News of Ernie Griffiths’s intended marriage to Helen Gunner was met with a variety of comments. Most people guessed the reason for the hastily planned wedding, and the happy couple had to suffer remarks like ‘the pudding club’, or ‘one up the spout’ or more politely ‘in the family way’. To Janet and Hywel’s surprise only three fights were begun as a result of this and no one complained at the prospect of a party.
Christmas Day was on a Sunday that year and the wedding was booked for Friday the twenty-third.
“Thank goodness rationing has finished,” Helen’s mother sighed. “The wedding would be followed by a very lean Christmas if this had happened a couple of years ago.”
“No it wouldn’t,” Helen replied. “The Griffithses have never let the lack of a ration book stop them arranging a party or enjoying Christmas.”
“Black market deals and poaching you mean,” her mother said in a hissing whisper. “Well, the less said about that, the better I’ll sleep at night! Imagine you marrying one of the Griffithses. Known for their thieving ways they are and how you ever got mixed up with them after the way you’ve been brought up—”
“Mam, you promised,” Helen pleaded.
“I can’t help it. And this wedding, what will it be except a pile of thick sandwiches and an old sweet jar full of pickled onions?”
“You might surprise yourself and enjoy it!”
“Enjoy seeing my only daughter ruin her life?”
Helen said no more. There wasn’t any point with Mam in this mood.
Edward was redecorating his shop window. He had several times made a Christmas display but the business was so prosperous he was constantly rearranging it because of so many items being sold. It had been Megan’s advice to ignore the temptation of showing the expensive skiing clothes and equipment and instead concentrate on gifts for children. That it had been a success was clearly shown by the fact he had to go yet again to the wholesalers for more stock.
Old William Jones still called regularly and tutted if the window was anything less than immaculate and one day Edward left Mair and the old man in charge while he went into Cardiff for some football jerseys that had been ordered. When he returned about an hour before closing time he was surprised and pleased to see the shop filled and Megan helping to attend to the customers.
“Megan, how lovely to see you, but where’s Rosemary?” he asked.
“Upstairs and sleeping away the hours. We’ve been up every few minutes to check that all is well but she’s content.”
Edward ran upstairs to reassure himself. Looking at the sleeping child always delighted him. The beautiful, calm face that could pucker up and complain when things were less than comfortable for her was a constant fascination. Now she was peaceful, the long eyelashes resting on rosy cheeks, her arms stretched out above her head in a way he had come to recognise as contentment. He smiled and went back down to help serve.
They were late closing but Mair and William left at the usual time and it was Edward alone who closed up and checked the till. Megan had gone to feed Rosemary in the flat above. There was nothing prepared for an evening meal so they decided to take Rosemary to Sally and eat out.
They sat for a while, nursing and playing with the little girl, listening enthralled to her early-attempts at communication and joining in by replying to her funny sounds as though they all understood each other.
“Is it time d’you think for us to make plans to marry?” Edward asked.
“What about in the spring? Easter is a lovely time for weddings, Edward.”
“Then Easter it will be.”
“There’s been a lot of teasing about Ernie Griffiths’s marriage to Helen being brought forward because of their baby. What will they say about us? I will be going to my marriage to you carrying Rosemary – another man’s child - into the church.”
“Nothing they say will worry me, but I don’t want anyone to upset you,” he replied.
“Upset me? One of the dreadfully bold Weston Girls? Never!” Megan laughed. “There is some satisfaction for many, seeing one of the wild Weston Girls being brought to such a pass.” She smiled. “The general opinion is that you are a fool to marry me and I don’t deserve such an admirable husband and I think they’re probably right.” She reached over and kissed him gently. “I love you dearly, Edward. You are a wonderfully kind man and I do consider myself fortunate.”
“And so do I.”
On the outskirts of a small village a few miles outside Carmarthen, Percy Flemming, now known as Jones, was working on the plot of land he had bought alongside his new home. He was keeping well out of sight, concentrating on growing his hair and cultivating a beard, while preparing the land ready for the small market garden he planned to open the following year.
Barbara had changed her hairstyle and colour as well as the style of her dress. They both stayed away from the local shops. The children had to attend school but the private school they had chosen was a long way from the village and they would be met and brought home without any more contact with others than necessary. The family drove long distances to buy their supplies, the intention being to only gradually make themselves known to the immediate area.
Once a few months had passed and the dark days of winter had helped them to remain hidden, they would be accepted without curiosity and no one would be looking for Percy Flemming and Barbara Wheel. Any clues Percy had given in the past had been false, such as stating his intention one day of moving to Cardiff.
