Holidays at Home Omnibus
Page 72
He avoided public transport. It was too slow, and besides, he knew his face would clearly reveal guilt if any redcapped military policemen appeared. Using the same story about a journey using any means available, he begged lifts and completed the journey with only minutes to spare, walking casually back into camp with a detail sent to draw water from the stream for the breakfast tea urn. At a roll-call unexpectedly made later that morning, he stood beside Kipper and shouted his name as present, sharing a grin with the friend who had once been an enemy.
* * *
‘Who was that bloke you brought home last night?’ Colin Potter demanded of his daughter. ‘It was Eynon, and I didn’t bring him home, he had a brief leave and called to see if I was all right,’ she explained. Colin aimed a blow at her, leaning back on the wall to regain his balance as he staggered forward. ‘Behave yourself, if you know what’s good for you,’ he threatened. ‘I will, Dad, don’t worry,’ she said submissively.
* * *
Freddy Clements was on the move. A letter containing only a printed form with spaces for him to add a word or two, was delivered to Shirley and she wondered whether he was moving nearer to home or further away. She was surprised at how the thought of seeing him again pleased her. Freddy had been great fun, his lack of loyalty and careless attitude, his generosity with money that didn’t really belong to him, had all been assets during their time together.
She hadn’t been the recipient of his selfish, thoughtless behaviour and it really had been fun. She knew how he had cheated on Beth Castle when they were engaged to be married, and how he had used their savings without telling his fiancée. Shirley doubted whether even a spell in the army would have changed him.
She took out the letters he had written and read them, and became aware as she went through them that in fact Freddy had changed. At first it was all fun and scrounging was a way of life. Gradually the letters had become more serious. They were still filled with humorous anecdotes but he talked about his plans for the future with a determination that surprised her on reading them one after another. He wanted to open a shop selling men’s clothing, like the one in which he had worked before joining the army. Reading his words and hearing his voice in her mind, saying them, she felt certain he would succeed. She put the last one down, the impersonal printed form stating simply that he was well and that a letter would follow at the first opportunity, and wondered whether they might have a future together.
* * *
Beth Castle and Peter Gregory were eventually married at the end of July 1941. In a hastily arranged ceremony, followed by a simple meal provided at the café on the beach, which closed to the public for less than two hours, they said their goodbyes to the few friends and family who had attended, and hurried off for a forty-eight hour honeymoon in West Wales.
Seeing them off in Peter’s car for which he had managed to save some petrol, Eirlys wished them luck and wondered how many hours they would have together in the following weeks. Not many, if previous months were a guide. Whatever work Peter did, it kept him out of uniform and far from home for weeks on end. Not an ideal start to a marriage, yet she envied Beth - in a non-malicious way - for having someone with whom to share love.
Her thoughts went to Ken Ward and she wondered whether they would eventually marry. Sometimes it seemed impossible and at others it was inevitable. Childishly she hugged the thought to her of someone coming into her life and sweeping her off her feet as in the best fairy stories, then she laughed at her own stupidity and went into Castle’s café to help clear up the debris of the make-shift wedding breakfast.
* * *
Shirley’s mother attended the wedding but not as a guest. She sometimes worked at the café and was there on that day as waitress, handing around trays of bite-sized snacks and wine as well as the ubiquitous cuppa. The two young girls were there, Maude and Myrtle Copp, and although Hetty had been reasonably friendly on the occasions they had met, they were still nervous of her.
Hetty’s husband Paul Downs had left her when Shirley was a child, to live with another woman in a town several miles away from St David’s Well. When the orphaned girls, Maude and Myrtle, were found, it was eventually realised that they were the daughters of Paul with his new ‘wife’ - now both dead. Since then Hetty had been through every emotion including shock, humiliation, disgust and even hatred of the innocent children, and her own mortification had seemed to be there to stay, wounding her every day, reminding her of her stupidity at not realising what was happening until it was too late. Now she had accepted that Maude, now sixteen, almost seventeen and Myrtle, now thirteen, could not be in any way responsible for the manner of their birth, and had tried to become their friend.
