‘You sure you’re not making yourself short now?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘William, wrap and carry those suits up to Graig Avenue for Bethan.’
‘Aw, Mam, I promised to meet the boys …’
‘The boys can wait,’ Megan said.
‘I’ll carry them, Mrs Powell.’ Charlie lifted his boots from the hearth and took off his slippers. ‘I want to see Mr Powell about some business. That’s if you don’t mind walking with me, Nurse Powell?’ He looked at Bethan.
‘Of course not.’ Bethan took the sheet of brown paper William handed her and laid the boys’ clothes in the middle of it.’
‘Here, love, I’ve a carrier bag for your suit.’ Megan produced a brown paper and string bag from behind one of the easy chairs. ‘See you later at the fair?’
‘I expect so,’ Bethan finished tying the parcel and folded the costume and hat inside the bag.
Charlie left his chair and took the parcel from the dresser. He waited quietly for Bethan to precede him. She led the way out through the front door. The street was teeming with people; children playing with sticks, stones and empty jam jars in the gutter, their parents gossiping in doorways. One or two of the women had carried chairs and bowls on to the pavement and were peeling vegetables and keeping up with the gossip at the same time.
‘Mrs Morgan,’ Charlie tipped his hat to Megan’s immediate neighbour as he shut the door.
‘That’s a big parcel you have there, Charlie. Megan doing business even on Easter Monday?’
‘Not really, Mrs Morgan,’ he answered evasively. ‘Mrs Jones?’ He removed his hat as they passed another neighbour. To every other adult on the Graig, Mrs Morgan was Betty, Mrs Jones, Judy, but Bethan had noticed that Charlie addressed everyone, even Megan, formally. It was as though he wanted to maintain the barriers that he’d erected between himself and those he’d chosen to live among.
Walking side by side, the parcel swinging heavily in Charlie’s hand between them, they turned the corner of Leyshon Street and made their way towards the Graig Hotel.
Bethan glanced up Walter’s Row to Phillips Street. The curtains were still drawn in number one. Her heart went out to Phyllis.
Charlie stopped and looked at her. Flustered, she moved on, and they covered the distance between Walter’s Row and the vicarage on the corner of Graig Avenue in silence. If the lack of conversation bothered Charlie he showed no sign of it, but Bethan felt she had to say something. Finally she resorted to an inane,
‘The weather’s quite nice today isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed flatly.
She made no further attempt to talk. Half way up Graig Avenue they met the vicar of St John’s and his young and extremely pretty wife clutching his arm as she teetered along the rough road on heels that were too high for safety.
‘Wonderful Easter weather, Bethan, Charlie,’ he greeted them as his wife smiled warmly.
‘It makes a welcome change after the winter,’ Bethan agreed.
‘We’ve just called in on Mrs Pugh and Miss Phyllis Harry,’ he said with a significant look at Charlie. ‘They’re very grateful for your efforts on their behalf, Charlie. And your support, Bethan,’ he added as an afterthought.
Bethan looked at Charlie, wondering what his “efforts” might be.
‘It’s Mrs Powell you should be thanking,’ he mumbled.
‘We’ll call in later to thank her, never fear. But the assistance Mrs Powell has given Miss Harry in her hour of need in no way depreciates the value of what you’ve done for the unfortunate household. As a vicar of the Church I know how scarce real Christian charity is in cases like Miss Harry’s. The ladies would like to see you so they can thank you in person. Will you promise to call in on them?’
Charlie nodded but said nothing.
‘And both Miss Harry and Mrs Pugh are grateful for your kind wishes, Bethan.’
‘I didn’t think they knew I’d called.’
‘They knew,’ the vicar said drily. ‘In a week or two when things are quieter I’m sure they’ll welcome another visit.’
‘I’ll make a point of calling in.’
‘Good. See you both at the Rattle Fair.’ He tipped his hat and he and his wife went on their way.
Charlie crossed the road and Bethan had difficulty keeping up with him, but he hung back when they reached her house. She ran up the steps to the front door, turned the key and shouted for her father. Evan opened the kitchen door and ushered Charlie through the passage, parcel and all. The front parlour door, usually kept firmly closed, was open. Bethan glanced into the room that Haydn and Eddie referred to as “the holy of holies”.
