The Changing Valley Read online

  He came down to the fish-and-chip shop each lunchtime to collect the urn of tea Bethan made for the forestry workers and he always found time to call in to The Drovers to collect any bets. He occasionally held back the bets, when he thought the horse was unlikely to win and in the case of Lester Piggot’s horse, he had done just that. Now he was faced with finding almost two pounds to pay Nelly. Two pounds he did not have.

  She was waiting for him outside The Drovers, those big dogs of hers lolling against her legs and she smiled a greeting, obviously excited at the prospect of receiving her winnings.

  ‘Got me money ’ave yer?’ she asked. ‘It’s fer the church ’all fund. Pity really, it’s a long time since I ’ad a thirty-three-to-one winner. Still, it’s in a good cause, ain’t it?’

  ‘Sorry Nelly, but I didn’t get it to the bookie in time.’

  ‘You what?’ She stared at the two shillings he had placed in her palm, then glared at him, her head held forward in an aggressive stance. ‘I give it to you days before the race.’

  ‘I found it in my pocket this morning. Forgot it, I did. Terribly sorry, love, but I just missed it when I went to deliver them.’

  ‘Funny ’ow you fergets only the big wins, ain’t it Griff Evans!’

  ‘Now now Nelly. Everyone makes mistakes and there’s no cause for you to accuse me of dishonesty.’

  ‘Ain’t there? Just you get me that money! I’m entitled and you know it. Spend less on yer lady friend and you’d be able to pay up!’

  Griff walked past her and into the pub where a group of men would be standing waiting for him. The remark about his lady love had startled him: he had believed that no one knew about him and Bethan. He had better be careful, he didn’t want Hilda to find out. Life was comfortable at home and he had no desire to change things. Hilda was no beauty and their marriage no love-match, but she looked after him well. Damn. If he had not held back that one bet he might never have known his secret was out. Ignorance is bliss, he thought ruefully.

  Nelly looked at the two shillings in her hand, tempted to throw it after him and call out again about his dishonesty and carrying on, but she changed her mind and went into the pub to buy herself a glass of stout. She stood at the bar, glaring at Griff and taking small satisfaction from knowing he was uneasy, afraid she was going to blurt out her accusations again. She pushed her way past him, knocking roughly against him as she left and said only, ‘So, you’ll be givin’ me me money tomorrer, will yer?’ Griff did not answer.

  Griff would have been surprised at how many people knew about his affair with Bethan. Spending so many night-hours poaching in the woods, he thought no one would be surprised to see him out, whatever the hour. But Nelly had known for a long time and Phil-the-Post missed nothing that went on. It was only because of his irregular life that Hilda suspected nothing.

  Nelly decided to say nothing and hope that her silence would persuade him to pay her the money he had cheated her of in the next few days. She told George and laughingly threatened to warn Constable Harris of the regular exchange of betting slips that went on at The Drovers each lunchtime and evening.

  ‘You should have seen the goings-on the last time the police raided,’ she laughed. ‘Everyone trying to burn their slips on the fire and kicking the logs to make them burn faster and Bert Roberts setting fire to his trousers. Little Archie Pearce who couldn’t get to the fire was chewing ’is list of ’orses like mad and ’im with not a single tooth in ’is ’ead! But it ain’t funny bein’ cheated, George,’ she added sadly. ‘I’d ’ave bin pleased to ’and that money to the vicar.’

  ‘Never mind, Nelly, it seems that there has been quite a lot of interest in your trench-digging idea so we’ll make up for it with that. And have a lot of fun as well.’

  * * *

  It was raining as Amy left the shop on Saturday evening and set off on the twenty-minute walk to her house. Margaret skipped beside her, unbothered by the drizzle which soon made a silver-fur covering on their clothes and sent dampness in a chilling barrier between their skin and the warmth of their clothes. Amy bent her head forward in a vain attempt to keep the insidious moisture from her face and pushed Sian’s pram like a battering ram before her.

  She was so intent on hurrying home and getting the evening tasks under way that she almost bumped into Billie Brown.

  ‘Hey, you three, what are you trying to do, flatten me?’ He moved Amy’s hands from the pram handle and began pushing the baby. ‘Put your hands in your pockets, Amy, it will keep them warm.’

