Holidays at Home Omnibus

by Wait Till Summer; Swingboats On the Sand; Waiting for Yesterday; Day Trippers; Unwise Promises; Street Parties (retail) (epub)

  ‘Oh, and how will we manage when tomorrow’s washing has to be done and with today’s not seen to?’

  ‘I’ll take this pile to the laundry and do the same with tomorrow’s lot. Take a day off, Marged, you’re worn out.’ He took a deep breath, preparing to argue with her, but she nodded and agreed.

  ‘You’re right, I’m tired, Huw. A day at home will give me the chance to give the bedrooms a good sorting.’

  ‘No, Marged. You’re to relax and enjoy a quiet few hours. We all have time off except you, and it’s time you did.’

  That she agreed was evidence of how exhausted and ill-used she was feeling.

  A few hours before, Audrey and Wilf had returned from a picnic in the park, where a performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream had been performed by a local school. Audrey was in a happy mood. Wilf’s illness had settled and although he became tired if he did more than common sense told him he should, he was able to enjoy most days in gentle pleasure.

  Putting down the bag containing the remnants of their supper picnic, she was humming cheerfully to herself as she went to revive the fire and persuade the silent kettle to sing. The house was empty: Ronnie and Olive were asleep in the flat at the top of the house, Maude and Myrtle were probably out with friends, she presumed.

  They sat and listened to the wireless, content to relax, unworried about early rising and a frantic tomorrow. Maude and Myrtle came in, chatted and went to bed. Still they sat, unwilling to disturb themselves.

  The knock at the door made her sigh in mock irritation. ‘That girl has forgotten her key again,’ she said to Wilf, who had sat close to her on a chair near the fire. ‘I’ve threatened to tie it round her neck on a big red ribbon.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, they’re both in bed. Who can it be?’

  It was Marged. Huw had gone to bed, content that he had dealt with the problem and eased Marged’s mind. But Marged had sat there in her kitchen quietly fuming until she could sit no longer.

  ‘Where’s our Ronnie? I need him to come and sort out a problem with the washing boiler.’

  ‘I think they’re asleep, there aren’t any lights on and it is rather late, Marged.’

  Needing someone to blame, Marged glared at her sister. ‘How could you, our Audrey‘? Leading me to think you were going to help as before, then going off to Tenby like that without a word.’

  ‘What are you talking about? That was ages ago and I did leave a note to tell you all where we were going.’

  Wilf pulled himself out of the chair and crossed the room towards the hall door. He had never been involved in the regular disagreements between the sisters and he didn’t want to start. He had hoped, that once Marged realized Audrey was no longer willing to help with the business, she would calm down, but by the look on her face it seemed she had been storing her resentment and, like an unpredictable volcano, it was about to erupt.

  ‘I need our Ronnie to help fix the boiler.’ Marged repeated. ‘It overflowed all over the kitchen and the mess was terrible.’

  ‘It’s too late to bother Ronnie tonight and I don’t see what this has to do with Wilf and me going to Tenby.’

  ‘You’ve let me down. In the middle of the busiest month you’ve walked away from your responsibilities.’

  Audrey smiled and in a quiet voice said. ‘I’m putting my husband first, for once.’

  As Wilf reached the door, suddenly it seemed difficult for him to draw breath and a severe pain forced him to cry out. Audrey ran to him and made him sit at the end of the couch and slowly lean back against the arm. Marged ran to the door. ‘I’ll go and fetch the doctor.’ she said, full of remorse for her outburst.

  ‘You do that!’ Audrey snapped, helping Wilf to a comfortable position.

  Marged stayed at the house while the doctor attended to Wilf, then said to Audrey. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how ill he is. You won’t talk about it so how could I?’ she added, in defence of her behaviour.

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it, Marged. You just have to accept that he and I need all the time we have to spend together. You robbed me of so much, surely you can’t fail to understand that?’

  Most of the night hours had flown. The curtains were opened on to a fresh, summer morning and Marged looked around for something to do to ease her conscience. So much for a day off, she thought. She’d have to stay in case Audrey needed her help.

