Tiger Bay Blues

by Catrin Collier

  ‘And you’ll have threads hanging from your mouth if you talk any faster,’ her grandmother reproved.

  ‘It was a good day.’

  ‘You never have time to rest.’

  ‘I get more time off living out of Mrs Protheroe’s than I would have if I lived in. And the chance to eat breakfast with you every day.’ Judy sprinkled brown sugar on her porridge and began to eat.

  Her grandmother poured a cup of tea, put sugar and a splash of milk in it, and set it next to Judy’s bowl. ‘Did you get paid yesterday for singing with the band?’

  ‘I put five pounds ten shillings in the box last night,’ Judy said proudly.

  ‘Where did you get that kind of money?’ Pearl frowned suspiciously.

  ‘Mr Evans, who hired the band, gave Jed five pounds plus petrol money for Mr Holsten’s van. My share was ten shillings.’

  ‘And the five pounds?’ her grandmother questioned suspiciously.

  Judy hung her head. She hated telling lies but this was one that had to be told. ‘The housekeeper bumped into me and spilled red wine over my frock. It was ruined. Mr Evans insisted on paying me five pounds to replace it. And his daughter gave me a dress to wear home. She said I could keep it, but I’ll wash it and send it back.’

  ‘Good girl. They might be crache but it’s as well to show them that we don’t take charity. But five pounds is a lot of money for a frock. It didn’t cost you that much, did it?’

  Judy shook her head. ‘You know me. I’ve never paid more than a pound for a dress in my life. I gave Anna Hughes ten shillings for that one. She said she was too fat to get into it.’

  ‘You stay away from that woman,’ Pearl warned severely.

  ‘She’s not so bad, Gran.’

  ‘The way she makes her money is. You don’t want to get tarred with her brush. A young girl like you just starting out in life can’t be too careful about the company she keeps.’

  ‘All I did was buy a frock from her. I wouldn’t have got it cheaper anywhere else.’ She spooned the last of her porridge into her mouth.

  ‘No wonder you never put on any weight the way you rush around. I’ll have dinner on the table at two. Mind you’re home to eat it.’

  ‘I will be, Gran.’ Judy carried her cup, saucer and bowl into the washhouse and stacked them on the wooden board next to the Belfast sink. She sprinkled a few drops of water from a glass on to a saucer of salt, worked it into a mixture with her toothbrush and cleaned her teeth. She combed her hair, checked her reflection perfunctorily in the mirror and left the house.

  ‘Back at two if not before,’ her grandmother shouted after her. ‘I’m cooking a beef heart.’

  ‘I’ll be home to eat it, Gran.’

  The street was full of children dressed in their Sunday best. They were standing around kicking their heels because they’d been warned on pain of dire punishment to stay clean until it was time to walk to church.

  Judy greeted them, stopped to admire one small girl’s new sandals and ran. If there was one thing Mrs Protheroe hated, it was her maid starting late in the morning, and it was a good mile from Tiger Bay to the quiet suburban street where her employer lived.

  Peter Slater uttered the final ‘Amen’ of the service, faced the altar, bowed and led the procession of servers, candle-bearers, choirmaster and choir into the vestry. The moment the last and smallest boy in the choir closed the door that connected the vestry to the main body of the church, Peter opened the outside door and ran around the building so he could greet the congregation as they filed out of the porch.

  More than a hundred worshippers had arrived to hear the first sermon he had preached in Pontypridd, and he had been surprised and gratified to see Edyth Evans among them.

  He spoke to everyone in turn, introducing himself to the parishioners he hadn’t met and exchanging small talk with the ones he already knew. Three-quarters of an hour passed before he reached the end of the queue and he was acutely aware of Edyth’s presence in the church the whole time.

  ‘Reverend Price has told me a great deal about you, Mr Chubb, Mrs Chubb. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with both of you.’ He shook the hands of the frail, elderly couple, who had remained in their pew until the crowd had dissipated. ‘Hello again,’ his smile widened when Edyth finally reached him, ‘You were the last person I expected to see here this morning. I assumed that all your family would be catching up on their sleep after the excitement of yesterday.’