The closed-in evenings and the dankness, the cheerless skies and constantly wet roads of the darkest period of the year, were brightened for a few weeks by the reflections of decorated Christmas trees, coloured lights and cheerful displays emanating from every shop window. The years of blacked-out streets and the shortages of so many basic needs were long past. Yet, beside the religious festivities, Christmas was still an excuse to celebrate the end of the war, with the shortages and tragedies it had brought.
Every shop in Pendragon Island did its best to add to the town’s display and even shops with no contents relevant to the season, like ironmongers and builders’ suppliers, managed a few streamers or added bows of ribbons to bucket handles to cheer and amuse the passers-by.
Something of the jubilation turned sour for Dora, aware that once again she would be on her own, so when Lewis called to discuss their plans for the Christmas weekend she finally braved herself to say, “Lewis, I think you should come home.”
“Properly home?” he asked, staring at her with a quizzical expression.
“Properly home? What d’you mean?” She knew what he meant. She knew he was thinking about sharing her bed and she wanted it so much, yet couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Dora?”
“Come home was what I meant!” she said, her voice sharp in her distress at being incapable of telling him how she really felt. Was it shyness? How could it be after all the years they had spent together? Or was it that stupid hurt pride that she couldn’t shake off?
She plumped up a couple of cushions, afraid to look at him. He was standing perfectly still and the moment seemed to go on and on. He was waiting for her to speak and she was tongue-tied. Why couldn’t she say it? She loved him, so why wouldn’t the words come?
“I’ll think about it,” he said quietly and then he left.
The day of Ernie and Helen’s wedding was dry and with a very cold, easterly wind that found its way into every corner of every house. Gone was the hope of the guests dressing up in smart suits for some cheery photographs. Everyone put on their finery then added thick coats, scarves, and hats and shoes more suitable for a walk in the country than a wedding.
The ceremony was short and colourless but Helen and Ernie weren’t expecting anything more. They knew that the real celebration awaited them at the Griffiths’s small cottage.
No formal invitations had been sent. The cars were those owned or borrowed by the few who attended the simple ceremony. Gloria Gunner had tried to add some formality to the wedding of her only daughter but had given up and allowed the day to happen in the casual, easy manner that the Griffithses had made into an art.
Several people had helped with the food and the tables borrowed for the occasion groaned with the weight of it. Even on such a cold day, the doors were open and people came and went during the day and into the evening. Sian arrived with her son Jack and his wife, Victoria. Rhiannon and Charlie came with Gwyn. Joan and Viv Lewis arrived later than the others as they had to wait until the wallpaper and paint shop had closed.
With the weather making it impossible for people to spill out into the garden, the rooms were soon crammed with people, each one determined not to be the first to leave.
Sian looked across at her twin sister Sally who had arrived with Edward, Megan and the baby. Neither of them had their husbands with them and it saddened the occasion to realise that her husband, Islwyn, was somewhere with another woman and Sally’s husband was recovering from a nervous breakdown.
“Remember how we used to look down with disapproval on these people, Sally?” Sian whispered. “Yet they seem to have the best of it, don’t they?”
“Their expectations were low and they’ve achieved more than they’d imagined. While ours were high and dropped like the proverbial stone,” Sally smiled. “But at least they don’t bear us any ill will. I feel very welcome here, don’t you?”
Edward handed Caroline a parcel. “It’s for young Joseph-Hywel,” he told her.
Barry watched, then his face fell with disappointment as a cricket ball and child-size bat were revealed. “I’ve made one for him,” he explained, “but I thought it was a little early to give it to him.”
Seeing the disappointment on Barry’s face, Janet quickly said, “Marvellous, Barry. He’ll need two when his friends come to play.”
“Don’t be daft, woman,” Hywel growled. “You only need one bat to play garden cricket; you don’t have two batsmen at once! The ball will be handy though.”
“Shush!” Janet warned. “Joseph-Hywel is clever enough to invent his own games; he’s not one to follow the herd!”
“Of course he isn’t. He’s a Griffiths isn’t he?” someone shouted. Everyone laughed, including Barry. This wasn’t a day to look for reasons to complain.
Sally was the first to leave. She took baby Rosemary home in a taxi leaving Megan to enjoy the rest of the evening.
“I don’t really want her to go,” Megan admitted to Edward. “I only feel she is perfectly safe if I am with her. Is that silly? Am I turning into an overprotective mother?”
