Ambitious Love

by Rosie Harris

  She was so blinded with tears of frustration and embarrassment that she stumbled awkwardly as she joined her classmates. Shaking like a leaf she took a deep breath and managed to regain her composure when she felt Sybel grab hold of her hand and squeeze it.

  The rest of the day passed in something of a haze. One minute she felt proud of what she’d done, the next embarrassed at making such a spectacle of herself.

  ‘You won’t forget your thirteenth birthday in a hurry,’ Sybel commented as they set off for home at the end of the day. ‘None of us will, if it comes to that. I never thought you’d have the nerve to go through with it,’ she added admiringly.

  ‘Let’s forget about it, shall we; don’t go saying anything in front of Mam and Dad, I don’t want to spoil my birthday tea. You are still coming, aren’t you?’ Fern asked.

  ‘Of course I am, as soon as I’ve nipped home to put on my best dress and picked up the present I’ve got for you.’

  ‘You needn’t bother to get changed, there’s no one else coming,’ Fern told her. ‘Barri won’t be there this year, remember,’ she added with a teasing smile.

  ‘We can always pretend that he is, or that he will be joining us before it all ends.’

  ‘I’ll see you in ten minutes, then.’ Fern laughed as they reached her house. ‘That will give me time to put my best dress on as well, if you insist that we must dress up.’

  When she answered the door to Sybel fifteen minutes later, Fern was still wearing the same clothes she’d had on when they’d come home from school.

  ‘I thought you were going to put your best dress on.’ Sybel pouted. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered, if I’d known you were going to stay in your school stuff.’

  She stopped as she saw that Fern’s cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘What’s the matter, are you in trouble over something? It’s not that speech you made?’

  Fern shook her head and waited for Sybel to come inside so that she could close the front door. ‘There’s been a telegram,’ she explained in a whisper.

  ‘You mean . . . you mean about Barri?’ Sybel’s grey eyes widened in alarm. ‘Do you mean bad news?’ she questioned.

  Fern nodded.

  ‘Has he been injured? Is it very bad? Are they sending him home? When did it happen?’ Sybel gabbled.

  Fern shook her head from side to side. ‘No, he’s not been injured; it’s far worse than that.’ She gulped as more tears streamed down her plump cheeks.

  ‘You mean . . . ?’ Sybel’s eyes widened even more. ‘Oh no, it can’t be true, Fern. There must be some mistake.’

  ‘No, there’s not. The telegram came early this afternoon. Mam’s taken to her bed and won’t talk to anyone. Dad should have gone on night shift but he’s getting someone to stand in for him because he’s so upset and feels he ought to be here with us.’

  ‘That’s terrible, Fern. Look, cariad, I think I’d better go, don’t you? Here,’ she thrust the parcel she’d brought into Fern’s hands. ‘I’ll tell my mam what’s happened,’ Sybel promised as her own eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sure that if you want her to do so, she’ll come and sit with your mam.’

  Fern nodded, sniffing back her tears and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘Will you be coming to school tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t think so, it depends how my mam is. If I don’t turn up, can you tell Mr Peterson why I’m not there before he calls the register at assembly?’

  ‘Of course I will. Shall I pop round after school and see how you are or would you rather I didn’t?’

  ‘Come round, I’d like to see you. Perhaps we can have our special tea then, that’s if Mam is feeling better.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that and . . . and try not to be too upset, though I don’t suppose you can help it. I shall probably cry my eyes out when I go to bed because he was special to me too.’

  ‘Sybel,’ Fern called after her as she started to walk away, ‘do you think it’s my fault? A sort of punishment for all the things I’ve been saying today?’

  ‘Don’t be so twp!’ Sybel exclaimed crossly. ‘Of course it isn’t your fault, however could it be?’

  Fern pushed her hair back from her tear-stained face. ‘Yes, I suppose I am being daft but you did warn me not to say all those things this morning and I took no notice of you,’ she said ruefully.

  Chapter Two

  As she closed the door behind Sybel and went back into the living room, Fern could hear her mother sobbing, so she went upstairs to see if there was anything she could do to comfort her.

  The speech she’d made at school that morning kept echoing in her head and she was more convinced than ever that what she’d said was right. Nevertheless, the realisation that Mr Peterson and perhaps many of the other teachers and even some of her classmates had thought she was being foolish and unpatriotic made her feel uneasy and even a trifle guilty but she knew there was nothing she could do about it now.

  Perhaps they would understand when they heard how distressed her mother was about Barri being killed, she thought miserably as she went upstairs. Not that it mattered what anyone thought, nothing was going to bring him back.

  In the days that followed she still couldn’t believe it was true that happy, smiling Barri was gone from their lives for ever. The thought that they would never see him with his cheeky grin again, or hear his cheerful whistle as he came down the road, filled her with despondency.

  Her mother was absolutely distraught; Fern felt sure that if his body had been brought back to England and they’d been able to bury him in the traditional way, then it would help to lessen her mother’s heart-rending grief. As it was, there would be no funeral, so they would not have a chance to say goodbye; there’d been no proper ending. Thinking about him and knowing that he would never come home again after the war ended was going to be agonising; it would be like waiting for something you looked forward to but which never happened.

