Hope in the valleys, p.2
Hope in the Valleys, page 2
She couldn’t believe they’d been growing the vegetables as a cooperative for nearly a year and a half now. They’d been so lucky when the coal company had agreed to let them work the fields for nothing, to provide more food for the working men and their families here. Farmer Lloyd had been wonderful at helping them get started, and they, in turn, had provided him with some helpers on his farm. Then there was Mr James, the greengrocer, who’d agreed to buy the veg off them to sell in his shop.
‘Prywnhawn Da, Gwilym.’
He straightened himself swiftly and slammed the point of his spade into the ground. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.’ He went to lift his cap, but realising he didn’t have it on, stuck his arm awkwardly by his side.
Oh goodness, he was back to the Miss business, was he? ‘Just Elizabeth will do. You know that.’
Gwilym said nothing. Elizabeth felt uncomfortable, which wasn’t like her, who could usually find plenty to say to people. She considered him a handsome man, with his dancing green eyes and ready smile, at least, when not covered in a coat of soot. He rarely smiled at her though, even now, after working closely on the allotment project.
‘Well, how’s it been going? We’ve been working in different places, so I haven’t managed to catch up with you, or Mary Jones,’ she said.
‘The field behind the allotments is going to plan. I’ve got a good lot of men working over there, so I left Idris in charge and came over to see if they needed any help this side. Mary seems to be doing all right on the Alexandra Street field. Don’t seem to be so many in this field today, though.’
‘A few more women will be out after they’ve seen to their husband’s baths and food, I dare say. You’re out early today,’ she said.
‘Got home prompt like, so I could get out before it rained.’ He pointed up to the sky. ‘Not been good for August.’
‘No, I was thinking that about Violet and Hywel and their honeymoon to Barry Island. I haven’t seen them since they got back. I hope they had a good time.’
‘Aye, they did.’
‘I’m so glad. Now, I’d like to discuss the next round of planting, and what we’re going to put where. I’ve got a few ideas.’ She pulled a small notebook and pencil from her trouser pocket.
‘Aye. Give me a minute to finish digging up this row of potatoes and I’ll be with you.’
‘I’ll have a word with some of the others while you’re doing that. You can catch me up when you’re done.’
‘Right you are.’
Elizabeth headed off towards Molly Prior, who’d started helping on the allotments that summer.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Prior, how are the beetroots doing?’
‘Very well, Miss Elizabeth.’
‘Just Elizabeth, please.’
‘I hear my Brenda’s going to be working up at the Big House.’ She seemed delighted with the arrangement.
‘Why yes. My mother is immensely pleased to be able to engage someone else in the house.’
‘My Brenda’s that happy to get a job that doesn’t involve sorting coal. And she needs the money since losing Harold. Not been well for a while, she hadn’t. Took it out of her, losing her husband like that. But she’s more than fit enough to work now.’
‘I have no doubt about that.’
‘Only twenty-four she is, so I’ve told her she’s bound to meet someone else, especially with no children in tow. Never happened for them, see, though they’d been married three year. Probably just as well now.’
Elizabeth noticed Gwilym sauntering across the field towards her.
‘I’m sure things can only get better for Brenda. I’ve got to have a chat with Gwilym about plans for the allotments, so I’ll speak to you later.’
She walked a few steps to meet him. They took the pavement down Edward Street, past the Workmen’s Institute at the top of Jubilee Green and onto Alexandra Street, where the next allotment took up the patch opposite the last half of the houses. Most of the talking was done by her as they walked, with him nodding and agreeing with most of her suggestions. He normally had more of his own opinions to offer than this but seemed preoccupied.
Mary Jones came to meet them, her young daughter trailing behind her, holding the end of her long skirt. She picked the girl up and they took a turn around the perimeter of the field, discussing Elizabeth’s proposals. Mary was more forthcoming with suggestions than Gwilym had been.
‘Well, I’d better get back to work,’ Mary said when they got close to the houses again. ‘Those carrots won’t pick themselves.’