Her mother had taken the dust sheets off the Rexine-covered suite and was busy straightening and dusting the ornaments on the mantelpiece. A sure sign that Uncle John Joseph and Aunt Hetty were going to visit.
‘Where are the boys?’ Bethan asked.
‘Out the back with Maud,’ Elizabeth replied tersely. ‘Are you here to help or just passing through?’
‘I’m meeting Laura in half an hour.’
‘I suppose you’ll be out all day?’
‘Probably.’
‘You won’t be back for dinner or high tea?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t know what your Uncle and aunt are going to say about that,’ she pronounced stiffly.
‘I’ll see them another time.’
‘When, that’s what I’d like to know?’ Elizabeth called after her as she walked away. ‘You haven’t a minute to spare for your family these days.’
‘Sorry, Mam,’ Bethan said automatically. She wasn’t in the least bit sorry. As a child she’d loathed holiday tea times when her uncle and aunt came to visit. Her mother always forced her father to wear a collar, and the whole family to sit stiffly upright around the kitchen table taking small bites and chewing quietly.
If anyone dared deviate from Elizabeth’s idea of correct behaviour they received the full force of the cutting edge of her tongue in front of Uncle John Joseph, who could never resist putting his oar in, belittling the culprit further. And after tea the entire family “retired” (John Joseph’s expression) to the front parlour to listen to his diatribes on how the advent of the wireless set and the cinema had caused the downfall of morality and religion in Welsh society.
As a small child Bethan had confused her great uncle with the devil and Sundays spent in the front parlour with hell. Looking back, it was an understandable mistake for a child to make. John Joseph’s entire conversation had always revolved around sin and the threat of eternal damnation, and his tall, thin, sardonic figure presiding over the gloomy gatherings in the front parlour wasn’t that far removed from the traditional warning posters of hell.
She was looking forward to her day out at the Rattle Fair with Laura, Andrew and Trevor, but if there’d been no Andrew or Rattle Fair, a brisk walk through the fresh young nettles that grew in wild abandon on the north side of Shoni’s pond would have been infinitely preferable to the afternoon’s entertainment mapped out by her mother.
She tried to creep into the kitchen, pick up the parcel and tiptoe out through the washhouse door without disturbing her father and Charlie. But her father was watching for her. Interrupting his conversation with Charlie he looked up quizzically as she reached for the parcel.
‘Auntie Megan found a suit for Eddie,’ she explained.
‘And you bought it for him?’
‘It’s on trial. To see if it fits.’
‘And if it does?’
‘Auntie Megan will put it on her book. It’s very cheap …’
‘When you say Megan’s book, you mean the one you’ve opened with her?’
‘Eddie’s been promised three mornings’ work in the brewery yard next week. He’ll soon pay for it himself.’
A sharp frown creased Evan’s forehead. He was sitting hunched forward, leaning towards the range, his shoulders rounded like those of an old man. There were faint touches of grey in
the roots of the black hair at his temples, grey that Bethan hadn’t noticed before. If Charlie hadn’t been in the room she would have attempted to kiss and caress the frown away.
She’d tried to help, and only succeeded in hurting his pride even more than her mother did with her constant nagging.
‘Do you really think the union is strong enough to make these demands, Mr Powell?’ Charlie asked, breaking the tense silence in the room.
Evan looked away from Bethan and turned to Charlie. ‘The strength of the union is not the issue. The demands have to be made. If they’re not, we’ll none of us have jobs to go to.’
Bethan listened to them for a moment, and when she was certain that her father’s attention was firmly fixed on what Charlie was saying she took the parcel and went through to the back yard.
Sunshine blinded her after the gloom of the house. Narrowing her eyes she saw Maud and Haydn sitting on the top step talking to Glan over the wall that separated the two backs.
‘Enjoy your morning walk?’ Haydn asked.
‘Yes. Here’s something for you and Eddie.’
‘Something for me?’ Eddie shouted from the fenced-off upper yard where he was filling the lurcher’s water bowl. ‘What is it? Something nice, I hope.’
