‘There’s nothing to thank me for. Are you staying on in Pontypridd?’
‘I don’t see that I’ve got much option at the moment, with this -’ he held up his crutch.
‘What are you going to do? Go back to running the cafés?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s difficult to make plans when it feels as though your world has come to an end.’
‘You understand that too?’
‘They need workers in the munitions factories. I start next week.’
‘What about the shop?’
‘I’ve found a girl in Leyshon Street who is prepared to run it for me. I’ve wanted to do something to help the war effort ever since Eddie got killed.’
‘I would have thought you were doing enough in managing this place.’
‘With the Germans about to invade at any minute?’
He would have liked to contradict her, but the one question on everyone’s lips at the RAF base where he had been debriefed, was ‘what are the bastards waiting for?’
‘I want to make the bullets and shells that will kill the men who murdered Eddie. It was murder, you know. William was there and he told us about it. Eddie’s whole unit was shot by German soldiers after they surrendered their weapons.’
‘I didn’t know.’ He shuddered, not at her story but at the venom in her voice. He’d long since discovered that it wasn’t only those who were killed who had been destroyed by the war.
‘You must come around one evening. I could make supper for us. It would be nice to talk to someone who understands what I’m going through.’ She gave him a sad little smile as the shop door rattled. ‘I’d better go and open up, before whoever that is breaks something.’
He stripped off down to Tony’s underpants, changed into the shirt and one of the suits, and looked around for a mirror. There was a full-length cheval in Jenny’s bedroom. Turning his back on the feminine clutter of hairpins, cold cream, scent bottles and brushes on the dressing table that reminded him too acutely of his wife, he studied his image in the glass. The suit hung loosely on his skeletal frame, and the trousers would have fallen down without the braces, but Jenny was right about his and Eddie’s height. The length of the trousers and sleeves was perfect. Bundling Tony’s clothes under his arm, he limped down the stairs into the shop and straight into Mrs Richards, Evan Powell’s neighbour and the Graig gossip.
She raised her eyebrows as he closed the door that led to Jenny’s private quarters. ‘Well, I see you’ve wasted no time in visiting old friends, Ronnie?’
‘Ronnie’s been helping me with something upstairs,’ Jenny intervened.
‘It’s handy for a widow to have a man to call on,’ Mrs Richards smirked knowingly. ‘And good to see someone home in one piece,’ she added in an acidic tone that implied she would much rather have seen her own son, Glan, home from the POW camp he’d been consigned to for the duration.
‘Not quite one piece, Mrs Richards.’ Ronnie lifted his crutch.
‘You’re alive, aren’t you, and you’ll mend. Sorry to hear about Maud, but then she always was sickly.’
He nodded, not trusting himself to reply.
‘You two have a lot in common now, both married to Powells who’ve passed on. Nice to see you consoling one another like this.’
Ronnie took half a crown from his pocket and pushed it across the counter. ‘Twenty Players please, Jenny.’
‘She was serving me,’ Mrs Richards snapped.
‘Ronnie only wants cigarettes and he is in a hurry.’ Jenny turned to the tobacco shelves above the till. Handing Ronnie his change and cigarettes, she said, ‘I won’t forget to give those things to Bethan, and your rations. Gina dropped your coupons in this morning.’
He knew perfectly well Gina had done no such thing, because his food coupons were snarled up in the same bureaucratic web as his clothing coupons. ‘Thank you for everything, Jenny. See you soon.’ Nodding to Mrs Richards he opened the door and left.
‘Well, it’s easy to see what’s on his mind,’ Mrs Richards declared in a loud voice before he managed to pull his crutch out behind him.
‘Do you have a list, Mrs Richards?’
‘Here it is. I’m putting a food parcel together for my Glan in the prison camp. They have it rough, you know. According to his letters they have nothing to eat except potatoes, swedes and black bread. All I can say is, I hope it’s not black from mould. Disgraceful the way those Jerries are treating our boys.’