“You might not believe it but I wanted to go with her too. She’s so precious I want to be with her every moment, even though that’s impossible. But your mother will take the best care. We really can relax and enjoy this peculiar wedding feast.” He accepted a sandwich as a plate was pushed past his face and handed one to Megan. “No serviette I’m afraid,” he grinned. “What would my sister Margaret think of us!”
In Waterside Restaurant, Margaret was giving no thought to the party at the Griffiths’. But Islwyn was aware of the wedding party, knowing his wife Sian and their son, Jack would be there with his shy wife, Victoria. He had no wish to join them. The thought of spending time in that awful hovel appalled him.
Even thinking of Jack and Victoria, whom he liked, was no draw. He no longer seemed to be a part of the Weston family. That stage of his life seemed such a long time ago it was almost like a film he had once seen or a book he had read. Not real at all. This was real. He and Margaret preparing to start a new life together; not the one they had planned, but still exciting.
“Margaret, time to go, love,” he called.
“I’m ready Issy. Will I do?” she asked, turning this way and that to show him the smart, dark green swagger coat she had decided to wear, the carefully chosen amber-coloured dress and the green and amber high-heeled shoes.
“You look wonderful,” he said admiringly. Her hair shone and there was an unmistakable look of defiance in her eyes as she took his arm and went with him to the car.
At Montague Court they were met by Annie Grant who took them straight up to see the room they had been given. The furniture had all belonged to the house when Margaret had lived there and she was grateful for Annie’s thoughtfulness in providing it for her.
“It’s small,” Annie apologised, “but you have a pleasant view and there are shelves and things so you can bring some of your favourite pieces with you.”
“We’ve brought them, can we place them now?” Margaret asked.
“Of course. Although you won’t be starting work here for a few more weeks, the room is yours.”
After a cup of coffee and discussion on their various responsibilities – Islwyn being given the vague role of odd-job man – they went to the car and carried up several boxes, a couple of rugs and a small bedside chest of drawers.
Ornaments were arranged, four oil paintings and one or two family photographs were found places on the walls, and a clock was soon ticking merrily on the chest of drawers.
“We want the room to show we live here, Issy,” Margaret said. “I couldn’t bear to live with someone else’s personality on show, could you?”
Putting down the set of hairbrushes Margaret had bought him, the only item he had brought, Islwyn smiled, hugged her and said, “With you here, what more do I need?”
He watched her as she set out then rearranged the personal items. Margaret didn’t reply and he sensibly remained quiet, knowing how difficult it was for her to return as a housekeeper to the place she had once owned and called home.
The bedroom extension to the Griffiths’s house that had been a bedroom for Frank and Ernie, was full of people from the overspill of guests from the small cottage. Once Barry had finished taking photographs, he and Caroline put an overexcited Joseph-Hywel to bed and tried in vain to find somewhere to sit and talk.
The air was frosty and the trees and grasses were glistening. Feet and hands were painfully cold, but they stood close to the goats’ pen where they could see lights flooding the ground from doors and windows and hear voices filling the air with laughter and song. They kissed and then hugged each other. It was a time for the truth, they both knew that.
“I’ve always felt insecure about your loving me,” Barry said. “I’m so different from my lively, charming brother. I feel dull by comparison, and I’m big and clumsy where he was light-hearted and as agile as a monkey. I loved him dearly and I can’t imagine anyone being satisfied with me after loving him.”
“I’ve never escaped from the thought that you married me because you felt sorry for me and it was at a time when you were in shock after Rhiannon had left you.”
“You were never second best. It was never like that with me.”
“Neither were you, Barry. There’s always something special about a first love, but it’s you I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“We’ve been fools, haven’t we?”
“Afraid of opening out and admitting how we feel.”
“And now?” he coaxed.
“Now everything is going to be all right.”
The fire was almost out and no one bothered to revive it. Janet did notice it but the thought of trying to push her way through the ever swelling throng to do something about it made her decide not to bother. Everyone was red-faced and the room was like an oven anyway.
A few guests were already dozing in their seats; the thought of going out for some reviving fresh air was tempered by the thought that they would never find a seat when they returned.
Dora was sitting on an upturned log, leaning against the wall with Lewis on the floor beside her. She became more and more uncomfortable and he pulled her down beside him, their closeness a much needed comfort to them both.
“We don’t need this if anyone wants it,” Lewis said and a pair of hands grabbed the log, sat on it experimentally, groaned and threw it on the fire.
“Hey, you! That’s one of our best seats!” Hywel growled.
The flames, revived by the added fuel, began to lick their way around the log, the sound and the smell of burning wood filled the room.