‘Got something nice for me, Beth?’ Glan leered.
‘Eddie’s cheerful today,’ Bethan observed, deliberately ignoring Glan.
‘For a change.’ Maud looked slyly at Haydn.
Haydn took the parcel from Bethan and fought with the knot on the string. He unfolded the brown paper and lifted out the grey suit that was on top.
‘We supposed to just take these off you, Beth?’
‘Auntie Megan had them in last night. They were too good a bargain to miss so I took them on spec, hoping they’d fit.’
‘This for me?’ Haydn asked, holding up the grey.
‘No, the stripe. And I got you a few other things while I was at it.’
‘Lucky sods,’ Glan muttered enviously, peering over the wall at the contents of the parcel.
‘How much was this little lot, Beth?’ Haydn demanded.
‘Not a lot. Auntie Megan has the account.’
‘What’s not much?’ he pressed.
‘Hadn’t you better try them on to see if they fit before asking me how much they are? And before you say any more, I only brought what you both need. Have you thought what you’re going to wear to work when your one and only suit needs cleaning? And Eddie hasn’t even got a one and only.’
While Bethan was glaring at Haydn, Maud tried to ease the situation by holding up the grey suit to Eddie as be latched the gate of the dog pen.
‘Fancy yourself in this then, boyo?’ she asked.
‘Mmm.’ Eddie flicked the jacket over gingerly with the tip of his grubby forefinger. ‘Waistcoat as well.’
‘Of course,’ Bethan said defensively. ‘Nothing but the best.’
‘How much do we owe you, sis?’ Eddie asked.
‘Nothing yet. I’ve taken them on spec.’
‘Well what do you say, Haydn, shall we try them on?’
‘No harm in that.’ Haydn folded the paper back over the suits and dusted off his trousers as he rose from the step. Bethan breathed easier. She hadn’t expected them to give in so easily.
Maud moved so Eddie and Haydn could walk down the steps.
Bethan rested her elbow on the wall and allowed herself a small smile of triumph as they passed.
‘You’ll either get the money or the suits back tonight, Beth.’ Eddie dumped the can he’d used to fill the dog’s bowl in the corner of the yard. Bethan looked up and saw a cut on his chin that she hadn’t noticed when they’d eaten breakfast together the day before. His left cheekbone was also bruised, but there was a look of quiet determination in his eyes that made her blood run cold.
‘The Rattle Fair! Of course. You’re going to fight.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘As soon as they open the boxing booth. Come and watch. If you’ve any money to spare you can place a bet. You won’t lose,’ he said cockily.
She shuddered.
‘And I won’t get hurt either,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve learned a lot in the last couple of months. Joey’s been training me, and training me good. I’ll be the breadwinner in this family soon, Beth. Not you. And I’ll make enough to pay for half a dozen suits for each of us, Mam and Dad included. You’ll see if I’m not right.’
The Rattle Fair was held every Easter in Pontypridd. Every other fair that visited the town pitched on the vacant lot, sometime cattle market, known as the Fairfield opposite the Palladium cinema at the north end of town. But the Rattle Fair was held courtesy of a charter which enabled it to pitch in the centre of the town itself. The Dante family who owned and ran most of the fairs that visited Pontypridd erected their rides and booths along the main thoroughfares including Taff Street and Market Square. The police in compliance with the order closed the town to all traffic, diverting all non-fair carts and vans around Gelliwastad Road.
Roundabouts and brightly painted garish stalls that sold every conceivable kind of useless object and edible delicacy cluttered the streets from one end to the other, and in prime position in Market Square stood the coughing, wheezing engine that drove the machinery and powered the organ that announced to everyone within a mile’s listening distance that the fair had arrived. It was the place to visit after dinner on Easter Monday. But it was just after eleven o’clock in the morning when Laura, wearing a new and most becoming (from Megan’s stock) lilac spring suit, and Bethan in her green costume and cream silk blouse emerged from under the railway bridge.
The Ronconis always opened their café in town on Rattle Fair afternoons but today they’d decided to hold a family dinner in the place and Laura had invited not only Bethan but also Trevor and Andrew to join the family party.
