A Welcome in the Valley

by A Welcome in the Valley (retail) (epub)

  ‘I was in the army for a couple of years, until I was wounded and invalided out. I went home, started work again, then, the flat was bombed and my wife was killed.’

  ‘Ooh, George, ’ow awful. My Norman was took sudden too, but ’e was took by a bus.’

  ‘But you coped. I couldn’t think straight after her death and I had no incentive to start again.’

  ‘I ’ad Evie to care for. I was lucky.’

  ‘Things got more and more muddled. I forgot to pay my rent then found I didn’t have enough to settle the debt, and was evicted. I began sleeping rough then, as I was untidy in my apperarance and my work, I lost my job.’

  ‘Smart an’ clever chap like you could ’ave got another one?’

  ‘I decided to walk to Cardiff and stay with a cousin until I’d sorted myself out but when I reached Cardiff, my cousin had moved. By then, sleeping out and wandering had become a way of life.’

  Nelly shuddered. ‘Sleepin’ out an’ belongin’ nowhere sounds a lot worse than my life.’ Then she laughed, ‘but a bloomin’ sight better than livin’ with Evie!’ She frowned at him, her head on one side as she asked, ‘’Ere, where was you wounded then?’

  The tramp chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’ve known you long enough to show you my scars!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen all I want to of you. Seen you bathin’ in the stream, same place I use when it’s very ’ot, so you ain’t got many secrets!’

  ‘Nelly!’

  ‘Well, I expect you’ve watched me an’ all. ’Ow else would you know the best place to bathe?’ They both laughed and then, catching sight of the panting dogs and the equally hot Oliver, called to say the meal was ready.

  When Oliver had been taken home, with George staying well out of sight, Nelly and George walked back home through the trees.

  ‘Nelly, don’t leave here.’

  Nelly became upset. The day had been perfect, except for her injured leg. The company of both Oliver and George, the friendliness of Phil and all the others in the village, whom she called her friends.

  ‘I’m afraid they’ll win,’ she said, wiping a tear from her fat cheek defiantly. ‘They say I’m a drunk, an’ in need of protection or somethin’. I want to argue with ’em but I don’t know ’ow. I don’t know the words.’

  ‘I have an idea.’ George stopped, then shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t suggest it. But, it would serve them right.’

  ‘Go on, George. Tell me.’

  ‘All right. First you must go there and tell them they are right, that you will sell up everything and live there with them as they ask.’

  ‘What?’ Nelly put her hands on her hips and glared at him, convinced he had gone crazy. ‘But I thought you said —’

  The tramp laughed, his teeth white in the fading light. ‘Wait ’til you hear the rest of my idea. They must give you time, say seven or eight weeks. You’ll think of a reason, your garden perhaps, and selling the young chickens for the best price.’

  As he continued to tell her his idea, Nelly’s brown eyes grew wider and wider. When he finished, she roared with laughter. ‘If that ain’t justice,’ she said. ‘If that ain’t justice.’

  They went back to the house and revived the fire and sat talking and perfecting their plans.

  ‘Nelly, be careful on that leg for a few days.’

  ‘I never thought you’d noticed me limpin’,’ she smiled. ‘S’nice to have someone ’oo cares.’

  ‘Oh, I care.’

  They sat for a long time, listening to records of Winifred Atwell and Donald Peers, smiling at the pleasure the day had brought. Darkness fell and Nelly lit a candle to light her way upstairs to bed, smiling contentedly.

  * * *

  Timothy and Oliver had been into Llan Gwyn to the library. Oliver was sitting in the back of his father’s car, turning the pages of the book he had chosen, and through the mirror, Timothy saw him mouthing the words occasionally as he picked out those he knew.

  He had been tempted to criticise the book his son had chosen, seeing it was mostly pictures, but had changed his mind. Better he enjoyed a simple book than avoided opening the covers of one more suitable for his age. He had been reminded of that by Nelly.

