So he became a batman for a change, and it was as bad as he feared, because when he woke the captain in the mornings it was like shaking a nest of adders; he always had a liver and a white tongue and never pleased with anything. But sometimes Siencyn got away on his own, three times a week, after rabbits and pheasants, and then he was as happy as could be. When the captain was shouting for him to clean his Sam Browne or fetch some hot water because the hot water had gone lukewarm on account of him not getting up when he was called, Siencyn felt as bitter and cynical as Dan Evans Spain, who was always sneering at the talk in the papers about fighting for freedom and decency and our children’s futures. But when he was lying in the ferns watching the way the pheasants went for grubs, or setting a snare in a rabbit’s run, then Siencyn really felt as if he were fighting for freedom and the right of a man to live his own life. Anyway, it was no good looking at things the way Dan Evans did. No doubt it was true all he said about the coal owners taking all the profits and the children without a decent pair of boots or a warm coat, and about the men in London exploiting the natives in Africa and India, and about the Daily Worker being banned like in a Nazi country; and when he put it to you you did find it queer to wonder why the poor women and babies suffered themselves to be bombed in the slums in Swansea and London when they wasn’t getting anything out of it that you could see. Siencyn didn’t have anything against the Russians, but all the same he didn’t think it much sense wishing you could be one; and it was easy to see that nothing was the way it ought to be these days if you went by what it says in the Bible. But Dan was only making it hard for himself, refusing a stripe and barely civil to the captain and the sergeant-major and both of them with their knives in him, and it was a pity he was always getting daunted by what he read in the papers, or by what he said about the army being unprepared and untrained and unarmed to fight a war with tanks and divebombers like they’ll have to. But all the same, if it came to a fight, Siencyn wouldn’t think twice whose side he was on. Dan’s side he was on. Dan Spain was a man and he’d like anyone to deny it.
Every now and again he got a letter from Penyrheol, written in Dafis the postman’s copperplate hand, with bits dictated by Marged in it and grandiloquent flourishes of Dafis’s invention embossed on it, giving him the news as it left them at present and hoping he was in the pink. The first two or three letters had nothing abnormal, except that the sow had been up to the boar and was expecting, and the latch had fallen off the back door and she had tied it with string till he came home, and her marriage book had come and she had to walk to the post office every week to draw her twenty-eight shillings, and she was putting some of it by to buy blackout curtains so she could have a light in the house after dark for a change. Then came a different letter, very brief, and not written in Dafis’s hand at all, but in pencil by Marged, and it said: ‘Siencyn bach, wen coming back are you i am being sick in the mornings and the doctor jest been an sed i am in for a baby hopping you are not angry yewer loving Marged.’
Siencyn sat with this for a long time, and then he began laughing to himself, and got up feeling like the lord of creation, and went to look for Dan Spain to tell him and see what he said. And he didn’t want to tell anybody except Dan, although he was just bursting with the news. So he went out of the guard room where he was on guard and across the farmyard and through the sheds looking for Dan. But Dan was out on the cliffs the other side of the wood laying some mines, so Siencyn went after him, forgetting he was supposed to be on guard. And just as he came out of the woods and could see the grey North Sea and the black stubby shapes of a convoy jinking southwards in the middle seas, zoom-woof-scream, down came a big two-engined Dornier 215 for you, straight for the soldiers working in the minefield, straight out of the clouds over the sea. Somebody shouted and a couple made a run for it, and a few more fell on their faces, but most of them just looked up at it. And Siencyn looked at it with great interest, not having seen a Swastika before, and then it opened fire and swept past him only just above his head. One of the boys who was running staggered and clutched