14

Jane Gruffydd was in town about the middle of September the following year buying a trunk for Owen to take with him to College. He had won a £20 scholarship, and between that and the grant from the teacher training department Owen was able to get by at College apart from the cost of books and the College fees themselves. She walked around the shops slowly and without enthusiasm. It was one of those hot September days when the heat and haze of the day turns to a cold, clear moonlit night. People darted about in their summer clothes which were getting a new lease of life after weeks of wet weather in August. The shop windows and doorways were laden with ripe fruit, and wasps buzzed around them. The windows were filthy with the dirt of insects.

Jane Gruffydd had walked down to town in the midday sun, and her face was a ferment of sweat, her hair sopping as if she’d just been dragged out of the river. She had only one coat which she wore summer and winter. Despite this, she felt fairly contented. It was a weight off her mind that Owen had won the scholarship, and as Ann Ifans had said to her, she ought to be proud of her boy.

She went into the ironmonger’s shop, which was cool after the hot street.

‘These are in fashion now,’ said the man, after she had told him what she wanted, pointing at some wooden boxes.

‘How much is that?’

‘Thirty shillings.’

Jane Gruffydd was taken aback.

‘No, I’ll have to have a cheaper one than that.’

‘Well, here are some things which are popular at the moment,’ and he showed her some big straw baskets with lids. She thought that it would do as long as he put his books in a sugar box.

Jane Gruffydd was glad that the basket cost less than she had expected. But shirts and other things cost more, and the pound that she’d kept from the month’s wages disappeared like water through a sieve. She wondered whether she’d ever come to town and have more money in her pocket than she needed just for essentials. Yes, one day, she would. Owen would earn money one day; so would Twm. They would get good salaries; she would be able to pay off her debts and then be able to buy a few luxuries. In fact, she bought a few even now. She just had to take a few plums home with her.

After shopping she went to Sioned’s house. Her daughter was glad to see her, and rushed to make her some tea. The redness of her face which was caused by the heat had given way to a yellowish pallor by this time, and Sioned could hardly fail to notice it.

‘Are you feeling ill, Mam?’

‘No, it’s just that I rushed down to town in this heat.’

‘It wasn’t right that you had to walk. Why didn’t you take the brake?’

‘I’m going to take it on the way back, after popping in to see Elin for a minute. It’s just too dear to take the brake both ways. Oh, this tea is good!’

‘Are you feeling better now?’

‘I’m back to my old self, don’t worry.’

‘You’ve got a big heavy coat on.’

‘Yes, but it’ll have to do; it’ll be winter in no time.’

‘Come and have a look around the house.’

And so the mother admired the plush chairs and the stained walnut furniture, and the latest fashion bed which was bristling with brass.

‘I’ll come with you as far as Nell’s* place,’ said Sioned, ‘if you really have to go now.’

At Elin’s place later Jane Gruffydd sat with her face turned to the window listening out for the brake which was about to arrive any minute. Elin’s conversation always tended to make her forget about the time.

‘Didn’t Sioned offer you anything?’

‘No, but she was very nice, and I had a good cup of tea from her.’

‘Well, I should think that’s the least she could do.’

‘Well, I’ve certainly had less than that from Sioned; it’s good to see that she’s stopped sulking, and that she’s capable of talking to you just like any other human being.’

‘Huh! she could easily give you some of that six hundred pounds now that you’ve got such a lot to pay for.’

‘I’d rather she didn’t.’

And then came the sound of the horses’ hooves that both of them knew so well, and the sound of the braking and the screeching of the wheels.

Elin waved to her mother, biting her lip to stop herself crying. Years of domestic service in the town had still not weaned her away from Ffridd Felen.

Owen’s basket was tied to the side of the brake, swaying from side to side as the vehicle went on its way. To Jane Gruffydd the basket was a symbol of the beginning of the real tearing apart of her family. Although Elin and Sioned were now in the town, and the boys at School, she didn’t feel that they had left home because they were still so close. She couldn’t take her eyes off the basket, which seemed to her like some malevolent Fate. In the middle of the week like this the brake was full of women, and they were much keener to talk than if the company had been mixed.

‘When is Owen going to be starting in the College?’ said one.

‘In three weeks’ time.’

‘You’ll be very sad to see him go.’

‘I will be for a while, I’m sure.’

‘But that’s the way it is, once they start leaving home.’

‘Yes, and there’s nothing much around here to keep the boys at home.’

‘No, there isn’t, and it’s even worse for the grown-ups. But your boys will end up in much better places.’

‘I don’t know; anything can happen. There’s plenty of expense to drive them on to make a go of it, anyway.’

By this time a breeze had got up, and the haze over the sea had lifted. The corn stood in stooks all over the fields; some was being harvested on carts. The sea was right beside them now, and it looked different from the way it looked from the perspective of Ffridd Felen. There were dark shadows upon it, and its colour was deeper. Jane Gruffydd turned her head to see Moel Arian, and it, too, looked different, with its windows blinking at her as the sun’s rays fell on them. The stillness of September was upon the countryside, and there was just a hint of a change of colour in the trees. Jane Gruffydd’s spirit became calm and accepting under the influence of the landscape, while the horses pulled them slowly up the steep hill, their hooves resounding on the hard ground of the road and steam rising from their bodies. The next generation, who would come to take this journey by car, would not experience this calming of the spirit, nor would they see such views over the tops of the hedges.

Everyone still at home in Ffridd Felen regressed to being small children when their mother went to town, and they rushed excitedly for her basket before she even had time to take off her coat.

She didn’t have to do any housework when she got back. The boys had dug some potatoes for a ‘quarry supper’, and they had already milked the cows, two hours earlier than usual so that their mother could have a rest when she reached the house.

‘My dear little ones,’ she said, ‘their poor udders will be almost bursting tomorrow morning, and I’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn to milk them.’*