“Sod it,” Hywel muttered, gesturing indifference with a waved arm, “our Frank can make some more over the weekend.”
“I heard that!” Frank retorted. “Happy Christmas to you an’ all!”
In the room above the living room where the wedding party continued noisily, Joseph-Hywel woke and listened intently. He was unable to work out from the sounds below, whether it was morning or still late evening. He felt at the bottom of his bed for the new cricket bat and ball given to him by Edward, and smiled happily.
He looked out of the window where the yard was lit with extra lights and with the glow from windows and door. It is morning, he decided. He could get up and play.
Stopping to put on slippers and a dressing gown he tiptoed down the stairs and through the kitchen, which was momentarily empty. He knew as soon as he went down that it was still night-time but now so wide awake he couldn’t resist going out and trying out the new gifts.
Joseph-Hywel tried several times to hit the ball, and each time he succeeded he was taken further away from the house and the lights as he retrieved it.
Caroline and Barry came in to recover from the coldness of the night, grateful for the overfilled house and its warmth. They pushed their way to the foot of the stairs where Barry released her hand while she went up to check on her son. The noise was deafening but it was stopped within the space of second by Caroline’s scream.
“Barry! Mam! Joseph isn’t here!”
Caroline stood with her hands over her face, her eyes huge with shock. Barry ran up to look in the bedrooms, unable to believe her. He came down with a face like a mask.
“She’s right, I’ve looked under the beds and in every cupboard.”
Lewis climbed over the stunned guests and took charge. “Dora, love, you stay with Janet, the rest of you come and look around. Don’t rush, we don’t want to frighten him. He probably isn’t far away. Call his name, softly mind; we don’t want him to think he’s heading for a telling-off, do we?”
What had moments ago been a group of inebriated, sleepy people, now galvanised into action. In twos and threes, Hywel, Barry and Caroline having already left, Lewis sent them all in every direction. Many, facing a walk home across the fields, were armed with torches. Others were carrying nothing more than a box of matches or a cigarette lighter.
Dora held the trembling Janet and spoke reassuringly to her. “Caroline has been up twice since he was put to bed. He’s been gone no time. He can’t have wandered far.”
“What if someone has taken him?”
“What a daft idea, Janet!” Dora forced herself to laugh. “More imagination than your Frank when he’s talking to the coppers you have!”
“Look at the goats,” Janet shouted to the last to leave. “We sold the young billies last week. He might have gone to look for them.”
Dora said nothing but she knew that was the first place Hywel had looked.
Joseph-Hywel searched for his ball which had vanished in the straggling grass and low bushes at the edge of the garden. He stepped out into the lane and knelt down, feeing about but failed to find the round shape for which his cold fingers were groping. He moved as he searched and when he stood up he was no longer sure which direction would take him back home. Running, aware of the chill of the night air and with fear in his heart, afraid now of the darkness, he stumbled along the icily cold, empty lane, heading towards town and away from the Griffiths’s house where searchers were spreading out and calling his name. Throwing aside his bat, he tucked his hands under his arms in an attempt to keep them warm, and thought of his safe, cosy bed.
Walking through the immediate garden and onto the lane, Edward and Megan turned to walk back across the lawn of the house but Megan stopped.
“I’m frightened, Edward. With Joseph-Hywel missing I need to ring home to make sure Rosemary is all right.”
Edward didn’t argue. They walked along the silent lane where the low path and high hedges brought heavy frosty air to settle. Edward put an arm around Megan to give her extra warmth. Rising up out of the lane they came to the first of the houses of the town. There on a corner was a telephone box.
Curled up inside the booth, the door propped open by an abandoned milk crate, and wrapping his dressing gown tightly around him, was Joseph-Hywel. He was shivering, his night clothing insufficient protection from the sharp winter’s night air.
At the corner, just yards away, Edward handed Megan a couple of coins but she shook her head. “I’m being silly aren’t I? Rosemary is perfectly safe at home with Mummy.” She began to turn back.
Edward pressed the coins into her hand. “We’re here now. You might as well ring.” He hugged her to show he understood and added, “If you don’t, then I will.”
“Oh Edward, you shouldn’t indulge me in my stupidity. Let’s go back to the party.”
The search continued, with Caroline and her family becoming more and more alarmed when the small cricket bat had been found by an exploring beam from a torch.
After half an hour had passed without the child being found, Hywel ran to their nearest neighbour and telephoned for the police to come and help find him. When they knew a child was missing and that he was insufficiently dressed, they turned out at once. Off-duty men were informed and came willingly to help.