‘I do appreciate all the hours you put in,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I hear your oldest girl has been getting involved too.’
‘Aye, there she is.’ She pointed to a girl who looked around ten, her fine, light brown hair loose and tipped over her head from where she was bending over.
‘Reckon it’s good for the older children to learn about growing veggies. Trying to get my two sons involved as well, with the digging and the like.’
‘What a good idea, Mary. Perhaps we could start to encourage all the children more, especially while they’re on their summer holidays.’
As Gwilym and Elizabeth took the route back to the other field, she said, ‘So did anything else happen after the protest on Wednesday?’
‘No. We all just went home.’
‘My father mentioned it when he returned.’
‘I’m sure he would have done.’ Gwilym kept looking ahead as he spoke, a note of weariness in his voice.
‘He agrees with you, you know.’
Gwilym did now turn his head, his eyes scrunched up. ‘Really?’
‘Of course. Not that he can be seen to be siding with anyone. Please keep that to yourself. It is unacceptable, not being paid the minimum wage, or being allowed the bank holiday most other people are getting.’
‘Aye, well.’ He was back to looking ahead.
‘You know, we were once, that is…’ She wasn’t sure if she should be telling him that her father started as a hewer, like him. Anwen knew, but she could trust her to keep that to herself. She didn’t have Gwilym down as a tattle-tale, and he might be friendlier towards her if he knew. ‘You see—’
But she didn’t get a chance to tell him anything before a group of four women appeared at the end of Bryn Road, laughing. One called over, ‘Miss Elizabeth, where do you want us working today?’
‘I’ll leave you to it then and head back over to the far field,’ said Gwilym. ‘Hwyl fawr.’ With that he bounded off down Bryn Road, nodding to the group of women as he passed.
That must be fate telling her not to divulge her humble beginnings, thought Elizabeth. She didn’t care for herself, but if Mama found out she’d told anyone, she would not be amused.
‘Why is he in such a hurry?’ said one of the women. ‘Was it something we said?’
‘He needs to get back to work on the far field, that’s all. Come on, I’ve got a few jobs for you.’
She couldn’t help thinking similar, though. What was wrong with him that he still couldn’t relax in their company? She tutted to herself and led the way.
Chapter Two
Gwilym was ready for his supper by the time he headed home that evening. After four hours digging on the Edward Street allotment, he’d gone back briefly to see how the men were getting on at the field behind McKenzie Cottages.
Taking the small bridge that spanned Nantygalon, the tiny stream that trickled down to the valley bottom, he continued around the sweeping corner that led onto James Street and back into the main village. He surveyed the tall brick buildings of the colliery and the pit wheels on his left, glad he was outside, free, in the fresh air. He put his hand out to feel the sprinkle of light rain. At least it had held off until supper time. He thought about what he needed to do next behind the cottages, but soon the conversation with Elizabeth was invading his thoughts.
What was she up to, agreeing about the strike, claiming her father felt the same? Was she trying to trick him into revealing some information? Not that he had any to give. It wasn’t like the men were planning anything underhand. Unless their union representative, David Keir, had something up his sleeve. You couldn’t always tell with him.
In his heart, he couldn’t really see Elizabeth as a spy for her father. More likely she was one of those middle-class socialists. He seemed to recall there’d been a bit of argy-bargy with Mrs Meredith when she found out Elizabeth had been on a suffragette march before the war. Jenny Richards, who’d been their maid then, had heard the argument and it had gone around the village.
He looked up to see that the sky was getting darker. He’d better get a move on, before the proper rain arrived.
Gwilym stepped into the scullery of his house at the end of Edward Street, leaning his arms out of the back door to shake the wet off his cap and jacket. He placed them on the edge of the wash tub to dry, then plodded over to the kitchen door and went in.
‘Ah, here you are now,’ said his mother, Rachael, at the range, sounding as cross as she had two days ago when she’d found out he’d been on the protest march.
His nose caught an aroma that suggested she might have got hold of a little meat to put with the vegetables of the cawl. He nodded over at his grandfather, Abraham, before taking a seat at the table opposite him. ‘Hello Grancher.’