  Edyth hoped he hadn’t noticed she’d deliberately hung back and talked to the Chubbs so she would be the last in the queue. ‘None of us were in bed that late, Peter. After Bella and Toby left for Cardiff station, most of the wedding guests went home.’

  ‘But the rest of your family didn’t come with you this morning.’

  ‘My sisters will be attending Evensong with my mother. I won’t be able to join them because I promised my brother I’d look after his daughter so he and his wife can dine with the family solicitor.’ It was the truth, but Edyth hoped he didn’t suspect that she wouldn’t have contemplated attending the early service if the Reverend Price had been officiating.

  ‘Then I’ll look forward to renewing my acquaintance with your mother and sisters this evening when I assist Reverend Price.’

  ‘I enjoyed your sermon.’ She had, and tried not to sound gushing. ‘The Book of Ruth is one of my favourites. The words are poignant and so poetic. “For whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, thy God my God”.’

  ‘I think the book has particular relevance to Wales. Given how few people lived in this country, and especially the valleys before the coal mines were sunk, I doubt there is a family here without at least one foreign-born or English member, if not in their present, then in a previous generation. And just as King David’s Moabite grandmother, Ruth, precluded him from being born of pure stock, so do the Irish, English, Spanish and others who came to the valleys and intermarried with the Welsh.’

  ‘I’ve never thought of it, but you’re right. My father’s mother was Spanish, although I never knew her. She died before my parents met.’

  ‘As you probably gathered from my sermon, I deplore nationalism when it preaches superiority. My mother is English and I was teased unmercifully at my primary school because my accent wasn’t the same as my classmates’.’

  ‘My father taught us that tolerance takes precedence over religion and nationalism.’ Edyth opened her handbag and took out her handkerchief, not because she wanted it, but because Peter’s steady gaze was unsettling her.

  ‘I wish there’d been parents like him in Swansea when I’d been growing up.’ He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. ‘I’m afraid I’m petty-minded enough still to resent the bullying I was subjected to. I’m sorry,’ he apologised, ‘I didn’t mean to bore you with a lecture.’

  ‘You are not boring me. I enjoy discussions, especially theological ones, which is why I opted to study religion along with English and history in the sixth form.’ She noticed that his brown eyes looked even darker in the gloom of the stone porch.

  ‘Are you looking forward to going to teacher training college?’

  ‘The place is conditional on my matriculating. The results aren’t out yet.’

  ‘I’m sure that an intelligent girl like you has passed.’

  ‘And I’m not at all sure I have.’

  But it wasn’t that she was unsure about her examination results; without being over-confident, she was fairly certain she’d passed. It was her choice of college and career that she had mixed feelings about. Some days, she felt as though she couldn’t wait to get to Swansea and begin studying; other days she was reluctant to even think about leaving her family and Pontypridd. And now there was Peter. ‘My maths leaves a lot to be desired.’

  ‘You intend to teach religious education?’

  ‘If I qualify it will be as a primary school teacher, so I’ll be expected to teach a little of everything.’ She
wrinkled her nose. ‘But I’m not looking forward to teaching science or maths. They’ve always been my weakest subjects, although they were my father’s strongest. He was a mining engineer before he became an MP.’

  ‘Reverend Price told me he was a member of the Communist party.’

  ‘He has been elected as a Labour MP.’ Edyth was instantly on the defensive. ‘Reverend Price is aware that he is an atheist. My father has never made a secret of his beliefs to his family, friends or constituents.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise,’ Peter said hastily. ‘Reverend Price told me that he is one of the most charitable and moral men in the town.’