‘At least your Glan is still alive to be treated disgracefully, Mrs Richards.’ Jenny bit down hard on her bottom lip as she watched the back of Eddie’s suit disappear across the road and down the hill towards Laura’s house.
‘Constable Davies, how nice to see you,’ Myrtle greeted him as she opened the door to his tentative knock.
‘Just thought I’d call in and see how Megan’s doing.’
‘I’m sorry, you’ve missed her. Mrs Lane called in to let us know that Pegler’s have had a consignment of tinned fruit in, but if you’d like to wait, she shouldn’t be much longer.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to find you home at this hour.’
‘My section finished two hours earlier than usual today. We ran out of materials, which probably means we’ll have to put in extra time tomorrow when the supplies arrive. Please, come on through to the living room. Would you like some tea?’
‘I should go on into town to pick up my rations.’
‘I’ve just made a fresh pot. My father always takes a cup when he goes for his afternoon nap.’
‘Myrtle? Myrtle? Who’s there?’ the old man called peevishly from the front parlour.
‘Only Constable Davies for Megan, Dad.’
‘Turn up the radio will you? You’re making such a racket I can’t hear it.’
Myrtle went into his room and did as he asked before returning to the hall. ‘Please, do come through. I need someone to keep me awake until Megan gets back. I’m looking after Billy and I’m so tired I could easily fall asleep and not hear him crying.’
‘From what I recall of the noise he makes, there’s not much danger of that.’ He followed her into the living room.
‘Please, sit down. I’ll pour the tea.’
‘Your shift begins the same time as usual in the morning?’
‘I’ll be leaving on the five o’clock train, but really, you don’t have to walk me down.’
‘It’s easy to time my beat to coincide with the departure of the munitions special.’ He summoned his courage as he took the tea she handed him. There’d never be a better time. He’d been rehearsing the speech he was about to make all morning when he had been lying in his bed, trying to sleep. ‘I’m off on Sunday. If you are too, I thought we could go for a walk in the park,’ he blurted out. He leaned back in the chair, weak with relief. He’d done it. He’d finally breached the barrier that marked the dividing line between friendship and courtship.
‘I’m sorry, I’m working on Sunday.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ His heart sank. He should have braced himself to take disappointment. What right had he to think that a woman like Myrtle would want to bother with him?
‘My next day off isn’t until a week Monday. Because the production line is kept flat out twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week we can’t pick and choose our time off’
‘I have a week Monday off too.’ He didn’t, but as there were a few officers in the station who owed him a favour, he didn’t envisage any difficulties in changing shifts.
‘Perhaps we could go for a walk then?’ she suggested shyly.
‘Or Cardiff,’ he hazarded boldly. ‘There’s more to do there. We could go to a matinee in the pictures and have tea in a Lyons afterwards.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I’ll pick you up here about twelve, give you a chance to have a bit of a lie-in.’
‘No,’ she answered swiftly, thinking of her father. It was one thing to have Huw Davies visiting Megan, quite another to have him calling to ta
ke her out. ‘I’ll meet you at the station.’
‘I’ll get the tickets.’
‘About twelve, then.’
‘I’ll be waiting in the booking office.’
The door opened and closed. As Myrtle helped Megan unpack the tins she’d queued an hour for, he sat back and drank his tea, his triumph marred by the thought that Myrtle didn’t see the outing in the same light as him. How could she, when she didn’t want anyone else in the house to know that he was taking her out?
‘The postman saw your car outside, and dropped this in.’ Phyllis set down the tea she’d brought for Bethan on the bedside cabinet, and laid the letter on the bed.
Bethan picked up the blue and white envelope and turned it over. ‘It’s from Andrew.’
‘Take your time reading it, Rachel’s having a nap and I’ve just changed and fed Eddie.’
‘Thank you.’ Bethan glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed. She’d asked Phyllis to wake her at two and it was five to the hour. She could steal ten minutes.
