The meeting was over and the serious drinking had begun in earnest when Evan put in an appearance with Huw Davies. As Harry had no desire to face Megan’s brother so soon after the warning Huw had given him that morning, he lingered next to the bar, listening to the gossip centred around the barmaid until Huw left. Then he made a beeline for Evan.
‘Pint?’
‘I was just going home.’
‘Just one. I need to talk to you about something.’
Evan glanced around the crowded bar. ‘It’s worse than auction bell time in the market in here.’
‘We could go in the snug?’
Harry picked up their beers on the way to the cheerless back room. It was cold and dismal, the wallpaper so stained by nicotine it was impossible to determine what its original colour had been.
‘Here’s to victory,’ Evan toasted as Harry plonked a full pint glass before him.
‘Cheers.’ Now Harry actually had Evan’s undivided attention, all his carefully planned and mentally rehearsed speeches were forgotten. ‘How’s Eddie?’ he blurted out.
‘Fine, or at least I think so. We had a letter from him yesterday. He seems to be enjoying his free time in France, if not the rest.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘He still hasn’t written to Jenny?’
‘I don’t think so, but then she doesn’t say much.’
‘Well, we can’t live their lives for them,’ Evan observed, closing the conversation.
‘I heard Megan is living with you,’ Harry said, quickly seizing the initiative.
‘She is.’
‘I was wondering … wondering …’ Harry looked at Evan and stammered into silence. It was evident Evan was reluctant to discuss his sister-in-law with him.
‘How is she?’ he finished lamely.
‘Weak, worn out, worked half to death. How you’d expect a woman to be after years of hard labour.’
‘I was hoping to see her.’
‘She won’t be out for a bit. Not until the weather’s warmer if Phyllis and I have our way.’
‘I’m very fond of Megan.’
‘I gathered that,’ Evan stated, wondering what was coming next.
‘I’d like to see her again.’
‘With or without your wife?’ Evan pulled out his pipe.
‘Everyone knows my wife and I lead separate lives.’
‘Your marriage is no concern of mine, or Megan’s.’
‘I’ve asked my wife for a divorce. I want to marry Megan. I thought you of all people would understand my position.’
‘All I understand is that Megan’s had a rough time. In my opinion she needs a bit of peace and quiet away from the gossip-mongers.’
‘I’d like to see her.’
‘Your daughter is married to my son, Harry. You and your wife are welcome in my house any time you care to call. You wanting to see Megan on your own is something else.’
‘And if my wife leaves me?’
‘Is she likely to?’
‘I don’t know,’ he confessed dismally.
‘Seems to me there’s enough trouble in this world without going looking for it.’
‘Then you won’t help me?’
‘Megan’s a grown woman. I’ll tell her about our little chat, but after that it’s up to her.’ Evan drained his glass and rose from the table. ‘Next time I see you, it’ll be my round.’
Chapter Ten
‘You’ve taken in conscientious objectors as lodgers?’ Diana dropped the porridge pot on to the table and stared dumbfounded at her uncle.
‘They had no billets. From what your Uncle Huw said, it was either us or a police cell.’
‘But the boys .. .’
‘When they come home on leave your mother can move in with you, and Brian back with us. Eddie can have the downstairs and William the box room.’
‘And Haydn and Jane?’
‘It’s unlikely Haydn, Jane, William and Eddie will all come home at the same time, but if they do, either Haydn and Jane can stay with Bethan, or Eddie with his wife.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said doubtfully, wondering, like everyone else in the family, the extent of the estrangement between Eddie and Jenny. ‘It’s just that …’
‘It’s just that you think the boys have no sooner moved out than these fellows have moved in to take their place? I know exactly how you feel because the same thought’s crossed my own mind. But they’re not here for good, just the duration, and as the boys are away for the same, however long that is, it seems crazy to allow their room to stand idle when it can be put to good use.’
‘I just wish everything was back to normal!’ she exclaimed in exasperation.
‘Don’t we all.’ Evan nodded towards the door as it opened. ‘Good morning. Alexander, Luke, this is my niece, Diana Powell.’
Diana wiped her hands on her apron before shaking their hands. Alexander’s handshake was firm and confident, in sharp contrast to Luke’s nervous, hesitant touch.
Evan scrutinised the clothes his lodgers were wearing. Luke was dressed in the same rags as yesterday. Neither the trousers nor the shirt were strong enough to protect him from the conditions he’d encounter underground, but by the look of the boy, he’d need his first month’s money before he’d be able to foot the bill for something more serviceable. Alexander, however, was dressed for a Sunday afternoon stroll round the park. ‘Those clothes are going to get ruined down the pit,’ he warned.
‘I’m afraid these are the oldest I have,’ Alexander said, apologising for his grey flannels, white shirt and tie.
‘Well at least take the collar and tie off. There’s no point in wearing either to wield a pick and shovel.’
‘Breakfast is ready.’ Diana set a rack of toast alongside the porridge. ‘Help yourselves. If I don’t make a move, I’ll be late.’
‘Wyn’s working you hard,’ Evan commented, reaching for the teapot.
‘Not for much longer. He joined up yesterday.’