At first her own unease had shown, causing them to see her as gruff and suspicious, and succeeding in making them wary of her attempts to talk. Gradually she was winning them over and the day of Beth and Peter’s wedding saw a big stride in their progress.
Standing in the kitchen of Castle’s café overlooking the sandy St David’s Well Bay she had joked and teased and gradually they started to respond. She asked questions and answered theirs as fully as she was able. Most of their questions were about Paul, their father; little things like his favourite sweets and why he hadn’t smoked like other fathers, and what was he like in the morning. Maude remembered him better than Myrtle, the younger child depending on Maude’s memories to make her own.
Cautiously Hetty asked about their mother and learned that she was always teasing Paul and playing tricks on him, hiding one of his shoes and producing it after the three of them watched him search in apparent frustration. They seem to have laughed a lot and a worm of envy disturbed her peace of mind when she imagined them together.
Now she smiled at Maude and asked her how she was enjoying working in the factory canteen.
‘Not much. I like the hours working on the swingboats, roundabouts and helter-skelter best,’ she told Hetty. ‘The fares are easy to collect, not like the stalls where everything’s a different price. Our Myrtle is best at arithmetic,’ she added proudly.
‘I can read and write and I make out Auntie Marged’s shopping list every week,’ Myrtle said with equal pride. ‘And I have a Saturday morning job delivering for the grocer. Only until eleven, then I go over the beach,’ she added.
‘How do you deliver them?’ Hetty teased. ‘Not old enough to drive a van, are you?’
‘She uses the carrier bike, but it’s too heavy and she takes one order at a time and pushes the bike instead of riding it,’ Maude laughed.
‘Perhaps you can come and help Shirley in the shop during the winter, when the beach closes. She’s always looking for someone good at figures to work a few hours.’
‘All them papers and magazines? And the cigarettes and tobacco? That would be a bit hard for me.’
‘It never would! Clever you are, young Myrtle. Why don’t you come and talk to Shirley about it?’
‘Perhaps. When summer’s over. And we’ve got weeks and weeks of it yet.’
‘Then come to tea on your day off. Shirley can show you what’s needed. That’ll give you plenty of time to think about it.’
Hetty wanted to be a part of the girls’ life. With Shirley out most of the time she spent many hours alone: seeking the company of Paul’s children could be a pleasant way of filling them.
* * *
Lilly Castle’s baby was growing and Lilly was growing too, fatter and more slovenly as weeks passed, and she made no attempt to do more than look after her child. The washing which her parents had insisted was her job had first been given to Mrs Denver, Baby Phyllis’s other grandmother. Now it was gradually slipped into the big family wash done either by Lilly’s mother, Marged, or Marged’s sister Auntie Audrey. Shamed by seeing Mrs Denver dealing with it, they had given in.
Using a pram given to her by Johnny’s wife, Hannah, Lilly would walk to the park and sit with other young mothers to compare notes and discuss the children’s progress. About once a week sh
e walked to Queen Street to visit Phil’s mother. It was usually on Wednesday when the shops closed and there was nothing particular to do. Mrs Denver welcomed her and always had a little gift for the baby.
‘Come to me for a cwtch, fach,’ she would say. Then taking the little girl from her pram and cuddling her, she would wrap her in a Welsh shawl close to her body, and with both hands free she made tea and set the table with whatever goodies she had managed to find.
They would admire the child and declare her the cleverest they had ever known, and Lilly would complain about how tired she was and how her family didn’t understand her inability to work. Sympathy was showered on her, Mrs Denver telling her she was an exceptionally caring mother, and Lilly would walk home content.
