we expect Sean’s inheritance to be delivered to our house?’
‘If the boy is entitled to anything you’ll get it soon enough,’ Huw answered.
Sean woke on Annie’s lap and started crying.
The alderman joined Huw. ‘Can’t you take the girl as well as the boy, Mr McCarthy?’
‘Impossible, sir. We have daughters of our own who have to come first. She’ll be better off in the workhouse.’
‘No child is better off in the workhouse than in a home with her family,’ the alderman protested.
‘She could be adopted soon,’ Annie reiterated.
‘Give the shortage of jobs and money in the valleys she stands a better chance of remaining in the orphanages until she’s sixteen, then being sent back to the workhouse,’ the alderman replied.
‘We have responsibilities to our own children …’ Joe began.
‘You have responsibilities to your dead brother’s children,’ Mrs Davies broke in. ‘If it was you and Annie in your coffins instead of Sean and Mary, they’d have taken your girls in.’
‘We can’t and we won’t and that’s an end to it!’ Joe pressed the ignition button. It caught on the third attempt. He hit his horn hard and kept his hand on it. The people gathered in the street moved back on to the pavements. Joe drove off to the accompaniment of Sean’s wails and cries of “Shame” and “Shame on you” from Mary’s neighbours.
Chapter Six
When Megan heard Joe’s van leave and the shouts from her neighbours, she went to her door. Colleen’s arms were wrapped tightly around her neck, her head buried in Megan’s shoulder as she sobbed for her mother. Huw was superintending the return of the boxes to the house. He looked at Colleen and shook his head.
Anxious not to prolong the scene she sensed brewing Glynis went to Megan. ‘Bethan and I will take Colleen now, Mrs Powell.’
‘Take her where?’ David Williams was walking down the street with William Powell and his father. As they joined the crowd gathered outside Mary’s house, the neighbours vied with one another to break the news to a new audience.
‘Joe McCarthy is sending his own flesh and blood to the workhouse!’ Will exclaimed. ‘We’ll take Colleen in – won’t we, Mam?’
‘How can you, William Powell?’ the alderman questioned. ‘Your mother works every morning. Your sister is in school and you’re down the pit. Who’d look after her?’
David stepped forward. ‘I’ll take her.’
‘You’re a boy …’
‘David, be reasonable,’ Freda protested. ‘You think I haven’t thought of that? We can’t afford another mouth to feed or body to clothe …’
‘I’ll pay for her.’
‘You?’ Freda echoed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not. I had a pay rise today. I’ll pay for her board, lodging, and clothes and she can sleep in our Ellen’s bed. I have my wages in my pocket for now and there’ll be five shillings more next week, Mam. I promise you, Colleen won’t cost you or Dad a penny.’
Freda looked to her husband. ‘David’s had a pay rise?’
‘He has.’
‘How old are you, boy?’ the alderman asked.
‘Fifteen.’
‘There’ll come a time when you’ll want a wife, and what will she say to you supporting a child?’
‘The kind of wife I want will understand why I took Colleen on, sir.’
‘You’ll pay all her expenses?’ David’s mother asked.
‘Every penny, Mam. I’ll sign a paper if you want me to.’
‘You work in the pit?’ the alderman checked.
‘I do, sir. I was made up to full repairman today.’
‘That’s quite something at fifteen,’ David’s father said proudly.
‘You’ve heard the rumours that the Maritime Pit is about to close?’
‘We’ve all heard those, alderman,’ David acknowledged.
‘What will you and the child do then?’
David patted Colleen’s back, she looked sideways at him, then held out her arms. Dirty as he was, he took her from Megan. ‘Then, sir, we’ll all be in trouble, but the workhouse most of all.’ He pointed at the crowd in the street. ‘Will you be able to get us all in there?’
*
‘Handing over a two-year-old girl to a fifteen-year-old boy might seem odd on the face of it, sir,’ Huw declared, ‘but looking at them, you can see they’re fond of one another.’
‘Have you an opinion on the matter, nurses?’ the alderman asked.
‘I know David, Ellen, and Mr and Mrs Williams, sir,’ Glynis declared. ‘Colleen will be well looked after by them.’
‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’
‘I can take her, alderman?’ David asked.
‘You can,’ the alderman agreed. ‘
‘The sooner the better, after she’s hugged you in your working clothes. Ellen, go in and fill a bowl with warm water from the bath we’ve got ready for your father and brother and wash her.’