  ‘My father insists his principles stem from the precepts laid down by Karl Marx, although he will concede that some are similar to Biblical teachings.’ Edyth smarted at what she took to be an implied criticism of her adored father. ‘Thank you again for the sermon, Peter. Good morning.’ She walked out into the sunshine that dappled the trees.

  He ran after her. ‘Edyth, I apologise if I have upset you. I only mentioned Communism because I am appallingly ignorant about Marxism, which I cannot afford to be with so many miners living in the parish. Do you think that if I asked him, your father would explain Marx’s philosophy to me?’

  ‘My father frequently addresses open political meetings and chairs political discussions.’

  ‘Would you be kind enough to let me know when he next speaks publicly, so I can make every effort to attend?’ He gave her a conciliatory smile.

  ‘I will.’

  He nodded to the verger who was heading for the church to tidy the hymnals and hassocks before the next service. ‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes while I change out of this surplice, it would be a pleasure to walk you home.’

  Edyth hesitated. He had apologised for his remarks. And, like everyone in her family, she was over-sensitive when it came to their father’s politics. With good reason, because they were always meeting people outside of the mining and working classes who were hostile towards Socialism, and regarded Marxism as heathen, ungodly and – because of what had happened in Russia thirteen years before – incendiary, destructive and revolutionary.

  ‘I wish I could take back my words.’ He gave her one of his heart-melting smiles. ‘Please, tell me what more I can say to make amends, and I’ll say it.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you to change so you can walk me home,’ she conceded.

  ‘And on the way perhaps you’ll tell me about the local beauty spots. I am a keen walker. Reverend Price has mentioned that there are several interesting sights in and around Pontypridd.’

  ‘There are.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you would you consider showing some of them to me?’

  She had been right yesterday; he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. And it would be so easy to fall in love with him the way Bella had Toby …

  ‘Edyth?’ he prompted.

  Hoping her thoughts weren’t mirrored on her face, she gave him the answer he was waiting to hear. ‘As I have nothing to do until the results of my examination are posted, when I’ll find out whether I need to start preparing for college or not, I would be delighted to show you my favourite walks around Pontypridd, Peter.’

  Judy knocked on the door of Mrs Protheroe’s sitting room but she didn’t dare enter until she heard, ‘Come in.’

  ‘I’ve banked up the kitchen stove, so it will be all right until morning, Mrs Protheroe. I’ve laid the table for you in the dining room, covered your chicken salad with greaseproof paper and put it on the marble slab in the pantry, and I’ve made an apple flan for your afters.’

  ‘Dessert, Judy, not “afters”,’ the widow reprimanded.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Protheroe, dessert.’

  ‘Here.’ Her employer held out an envelope.

  Judy’s mouth went dry. ‘What is it, Mrs Protheroe?’

  ‘Five shillings for last week and two shillings extra to see you through until you find yourself another position.’

  ‘You’re firing me?’ Judy stared at the widow in disbelief. She had worked for Mrs Protheroe ever since she had left school at the age of twelve, six years before.

  ‘I’ve taken on the sister of Mrs Davies’s maid. She’s going to live in. It will suit me better to have someone in the house and you’re busy with your grandmother.’

  ‘Please, Mrs Protheroe –’

  ‘Thank you for all you’ve done, Judy,’ Mrs Protheroe cut her short. ‘But it’s a question of money. Times are hard and I can get a girl to live in for what I’ve been paying you.’

  ‘I’m sure my grandmother wouldn’t mind me living in as long as I could visit her a couple of times a week,’ Judy said desperately. So many girls who lived in the Bay hadn’t been able to find work of any kind after they had left school; she knew it might prove impossible to find another position that paid five shillings a week plus meals.

  ‘The girl’s moving in tonight, Judy. Make up her bed in the box room before you go.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Protheroe.’ Realising further argument was futile, Judy pocketed the envelope and climbed the stairs. She had the five pounds Mr Evans had given her for her dress. It would be a godsend because she and her grandmother were only just managing to cover the rent, bills and food between them as it was. That gave her twenty weeks – five months. She was prepared to work hard and do anything legal that would bring in a wage. Surely she would find another position in that time …

  Then she remembered her audition for the chorus of The Vagabond King. If she got the part she would be paid thirty shillings a week. She’d have to pay her board and lodge out of that but the company would cover her travelling expenses and if she was careful she might be able to send her grandmother as much as seven shillings and sixpence or even ten shillings a week.

