Pontypridd 07 - Spoils of War

by Catrin Collier

  ‘Thank you, all of you.’ Peter helped Liza into the car Ronnie had allowed him to borrow from the garage, then walked round to the driver’s side.

  Alma pressed a small package into Liza’s hand. ‘Something from a mother to a daughter. It’s the engagement ring Charlie bought me. It seems right that you have it.’

  ‘Is Peter old enough to drive?’ Andrew asked Bethan as they waved the couple off.

  ‘No, but who is going to stop him?’

  ‘No one,’ Huw assured them.

  ‘Why don’t you all come back in for a drink?’

  ‘One quick one, Alma.’ Ronnie accepted for everyone, recognising her need for company for just a little while longer. He looked across the street.

  ‘The other bride and groom are leaving,’ Alma shaded her eyes from the sun. ‘Doesn’t she look beautiful?’

  ‘Very.’ Diana hesitated for a fraction of a second.

  ‘Di, where are you going?’ Ronnie followed, catching up with her at the taxi that had been hired to take Tony and Gabrielle to the station on the first leg of their journey to their honeymoon guesthouse in Porthcawl.

  ‘Gabrielle,’ Diana held out her hand to the bride, ‘we haven’t met but I’m your sister-in-law Diana. Welcome to Pontypridd and the Ronconi family.’

  Notes

  The forcible repatriation of Soviet Nationals from the allied states to the USSR at the end of the war is a matter of public record. During May 1945 tens of thousands of Cossack and Caucasian men, women and children were shepherded under British guard across the Austrian bridge of Judenburg which marked the frontier between the British and Russian zones.

  Soviet NKVD commissioners travelled through France from the time of the German retreat until as late as May 1946 in search of Soviet ‘non-returners’, some of whom had left Russia three decades before during the revolution. Soviet citizens were rounded up and sent back from countries as far afield as the USA and Sweden, as well as areas of Europe under allied control.

  The fate of thousands remains uncertain. Some officers, such as General Vlasov, returned to ‘show trials’ and a hangman’s rope; hundreds of other officers were simply shot within hours of repatriation, their families sent to Siberia for terms varying from five to fifteen years.

  The historians David Dallin, Boris Nicolaevsky, Nikolai Tolstoy and Martin Gilbert have all written in depth about this tragedy. I am indebted to them for their accounts.

  An excerpt from

  Swansea Girls

  The first in the Swansea Girls series

  by

  CATRIN COLLIER

  Chapter One

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘You could. You’ve been debating whether or not to raid your Post Office account to buy one for weeks. Now’s your chance to see if you like the effect enough to get your own.’ Helen Griffiths left her bed where she’d been filing her nails and scanning a magazine article on ‘How to exercise your legs to Cyd Charisse perfection’ and went to her wardrobe. Pulling layer upon layer of pink and white petticoat from the top shelf, she tossed the bundle to Lily. It floated through the air, filling the room with the throat-catching, astringent scent of eau de cologne.

  ‘It looks wonderful on you because you’re tall but I’m not so sure it will look good on someone my size.’ Lily shook out the froth of lace and net and pulled the elasticised waist over the plain grey skirt that wasn’t good enough for work, but was too good to throw out.

  ‘To hear you talk, anyone would think you’re a pygmy.’

  ‘These many layers make me feel like a granny spinning-top. I wish I was five foot eight and could wear longer-length skirts without looking as though I was playing dressing up.’

  ‘And I’d give anything to be five foot with long, dark, naturally curly hair. Men love petite, fragile girls. Whenever I stand next to you I feel like one of those clumping great Russian women who drive tractors in Pathé newsreels.’ Helen returned to the bed to pedal her legs in the air.

  ‘Why does everyone want what they can’t have?’ Lily tilted Helen’s dressing-table mirror forward to check the length of the petticoat.

  ‘My grandmother would say it’s God’s way of keeping us in line.’