‘The Guards?’
‘They’re the only ones actively recruiting at the moment.’
‘That means he’ll be going soon.’
‘And guess who’ll be running the business while he’s away?’
‘You?’
‘His father’s worse than ever, and Myrtle’s too busy looking after him to help out.’
‘No wonder you’ve been working late. How are you going to manage both shops?’
‘I’m not. Wyn saw the agent yesterday about letting one. We’re clearing out High Street today. Porridge?’ She pushed the pot towards Luke who was sitting opposite her looking lost and far too uncertain to do anything so forward as help himself to food. It didn’t take much imagination to put herself in his place; thrust among strangers miles from home, family and friends. ‘If you’re not too tired after your first day’s work I could show you Ronconi’s café tonight,’ she suggested, trying to be friendly.
‘Café, for a meal?’ Alexander asked, confused by the offer that Diana hadn’t intended for him.
‘I don’t know what you do in the evenings where you come from, but we don’t eat out very often in Ponty. But we do go down to the cafés to drink tea or coffee.’
‘Is there anywhere else to go?’
‘Two theatres and three picture houses in the town centre, another one in Treforest, a couple of dance halls, a roller-skating rink, and lectures in the YMCA and unemployed institute, but if I were you I’d start with Ronconi’s café. It’s the place to be in Pontypridd on a Tuesday night.’ Diana regretted her half-hearted attempt at a joke when she saw a light in Alexander’s eye that she’d had no intention of kindling.
‘What time will you be going down?’
‘After tea, whenever that will be. But there’s no need to give me an answer now. I’m meeting friends there anyway. I suggest you wait until you know how you feel after work.’ Leaving the table, Diana took a saucer of salt and the mug that contained her toothbrush from the cupboard next to the stove and
went into the washhouse.
‘What do you think, Luke?’ Alexander asked. ‘Would you like to see Pontypridd?’ Bypassing the porridge, Alexander reached for the toast and jam.
‘Perhaps,’ the boy replied, wondering how much a cup of tea in Ronconi’s would cost.
‘If you’re going to make the pit by six, boys, you’d better hurry.’ Megan carried a collection of battered tins out of the pantry into the kitchen. Dropping them on the table she kissed Diana goodbye.
Evan saw the quizzical look on Alexander’s face.
‘Snap boxes,’ he explained.
‘But we haven’t paid you yet, Mr Powell,’ Luke protested as Megan began stuffing the sandwiches she’d cut into the boxes.
‘It’s Evan, and you can pay for your lodge on Friday when you get your wages.’ He only hoped that the boys wouldn’t have to work a week in hand. That might stretch the family budget too far.
‘But we will need your ration cards.’ Megan poured tea into three metal bottles and screwed the tops on firmly. It would be stone cold by snap time, but she’d never met a miner who didn’t prefer cold tea to any other drink underground, and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask if either of the lodgers had a preference.
‘I’ll go upstairs and get it.’ Luke spooned the last of his porridge into his mouth as he pushed his chair away from the table.
‘Mine’s in the drawer in the bedside cabinet on my side of the bed. Would you get it for me please, Luke?’ Alexander took a second piece of toast and spread butter on it with a lavishness that earned him a reproving glance from Megan; he saw it, but failed to understand its significance. He was having too difficult a time adjusting to the vagaries of working-class life to notice disapproval in the reactions of others. For a start he’d never shared a bed with anyone, male or female, in his life, yet Luke appeared to be used to the arrangement, and to be fair to the boy he’d kept to his own side. And this hectic idea of breakfasting was totally alien to him. Only a few days ago he’d been sitting in the dining room of his parents’ house, waited on by a black-garbed, white-aproned maid, who’d enquired in suitably deferential tones if he had a preference for tea or coffee, orange or tomato juice, cereals or porridge.
‘Right, let’s go.’ Evan tightened his leather belt over his coal-encrusted clothes and pulled his cap down over his head. Picking up his snap tin and bottle he led the way to the door. Luke followed, leaving Alexander to bring up the rear.
‘If you keep your head down, and put your back into anything you’re asked to do, you’ll be all right,’ Megan advised.
‘I hope so, Mrs Powell,’ Alexander answered doubtfully as he looked at his camel-hair coat, and left it where it was, hanging on the wall behind the front door.
Harry Griffiths was alone in the shop’s storeroom when his wife walked in.
‘I thought you’d be working behind the counter this morning?’
‘Divisional Food Officer has asked all retailers to notify him of ration book and stock levels. I’m making an inventory.’ He slashed open a box with his penknife. Pulling back the cardboard covers he revealed twin rows of tins. He lifted one up as though he doubted the veracity of the label that proclaimed it to contain tomatoes. Replacing the tin, he folded the top over and lifted another box on to it. His wife had never shown any interest in the business before. On the few occasions he had been desperate enough to appeal to her for help, she had told him in no uncertain terms that her job was to see to the house, and with a husband like him and a daughter to look after she had more work than she could cope with as it was. He hadn’t liked her reply, but as they’d settled into the sterile patterns of their respective lives he had learned to accept it, and he hoped that now, of all times, his wife would have the sense to let sleeping dogs lie. The last thing he needed after Evan’s reception of his plans for him and Megan, was a reconciliation scene engineered by his wife.