his guts and went sprawling, and Siencyn said ‘Diw Mawr, too bad,’ and ran out of the woods to pick him up. The plane had zoomed up over the trees behind him and was climbing in a great ellipse, going seawards, but Siencyn was only concerned to fetch the boy who was hurted, because he was one of the rest of them, and he was hurted. It was Nick Powell Tonypandy as it happened, and he was a mate of Siencyn’s, they’d been on a charge together for putting Naffy buns in their respirators and he was going to get married to a butcher’s daughter next leave, so his prospects were too good to waste by a bit of bad luck. And Siencyn picked him up and carried him fireman’s lift, like in P.T., to the shelter of the woods. Nick was groaning and cursing healthy enough, so Siencyn told him to be quiet, it wasn’t a thing to blaspheme about. And he put Nick against a tree and Nick said ‘He’s coming again,’ only he didn’t say it as polite as that. And Siencyn saw the Jerry diving in from the sea again like second house at the pictures and he saw the Bren gun the working party had brought out with them ready loaded by a gorse bush just in front of him in the open; so he said ‘Look out, boys bach,’ and made a dash for the Bren gun and grabbed hold of it, kneeling, with the butt against his hip. And the Jerry was coming straight for him with spurts of flame coming from the wings and bullets like a little shower of hail sweeping towards Siencyn. And a silvery bomb fell out of the plane as it came to the bottom of its gradual dive and was showing its nose to the climb, just at the sea edge of the minefield. And Siencyn said ‘Now!’ and pressed the trigger as cool as you like. And nothing happened. Oh Jawch, there’s a pity for you, Siencyn thought, what is the matter with the old thing? And the explosion of the bomb knocked him over before he could see whether the safety catch was on Automatic or Safe. And when they brought him round with plenty of cold water and his arm in a sling, Spain was kneeling by him and the captain fidgeting and muttering same as usual, and he remembered he had something to tell Spain about, but for the life of him he couldn’t think what it was. And Spain said ‘Well done, Siencyn boy. You’re a chip off the old block, you are.’ And Siencyn said ‘Is Nick Powell alright?’ And Spain said ‘Aye, it was only a flesh wound; he’s O.K. for the butchery business, don’t worry.’ And Siencyn said, ‘The gun wouldn’t go.’ And the captain said ‘No wonder, you bloody fool. It was on Safe. What the hell’s the good of wasting khaki and food and training on a cretin like you?’ And Siencyn, although he was on his back with his arm in a sling, suddenly felt immensely stronger than the captain for the first time in his life, and he looked at him and grinned and said ‘You bastard!’
Well, the captain’s face was a sight to behold. He pulled at his sagging cheek and opened his mouth and stood on his toes and didn’t say a word. Then he said to Spain, ‘You’re a witness, Evans.’ And Spain said ‘I didn’t hear a thing, sir.’ And he looked at the captain with a funny look in his eyes; he’d killed a tidy few men in Spain, Dan Evans had, and Siencyn got the wind up and he said, ‘Don’t do it, Dan bach. Leave him be now. We’re all in the war together so make friends, the two of you.’ And the captain said ‘Consider yourselves under arrest, both of you.’ And off he went to fetch the sergeant-major. So Dan sat on his heels like the colliers do in the back lanes and waited for somebody to come back, and kept on spitting and spitting and saying he’d give him what for if he dared to court martial them. He knew very well the colonel would dismiss the case if he heard what the captain had said to Siencyn when he was knocked half daft by the bomb; and Dan said he’d get it brought up in Parliament if they did anything to them; and Siencyn lay against a tree as idle and as happy as ever he’d been in his life, because he’d called the captain a bastard and Dan had said ‘Well done.’
Siencyn didn’t take long to mend; his collar bone wasn’t broken, only bruised; and the colonel praised him in the court of enquiry that sat on Nick Powell’s wound; and nothing was heard of the little difference they’d had with the captain, and everybody was buyi
ng him drinks in the Naffy for what he’d said. So he had a very placid fortnight on light duties because of his arm. And then, at the end of the fortnight, two things happened that demanded a good bit of thinking out.