The activity increased as word passed around the nearby houses and Janet watched the clock anxiously, wondering how long the little boy could survive in such icy temperatures.
Caroline was silent, hardly hearing when someone spoke to her. Then when she and her mother found themselves alone she said quietly, “Do you think this is a warning? Is Joseph telling me not to marry his brother?”
“What a lot of nonsense, love. Can you imagine Joseph wishing anyone harm? Can you imagine him, the dear that he was, not wanting you and Barry to be happy?”
“I keep making promises to a God I’m not sure I really believe in, that if Joseph-Hywel returns safely, I’ll devote my whole life to him.”
Out of the corner of her eye Janet saw a movement as a group carrying torches and filling the night with excited cries, came towards the house. Quickly she said, “Don’t be too hasty with that promise.” Then as she became certain she went on, “What if your Barry is carrying him this very minute past the goat pen?”
A jubilant Barry was indeed carrying the little boy, surrounded by a happy crowd. He was cosily wrapped in Edward’s overcoat and chattering excitedly about the game of cricket he had played, confident and no longer feeling so cold. Fear had been driven out of his mind in an instant when he had seen Megan and Edward standing in the doorway of the telephone box and bending to pick him up.
A loud sobbing cry left Caroline’s lips as she saw the group and realised that her son was safe.
She and Barry took Joseph-Hywel up to bath him while Janet filled hot-water bottles and made a warming drink. Within an hour the party continued but with a greater enthusiasm as they celebrated the fact that a near disaster had been averted.
At three-thirty in the morning the hard-core guests were finally leaving. Helen’s mother had succumbed to the atmosphere of the evening and drunk too many offerings of port. She was lifted up out of her chair and helped home, and to her husband’s embarrassment, his pompous and disapproving wife was singing a well-known nursery rhyme with words by Frank Griffiths.
Outside, someone made a jocular remark about the speed at which the wedding had been arranged and Ernie took offence. He and Frank piled into the man and Lewis and Edward, who were still relatively sober, tried to separate them.
Constable Gregory who was present, having come to escort his daughter home, decided at once to misunderstand the situation. He didn’t want to arrest Frank and Ernie for fighting. Not on Ernie’s wedding day. Instead, he threatened Lewis and Edward with arrest if they didn’t cease immediately. They turned to stare at him.
“God ’elp us, Edward,” Lewis said. “If they can’t get us one way they’ll get us another!”
He turned away and the man who began the fight called him an offensive name. Edward turned back to stop him as Lewis was about to land him a blow and they collided and fell to the ground.
“I didn’t see that,” the constable muttered, leading Mair away. “I never saw a thing.”
Edward was helped up by Megan and they wandered off. Dora offered her hand to Lewis but instead of rising, he pulled his wife down and kissed her. Later, hand in hand, they walked home through the lanes and across the frosty fields. From time to time they stopped and hugged each other. Dora knew this might be her last chance. She had to say the words that were so hard for her to admit. When they paused at the edge of the fields she turned to face him but lowered her head before muttering.
“Lewis, I have something to say.”
“Then I probably don’t want to hear it.”
“Perhaps not, but I’ll say it anyway.”
“Get it over with, then.” He was expecting her to tell him there was no chance of a reconciliation. Her words surprised him.
“Will you say that again, love?” he whispered.
“I find it hard to say, Lewis.”
“Try”
“I love you,” she whispered. “I want us to get back together.”
“Thank heaven for that,” he sighed. “And about time too you cantankerous woman you.”
They were laughing as they made their way back to Sophie Street.
On New Year’s Eve, Lewis and Dora stood at their bedroom window looking out at the scene below. On practically every doorstep people were standing, talking and laughing and looking up at the sky. Arthur Harvey, a plumber, who was dark haired and already very drunk, was first-footing – going into house after house to be the first visitor of the New Year; a dark-haired man to be first over the threshold was considered to bring luck for the coming year.
As the ships’ hooters continued to signal the start of 1956, a few cheers were heard. Then gradually the voices faded, doors closed, lights in the doorways and windows were extinguished. Across the road, Rhiannon and Charlie leaned out of their window, Gwyn visible beside them. They waved to Dora and Lewis in the house opposite, and blew kisses. Soon the lights were out in every dwelling except theirs. There was no traffic to disturb the stillness of the night. No voices calling. The brief celebration was over and silence fell like a soft mantle on the town of Pendragon Island. The light across the road snapped out and soon number seven Sophie Street was also in darkness.