  Busy building castles – or rather a career – in the air, she hummed ‘The Song of the Vagabonds’ as she opened the door to the walk-in linen cupboard.

  Perhaps Mrs Protheroe firing her might prove to be a blessing in disguise. It would give her the impetus she needed to concentrate on her singing. And if she didn’t get a part in the chorus this time, she might get one at the next audition. Then she’d have a profession, not a job, and a better paid one than skivvying could ever be.

  ‘You going to St Catherine’s church youth club again, Edie?’ Lloyd asked from the depths of his armchair where he was reading the Pontypridd Observer and smoking his pipe.

  ‘Yes, Dad.’ She lifted up each cushion on the drawing room sofa in turn.

  ‘And you walked up to Berw Falls with the curate this morning?’

  Was it her imagination or did his voice have a slight edge? ‘Miss Williams and I took a party of children from the Sunday school to Berw Falls, and Peter came with us. Miss Williams is teaching her class to collect and press wild flowers and I offered to help.’ She threw down the last cushion in exasperation.

  ‘You’ve been to youth club three times a week for the last four weeks, haven’t missed a church service on Sundays and helped out at every Sunday school outing the new curate has arranged since he arrived in Ponty. You trying to get the St Catherine’s Miss Goody-Two-Shoes gold medal?’ Maggie enquired snidely from the corner where she was sorting through their gramophone records.

  ‘One, as you well know, there’s no such medal. Two, you can’t expect Peter and Miss Williams to watch all the children from the Sunday school when they take them on an outing. Especially down by the river. As it was, Johnny Edwards nearly fell in, and would have if Peter hadn’t grabbed the leg of his shorts.’

  ‘And the youth club?’ Maggie persisted. ‘You had no interest in it until Reverend Slater came here.’

  ‘That was before I saw my exam results.’

  ‘We all know you passed your matriculation with honours,’ Maggie pre-empted sourly.

  ‘As I hope you will when the time comes, Mags.’ Lloyd spoke from behind his paper.

  ‘I thought that as I’m going to teach, it was
time I spent some time with children.’ As an excuse Edyth thought it a good one. She stood in the middle of the room and looked around.

  ‘Then you’ve definitely made up your mind to teach, Edie?’ Lloyd lowered the Pontypridd Observer and looked at her over the edge.

  ‘There’s not much else I can do with a certificate from a teacher training college, is there?’ She realised she’d snapped, but the more she’d seen of Peter the less certain she was about going to Swansea, because it would mean leaving him for at least three years and possibly longer. What if he met someone else, or she hated college and made no friends there?

  ‘As your mother and I keep telling you, in this modern world, the only limit is your own ambition,’ Lloyd reminded her. ‘And that applies to women as well as men. You can do whatever you want with your life.’

  ‘The church youth club’s not like school, so you won’t learn much from working with the children there.’ Maggie found two records without sleeves and set them aside.

  ‘I know it’s informal, but you still need to exercise discipline over the children. And it’s been fun working with the drama group. Peter has plans to dramatise some of the simpler Bible stories for the Sunday school this autumn, starting with David and Goliath and Jonah and the Whale.’

  ‘You playing the whale, Edie?’

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that remark, Maggie, because if I had, I’d have to send you to your room.’ Lloyd spoke quietly but there was a hint of steel in his voice that they were all wary of. ‘If the performances are in the autumn you’ll be in college, Edie.’

  ‘Swansea’s only an hour and half away by train and I will be home some weekends.’ Desperate, Edyth looked at her sister. ‘Maggie, have you seen my handbag?’