‘Hello, bach. How’re the allotments going? I’d have been over there myself today, but my knee’s playing up.’ He tapped the offending body part.
‘Aye, it’s all going fine.’
‘So you were on the allotments then, not on another demonstration,’ Rachael muttered under her breath.
‘Oh, don’t keep on, woman,’ said Abraham. ‘If I’d been a bit younger, and still working, like, I’d have been standing there with him.’
Gwilym glanced at his mother, who glared at her father-in-law.
‘That’s all very well and good,’ she said, ‘But we’re short of money for the coming week now.’
‘We’ve got to try, Mam, otherwise the bosses’ll always be keeping us short and depriving us of holidays.’
‘As for taking your brother with you… Where is he now? Still out with his mates, no doubt. Did you see him?’
The back door opened then banged shut. Evan never had been the quietest of boys. The door from the scullery was flung open and his brother marched in, shaking the drips of his jacket everywhere.
‘Stop that now!’ Rachael grabbed the offending bit of clothing and stomped out to the scullery with it.
Evan pulled his mouth into a grimace and went to look at what was cooking.
Rachael was soon back. ‘You know not to bring wet jackets in here, you daft boy!’
‘I’m not a boy, Mam, I’m sixteen, seventeen in a coupla months.’
‘Then it’s about time you grew up and got a bit responsible, like. Short of money we’ll be, with you and your strikes.’
‘Not again! What’s in here?’ He pointed to the pan.
‘Some cawl. Managed to get some scraps of lamb. Dunno what I’ll be buying food with next week.’
‘Some lamb! Thank the Lord,’ said Evan, planting himself on a chair at the table, next to Abraham.
Rachael tutted. ‘Don’t you be taking the Lord’s name in vain, my boy.’
‘I wasn’t, I was thanking him, wasn’t I?’
‘But in a way that sounded resentful.’
Gwilym picked up the abandoned newspaper on the table, staring unseeing at it. His family had changed since his father had died in the mine explosion last year. Abraham was quieter when once he’d been a chatty soul. Evan was getting cheekier by the week, not restrained by their mam’s discipline in the way he had been by their father’s. Mam seemed either cross or upset about something most of the time. And him? He felt an increasing sense of hopelessness, especially with the war still raging. At least when working on the allotments he could concentrate on life and growth, and put death to one side, if just for a while.
‘As for being short of money,’ Evan said, ‘what’ll we do if Gwilym gets married? It’s about time.’
‘Then I’ll have to work, won’t I?’ Rachael stood up straight and crossed her arms tightly around her middle. ‘And why not? It’s only fifty-one, I am. Your grancher there worked ’til he were near seventy.’
‘Hah!’ said Abraham. ‘And I wouldn’t recommend it, though I did love looking after them ponies.’ He turned towards Gwilym. ‘You gotta girl, bach? You’ve been quiet about that.’
Gwilym laughed drily. ‘No Grancher, I haven’t.’
‘You’ll find somebody soon, a handsome, well-read boy like you.’ Rachael seemed to cheer up at this thought.
‘I really am not a boy, Mam.’
‘Exactly. You’ll see, there’ll be a girl for you out there. Probably right under your nose, like with your da and me.’ She looked thoughtful.
‘If you say so.’ Gwilym shrugged his shoulders and glanced over the headlines of the newspaper.
Chapter Three
‘It sounds like you had a lovely time in Barry, despite the weather,’ said Gwen Austin, having listened to Violet’s animated account.
The change in her friend over the last couple of months had been remarkable, since her previous mother-in-law had been made to leave the house for harassing her. Olwen Jones had made her life a misery, moving herself into her home after Violet’s first husband Charlie, had been killed. She’d almost starved her and had bullied the spirit out of her. But the change was not only down to getting rid of Olwen Jones, but down to Hywel Llewellyn, her new husband. Gwen hoped that getting the special licence to get married quickly wasn’t going to prove a mistake though. But who was she to judge, who couldn’t entice one man to marry her, let alone two? This disheartening thought she pushed to one side.