  He parked the car and, talking to Oliver about what he had learnt from the story in his book, went into the kitchen. Evie was preparing lunch and when Oliver had gone up to his room, Timothy said, ‘Nelly has had quite a lot of success with Oliver, you know. Did you realise she was helping him with his work? I didn’t, until one of my teachers pointed it out.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Evie looked outraged at the thought. ‘You believe my mother – and I’d prefer you not to call her Nelly – you think she has succeeded in helping him to read and master arithmetic? I’ve spent hours with him, with books and without, encouraging him to read. Coaxing him, urging him to make the necessary effort. Hours!’

  ‘We pressured him. Both of us, for different reasons. Me because of pride I suppose. I was a teacher so I had to have an above average child. You, because you were afraid he would be a poor achiever, like your mother.’

  He could see she was angry. Besides the voice, which became louder, her actions increased in speed as she threw the cutlery onto the table and pushed it into place beside the plates. He was tempted not to go on, but knew that for Oliver’s sake he must.

  ‘She’s helping him more than you or I could.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Evelyn, surely that’s the important thing?’

  ‘My mother was a poor achiever as you put it, but worse than that, she has never wanted to better herself. My father couldn’t read or write. He was a casual worker who travelled the roads finding work where he could, coming home when he happened to be in the area! Of course I’m afraid. But this is rubbish. What could my mother know about helping a slow pupil? And what books does she use? I’ve never seen any books in her cottage except those stupid romances she gets from the library van.’

  Timothy hesitated before answering, wanting to walk away and not say the words, then he said slowly, and with apparent calm, ‘She uses comics, newspapers and simple stories about things he knows and understands, like the wild creatures they watch, and the chickens Oliver has seen grow from day-old chicks. And—’ the final hesitation ‘—and, the arithmetic comes into games they play, especially darts, and some things he’s learnt from working out her betting slips.’

  ‘Timothy!’ Evie gasped. ‘You can’t be serious! The influence of such talk—’

  Timothy turned her to face him. ‘If you want Oliver to succeed, say nothing about this. Promise me. She’s made reading and the rest have some relevance. To read and work out simple sums because Nelly needs his help, has made him want to learn. She’s a clever old woman, whatever you think of her.’

  Evie’s lips tightened. ‘I’ll promise not to say anything about this – for a while – as long as you promise not to go back on your agreement to have her living here.’

  ‘Evelyn, she’s so happy where she is.’

  ‘She came here this morning while you were out and she has agreed to come.’

  ‘What did you say to persuade her? What did you threaten her with?’

  ‘She came and said she would come to live here, she would give up her cottage and come.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘She wanted a little time, about six or seven weeks, she said, to get rid of her furniture and find homes for her hens.’

  ‘I think we’re wrong to make her come.’

  ‘She’s leaving that cottage! I can’t risk her going into town again and being seen staggering home with a tramp! You promise, Timothy?’

  Timothy sighed. ‘I’ll support you as she has agreed to come, but I don’t like it. And, she gave in too willingly, unless you threatened her?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Then perhaps she’s up to something.’

  * * *

  Amy laughed as Victor Honeyman left the shop, carrying the last of the empty boxes he was collecting. Since t
hey had danced together at the Coronation party, he had been more friendly, and, she suspected, would like to make the friendship grow into something more. Seeing Prue walking past, on the other side of the road, her laughter at one of Victor’s silly jokes became louder, and her attitude to him, more hearty and warm.

  As he was about to climb into the cab of his lorry, he changed his mind and came back to her.

  ‘Fancy a drink, do you? Tonight? We could go into Swansea if you like, have a bit of a night out.’ He winked and she shuddered inwardly. He smelt slightly of sweat and his teeth were stained with the cigarettes he constantly smoked.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ she smiled, ashamed at the way she had led him on. ‘It’s difficult to get a baby minder for my seventeen kids,’ she joked.

  He shrugged away his disappointment. ‘Another time, say?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said. She watched as he drove through the village, past the church and the school and out of sight around a bend in the road. She saw Prue, who was unable to resist a glance back to see her and she waved defiantly at the disappearing lorry.