  ‘I’m not cold,’ she grumbled, ‘just wet. And what are you doing walking about in this weather?’

  ‘I’m a farmer. Weather isn’t often a bother, and a bit of a wetting certainly wouldn’t keep me in, would it? Out in it all, I am.’

  Margaret smiled up at him. ‘Oliver and I aren’t put off by the weather either, Uncle Billie, we want to be farmers when we grow up.’

  ‘And good you’ll be, too. Damn me, there’s a lovely job you two made of washing out the milking parlour last week. Soaked yourselves more than this bit of rain though, if I remember?’

  ‘Can we come again soon?’

  ‘Welcome you are. My sister will be there to make us all a nice tea.’

  ‘You must say if Margaret and Oliver are being a nuisance,’ Amy said as she walked, still crouched against the insistent rain, beside his tall figure. There was a comfortable feeling about walking with Billie, she decided. He seemed like a bastion against anything that threatened. She looked up at him and he smiled, turning his head to encompass Margaret in his affection and protection.

  ‘I walked along the stream for a bit of a blow, and when it came on to rain I thought I’d come and walk home with you as it was near time for the shop to close.’ Amy smiled but a bubble of irritation rose in her. On a day like this, all she wanted to do was get inside and close the door. Now she would have to invite him to stay a while and the ironing wouldn’t get done. Her mind wandered ahead to what they would eat. She had bought chops for Sunday but there wasn’t an extra one.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Billie began, when they reached the drive which led to the half-hidden house.

  ‘Mind you walking us home?’ Amy asked curiously. ‘Of course I don’t, although I have the ironing to do and—’

  ‘Not walking you home, girl. Mind me going into your house uninvited? I used the key you hide under a stone and went in and lit your fire. I thought on a day like this you’d like a bit of a welcome.’

  ‘Billie, that is kind of you. Thank you!’ She opened the front door and at once smelt the warmth. ‘That’s lovely!’ She thought of the chops and wondered if she could make do with a couple of eggs for herself. ‘Stay for something to eat, won’t you?’

  ‘No, no. I expect Mary is cooking for me. Another time eh?’

  She saw that he had filled the coal scuttle and had left some chopped sticks drying near the fire. She watched him go, disappearing into the misty rain, a tall, burly figure in his oilskins and heavy wellingtons, guilty at the irritation she had felt. He really was very kind. She was tired after a busy day at the shop and it was tempting at moments like these to push down the last barrier and allow herself to fall in love with him.

  Her pulse quickened at the thought of his love-making but admitted that her attraction for him was no great passion. Not like it had been with Harry Beynon whom she had loved from the first moment she had seen his wicked blue eyes behind his rimless glasses, and the smile that promised every delight except honesty. Harry had been the one real love in her life but he was dead, although he still filled her dreams with remembered joy.

  Now there was Billie Brown, a farmer who loved her and was unattached, and Victor Honeyman who loved her but was not. It would be very easy to slip into an affair with Victor whose blue eyes reminded her of Harry’s. But Victor’s were paler and had a gentleness and calmness Harry’s had rarely had. Victor made her laugh, his company was restful and as easy and comfortable as a long time frie
nd. She was always excited at seeing him and her body responded to his touch in a most disconcerting way, but he was married, and even if he and his wife were unhappy, she determined never to involve herself with a married man again.

  She picked up the post which Billie had placed on the small table and glanced through the assorted letters to decide if any were interesting enough to open while the meal cooked. One, in sprawling, boyish writing, she tore open at once, calling to her daughter as she did so.

  ‘Margaret love, there’s a letter from Freddie.’ As soon as she heard Margaret tumble down the stairs to hear the latest news of her brother, Amy chuckled. ‘Where’s my dainty little girl gone? These days you’re so long-legged you sound like a cart-horse with seven legs!’ She handed the letter to Margaret and hugged her. ‘Go on, you read it first, tell me what he says.’