If Phil hadn’t been killed in action, she knew they would have been so happy, herself, Phil as the doting father and their beautiful daughter, supported by Phil’s mother. Life would have been perfect. In a glow of melancholy she strolled home to where Auntie Audrey and Maude would have a meal waiting for her, having invited her to spend the evening with them so they could admire the baby. Perhaps, as she’d had such a lovely afternoon out, she might offer to deal with the washing-up. Unless it was roast potatoes – she hated scouring pans. Wednesday was sometimes a roast potatoes day.
Roast potatoes weren’t only for Sundays. To make a meatless meal more interesting and when there was a little fat to spare, many housewives put part-boiled potatoes in the oven. The meal on this Wednesday was salad and a little grated cheese, with boiled potatoes; so she volunteered.
* * *
Lilly’s brother Ronnie and his wife, Olive, were running their vegetable stall in the local market and on that Wednesday afternoon when the market closed, Ronnie suggested they walk out to Mr Gregory’s smallholding to see if he had anything for sale which they could buy for their stall. There were plenty of customers in the busy market but irregular supplies of anything but the basics sometimes meant they had nothing to sell to them. Olive, with the birth of her baby drawing near, wasn’t sure about the walk.
‘I feel a bit tired. Ronnie. I think I’ll lie on the bed for a while. You go, I’ll be all right on my own.’
With the intention of not being away from her long, Ronnie set off quickly on his bicycle. Their child was due in a couple of weeks and he was unhappy at Olive being on her own. On impulse he changed direction and called at his mother’s home in the hope that someone would be there. He intended to ask if someone could stay with Olive for the half hour he would be away. His parents were out. The beach entertainments didn’t close for half day like the shops. There was no sign of his sister Lilly; he’d have settled for her even though she would not be his first choice. Going a few doors further up the road to the house where his grandmother had lived, he knocked and walked in, calling for Auntie Audrey.
No reply. He was angry with himself for wasting time. If he had gone straight to Mr Gregory’s he would be halfway there by now. There was a fair chance that Mr Gregory himself would not be home, so he had written a note and intended leaving it on the kitchen table. The Gregorys’ door, like many others, was never locked.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to go back home and wait until someone could stay with Olive, then, his mind made up, he went as quickly as he could to the smallholding, left the note of his requirements and raced back. In the yard. Mr Gregory saw him am’ve and, when he reached the house, saw him racing away.
He read the note and frowned. Unusual for him not to wait.
He always had a kettle on the boil ready for making a pot of tea and Ronnie was known to be a ‘teapot’, in constant need of a brew. He looked at the note again. It was a request for delivery of potatoes, carrots and the rest of the regular twice-weekly order, plus chicken and duck eggs: a PS added. ‘And anything else you have for us to sell.’
He left what he was doing and walked up to the field. There might be a few greens ready for cutting. Better to wait for them to grow a bit larger but by then everyone else would have plenty and the price would drop, he reasoned.
Taking his notebook from its usual place, he made a list of what he would take and tucked it back inside the lining band of his hat. Then he remembered that Olive was close to her time and decided to take the horse and cart and go to see if she had given birth. It would explain Ronnie’s haste and if the child was born it would be something interesting to tell Peter when he next wrote.
Ronnie stood on the pedals to give himself more power and raced along the quiet route towards the town, the tyres humming on the surface of the lane. He cut across corners, saving himself a few yards and went hurrying on, his thoughts on Olive and the time she had been alone. He knew he was being foolish – everyone said that babies didn’t arrive within minutes of the first warnings – but he still felt she had been alone too long.
* * *
Another of Bernard Gregory’s customers was walking towards the smallholding. Joseph had decided to treat Dolly to a chicken dinner. She ate very little, and he knew that the full meal would not be easy for her to manage, but the broth and some chicken meat put through the mincer and softened with gravy might tempt her poor appetite.