  ‘My feet no longer belong to me.’ Judy Hunt limped into the room and fell alongside Helen on the bed. Kicking off her shoes, she propped her legs high on the wall. ‘Since eight o’clock this morning it’s been “Judy, do this – Judy, fetch that – Judy, shampoo Mrs So-and So’s hair – Judy, wind curlers into Mrs So-and-So’s hair – not those, the smaller ones – Judy, wind them out of Mrs So-and-So’s hair. Judy, I’m sure we’d all like a cup of tea. Judy, collect those cups and saucers, take them into the kitchen and wash them, we can’t have the salon looking untidy, now can we?” And on top of everything else, “Judy, could you possibly smile? That look on your face would see off a tax inspector let alone a customer.” As if anyone could smile after all that. I never should have allowed my mother to talk me into taking an apprenticeship with her. She’s an absolute slave-driver.’

  ‘Try café work.’ Katie Clay followed Judy into the room. ‘I’ve had a day and a half. Up to my elbows in hot water and soda for six hours, and all complaints and no tips when I did two hours’ waitress relief.’

  ‘It will be different after Monday.’ As Helen and Judy had commandeered the bed, Lily handed Katie the dressing-table stool.

  ‘You’ve an interview for that job you applied for last week, Katie?’ Judy asked.

  ‘Two thirty Monday afternoon.’

  ‘You sly boots. Not a word …’

  ‘I won’t get it.’

  ‘With the best examination marks in your class, you’ll walk it,’ Helen reassured.

  ‘It was an evening class, not a proper school of commerce like Gregg’s.’

  ‘Same exam and your speeds are double mine.’

  ‘Anyone’s speeds would be double yours, Helen.’ Judy swung her legs down and massaged her feet.

  ‘It’s not my fault I can’t get enthusiastic about putting words on paper. It makes no difference if it’s a shorthand pad or typewriter, there are more interesting things to do in life.’

  ‘If you’re Princess Margaret and don’t have to earn a living.’ Judy closed her eyes as she stretched out on the bed. ‘I could sleep for a hundred years.’

  ‘You too tired to go out tonight, then?’ Lily swirled in front of the mirror, sending the petticoat flouncing around her legs.

  ‘I won’t be in an hour.’ Opening her eyes, Judy made a face at Katie. ‘I know I promised to do your hair and I will if you sit on the floor beside the bed. You need a wand and a tinsel crown, Lily, if you’re thinking of going to the Pier as a fairy.’

  ‘I was wondering how this would look under the blue shirtwaister Auntie Norah made me.’

  ‘Good, I should think. Oh! Oh! Guess what?’ Judy sat up suddenly and poked Helen. ‘Mrs Jordan came into the salon this morning.’

  ‘And,’ Helen prompted warily.

  ‘She said Adam’s finished his National Service. He came home yesterday and’ – Judy’s eyes rounded mischievously – ‘he’s going to the Pier ballroom tonight.’

  ‘You asked Mrs Jordan where he was going tonight!’

  ‘Of course. I said my friend Helen Griffiths has the most incredible crush on your son Adam, Mrs Jordan. She moons over him all the time and dreams of him constantly, so could you please tell me where he’ll be tonight so she can chase him.’

  ‘You beast!’

  ‘Got you going, didn’t I? She was complaining about the rough lot who go to the Pier. “Nothing but Teddy boys and coarse common girls like that Helen Griffiths.”’

  ‘She didn’t say that.’

  ‘She did, Scout’s honour.’

  ‘You were never a Scout.’

  ‘I wish I had been. It would have been more fun than the Girl Guides. Just think of all those boys …’

  ‘Here’s my brush and hairclips.’ Katie shook her hair out of
the bun she wore for work and slithered down on to the floor next to where Judy was lying.

  ‘Your hair looks good, Lily.’ Judy cast a professional eye over the neat French pleat.

  ‘I’ve been practising. One of the typists in work is leaving to get married and I’m hoping I’m in with a chance of her job.’

  ‘You’ve only been in the bank five minutes.’ Bored with mid-air cycling, Helen turned over and flicked her magazine to the problem page.

  ‘And I’m getting desperate. I didn’t study in tech for two years so I could run errands, file papers and make tea and coffee. I don’t know why they insist on office juniors having good shorthand and typing speeds. If my experience is anything to go by, they never use them.’

  ‘In that case I might survive more than a day.’

  ‘You got a job with the marks you got in your exams, Helen?’ Judy asked incredulously.

  ‘I’ve an interview but it’s only a formality. I start a week Monday. And, for your information, I passed my resits – some of them.’