As soon as Phyllis closed the door she tore open the envelope.
Dear Bethan,
Thank you for your letter and the photograph of our son which I had yesterday, eight weeks after you sent them. What do you want me to say? That I’m grateful to you for keeping this pregnancy from me? You say you didn’t want to worry me, but as I’ve nothing to do here except think about you and Rachel, all you’ve succeeded in doing is making me feel excluded from your life more than ever.
I don’t mind if you name our son Eddie …
She picked up her tea and sipped it slowly, wondering if Andrew hated the idea of naming their son after her brother. He had never really got on with Eddie, but by the time he’d had the letter telling him of the birth it would have been too late for him to have made a contribution to the name anyway.
Perhaps he was right, perhaps she should have told him about her pregnancy before Eddie’s birth; only after the complications she’d had in her first pregnancy, she couldn’t bear the thought of him sitting in a prison camp, day in, day out, with nothing to do except worry about her, the way she worried about him and the survival of their marriage during the few odd moments when she was free to think at all.
I hope you are taking it easy and looking after the children…
She started guiltily, glancing at the date on his letter. It had taken nine weeks to get to her, and it was obvious hers took just as long to reach him. She hadn’t even had an address for him until four months after he’d been captured. Although she’d written to him four and sometimes five times a week since, the missive in which she’d dropped the bombshell that she had taken the district nurse’s job had to be stuck in a mailbag somewhere.
Things here are the same as ever – crushingly boring. I have set up a small infirmary to treat the sick and wounded, but infirmary is a grand name for an eight by twelve wooden hut, with three bunks and no XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She studied the thick black lines, but it was hopeless. The German censor had done a thorough job. There was no deciphering the words beneath the crossings out. She guessed that Andrew had written: drugs, medical supplies and bandages.
We do all kinds of crazy things to keep up our spirits. Some of the boys are building a theatre. The entertainments committee make an effort to put on a variety show at least once a week and it will be good to have a place where everyone can congregate to watch, instead of a small number of us squashing into the largest barracks. The chorus of our sergeants in drag has to be seen to be believed. We also have a few good singers, although none of them are up to Haydn’s standard. I hope he is still singing somewhere through all of this. As I said before, being a POW or KRIEGIES as we’re known to the guards (my German is better than I’d like it to be) is not too onerous, but when you can spare the money, rations and the time, food parcels are very desirable and books even more so.
Thank you for the socks and mittens. It is still unbelievably cold here, but rumour has it spring is on the way and I hope I’ll never have to spend another winter away from you, Rachel and Eddie. My son – it’s strange to have a child I’ve never seen. Little did I think when I left you that last morning that we would end up being separated with no hope of seeing one another again until the war is over. Please keep writing, you can have no idea how much your letters mean to me.
Re-reading this I realise I’ve allowed my anger to show through in the beginning, but I am still finding it difficult to get used to the idea of suddenly becoming a father for the second time. If only I could hold you. Then it would be easy to tell you how I feel. Furious – but only because I love you and worry about you having to bring up the children on your own.
I love and miss you so very much. Kiss Rachel and Eddie for me, and pray with me every night that this war will soon come to an end.
Your devoted husband Andrew.
PS Mother has written to me. Thank her for the socks and scarf and explain that I can’t write as many letters as I’d like. And try to get up to see her with the children more often. I know things have been difficult between you, but she does adore Rachel, and with me here, and Fiona and Alex in Scotland, you and my father are all the family she has.
Bethan re-read the letter while she finished her tea. The censor hadn’t blacked out any important bits, so she supposed she should be grateful for that much, but she found herself wishing that he’d blacked out the postscript. It infuriated her to think that her mother-in-law could still get to her through Andrew, even when he was in a POW camp in the heart of Germany. What did she care for Andrew’s sister Fiona, and her doctor husband Alex who’d pulled every string he could reach to get a posting to a hospital in Edinburgh the minute war had been declared?