‘Oh we did, Gwen. I haven’t been on any kind of holiday for such a long time.’
‘I’m sure Uncle Hywel will take you on as many holidays as you want now,’ said Anwen.
‘Or as many as we can afford,’ laughed Violet.
‘It was good of Hywel to take the kiddies out for a walk, to give us some time to catch up,’ said Gwen leaning back, ‘especially Sara Fach in her pushchair. Don’t see many men with pushchairs.’
Violet stood to fetch the kettle from the range to top up the teapot. ‘Don’t see many pushchairs at all here. You were so lucky Mary Jones had one to give you, Anwen. Bet that’s seen lots of children from different families.’
‘And it’ll be passed onto you when you have your next.’ Anwen gave her a wink.
‘Oh no, you’re bound to have one before me, being married longer.’
‘It hasn’t happened so far. Anyway, I’ve enough on my hands with my little sister at the moment.’
Anwen said this cheerily, but Gwen knew she was hurting inside. She so longed for a babby of her own, even if she did adore looking after her half-sister. What a situation: little Sara, being brought up by her sister, with a grandmother who was no relation to her, and a great-grandmother who was actually her grandma! All because her vicious father had got a mouthy trollop pregnant, when neither were fit to be parents.
‘I don’t suppose anything’s been heard of Sara’s mother?’ said Gwen.
Anwen shook her head. ‘No, not hide nor hair has been heard of Delyth Bryce. And I hope it never will since we’ve applied to adopt Sara Fach.’
‘I still can’t believe a mother would abandon a baby like that, at a lodging house,’ said Violet. ‘Anything could have happened to her.’
‘Mam has had several letters from my father saying we’re to get rid of the brat, as he put it, so I suspect Delyth has been to see him in prison, or at least contacted him.’
‘He’s still got a good long time in gaol left yet, over eleven years,’ said Gwen. ‘Surely he’ll have more sense than to come back here when he leaves. And Sara Fach’ll be a twelve-year-old by then.’
‘How would Delyth Bryce know she’s with you?’ said Violet.
‘Dunno. Perhaps she’s guessing,’ said Anwen. ‘Anyway, Hywel indicated there was some news you wanted to tell us?’
Violet took a deep breath before standing to walk over to the dresser. She opened one of the cupboards below and pulled out a small case and a letter, placing it on the table when she sat back down.
‘This arrived yesterday.’ She opened the box to reveal a silver medal hanging from a short navy and red striped ribbon. ‘They apologised for its lateness and said it was an oversight. It’s for Charlie’s bravery at Mametz Wood.’ Violet’s face was solemn.
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Gwen, taking the medal from Violet for a closer look. On one side was written: For Distinguished Conduct in the Field. ‘That is something Clarice and Benjy will be proud of when they’re old enough to understand its significance.’
‘Yes, it—’ But Violet didn’t finish before she had to tug her handkerchief from her pocket to wipe the tears away. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t feel like this now, and I am so happy with Hywel, but it was a life wasted.’
‘Of course it was,’ said Gwen, leaning over to give her arm a rub. ‘He didn’t deserve that. So many young men have been lost in the village. What is it now? Fifteen?’ And who knew if there’d be more, including her dear brother, Henry?
‘At least there’s been no news of any casualties with the latest battles,’ said Anwen. ‘Elizabeth told me in chapel this morning that Tom had written to say they’d been at Pilckem Ridge. He’s in the 114th Brigade, the same as our boys, but in the 10th Battalion rather than the 13th.’
‘Perhaps we should do something to celebrate Charlie’s bravery,’ Gwen suggested.
Violet clapped the box shut. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She took it and the letter back to the dresser and put them away, before returning to the table, saying as she sat, ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you, Gwen.’ She looked at Anwen.
‘We both have,’ said Anwen. ‘And I know we’ve said it before, but, well, you do seem to be more yellow than normal. And your lovely blonde curls are sort of – greeny.’