  ‘Half of them and only just.’

  ‘Don’t forget, they were Gregg resits. It’s the polish private school gives a girl.’ Helen mimicked one of her mother’s favourite quotes in a manner that would have infuriated Esme Griffiths if she’d been around to hear it.

  ‘I thought you were going to work in your father’s warehouse.’

  ‘So did my mother but, would you believe, Dad wouldn’t hear of it, so he fixed me up with a junior’s job in his solicitor’s office. Can you imagine? Not only will I have to do all the menial chores like you, Lily, but I’ll also have to watch myself in case the solicitor carries tales to my father.’

  ‘Knowing you, he’ll have plenty to carry.’ Judy finally set to work on Katie’s hair.

  ‘My mother created the most almighty fuss but for once she couldn’t shift Dad. I think he thought I’d cramp his style if I went into the warehouse. Tell Mum about his long lunch hours and boozing sessions with the reps.’

  ‘I’m not at all sure about this petticoat.’ Lily frowned at Judy. ‘Does it make me look like a Munchkin?’

  ‘Most definitely, but as all Munchkins are loveable you should have the boys flocking round.’

  ‘Be serious.’

  ‘A petticoat like that makes everyone’s waist look tiny,’ Helen broke in authoritatively, ‘no matter how short they are. Once you’ve pulled your waist in with a belt, it will look fine.’

  ‘In that case, if you really don’t mind me borrowing it, I’ll take it home and try it on under the shirtwaister. I think the skirt is wide enough not to crush the layers – but if I have this, what will you wear, Helen?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got something new again.’ Judy turned her head, accidentally yanking Katie’s hair.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘You have to suffer to be beautiful,’ Judy lectured.

  ‘I was helping out in the warehouse today …’

  ‘More like helping your father’s stock out of the warehouse and into your wardrobe.’

  Ignoring Judy, Helen continued, ‘And I thought, why shouldn’t I have the odd perk or two.’

  ‘Or two! You’ve more clothes than the Queen.’

  Helen left the bed and opened her wardrobe.

  ‘Your woolly dressing gown,’ Judy sniggered as Helen lifted it out. ‘Now that really would be the way to get Adam Jordan to notice you.’

  ‘Taa-daa …’ Helen stripped back the gown.

  ‘My giddy aunt!’

  ‘It’s strapless!’ Katie gasped.

  ‘It’s stunning, a real film star frock.’ Lily fingered the bead-encrusted bodice and satin skirt of the midnight blue ballerina-length evening dress. ‘You’d certainly be noticed in this.’

  ‘Which is the whole point.’

  ‘And your mother approves?’ Lily asked shrewdly.

  ‘Not exactly. In fact, she went berserk when she saw me trying it on behind the shoe racks in the warehouse. Mind you, that could have been because one of the boys from the loading bay was hovering round the display.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. My mother would have forty fits at the thought of me in anything like that.’ Judy finished brushing Katie’s hair and scraped it into a ponytail.

  ‘You haven’t got enough of what counts to wear it.’ Helen arched her back, thrusting out her breasts. ‘This has 36C cups sewn in and they fit perfectly.’

  ‘I’m amazed your father allowed you to take it out of the shop.’ Katie was irritated, more by her own figure that looked as though it was never going to expand from a 32A than by Helen’s gloating.

  ‘He didn’t. I sneaked it out under some underclothes and a sweater he said I could have. Fortunately, my mother was too busy arguing with him about the sweater for either of them to notice what I was doing.’

  ‘If your mother wasn’t happy with a sweater …’

  ‘You know what she is, Judy. Sometimes I think she forgets I’m eighteen.’

  ‘Just.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Helen dismissed carelessly. ‘All I know is, if she had her way I’d still be wearing Shirley Temple bows, frills, flounces and ankle socks.’

  ‘Your parents are bound to find out you’ve taken it.’ Thrusting a clip into Katie’s hair to secure what she’d done, Judy left the bed and took the hanger from Helen. She held the dress in front of her and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I’ll sneak it back into the warehouse on Monday.’

  ‘Your father will see it’s been worn.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’

  ‘And if there’s scent or make-up on it?’

  ‘I’ll sponge it off.’