  Prue no longer shopped at Amy’s store. She had sent a message with Freddy, asking for her ration books to be returned, and Amy had seen the grocer’s van from Llan Gwyn calling each Thursday with a box of groceries for her sister. Best really, she decided. It was difficult to talk to Prue after what had happened.

  She had not seen very much of Harry either, although they continued to meet each Wednesday afternoon in the almost completed house. On impulse, she rang him at his office and as usual, just hearing his voice made her long to see him and feel him holding her close.

  ‘Harry, it’s me; can you talk?’ she asked.

  ‘Amy, love. Yes, there’s no one here. Nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘I’ve just seen my stony-faced sister but no, nothing’s wrong, except I want to see you.’

  ‘Prue’s been very good over all this, Amy.’

  Something in his voice chilled her. ‘Harry, are we finished?’

  ‘No! Meet me at The Drovers tonight, we have to make some plans.’

  Relieved, Amy agreed.

  Harry was waiting for her in their usual place; he stood as she entered the room and went to the bar in the next room to get her a drink. She sat there waiting for him to return, uneasy, remembering the tone of his voice when he had said, ‘Prue has been very good over all this,’ and wondering what he was going to say.

  He seemed longer than usual getting the drink and she felt her worry turn to anger. He had brought her here to tell her it was all over. She knew it. His face, when she had arrived showed none of the usual welcome. She stood, almost deciding to leave, now, before he came back and used the words that would destroy her, but at that moment, Harry returned.

  This time he welcomed her properly. There was no one else in the small room, most people preferring the activity of the larger room with its dart board, bar skittles and the roaring fire in the big fireplace. He put down the drink and opened his arms to her.

  ‘Amy, Amy love. It’s been so long,’ he said, ‘I need you so much.’

  They sat close together on one of the uncomfortable Welsh settles that was the only alternative to separate chairs, struggled with the sliding cushions to give them the least painful position, and talked. Mostly foolish talk at first, then gradually they began to discuss their plans.

  ‘I’ve searched for the books, but Prue has hidden them well. There’s only one place they can be and that is kept locked. I’ve tried to open it, I’ve tried to find the key, but it’s no use.’

  ‘Harry, Prue can’t report you to the police and accuse you of fraud. She’s guilty too. She does your books. Call her bluff, she can’t do anything.’

  He looked away from her and again she felt the cold fear. He was not going to leave Prue. She stood up, pushing away his attempts to hold her.

  ‘You’re like a child, Harry. You want your sweets and your pocket money too!’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You won’t leave Prue! She makes you too comfortable. She treats you too well! I’ve been a fool and I’m not going to fool myself any longer.’ With trembling hands, she picked up her handbag and the coat she had worn around her shoulders and pushed past him to the door. ‘Leave me alone. Don’t speak to me again until you’ve spoken to Prue – about leaving her.’

  ‘Amy, stop and listen to me. I will do something, I promise, but I need time to sort things out.’

  ‘You’re no man. How could I have been taken in for all these years. A man wouldn’t succumb to blackmail from a woman.’

  She was crying and Harry pushed past her and stood against the door, stopping her from leaving. For a moment she thought he was going to face things, promise to go at once and tell Prue he was moving out, the look on his face was so determined.

  ‘Amy, love. You stay here and I’ll go. It wouldn’t be wise for people to see you with your makeup all messed up.’ She swung her bag and gave a low scream of rage, but she hit only the door. Harry had gone.

  The door opened again and she tensed, ready for another attempt to hit him, but it was Nelly who came in.

  ‘What’s the matter, dearie? Someone upset you, ’ave they?’ Amy smiled and opening her bag, took out a ten-shilling note and asked Nelly to get them both a drink.

  ‘It’s not me, but my friend,’ Amy explained later when they had both finished their third drink. She went on to explain about the mythical friend who loved a man who was not hers to love.