More nervous than Bethan had ever seen her before, Laura tripped along Taff Street on heels twice as high as those she normally wore. Both of them were careful to avoid the grimy outstretched hands of the street urchins who’d camped among the stalls since before dawn in the hope of cadging scraps from the food vendors or winning free rides from the “softer” fair folk.
‘Ronnie’s told the cook to make a chicken dinner. Roast potatoes, peas, stuffing, all the trimmings,’ Laura said fussily. ‘There’ll be brown soup first and apple pie and Papa’s ice cream for afters. Do you think Andrew and Trevor’ll be happy with that?’
‘They’d be hard to please if they aren’t.’ Laura’s edginess was beginning to irritate Bethan.
‘It’s just that I want everything to be absolutely perfect. You know what bears Papa and Ronnie can be.’
‘It’s serious between you and Trevor isn’t it?’ Bethan asked suddenly.
‘Yes,’ Laura admitted, pulling non-existent wrinkles out of her new cotton gloves. ‘Promise you won’t breathe a word of this to Andrew.’
‘A word about you being serious?’
‘About what I’m going to tell you, you clot. If you tell Andrew he’ll only go blabbing everything to Trevor. Those two are like Tweedledum and Tweedledee.’
‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘You haven’t noticed anything except Andrew’s dark brown eyes since New Year’s Eve.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous …’ Bethan began coldly.
‘Oh come on, Beth, it’s not a sin to be in love.’ Laura paused, then giggled. ‘And then of course it might be.’
‘A sin?’
‘In the eyes of the Church what Trevor and I do is classed as sinful but I don’t see anything wrong with it. She lifted her chin defiantly, ‘particularly as he’s far too caring and careful to see me landed in the same mess as poor Phyllis.’
‘You mean you and Trevor …’ Bethan paused, too embarrassed to continue.
‘Of course. Are you saying that you and Andrew don’t?’ Laura exclaimed incredulously.
With her face burning, Bethan shook her head.
To think of Andrew
…’ Laura’s eyes grew round in amazement. ‘He’s lived in London and everything. He never struck me as backward about coming forward, not like Trevor. Now he needed a bit of pushing. You know what I mean?’
Bethan crossed the road in advance of Laura. She had a fair idea what Laura meant by “pushing” but she didn’t feel like discussing the details in any great depth.
‘Being a doctor has its advantages,’ Laura continued when she caught up with Bethan. ‘For one thing Trevor doesn’t have to sidle up to old Dai Makey in the market to buy his French Letters. You know our Tina is friendly with Dai’s daughter Pru? Well when she called in on Pru one day she caught Dai and his wife rolling the letters … rolling them …’ she giggled, ‘in talcum powder. Trevor told me Dai charges half a crown just for one. No wonder the unmarried ward is so full. If you ask me the quickest way to empty it would be to hand out free French Letters to everyone who wants them.’
‘Ssh.’ Bethan pulled her out of the path of a group of gaping, dumbstruck children.
‘Anyway,’ Laura continued lowering her voice, ‘Trevor might not be as well-heeled as Andrew, but he does have prospects. And although his car isn’t quite in the luxury class, it gets us to where we want to go. You wouldn’t believe the quiet lanes that he knows …’ She gave Bethan a hard look. ‘You’re not having me on about you and Andrew are you?’
‘No,’ Bethan protested indignantly, leading the way around the back of the stalls to the canvas walled alleyway that had been created on the pavement in front of the shops.
‘I just find that hard to believe. You do know he’s absolutely mad about you?’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Beth, you’re impossible. Andrew jumps through hoops, switches duties, and breaks all kinds of engagements with his family just to spend his days off with you.’
‘Who told you that?’ Bethan asked suspiciously.
‘Who do you think?’
‘Trevor?’
‘They are best friends.’
‘And Andrew told Trevor that we were …’
‘Good Lord, no. I don’t think they talk about anything as personal as that.’ Laura skipped over a pile of debris at the back of a candy floss stall.
Pontypridd 01 - Hearts of Gold Page 21