‘You saw Megan Powell last night?’
He sat back on his heels, while continuing to attack the top of the box.
‘Well, did you?’ she demanded in a shrill voice.
‘I went to the Civil Defence League meeting,’ he replied evenly.
‘You came in very late.’
‘It dragged on. There was a lot to discuss.’
‘I don’t want to be stopped on the road to be told that you and that woman have picked up where you left off before she was put behind bars.’
‘I was at a Civil Defence League meeting,’ he repeated forcefully.
‘I know you, Harry Griffiths. You and your filthy mind. You want to leave me to live in sin with Megan Powell. Go on, admit it.’
‘What’s there to admit? I’ve already told you I love Megan and I want to spend what’s left of my life with her.’
Now that he’d had time to think through the implications – social and financial- of continuing his affair with Megan, she had half expected, half hoped for a denial. More of the same lies and evasion that they had used to paper over the cracks in their marriage since that first catastrophic night.
‘I want a divorce. I can’t put it any simpler than that.’
‘Over my dead body!’
‘A different man might tell you that could be arranged.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘No, just telling you that I want to live with the woman I love.’
‘And do disgusting, revolting, bestial things with her. Things no decent woman would allow.’ She screwed her mouth and eyes into tight little slits of repugnance.
‘I’ll give you a hundred pounds cash and a pound a week allowance. You could live with your sister.’
‘Not for all the tea in China. I’m your wife. I’m entitled to half of everything you own.’
‘Then I’ll move out. You can have this flat, but the shop remains mine and Jenny’s.’
‘The law and God are on my side, and I’ll hold you to the vows you made in church.’
‘How would you like it if I held you to yours?’ he threatened as he rose to his feet. ‘Starting right now.’ He took a step towards her. She backed away. He reached the connecting door before her. Slamming it shut, he turned the key in the lock.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
‘Perhaps it’s time to do what I should have a long time ago.’ Moving swiftly he grabbed the neck of the thin woollen dress she was wearing and yanked downwards. The cloth tore, breaking away at the shoulder and side seams, exposing an expanse of bright pink elasticated corset with satin brassiere cups. She screamed, clutching her hands over what little cleavage could be seen.
‘You beast! You filthy, vulgar, disgusting –’
‘Is everything all right, Mam? Dad?’ Jenny hammered on the door.
‘Your mother tripped over a box and tore her dress,’ Harry answered coolly. ‘But she’s not hurt. Be a good girl and nip upstairs and get a cardigan for her. She can’t walk through the shop looking the way she does.’ He stared at his shivering, terrified wife as Jenny’s footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs. ‘If you’re sure it’s what you want, I’ll stay with you, darling,’ he spat out the last word caustically. ‘But it’s only fair to warn you that the sight of you in your underclothes has excited my filthy, disgusting depraved appetites. I’ll be in your bed tonight and every night from now on. And I’ll be faithful, because I intend to see that you satisfy me in every way, and I mean every way. We’ll be doing things you never knew men and women were capable of. But that’s the bargain. I keep my vows, as long as you keep yours. One lapse and the person responsible leaves and foots the bill for the divorce. Agreed?’
Jenny’s knock on the door interrupted them. He turned the key and opened it, almost knocking his wife over. ‘Hand it through the gap, your mother’s too embarrassed to be seen the way she is. She wants to cover herself before she goes back upstairs.’
‘Could you use another butty, Evan?’ the undermanager asked as he looked along the line of waiting miners who were deliberately cold-shouldering Evan’s lod
gers. News travelled fast in Pontypridd and the men on the day shift were making it plain that none of them wanted to take on either of Evan’s conchies.
Evan breathed in a lungful of dust-laden, pithead air. He knew what the men were doing, but there was a way of turning it to the advantage of one of his mates. ‘It’s probably time Ieuan went out on his own.’
‘He’s only eighteen.’
‘With the back of a twenty-five-year-old. Ieuan could take the boy, Luke and I’ll take the older one.’
The conscripted miners looked from Evan to the under-manager. They’d scarcely understood a word that had been said other than their names. It wasn’t simply the use of alien words like ‘butty’; it was the incomprehensible Welsh accents.
‘You two prepared to give it a try?’ the undermanager asked.
‘If Evan thinks it’s all right, that’s fine by me.’ Alexander didn’t have a clue what he was agreeing to, but he nodded anyway.
‘You?’
Evan looked at Luke and realised that the boy hadn’t grasped the first principles of what was expected of him.
‘Most pits, including this one, are worked on the butty system,’ he explained. ‘That means as a newcomer you’ll be put to work with an experienced miner as his mate, or “butty”. All miners get paid on production, one shilling and eightpence a ton for the coal he and his butty cut. He pays his butty a share of what they make which varies from week to week, but there’s a minimum set at fifteen shillings, so you’ll never make less than that.’
‘Fifteen shillings!’ Alexander was clearly appalled by the paltriness of the sum, but Luke was already picturing the postal orders he’d be able to send home.
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