She clutched the letter, scanning for more in between the words. Andrew seemed so remote. The only time she had to miss him in her hectic days was the increasingly brief time between going to bed and sleeping, and even then she was not always alone, because since Eddie’s birth, Rachel had taken to climbing out of her cot and joining her.
A year – a whole year since she’d seen him. How much longer? And what would they both be like when it finally ended?
Chapter Six
‘Heard you paid Jenny Powell a visit,’ Tina greeted Ronnie as he limped into the café. Gina had walked up to the Tumble from the restaurant lower down Taff Street to pass on the gossip. She was far too wary of her older brother to dare mention any scandal concerning him to his face, but Tina had no such qualms.
Ronnie perched on a stool and unfolded the copy of the Pontypridd Observer he’d bought off a boy manning the pitch outside the Clarence. ‘I called into her shop for a packet of cigarettes, and as you can see,’ he fingered the lapel on the suit he was wearing, ‘she offered me Eddie’s clothes. As beggars can’t be choosers in these days of rationing, coupons and shortages, I took them.’
‘Rumour has it you’ve a lot more in common than most brother and sister-in-laws.’
‘Mama Mia! You sound just like Mrs Richards,’ he complained as she dumped two cups on the counter and reached for the coffee jug.
‘I can see you’ve just come back from Italy. It used to be “bloody hell” before you went.’
‘Our grandmother objected to anything stronger, and she understood just enough English to know when I was swearing. Haven’t people anything better to do than talk about me? For pity’s sake, I’ve just lost my wife.’
‘Which means you’re available. And virile, eligible men are at such a premium in the town at the moment, you’ll have half the women, married as well as single, flinging themselves at you. So you may as well get used to the attention now.’ She poured out the coffee too vigorously, slopping it into the saucers as well as the cups. ‘And then again, you did have to go and pick on Jenny Powell to talk to, didn’t you?’
‘It’s a bit difficult to buy anything in her shop without talking to her.’
‘Everything Jenny Powell does is of interest to the gossips. She can
’t even brush her hair and put on a dab of lipstick without someone spreading the rumour she’s after a new husband. But then, young widows are expected to lead racy lives to entertain their neighbours. As are young widowers,’ she added pointedly.
‘What I can’t understand is how she ended up marrying Eddie Powell,’ he said in an attempt to draw Tina’s attention away from himself. ‘The last I remember she and Haydn were courting strong.’
‘She might have been courting Haydn, but she left your wedding breakfast to go up the mountain with Eddie.’
‘Frankly I was too busy looking at Maud at the time to care what her brothers and their girlfriends were doing.’
‘Then when Haydn left Pontypridd to go on stage, she well and truly sank her claws into Eddie.’
‘“Sank her claws?” Since when have you joined Mrs Richards’s gossipers’ club?’ he asked as she handed him the milk jug and sugar shaker.
‘I’d hate to see you get tarnished by Jenny’s reputation.’
‘Her reputation? Have I missed something here, like Jenny forcing Eddie to marry her at gunpoint?’
‘No one really knows what happened except that she kissed Haydn outside the church after she married Eddie in a way no sister-in-law should. And everyone, including me, saw it. Tony told me the next day that he saw Eddie drinking until two in the morning. Jenny was nowhere in sight, and considering it was their wedding night -’
‘More fool Tony,’ Ronnie broke in, ‘because there’s nowhere legal you can drink until that hour.’
‘You never stop playing the big brother, do you?’ Tina complained, irritated by his interruption.
‘Someone has to with our tribe.’
‘Our tribe is in Birmingham with our mother. Gina and I are married women. Responsible adults who work and run businesses as well as homes.’
‘You were telling me about Eddie and Jenny,’ he reminded her, refusing to quarrel.
‘And you weren’t listening. God! I’d forgotten just how infuriating you can be!’ The steamer began to hiss, she opened it up, took out the pie inside, slapped it on to a plate and carried it into the back room for a customer.
Past Remembering Page 9