  Automatically, she made tea, prepared a breakfast and placed it in front of her sister. ‘Eat, Audrey. To help Wilf you have to stay healthy and fit.’ Obediently, Audrey ate the slice of bacon she had intended for their lunch that day with fried tomatoes and a few potatoes, and the egg she had been saving for Wilf’s breakfast. There had been no point in trying to stop Marged from doing what she thought best.

  When there was nothing more she could do, Marged went home and told Huw what had happened.

  ‘Leave them to themselves,’ Huw advised. ‘Go out, have a few hours of relaxation. Audrey will tell us if she wants help.’

  Too weary and upset to argue, Marged agreed.

  Huw, with only momentary guilt, called at 78 Conroy Street and asked Stanley to call in sick and help on the sands, something for which Stanley needed no persuasion.

  Marged, meanwhile, walked through the park but she couldn’t take her mind off the business. Her thoughts wandered over the day’s needs, wondering whether Huw had bought what he needed to fix the boiler and arranged for the laundry to be done, and whether the cakes would last the day. Then she remembered the potatoes. Huw wouldn’t give the potatoes a thought. Bernard Gregory delivered an order each week but they had been extra busy and they were short of potatoes. The day was sunny and pleasantly warm so she decided to go to the smallholding and place the extra order, glad to have a purpose to her walk.

  She was so used to rushing that it wasn’t until she was breathless that she slowed down and remembered there was nothing to hurry for. She looked around her at the fullness of the summer flowers, the boldness of the last few poppies in the corn and the scent of meadowsweet where it had survived the cutting of the hay, tall and elegant in the hedgerow. The unexpected delight of freedom for a whole day filled her with a joy she had almost forgotten how to cherish.

  How many others were the same as herself, rushing, trying to cope with life in wartime, with shortages and worries about their loved ones? There were weary faces everywhere you looked. The way she felt, weighed down with weariness, was the same for everyone, the redeeming factor was the way everyone helped each other and no one took advantage of the situation and allowed greed to take over. How will we all survive it, she wondered.

  She sat on a stile near the edge of the town and the sound of the clattering hooves of a stationary and impatient horse made her turn her head curiously. Further along the lane Mr Gregory’s horse and cart was tied to a gate. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the smallholding after all. She walked towards the cart and then stopped. There was a man climbing in through a bedroom window and, unless she was mistaken, that man was Reggie Probert. ‘I knew it!‘ she muttered.

  As he disappeared inside the house, she turned away and began to hurry back to the town, while below him, holding the ladder, Mrs Franks stood waiting patiently for Reggie to let her through the front door for which she had forgotten the key.

  Marged didn’t go to the police. Like many others she avoided the complications of being involved. Instead, she caught the bus over to the café where Maude and Myrtle were busy serving a queue of hot and sunburnt visitors with drinks. An irate customer came in and waved a plate under Huw’s face. ‘This isn’t a proper sausage,’ he complained angrily. ‘The one you gave to the last customer was twice as big!’

  Calling Maude aside and leaving Huw to deal with the customer, Marged told her what she had seen. ‘Now d’you believe me when I say you should keep away from him?’

  ‘Perhaps there’s an explanation,’ Maude stuttered.

  Too tense and angry to walk away, Marged went to
the café’s kitchen. pushed Huw aside and began dealing with the dishes. ‘We want more potatoes.’ she reminded him brusquely.

  ‘On their way!’ he snapped in reply.

  ‘How was I to know you’d remembered?’ she retorted, reason fading fast.

  In her fury she dropped and broke a jug filled with milk, and in stretching out to save it, Huw knocked over a tray of cups and saucers.

  At that moment, Reggie delivered potatoes and some tomatoes and told them cheerfully about Mrs Franks forgetting her key and how he came to the rescue. Huw looked at his wife, waiting for her to apologize to Maude, but before she could say a word, a red-faced Stanley came in, escorted by a man even more red-faced, who said he was Stanley’s ex-employer.

  ‘Sacked he is and not before time. Calling in sick and giving graphic descriptions of his symptoms, then coming here and working for you. Well, you can have him! He’s sacked!’