First there came a letter for him, and it was a very short one, and it wasn’t from Marged and it wasn’t signed. Dan read it and said it was an anonymous letter. And it said that Marged was having a baby in case he was interested, and who was responsible, this person would like to know? Funny there’d been no baby in four years when he was living with her, and now as soon as he’d gone to serve his country she goes and gets in the family way. And then several names of likely men from the neighbouring farms and a hint that Marged had been seen coming out of the wood by Twm Gors’s cottage late one night. And this person anonymous said it was a shameful sin if nobody could respect a soldier serving his country in her hour of need, and was pleased to sign at the bottom, Sincere Patriot.
Well, whether to ask for compassionate leave or not was the question, but Siencyn wouldn’t go and tell the captain all these terrible stories about Marged fooling him, so Dan said why didn’t he do a break and hitch-hike home. And he thought yes, he’d do that; but he had no idea at all where Penyrheol was from where they were then, and he’d never find it in a month of Sundays. So he made up a story with Dan that his mother was dead – which was true enough – and Dan wrote it out for him in case the captain asked to see the letter, which he would. And Siencyn was just off to see the sergeant-major to ask for an interview, when the runner came down and said they were both wanted in the company office. So up they went and the sergeant-major had a cunning look in his eyes as if he had them on toast at last, and he showed them into the office, quick march, right wheel, halt, left turn, salute, ‘Privates 32 Evans and 51 Jones, sir.’ And the captain looked up after a minute as if he was busy, and said, ‘You two are on draft for overseas service. Hand in your A.B.64 to the C.Q.M.S. (Siencyn never knew what all the initials meant, but Dan would tell him afterwards), and take your blankets to the stores. Seven days’ leave. Any questions?’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘March them out, sergeant-major.’ About turn, quick march, halt, dismiss.
‘That’s what comes of calling him a bastard, Siencyn,’ Dan said, philosophically tracing the effect to its cause. ‘You’ll be able to see your missus, anyway, chum.’
They had their pay and ration cards and passes and off to the station, six miles of it, full kit, enjoying every inch of it. Dan said anonymous letters wasn’t worth noticing, he’d had plenty in his time; and the best thing to do was to find the sod who wrote it, and not say a word to Marged. Siencyn said he wouldn’t put it above Twm Gors, but he would put it above Marged, who was a good wife if trying at times. And so they parted at Paddington the best of friends, with Dan seeing Siencyn was on the right train and telling him to mind he came back and didn’t shirk it, because Dan didn’t want to go abroad by himself. So Siencyn told him not to worry, solong.
And nothing more to do except stand all the way to Cardiff, and then a seat the rest of the journey, change at Carmarthen and Pencader like Dan told him, and then safe and sound in Cardigan, having had sandwiches from an old lady before they got to Cardiff and cake and biscuits from another younger lady between Swansea and Carmarthen. He wasn’t going to spend his pay himself. And he didn’t tell anybody he was going overseas because it was information likely to aid the enemy, so he pretended he was nobody special. And so he started walking home along the old roads he knew inside out, singing Jerusalem and wondering if the chapel would be holding its Eisteddfod this week, and if so he’d sing Jerusalem in his battledress and walk away with the first prize over them in civvies.
And soon enough he was turning down the lane to the sea by the black wood and heard his employer’s horses shuffling in the stalls; he stopped to listen to the good sound, and then went into the stable to take their heads in his arm and put his palm against their hot wet nostrils. It was fine, that was, pushing old Deri aside to say good-night and welcome-home to Nansi, and their hooves clashing on the cobbles. It was only round the corner then to his own cottage and he felt as if he’d never been away.