  ‘He’s coming home, Mam! He’s got a whole week’s leave! He’s not quite sure when – he’ll let us know later. He asks about Sheila Powell of course. He never forgets to ask about her! And, er, he says he will spend a part of his leave planting some extra roses around the front borders for you.’ She put the letter down. ‘Freddie loves gardening doesn’t he, Mam? Why did he go away to the army instead of finding work with flowers d’you think?’

  ‘Sheila Powell was the reason he went away, love.’ Amy tried never to lie to her children and although the subject of Freddie’s love for Sheila was one which made her angry, she forced herself to explain. ‘Freddie was fond of her and I think for a while thought she was fond of him. But she married Maurice Davies after announcing she was – how can I explain this to you…’

  ‘Sheila was going to have a baby and it was Maurice who was the father, right?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Amy was startled by Margaret’s outspokenness and apparent understanding.

  ‘So Freddie couldn’t stay, he had to go into the army? Seems silly to me.’

  ‘We all do silly things, love. Me more than most, so I can’t blame him, although it seems a pity he didn’t stay with Auntie Prue’s building firm where he had a good future.’

  ‘Would Sheila have been my sister if Freddie had married her then?’

  ‘Sister-in-law. Yes, love.’

  ‘And your daughter-in-law?’

  ‘Yes.’ Amy’s pretty face curled into a scowl.

  ‘Wouldn’t you have liked that, Mam?

  ‘Whoever you or Freddie marries will be welcome here and made to feel a part of our family.’

  ‘But you don’t really like her?’ Margaret insisted.

  Amy smiled and tugged at Margaret’s long red hair. ‘You, young lady, are far too sharp for a nine-year-old! Now go and wake Sian. There’s time to feed her while our meal is cooking.’

  ‘I’ll feed her, Mam, then I’ll do my practice. There’s an exam Mrs French wants me to enter soon. Can I tell her I will?’

  ‘Would you really like to?’

  ‘Oh yes, I love playing the piano.’

  ‘Then of course you can.’

  With the baby fed, bathed and in her cot, and Margaret in her pyjamas snuggled in an armchair listening to the wireless later that evening, Amy felt loneliness creep over her again. She had a busy and interesting life, with the shop and family life with Margaret, baby Sian and on occasions, Freddie, but it wasn’t enough. She thought of Billie only a few miles away in the large farmhouse he shared with his sister, Mary, and wondered if she could cope with a life so different from all she had ever known, just for the sense of belonging, of coming first with someone. She became aware of her daughter’s brown eyes watching her. Jerking herself from her daydreams she said, ‘Shall I make us a nice cup of cocoa? I brought us some biscuits from the shop for a treat.’

  ‘Is something wrong, Mam?’

  ‘Wrong? What could be wrong? I’ve got a beautiful daughter, enough money to make life pleasant, Freddie’s leave to look forward to. No, nothing is wrong. I was indulging in a bit of a daydream, that’s all.’

  * * *

  On the following morning, Amy busied herself with the routine tasks while Margaret was in church. Then after lunch they went to see Ethel Davies. Although she was only going to see a neighbour, Amy spent time dressing and applying makeup with care. She looked at the weather, which seemed likely to give rain, so she wore a bobbleweave navy skirt and a paler blue blouse over which she put on a lightweight mac. She had bought new makeup, changing the colour slightly for the beginning of summer. The Cremepuff shades varied with skin colour and from Truly Fair she had moved darker to Candle Glow preferring to appear slightly tanned, although she rarely had time to sit in the sun. She put on a sparkling rhinestone necklace and matching dangling earrings and fluffed out her hair until she was satisfied with the result. She stared at herself in the mirror of the compact for a while, wondering if her face showed her thirty-eight years to others as kindly as it appeared to her. Perhaps she mused, we remain young inside and are deceived into believing it’s how we look. She snapped the compact on the thoughts of lonely middle age and ran down to where Margaret was waiting.

  Instead of walking along the main road and going up Sheepy Lane to Ethel’s, they turned up towards Nelly’s cottage. The lane would take them past the ruined castle and along the edge of the wood before reaching the entrance to the council houses and turning down again to return to the main road as Sheepy Lane.

  Nelly was in the garden. With a long-handled hoe she was working between the newly sprouting vegetables, singing to herself, accompanied by the wireless on the chair beside the open door.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ she called as Amy and Margaret waved.