‘Megan why don’t you and Di go in and pack up Colleen’ clothes and toys? You can’t expect David to take her as she is.’ Huw lifted the last of the boxes Annie McCarthy had packed from the pavement and carried it into Mary’s house. Megan and Diana went in after him.
‘Mrs Davies, are you going back to the Post Office?’ the alderman asked.
‘I am.’
‘Could you spare me a moment please?’
Trevor joined Glynis and Bethan. ‘Would you like a ride back to the workhouse?’
‘I would, thank you, Dr Lewis. You’re on duty tomorrow aren’t you, Bethan?’ Glynis asked.
‘Isn’t everyone on Christmas Day?’
‘Unfortunately,’ Glynis agreed, ‘because the Master and Matron believe that the entire staff’s presence is essential to make a good impression on the town councillors and Parish Guardians. Go and help your aunt, Bethan, then go home early. I’ll tell Matron, quite truthfully, that I left you sorting practical arrangements for Colleen McCarthy.’
‘If anyone should sort out her things it should be you,’ Bethan demurred.
‘I have one or two things to do in the workhouse before I finish for the day.’
Once Ellen carried Colleen into the Williams’ house, a cap was handed around the crowd. Trevor watched its progress and noticed the woman handing it bypassed the alderman when he left the Post Office, although he was returning his wallet to his inside pocket.
‘The alderman’s started a fund for Colleen McCarthy, hasn’t he?’ Trevor questioned.
‘He wouldn’t thank you for suggesting that, Dr Lewis, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I happen to know the alderman gives generously wherever there’s real need, and always anonymously, so I wouldn’t ask him about it if I were you,’ Glynis acknowledged.
Trevor put his hand in his pocket.
‘Keep your money until later, Dr Lewis,’ Glynis advised. ‘We’ll have a whip-round in the workhouse. I’ll see Mrs Davies gets it.’
‘Why Mrs Davies?’
‘Because I rather suspect a Post Office account has just been opened in Colleen’s name.’
Ted Harris took the two jugs of beer the landlady had served him from the hatch of the Jug and Bottle in the Rose and Crown.
‘A full gallon, Ted. You sure you don’t want me to leave them behind the bar until you and the porters are ready to drink them?’
‘They’re not for the porters. Pack of ten Woodbines as well please, love. Is the cellar open?’
/>
‘It is.’
‘Pay you when I come back.’
‘If you don’t, it’ll be the last time you drink in here.’
‘Thanks, love.’ Ted carried the jugs into the passage and down the steps to the cellar. He set the jugs on a shelf, went to the back and pulled the bolts on a door set in the back wall. He opened it, took a candle from a box, struck a match, lit it, retrieved the jugs and walked down a long passage.
After a few minutes he entered the workhouse cellar. Not many people in the town, or the Graig, knew about the underground tunnel that connected the workhouse cellars to the pub’s. If there’d ever been a reason to build it, the knowledge had been lost during the seventy years that had elapsed since the workhouse was built.
Ted blew out his candle and left it on the steps that led up to the boiler house. From there it was a short walk across the North Yard to the building that housed the male acute and isolation wards. He clutched the jugs to his chest as he pushed open the outside door. The wind had dropped. A few lights shone down from the windows of the Maternity Wards and G & H Wards, shedding an eerie half-light on his path. It was still raining, the steady, sticky kind that filled the air and coated everything with a freezing patina.
He heard the clock in St Catherine’s church tower strike seven as he knocked the door of the isolation ward.
‘Ted?’ Nurse Jones was surprised. ‘Thought you went off duty an hour ago.’
‘I did, but someone gave me a Christmas present for the men in the scabies ward.’
‘Want me to take it in?’
‘No, it’s all right. I will.’
‘You know the way.’
The major and his stooges were sitting on two beds they’d pulled close together, playing cards on a locker.
‘Here you are, boys. Some Christmas cheer for you.’ Ted set the jugs and Woodbines on an empty locker. ‘You can use these.’ He took four tin mugs from a shelf. ‘Don’t worry about the jugs. I’ll fetch them tomorrow.’
The major sniffed the jug. ‘Beer?’ His eyes lit up. ‘And cigarettes!’
‘After last night I thought you’d have matches.’
‘We do. But why …’
‘It’s a Christmas gift from grateful porters who didn’t have to go out begging for decorations.’
‘Very kind of the porters, to be sure, Mr Harris.’
‘Happy Christmas.’
‘And a Merry Christmas to you, Mr Harris.’ The major and his men saluted.