There was a blackout up in the kitchen now, very posh, and when he opened the door slowly Marged was sitting on a sack of meal by the stick fire on the flagstone in the corner. But never such a face did she have before he went away. No red in her cheeks at all, but like a funeral in her black shawl and drooping shoulders. And she looked at him like he was a ghost, never a word, but frightened of him, and then again as if she was finished with him for good. It gave him a bit of a turn; and before he could say ‘Well, nghariad, it’s Siencyn turned up again,’ she began to whimper to herself. Siencyn knew there was a scene going to be, so he took his kit off and knelt down by her with a sack under his knees not to spoil the trousers he’d creased under his bed every night, and then he asked her what was up with her. How they straightened it all out isn’t anybody’s business except their own. Marged wasn’t willing to believe he’d forgotten about her letter owing to being knocked daft by a German plane, but in the end believe it she did, and slowly she began to think differently about him and not with despair and hatred the way she had been since he hadn’t replied. And then there was all the old gossip, and a letter in the local paper about it too by someone signed Sincere Patriot; and she knew who it was, it was a certain black-marketing grocer keeping a shop on the top road. And Siencyn said thank God it was a man, anyway, thinking what a pity if it had been a woman he couldn’t give a good lamping to. And, to cut a long story short, Marged said she wanted it to be a boy and Siencyn to be his name, and Siencyn showed her his new false teeth and she wouldn’t believe he took them out at night, so he said ‘Wait and see.’ And she rubbed her cheek on his battledress and looked at the shine on his boots and wouldn’t believe they were his working boots. And if everything wasn’t as smooth as their words made it sound, the rest was only a question of time, for a woman will mend herself with time if so be the man means what he says when he speaks kind to her. So she patched up alright with a bit of praise from Siencyn which was as rare as Cadbury’s chocolate to her and every bit as sweet. And Siencyn felt worried and exhausted with pulling her round to his way of seeing it all, and it was worse than driving the old sow up the lane or helping to shoe a young colt, but Jawch, it made all the difference. And next day he went without any malice to the certain grocer’s just mentioned and after he’d pasted him good and proper he bore no ill feeling at all. And when they asked him how’s the army he said it was alright and nothing to worry about, although his mate Dan Evans said it wasn’t much of a concern.
And then, the night before he went back, the chapel held its annual Eisteddfod, which was right in Siencyn’s line having a rich tenor a bit loud for volume but very good for tone. And he went in his battledress as clean and straight as a new pin with vaseline on his hair the colour of swedes, and they all cheered when he came up to sing his version of Jerusalem. And he never let on to a soul that he was down as a C. of E. in the Army through no fault of his own, having told the clerk when asked his religion ‘Christian, sir.’ Not that there was any need to say sir to a clerk, but he was new to the game then. And it was fine to be standing there in the whitewashed old chapel with Marged sitting in the pew where he’d carved his initials fifteen years ago, and everybody quiet as the grave except old Twm Morris Cobbler at the harmonium, saying ‘One Two Three Four – Now.’ And off he went with old Twm creaking along just level with him and the faces of the congregation uplifted and swaying slowly as if there was a little breeze going across the pews. And he’d sung it so often in the back of a lorry on exercises in the Army, and in the latrines, and peeling potatoes on jankers, that it came now with all the intimacy and rejoicing of all that had happened to him and not harmed or beaten him. And when he’d finished there was a great silence on them all, and then the men wiped the sweat from under their celluloid collars, and the women sniffed at their hankies and wouldn’t look up. And Siencyn walked down
and sat by Marged. And then they began to clap, and Siencyn didn’t think they were ever going to stop. And although the adjudicator was a conshie in the last war he didn’t have any option about giving Siencyn the prize. No money in it of course, not with singing sacred music; it was a different matter from money.
And Siencyn walked home with Marged arm in arm, and he said Dan Spain would write to her regular, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her where he was going to, meaning abroad; not yet, because he could only just imagine himself going abroad, and as for coming back again, he couldn’t see that at all. But there was nothing to be done about it, only go to bed early and poke his head out of the window to listen to the river and tell the cockerel mind to crow at five thirty to catch the train. And that made Marged laugh for the first time, and Siencyn thought well, it’s not so bad so far and no blame attached to me. And Marged promised she’d call the baby Dan as well as Siencyn. And they slept so sound that Jawch if he didn’t miss the train. But never mind about that now.
The Penguin Book of the British Short Story Page 15
