18

It was almost Christmas, a time of year that changes its meaning for parents as their children grow up. When the children were small Christmas was a busy, happy time in Ffridd Felen; busy because everyone was practising for the Literary Festival that lasted two days; happy because the children did not expect to get any presents, except for the prizes they might win in the Literary Festival. Ann and Bob Ifans, Twnt i’r Mynydd, came there on Christmas Eve, and the children all went together to the Festival. Ann Ifans brought some of her home-made toffee to Ffridd Felen, and she had some of Ffridd Felen’s home-made toffee to take home with her. The smallest children always enjoyed the toffee-making. After they had gone to bed their mother brought them some fresh toffee and popped it in their mouths, warning them not to take it out again in case they got it stuck in the bedclothes. If the mouthful of toffee was a big one it was quite hard work to turn it around and around in their mouths. Their jawbones would start to ache.

But by 1908 things had changed. The eldest children were away, and Twm and Bet were too old for Christmas to be really exciting for them. Owen would come home, and perhaps Elin would come up on Christmas afternoon. Sioned and her husband and the baby might come, but Jane didn’t really care either way about them.

A few days before Christmas she went down to town and called with Elin on her way.

‘I don’t know whether I ought to ask Sioned and her husband to come up at Christmas,’ she said.

‘I don’t think she’d come, you know,’ said Elin, remembering why Twm had left.

‘Do you think?’

‘No, she won’t; I heard her say something about staying at home, that she was having some kind of tea party or something.’

‘Oh. How is she getting on, do you know?’

‘Alright, as far as I know.’

The welcome Jane Gruffydd received in Sioned’s house was not as warm as the last time. Sioned was busy making pies.

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea as soon as I’ve put these in the oven,’ she said in a tone of voice which indicated that she would rather not make the tea.

‘There’s no need for you to go to any trouble,’ said her mother. ‘I’ve promised to go to Elin’s.’

Sioned cheered up on hearing this.

‘Wait two minutes, then. I’ll come and sit down with you now.’

While Sioned was in the back kitchen with her pies, her mother looked around the front room. It wasn’t quite the same as it had been the last time. Everything looked rather shabby and dismal, and Eric himself was quite grubby, playing with a dirty old wooden horse. You couldn’t say that the room was dirty, exactly, but it wasn’t clean either.

Before long Sioned came in, wearing a kind of oilcloth apron with a tear in it.

‘I’m making a few mince pies* now,’ she said. ‘I’ve already made my cake.’

‘Cake? Is there some special cake apart from bara brith* for Christmas then?’ said her mother, annoyed.

‘Yes, I mean bara brith.’

‘Well, say what you mean, then.’

Sioned paid no attention to the rebuke. She went on,

‘Bertie’s bringing a goose home tonight – a present from a friend of his.’

‘That’s lucky for you, though I wouldn’t particularly want one.’

‘We’re going to have lots of friends over to tea on Christmas Day and Boxing Day.’

‘You won’t be able to come home to us, then?’

‘No. Had someone said that we were coming?’

‘No, nobody,’ curtly.

‘I thought perhaps Nell* had said something to you, because she thinks that we all do the same as she does.’

‘Elin never said a word to me,’ said Jane Gruffydd, riled.

‘We’d like to come, but these friends of Bertie’s are coming over. They’re very nice people.’

‘I’m sure,’ said her mother. ‘I’m off now then. Come here, darling,’ she said to Eric, who was sitting underneath the sewing machine, ‘here’s a bit of toffee for you.’

Eric ran to get the toffee, and grabbed it from his grandmother’s hand.

‘Say “thank you”,’* said his mother.

Eric looked into the paper bag.

‘Now then, Eric, say “thank you” to grandma for the toffee ... Eric, say “thank you”.’

There was a piece of toffee in Eric’s mouth.

‘Leave him alone,’ said his grandmother.

Jane Gruffydd had a pound of butter in her basket which she had been intending to give Sioned, but she took it home with her instead.

She was in a bit of a temper by the time she reached Elin’s place.

‘I don’t know why I go there.’

‘Go where?’ asked Elin.

‘To see Sioned.’

‘What was the matter with her today?’

‘I don’t know. She was on her high horse for some reason. She obviously didn’t want to see me, anyhow.’

‘Didn’t she offer you a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, but only in an offhand way. Anyhow, I said I was on my way to see you.’

‘You did the right thing.’

‘The little minx, with her mince pies and her cake and her goose.’

‘Is she going to have a goose?’ Elin stood stock still, in the middle of cutting a slice of bread.

‘Yes. Bertie’s getting one as a present according to her.’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘And some of his friends are going there for tea at Christmas, says she. Some very nice people.’

‘Yes, they’re all nice in Sioned’s eyes if they speak English and wear bracelets.’*

‘Tell me, can they live like that and pay their way?’

‘Yes, as far as I know. He got a pay rise recently.’

‘I thought everything looked a bit dingy, and that little boy was quite grubby.’

‘Yes, he is. She takes no pride in looking after him.’

There was a pained look on Jane Gruffydd’s face as she walked to catch the brake.

‘I’ll be up at Christmas.’

‘Yes, come soon.’

Her mother pulled her fur stole tight around her neck. She was wearing the same coat as she had worn six years before in the prize-giving ceremony, and the same hat, too, but remodelled.