  Nelly sympathised, then said, ‘My advice to your friend, Amy love, is to enjoy herself and say, Sod ’em all!’ They both laughed and did not hear the door open.

  Vic Honeyman stood there, surprised at seeing Amy, he said, ‘This is my lucky night. Now you can’t refuse to have that drink with me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nelly said nudging Amy. ‘’Ave two, why don’t yer?’

  Nelly, who had called to buy some bottles for when George came back, left them and dragging the dogs, walked home. When Amy left, Victor Honeyman went with her.

  * * *

  Fay continued to leave notes for Alan, and one day there was a reply. ‘Meet me at four on Wednesday,’ it said, and she was overjoyed.

  It was easy to re-arrange her week’s schedule, and by working without lunch and cutting short some of the more garrulous customers; she was free from midday on Wednesday and walked to the sheepfold, where she guessed he would be.

  ‘I’ve decided to try and return home,’ he said.

  ‘Alan! I’m so pleased. What do you want me to do? Shall I prepare your mother for your visit?’

  ‘No. Not yet. Promise me you won’t do or say anything until I’m ready.’

  ‘I promise. But your mother, she’ll be the first one you’ll see?’

  ‘I can only deal with people one at a time. Perhaps you could bring her out here? Without telling her why, then, if I find I can’t face it, she won’t be distressed.’

  ‘I’ll try, but I don’t know whether she’ll come with me. What excuse can I give her?’

  ‘If you can’t…’ He turned away and Fay guessed how easily he would change his mind.

  ‘Alan, darling, of course I can, I was thinking out loud, that’s all. When shall I bring her?’

  After Fay had gone, Alan strolled back to the edge of the woods, where he could look down on his old home. A great longing filled him. Fay was right, he had only to start things moving then every problem would solve itself, all the pieces of his shattered life would fall back into place. He looked at the smart houses in the area that had once been his garden, where he and Fay had played as children. The trees they had climbed were gone, replaced by the walls of the houses, the green grass hidden by concrete and black tarmac. The wild flowers had been discarded, their places taken by orderly, weed-free beds filled with carefully selected plants to give neat patterns of colour and shape.

  He knew everyone who lived in the houses. He had stood at this same spot many times, during the ni
ght as well as the day, and learnt where each person had lived, had watched children come and go, had seen washing put out, and left to blow in the cleansing wind before being taken in again.

  As he watched now, he saw Prue Beynon come out and look about her in an agitated manner, stopping and starting, running one way then another, as if she had suffered some terrible shock. She looked up and he knew she was looking at him. He was tempted to wave, but thought better of it.

  Then Prue ran back inside and he turned his gaze to other houses, other small dramas. It was only a few minutes later that a police car arrived, followed by others, each spilling out the occupants, who scanned the fields, as they waited for instructions, until Prue came out and pointed at him, and the blue-coated group began to run up the field towards him.

  Alan knew he had been careless, standing far beyond the edge of the tree-line. He moved away, steadily, unhurriedly, his limp hardly noticeable, and avoided them all with ease.

  His face had not altered, but his heart was racing and he was once again back in enemy territory, where to be hunted was normal, and to be found was death. Using all his skill he hid as the men searched quite close, and with a choking panic, suddenly came out of his dream to find his hands around a sergeant’s throat. He let the man fall and ran. He ran without stopping for the whole day and the night.

  * * *

  Fay was met by an angry Johnny when she went home after meeting Alan.

  ‘Fay. You shouldn’t have gone alone. You promised me we’d deal with this together.’

  ‘Sorry, Johnny. I felt he wouldn’t cope with more than one of us, and he said as much himself. Darling, I know I was wrong to go without you, but I really think he will soon be ready to go home.’ She told him what had been said, and Johnny shook his head.

  ‘Best you don’t see him alone. We’re a partnership aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’ She kissed him affectionately.

  He grinned. ‘Well, tell the truth, I’ve been doing something on my own too. I’ve only found out his address!’