Ted Harris left quickly. His eyes were unaccountably damp. His vision blurred.
Sister Leyshon walked through the main gate of the workhouse, signed herself and Bethan off duty, and headed across the yard to J Ward.
The main ward was in darkness, the lights dimmed in the office and side rooms.
‘Have you prepared the room?’ she asked the duty sister.
‘I have. I couldn’t believe it when Matron agreed to your proposal.’
‘It will save on staff costs in the short term.’
‘I suppose it will. You asked if the room was ready, it’s no more than a cupboard.’ The sister opened a door and showed Glynis a room five feet wide by seven feet long, it was just large enough to hold a hospital bed and chair.
‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’ Glynis left, crossed the yard and went to M Ward, the main female pauper ward.
A ward maid opened the door to her. ‘Mrs Lark is still crying, Sister Leyshon.’
‘Not for much longer I hope.’
‘Last bed on the left.’
‘Sheila.’ Glynis had to touch her before she turned around.
‘I know you don’t feel like talking but I spoke to Matron earlier about you,’ Glynis whispered. ‘She agreed you can work here. It will be on a temporary basis to begin with.’
‘You found me a job?’
‘You won’t get paid, not at first, but Matron’s agreed to give you a month’s trial as a ward maid. If it works out the job could become permanent.’
‘My children …’
‘That’s the point, Sheila. You’ll be working on J Ward. You’ll have your own room there … well, more of a cupboard really. But you’d be able to see your daughter.’
Sheila sat up and swung her legs out of bed.
‘Matron insisted on one condition. She doesn’t want you to treat Lynda any differently from the other children – but Matron won’t always be around. Just watch yourself when she is.’
Sheila slipped her smock over her nightdress.
‘Put your clogs on. I’ll take you there now.’
*
‘That was lovely,’ Freda turned off the wireless. ‘Just think, we’ve been listening to Christmas carols that were being sung hundreds of miles away in London. My mother used to love good music. If I’d told her that one day we’d be listening to something like that in our house, she’d never have believed me. Not that you’d know anything about it, David, with your nose glued to a book.’
‘I can read and listen,’ David insisted.
‘No one can sit and read a book and listen to music at the same time,’ Freda persisted.
‘A library book?’ his father asked.
‘On geology. It explains why we have so many different kinds of rocks underground.’
‘It sounds a bit beyond me so I'll take your word for it.’ His father stretched as he left his chair. ‘I’ll go out and check on the dogs and pigeons.’
‘Ellen, time you and Colleen were in bed. She’s sleeping on her feet, and Santa won’t come if he sees you awake.’
‘Mam, I’m eight years old …’
‘Colleen’s nearly three.’ David reminded. ‘So Santa will be coming for her. Even if he doesn’t bring much tonight, he will next year.’
Ellen set Colleen down and left her chair. She held out her hand but Colleen went to David and kissed him goodnight before she took it.
‘I’ll be up to tuck you girls in shortly.’ Freda shook out the large red sock she’d been darning. ‘Here, Colleen, hung your stocking up next to Ellen’s before you go to bed.’
David left his chair and lifted Colleen so she could fold the sock over the brass bar set above the kitchen range. ‘Goodnight, Colleen.’ He watched Ellen take her out and close the door. He reached for his coat.
‘Where are you going, young man?’
‘To see what I can find for Colleen on the market.’
‘Isn’t that just like a man? Megan brought in the presents Mary had wrapped for Colleen when you and Dad were having your bath out back.’ She took a box from beneath her chair and handed it to him. ‘Fill Colleen’s stocking. If any of the parcels are too big, put them under the tree.’
‘Thanks, Mam.’
‘Don’t thank me, thank Megan and Mary. It’s a big responsibility you’ve taken on boy, but,’ she pursed her lips, ‘I’ll say this once, and only once. I’m proud of you for doing it.’
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Incredible as this will sound – this story is true. It was told to me by the granddaughter of the fifteen-year-old boy who was allowed to adopt an unwanted, orphaned two-year-old girl during the depression in Wales. The Parish Guardians were only too glad to avoid the expense of her board and lodging.
The boy paid all her expenses until she was old enough to work. They both lived long and happy lives, married (not to each other) and had children.
There are kind and generous people everywhere, but more than most in the Welsh Valleys.
Catrin Collier November 2013.
Published by Accent Press Ltd 2013
ISBN 9781783754878
Copyright © Catrin Collier 2013
The right of Catrin C
ollier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
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