The afternoon was fine and he wasn’t in a hurry. Any excuse to get away from the sickroom was to be enjoyed. The hedgerows were richly coloured with the wonderful summer display of wild flowers and he was tempted to collect some to take back to Dolly, but he remembered from previous experience that their beauty did not last more than a few hours. He found a small clump of yellow toadfiax growing in an old wall, with its small snapdragon mouths, and gathered a few. They might stay open for a few days and give Dolly some brief pleasure. She had always loved wild flowers. He was smiling as he tied them into his handkerchief when, without warning, Ronnie’s bicycle hit him.
* * *
Joseph’s mother heard the call from Dolly and went up the stairs.
‘Where has Joseph gone?’ Dolly asked. She was hot and highly coloured, her eyes enormous in the sunken cheeks. ‘He promised he’d only be half an hour.’
‘He’s probably met someone and is having a chinwag,’ Mrs Beynon soothed. ‘He has to go out sometimes, Dolly. He needs a break even though he loves being with you.’
‘He goes dancing, and he’s out eight hours a day at work.’ Tears filled her beautiful eyes and she added softly, ‘I can’t help being ill.’
Mrs Beynon hugged her. Dolly rarely complained, and she had never asked where Joseph had gone, or worried about his late return before. She glanced at the bedside clock. He had been gone rather a long time. To the smallholding to order a chicken for the weekend shouldn’t have taken more than an hour. Even allowing for him to stay for a cup of tea with Bernard couldn’t stretch it to more than two hours. Joseph had been away more than three.
‘Go and find him, Mam,’ Dolly pleaded. ‘l’m frightened that he’s been hurt.’
‘Nonsense, love.’ Mrs Beynon touched her daughter-in-law’s shoulder, patting it gently, aware of its frailty. ‘Our Joseph will come through the door any minute.’
Another half hour passed before Mr Gregory knocked at the door.
‘Don’t get alarmed, Mrs Beynon, but your Joseph was hurt in an accident. Not bad, mind, just a few scratches and a whopping great bruise. Knocked down by young Ronnie Castle on his bike he was. I went past only minutes later on the horse and cart and scraped them up, dusted them down and took them both to the hospital. The doctor is checking him over and he’ll be home in the morning.’
‘I’d better go and see him,’ Joseph’s mother said, reaching for her coat.
‘In that case I can give you a lift.’
She ran upstairs and in a reassuring voice explained to Dolly what had happened.
‘Off to see for myself, I am, and l’ll be back in a hour to tell you everything, right?’
She tucked the clothes more firmly around the small wasted body and kissed the hot cheek. With a wave she hurried out. ‘I’m locking you in, Dolly, so you�
��ve nothing to worry about,’ she called. Then to Bernard Gregory she added, ‘Scared of being on her own she is. She’s so weak it makes her feel vulnerable, although what she imagines could happen to her in her own home I don’t know.’
Dolly lay in the bed listening to every sound. She was terrified both of knowing she was alone in the house and the thought that Joseph wouldn’t come back.
* * *
Ronnie was relieved to see that Olive was perfectly all right and his panic and the resulting accident were for nothing. He made a joke out of it all so she didn’t know how painful his bruises were, or how embarrassed he felt at giving Joseph such a shock.
* * *
Joseph was feeling very uncomfortable. There were bandages on his hands and plasters on his face where branches of the hedgerow had caught him as he fell. His hip was one great ache and when he saw his mother walking in, his first words were, ‘No dancing for a while, eh?’
He reassured his mother that no damage had been done, they were just keeping him in for observation because his neck was stiff where he had fallen and hit his head on the ground. ‘Go back to Dolly, Mam, you know how frightened she’ll be on her own,’ he urged, when told that Dolly was alone. Kissing him gently on one of the few areas of his face not scratched or plastered, she had a word with the doctor and then left for home.
* * *
Dolly was trying to retrieve her clothes from the wardrobe. Everything was such an effort. The key wouldn’t turn, the hangers wouldn’t leave the rail. Crying in despair at her feebleness she sat on the bed to recover. A second try resulted in her finding shoes, a dress and a thin summer coat with which she painstakingly slowly dressed herself. Holding the handrail she edged down the stairs and out of the house.