  ‘Dammit all, Marged, everything was all right until you came in,‘ Huw groaned in dismay. Then, grinning widely, he said, ‘Well done, Stanley, lad. Welcome to the mad house!’

  Wilf, meanwhile had been advised to rest for a few days and this he did. Marged called daily to make sure they had all they needed and the washing went to the laundry until Huw fixed a washer over the hole in the boiler. The tablecloths didn’t look as good as when she or Audrey did them, but she didn’t complain. She was honest enough to face the fact that complaining had become a habit. She was tired and worn down by having too much to do, but so was everyone else.

  * * *

  One Saturday towards the end of the season, there was a beauty contest being held on the promenade followed by dancing by moonlight. When Marged mentioned it to Audrey, Wilf suggested they went along to watch.

  ‘What about you two?’ Audrey asked Maude and Myrtle. ‘You’re getting fond of dancing, and in the open air, dancing by the light of the moon will be fun.’

  ‘I’ll ask Beth and Eirlys if they’ll come.’ Myrtle was immediately enthusiastic about the plan.

  ‘Eirlys’ll be there, stupid! She’s organizing it like she did before. She’ll want to see if it’s as good as last time.’

  ‘Stanley will come,’ Myrtle said, thinking aloud.

  ‘Oh no, Myrtle. What d’you want to ask him for? We don’t want him hanging around.’

  ‘I haven’t seen that Reggie who works for Mr Gregory lately. Had another quarrel, have you?’ Audrey asked.

  Maude didn’t answer. She was still unhappy about their parting. But Myrtle had no qualms about telling Audrey that it had been Marged’s decision. ‘Him being questioned about the stuff taken from you by a man who turned out to be Reggie’s brother.’

  ‘Why did that stop you seeing Reggie?’

  Myrtle shrugged. ‘Crooks the lot of ’em. Or so Auntie Marged thinks.’

  ‘Oh, does she.’

  Audrey used Myrtle’s bicycle and went to see Mr Gregory and when she came back she went straight to see her sister.

  ‘Why have you stopped Maude seeing Reggie?’ she demanded.

  Huw jumped out of his chair. ‘Damn it all, if you two are arguing again, I’m going for a pint!’

  To Audrey’s surprise, Marged admitted she had been hasty accusing Reggie of housebreaking and she promised to explain her error to Maude.

  When Maude went to the smallholding to see Reggie and try to son out their differences, Mr Gregory told her he had gone.

  Seven

  Shirley Downs stared around the street of the busy town and wondered how to fill the next few hours. Although Ken had promised her she wouldn’t be stranded between a couple of concerts, here she was again. He had persuaded her to sing at three concerts on consecutive evenings and this meant that once more she was in a town she didn’t know, with five hours to wait before she was due to arrive at the concert venue — in this instance the local school hall.

  It was three o’clock and she had used as much time as possible by eating lunch in a small restaurant and had explored all the shops in the main road several times. Many more times and I’ll be suspected of being a thief waiting for an opportunity, she mused. Although, I’m not made for swift actions, with a gammy leg and a walking stick.

  The town was a small one and so far as she could see there was nothing else with which to fill her time. There was only one possibility; the library beckoned.

  When she stopped a lady to ask the whereabouts of the library she was advised to walk through the indoor market as this was the quickest way. Shirley thanked her but thought that the longest way would have been better, it would have used up more of her unwanted leisure time.

  She still needed a walking stick since the injury to her legs, but the discomfort was easing and she strolled along to the market entrance, which she had not noticed before. It was a surprisingly large market for such a small town. The first stalls were the usual mixture of fruit, vegetables, fish, bread and cakes, plus whatever else people found to sell that was not rationed. There was a small café there, similar to the one in St David’s Well market owned by Beth. Although it was not long since she had eaten lunch, she sat and ordered a cup of tea. She wasn’t sightseeing, she was filling time.