  Fern stayed home from school for the rest of the week because her dad felt that her mother shouldn’t be left on her own. She did what she could to help by doing the shopping and having a hot meal ready for her dad when he came home but the house was like a mausoleum without her mother bustling around putting everything to rights. Wynne hovered around like a ghost, pale and listless, clutching a photograph of Barri and studying it from time to time as if to remind herself what he looked like.

  She had no interest in what was going on around her and barely touched the food that Fern put in front of her. She’d always been plump and cheerful but almost overnight she had not only lost weight but also looked so haggard and drawn that both Fern and Cradock were very worried about her.

  Fern struggled to keep things going but although she did her best she didn’t have her mother’s knack of running things or her skills when it came to preparing meals.

  ‘Things can’t go on like this any longer,’ Cradock stated at the end of the week. ‘I think it would be best if you went back to school next Monday, Fern.’

  ‘If you say so, Dad, but what about leaving Mam on her own – are you sure she will be all right?’

  ‘I’m hoping that when she finds you’re not here she’ll pull herself together and start taking care of things around the place once again so that everything will soon get back to normal.’ He sighed. ‘We’ll give it a try, anyway, cariad,’ he added, patting Fern’s shoulder.

  Wynne was in a tearful mood on Monday morning and, knowing that her dad’s shift started at two o’clock that day, Fern suggested that perhaps he should give her a note to take to school asking if she could come home at midday so that her mam wouldn’t be left on her own.

  ‘No, cariad, your education is too important and you’ve already missed out all last week.’ Cradock frowned worriedly. Then his face brightened, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll nip along and ask Bryn Evans if he will do my shift for me and then I’ll do his, which doesn’t start until ten o’clock tonight. That way, my lovely,’ he told Fern, pulling he
r close and planting a kiss on her brow, ‘you’ll be home long before I have to go out and I’ll be back here again to be with your mam before you go off to school in the morning.’

  It proved to be the perfect solution. Bryn agreed to change shifts with Cradock for the whole of the following week so that he could be at home while Fern was at school.

  As the days passed, much to Fern’s and Cradock’s relief, Wynne seemed to be considerably better. Although rather quiet and withdrawn, she appeared to be more resigned about what had happened and to have accepted the situation. Bit by bit she resumed her household duties and towards the end of the week it appeared that things were more or less back to normal.

  As Cradock was about to leave for the night shift on Friday, she surprised both him and Fern by saying, ‘Look, you can tell Bryn Evans that there’s no need for him to change shifts with you any more because I’m perfectly all right now. Thank him for his help and understanding and tell him I am very grateful to him.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news, cariad.’ Cradock beamed as he kissed her goodbye. ‘You mean things are back to normal from now on, then, my lovely?’

  ‘That’s right. Tomorrow I’m going to get Fern to help me pack up all our Barri’s belongings. I’ve already started sorting out his clothes and folding them up. I thought I’d pack everything that was his away in big boxes and when you come home tomorrow night you can put the whole lot of them up in the loft out of the way. They can stay there until I decide what I’m going to do with them. Once everything is out of sight and I don’t see them then I’m sure I’ll feel even better.’

  Fern looked shocked and was about to protest but a warning look from her father silenced her.

  ‘If that’s how your mam wants to handle things then go along with her,’ he said quietly as she followed him to the front door. ‘We all have to deal with this terrible loss in our own way, remember.’

  Although Fern knew he was probably right and that he, too, must be grieving in his own way, she still felt resentful that her mam intended to hide all Barri’s belongings. Seeing his coat hanging in the hallway, his long striped muffler still draped lopsidedly on its peg, was somehow comforting. It made her feel that perhaps the terrible news they’d received from the War Office might be a mistake after all and that any time now he would walk through the door, home on leave.

  She could picture him in her mind’s eye, head and shoulders taller than their dad with his dark hair brushed back from his forehead, a wide grin on his face, bursting into the kitchen, dumping his kitbag on the floor before giving them all a big hug.

  Fern wondered how her father felt about getting rid of all Barri’s things. She knew her mam was being practical and since she’d decided that it was the best way to deal with the situation they’d all have to go along with it.

  Nevertheless, she hoped she would have the chance to retrieve something or other as a memento, either with her mam’s permission or secretly, if she was against the idea.

  Probably she ought to keep something back as a keepsake for Sybel since she’d been so fond of Barri. Every day when they met up to walk to school the first thing she did was ask Fern if there had been any news from Barri, even though he sometimes sent a letter direct to her. When she did receive one she would carry it around for days, reading out odd bits, savouring each scrap, almost as if she was opening a box of chocolates and enjoying each one separately.

  Fern was quite sure that Sybel would love to have a keepsake, something that she could treasure for ever. Deciding what it was to be was the problem. If she asked her what she’d like to have and it was something her mam had already squirrelled away and refused to be parted with, then Sybel would be very disappointed. Perhaps it might be better if she said nothing but picked out something she thought would be suitable, Fern mused.