  ‘It might leave a watermark.’

  ‘It’s awfully low,’ Lily murmured.

  ‘You sound like my grandmother.’ Helen tweaked back the top as she retrieved the frock from Judy. ‘Look, once I’m zipped into it the boned, sewn-in bra will stop anyone from seeing what they shouldn’t. And –’ she lifted the satin bell skirt to reveal an embroidered, scalloped, white silk underskirt – ‘it’s got its own hooped petticoat attached to the waist, so I couldn’t wear the frilled one anyway.’

  Judy raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you intend to wear anything under it?’

  ‘No knickers and my mother’s fur coat on top,’ Helen joked.

  ‘Have you given any thought as to how you’re going to get out of the house?’ Judy returned to Katie’s hair.

  ‘Dad’s got some men’s thing on. Old boy school association or something. He’s going straight from the warehouse and my mother’s going to the theatre with Auntie Dot. It’s the last performance of the play she directed, so she’s bound to leave before six to make sure the rest of the Swansea amateurs don’t “let down the side” as she puts it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have the nerve to wear that frock through town and on to the Mumbles train.’

  ‘It’s warm, but not too warm to wear my green coat, so no one will know what I’ve got on underneath it until I get to the Pier. Do you want to see what it looks like?’ Helen stripped off her skirt and blouse before any of them could answer. ‘Watch the door in case my mother comes up.’ Tossing her slip on to the bed, she adjusted and tightened her corset over her waist, then slipped the dress from the hanger. ‘I never know whether it’s best to put things like this on from the top down or bottom up.’

  ‘Top down.’ Lily took the dress, folded it carefully over her arm and eased it over Helen’s head. ‘It’s even lower than I thought,’ she commented as Helen modestly held up the bodice with one hand while unhooking her bra with the other.

  ‘It’s not fastened yet.’

  ‘Breathe in.’

  ‘I am!’

  ‘It’s tight.’

  ‘It has to be or I’ll spill out.’

  ‘I helped my mother choose a ball gown for the Chamber of Commerce Christmas dinner dance and there’s only one way to get into them when they’re this close-fitting. Stand up straight and lift your arms above
your head.’

  ‘The bodice will fall down.’

  ‘Lily will hold it up for you.’ Judy took the Zip. Tugging hard, she finally slid it home.

  ‘I can’t breathe.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ Judy folded back the edge of the bodice. ‘Good job that sewn-in bra is double-stitched linen, if it was embroidered silk like the underskirt, you’d have burst out of it by now.’

  ‘You can’t see anything you shouldn’t, can you?’ Helen was shocked by the expanse of cleavage, shoulders and arms reflected in the mirror. It had seemed a good idea to borrow the frock when she had tried it on over her blouse in the warehouse but with only bare skin underneath, it was very revealing. For the first time since taking it she had second thoughts. It was one thing to purloin one of the most expensive frocks from the rails of her father’s warehouse, quite another to get the whole town gossiping loud enough for her mother to hear.

  ‘Depends what you mean by “shouldn’t”’, Judy qualified.

  ‘I want Adam Jordan to notice me, not think I’m a tart.’

  ‘It’s beautiful but it might be a bit much for the Pier Ballroom on a Saturday night,’ Lily ventured tactfully.

  ‘Lily’s right, it’s gorgeous but …’

  ‘Twelve guineas’ worth of gorgeous, Katie, and that’s wholesale.’

  ‘Helen! Your father will kill you.’

  ‘No he won’t.’ Helen didn’t even convince herself. She’d done a lot of things over the years that had annoyed her parents but none of them had been quite so drastic. And worst of all, after going to the trouble of spiriting the dress out of the warehouse she didn’t feel glamorous and grown-up as she’d expected, but exposed, uncomfortable and unaccountably cheap, considering the price of the frock. ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘I told you, my new blue shirtwaister.’

  ‘Auntie Norah made me a green one from the same pattern as Lily’s blue. She brought it round to the salon this afternoon. My mother helped me pick out the material; she said the colour’s the same shade as my eyes, which has to be better than my hair.’ Flicking a lock forward, Judy pulled at it disparagingly as she sank back on the bed. ‘I wish Mam would let me dye it blonde.’