  She sat there, sipping the weak brew and watching the chattering shoppers wander past, when she became aware of the chanting sound of a seller. She moved her chair slightly until she could see a young man who was attracting an audience by his enthusiasm and humour. Some people who were ready for some fun, were adding to his remarks, responding to insult with insult, encouraging his bantering spiel. She finished her tea and stood up. He might be a way of passing a few more minutes.

  The young man was dressed in extremely smart clothes. Good quality, well cut slacks and a neatly ironed short-sleeved shirt. His black hair was worn longer than was fashionable, swinging across his face as he bent to pick up his wares and as he turned to encompass his widening audience. His dark eyes were everywhere, watching for the hesitant customer and directing his words to encourage her. There was a gleam in his eye, a promise of fun in his half-smile, giving him an air of devilish attraction to which even the older members of the crowd were not immune.

  Having studied him for an unnecessarily long time, Shirley looked to see what he was offering. Then his voice changed and something about the softly spoken, slightly husky tone seemed familiar. She looked at him again and no recognition came. His voice could hardly be unique, it must have reminded her of someone she knew.

  Beside him were boxes of china and from what she could see, he was concentrating on selling cups and saucers. All were patterned but nothing matched which, he was insisting, would be the new fashion.

  ‘Everything a mishmash. it’s what all the smart people are doing, ladies,’ he assured them earnestly. ‘Honestly, no one bothers about matching sets anymore. Hitler’s seen to that and now everyone who’s anyone mixes patterns and colours and as long as they’re good bone china, like these — as you expert ladies will recognize — well, anything goes. Just look at the quality of that, ladies. It’ll be a pleasure to drink even common old tap water out of a cup of that quality.’ He offered a cup and saucer to a young woman standing close to him. ‘I bet you haven’t see anything as good for years, but I’m in a good mood today and I’m promising you that if you buy one cup and saucer for a shilling, I’ll give you a spoon for nothing. Now, can I say fairer? First half a dozen only, then the price goes up. Come on, this is something you can’t afford to miss. Forget the rabbit you were going to buy for dinner and give the kids beans on toast instead. Come on, treat yourselves while I’m in a generous mood.’

  Shirley watched in amusement as a forest of arms reached out offering their shillings and were handed a cup and saucer plus spoon. Six only, he’d said, but she saw at least twenty sets change hands. ‘That’s right, ladies, sick of plain white china, aren’t we? Bored to death with it. A bit of colour’ll cheer up them marvellous meals you make for your ungrateful families. I know what it’s like. Do your heart good, a bit of cheerf
ul colour will. Look at this one. Roses! I ask you, could you get better anywhere?’

  The chattering, smiling crowd dispersed and more began to gather as he once more began his encouraging chanting. His dark eyes scanned the crowd as though assessing his chances and when his eyes met hers they gave a wide wink. Startled, she backed away.

  ‘Here, don’t go, you’re bringing me luck standing there,’ he called and still amused, still curious about the half remembered voice, Shirley returned to her place.

  There was a repeat of his performance and this time she counted twenty-two sales, most women buying more than one set. At a shilling a time, he had taken more than two pounds in twenty minutes. Again, she began to move away but again he stopped her.

  ‘I’m stopping for a cuppa in a minute, just one more session. I’ll buy you tea and a sticky bun if you hang on while I do my last spiel then pack this lot away safe.’

  ‘Pack up? But you aren’t finished selling already are you?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It isn’t half past three yet.’

  He was grinning widely and again she felt that half-remembered familiarity but the identity of the smartly dressed young man eluded her.

  ‘Knowing when to stop is part of the skill in this job,’ he said. ‘No, they’re all making their way home now, kids coming out of school, the family wanting their tea, selling’s over for today. This next lot will be down on numbers, ten if I’m lucky, you watch.’

  He was correct as the selling was less frenzied, and he succeeded in getting rid of just eight sets. ‘Just as well,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m almost out of cups and saucers. Tomorrow I’ll be somewhere else and selling dinner plates. Want to buy a couple?’

  Laughing, Shirley shook her head.

  Packing the last of his wares into boxes and tea chests, he staggered with them out through the market entrance. ‘Pity about your leg,’ he said nodding towards the stick. ‘You could give me a hand if you weren’t injured.’