  She puzzled over what this should be. It had to be something very personal and the only things she could think of were his collection of cigarette cards or his stamp album.

  She took them out of the drawer in his room and spread them out on the counterpane on her bed. The stamp album still had a great many gaps but now she intended to go on filling them as her own personal tribute to Barri. She wouldn’t be able to do that, though, if she handed the album over to Sybel.

  The cigarette cards were also precious because there were several full sets, ranging from motor cars to flowers and even film stars. It had taken a lot of hard work to collect them – their dad usually rolled his own cigarettes because it was cheaper to do that than to buy them in a packet. Anyway, it was only the more expensive packets that contained cards and other children were avid collectors too. There was always a mad scramble if anyone spotted a discarded cigarette packet lying in the roadway, each child hoping that the card might still be inside the packet. If it was one they already had, then they would try and swap it for one they still needed to complete their own set.

  Fern was so intent on what she was doing that her mother’s sudden scream startled her so much that she felt goose bumps running along her arms. As she hurried into the next room where her mother was engrossed in sorting and folding Barri’s clothes, she heard the booming noise rolling down the valley. At the same moment she realised that the house was shaking as if a giant hand was rocking it.

  Her heart lurched with fear as she put her arms round her mother and held her close. They both knew only too well that the noise and shuddering meant that there had been an explosion at Big Pit.

  The rest of the night plunged them into even deeper heartache than they were already experiencing. Without a word, Wynne freed herself from Fern’s embrace and ran down the stairs and out into the street, heedless of the cold, damp night air.

  Fern stopped to grab her own coat and pick up her mother’s shawl before following her out into the roadway. Men and women were streaming out of their front doors and, along with Wynne, they were hot-footing it towards the pit.

  ‘Here, put this on, Mam, or you’ll be catching a chill,’ Fern panted, as she caught up with her mother and wrapped the shawl round her mother’s shoulders. ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘Word so far is that there’ve been two explosions up at Big Pit,’ Wynne told her worriedly as she straightened the shawl Fern had put round her and pulled it up over her head.

  By the time they reached Big Pit the rescue operation was already under way. The pit manager himself was there, waving his arms importantly and shouting out instructions as he endeavoured to clear a path for the rescue vehicles.

  He refused to give a statement about what had happened. As the crowd grew larger there were countless rumours not only about what had caused the explosion but also concerning the extent of the damage and the number of men trapped underground.

  Bryn Evans elbowed his way through the crowd in order to speak to Fern and her mother. ‘There’s sorry I am that your Cradock is one of those trapped underground,’ he told Wynne, ‘especially as I’m the one who should be down there by rights. If we hadn’t changed shifts again he’d be safe and sound at home with you.’

  ‘Nonsense; the arrangement was our doing, not yours, Bryn Evans,’ Wynne told him quickly. ‘Very grateful we were, see, that you agreed to change shifts with Cradock. You were doing us a good turn so there’s no call to start blaming yourself.’

  ‘Fair-dos, cariad, but remember, if there’s anything at all that I can do to help, then you’ve only got to ask,’ he told her sombrely.

  The hours dragged by and it was dark, cold and damp. The waiting seemed endless and was made worse by lack of information. Rescuers came and went but it was the early hours of Saturday morning and the bright early morning winter sun was creeping up over the top of the mountain before they started to bring the injured men out.

  Each time the cage came to the surface a hush fell over the scene as the waiting crowd strained their ears to catch the names of those who’d been brought up.

  The moment a name was called out family and friends would rush forward to help move him. Thos
e who were severely injured were loaded into waiting ambulances and taken to hospital. The less seriously hurt were sent home with the promise that the doctor would be calling on them as soon as he possibly could and that he’d check them over and tend to their cuts and grazes. Meanwhile, the families were advised to keep the injured men warm and as comfortable as they could.

  As friends or relatives accompanied the injured away the crowd gradually dwindled into a mere huddle of a dozen or more people, Wynne and Fern amongst them.

  As they continued waiting no one spoke; their hearts were too heavy because by now, for most of them, all hope had drained away.

  They knew the policy was to bring up the seriously injured first so that they could be taken to hospital. Next they brought out those who’d suffered only bruises and lacerations. The dead were left until last and now those who were still waiting were fearful that the next time the cage came to the surface the dead would be in it, their own loved ones among them. Then, although they could take them home, there would be no doctor calling the next day; his verdict would have been given already.

  There were only three men still missing and as their bodies were brought to the surface and their names called out, Cradock was one of them.

  Fern was shaking as though all her bones were about to disintegrate. She took her mother’s arm and accompanied her over the uneven ground to where Cradock’s body lay on a stretcher.

  Wynne was so numb with grief that she didn’t even utter a sound as she stood staring down at the inert figure, his features almost indistinguishable under the heavy coating of coal dust. When she was asked by one of the officials if she would confirm that it was the body of her husband, she merely nodded her head.

  It was Fern who spoke up and in a trembling voice stated, ‘Yes, that’s my dad; that’s Cradock Jenkins.’

  Bryn Evans, who had been hovering in the background, came forward and insisted on joining the small group of volunteers who’d offered to carry Cradock’s body back to his home.