  ‘I’m going to ask about Sheila,’ Amy explained. ‘We had a letter from Freddie and he always asks for the latest news.’

  ‘Phil says she ain’t too well,’ Nelly reported. ‘It’s getting near ’er time, ain’t it?’

  Amy saw a paper carrier near Nelly’s gate. ‘Did you know there’s a parcel here, Nelly?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, that Griff owes me some money an’ instead of payin’ ’e brings me rabbits. D’you think they’ll be all right? There’s all this talk about some disease in Kent.’

  ‘We’re a long way from Kent, Nelly,’ Amy laughed. ‘Do you mean myxomatosis?’

  ‘Yes, terrible thing to do to rabbits ain’t it? D’you think them are safe to eat?’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything in this area. Besides, wouldn’t you be able to see if they were affected?’

  ‘I’ll wait till George ’as ’ad a look. ’E’ll know.’

  Amy felt a brief stab of envy at Nelly having George to discuss things with, and her departure was hurried. Why did she never meet someone who was free to love her? If even Nelly could find a man to share her life what was it that she lacked?

  Amy and Margaret walked on, stopping to enjoy the quiet of the woods that was disturbed only by birdsong and the chuckle of the nearby stream. When they reached Sheepy Lane they saw an ambulance hurry past from the direction of Hywel Rise. Amy wondered anxiously if Sheila was being taken into hospital already.

  At Ethel’s house her fears were confirmed. Ethel was stepping into the back of the ambulance and, as the door closed, Amy saw she was upset. Phil, Ethel’s postman son was standing beside the door of the house and he beckoned to Amy.

  ‘Something wrong, I’m afraid. They’re rushing Sheila into hospital. There’s some doubt about the baby – gone well over her time she has.’

  ‘Oh, I’m very sorry,’ Amy said. ‘Poor little thing.’ Her thoughts, rather unkindly, were not for Sheila but the distress Sheila had caused to Maurice, who had been forced to leave Delina Honeyman whom he loved, and marry the pregnant Sheila. What if Sheila were then to lose the baby, the innocent cause of it all?

  ‘Come in and wait for Mam to come back,’ Phil said. ‘Catrin has made a pot of tea and, you know Mam, she’s left plenty of food.’

  ‘All right, Phil, for a little while.’ Amy turned to Margaret. ‘Why don’t you go and see if Oliver’s home? I�
��ll call for you when I leave.’ Margaret ran down Sheepy Lane to the main road where Nelly’s grandson lived.

  Amy went inside the cheerful room with the roaring fire and the neatly laid table. She looked at the plateful of bread and butter and the homemade meatloaf and salad ready to serve. It was a constant source of wonder and admiration that even through the years when rationing restricted supplies of food severely, Ethel managed to fill her table generously.

  It was with a start of surprise that she realised that the room was not empty. In a corner near the back kitchen door, away from the fierce heat of the fire, waiting for her to see him, sat Victor Honeyman.

  ‘Victor! I didn’t see you there. What’s the news about Sheila then. Very bad is it?’

  ‘It’s such a mess, isn’t it? There’s my Delina grieving over the cancellation of her wedding to Maurice, Maurice is in Australia where he went to escape from the girl he was forced to marry and the little baby who upset everything is likely to die.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Victor. Delina didn’t deserve such unhappiness, and neither, really, did young Maurice. I’m afraid I don’t think very highly of Sheila Powell. She asked for trouble.’

  ‘Be fair, Amy, the girl is suffering too. It was far more humiliating for her to marry and have her husband go thousands of miles away rather than live with her, and now this.’

  ‘I know. I shouldn’t be so unkind, but she used my Freddie, using him to cover up for her meetings with Maurice, and for a while people thought he was the father. But you’re right, it’s our sympathy Sheila needs now.’

  ‘I thought I might go down to the main road and telephone the hospital in an hour or so – see if there’s any news.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll ring when I get home. Freddie will want to know what’s happened. Still fond of her, he is.’ She frowned and asked, ‘I suppose her parents are at the hospital too?’

  ‘No, that’s why Ethel went. No one knows where they are.’