Amy always rose early. During the weekdays she needed to prepare for opening the shop and on Sundays she liked to get her weekend work finished early so she had some time to spend with Margaret. On this Sunday morning she was surprised to hear the sound of activity in her garden long before six. Curious and a little alarmed, she leaned out of the window and realised that someone was digging.
‘Victor? Is that you?’ she called softly. She waited while the man below her window stepped in to view.
‘No, it’s me,’ Billie said. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you, Amy.’
‘What are you doing at this time of the morning. Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘I’ve been up since five and, as Mary didn’t need any help, I thought I’d come and give these borders a bit of a dig. I’ve brought you some annuals too. Clarkia, verbena, zinnias and some lobelia and alyssum for the edges.’
‘You’d better come in.’ Amy closed the window and, putting on her satin dressing gown which was trimmed with fluffy swansdown, went quietly down the stairs.
Billie removed his heavy boots and washed his hands, then stood as Amy filled the kettle and put it to boil on the electric cooker.
‘You look lovely, Amy.’
‘Without a spot of makeup and with my hair uncombed?’ she laughed.
‘You don’t need anything, in fact. I’ve never seen you like this before and I think you’re more lovely than when you’re dressed for the day.’ He spoke quietly and she was surprised at the earnestness of his remarks. Perhaps she should have made him wait while she dressed. Foolishly she imagined how his sister looked in the mornings. It was difficult to imagine Mary in anything other than her work clothes. She found, glancing at Billie, it was not so difficult to think of him wearing less than the dungarees and cowboy shirt, which was all she ever saw him wearing.
She busied herself with cups and saucers and, as she reached across to get a couple of spoons, Billie moved towards her. He kissed her clumsily, touching her ear with his lips as she turned away from him in alarm. Then he put his arms around her and pulled her towards him and kissed her again.
This time there was no awkwardness about his embrace and she felt herself submit to the lips moving gently over her own. His hands slid lower on her back and he pressed her against him.
‘Billie, I’m not ready for this,’ she protested weakly. ‘Margaret’s upstairs too and—’
‘Amy, you know how I feel about you. Think about it, don’t say anything now, just think about it.’ He released her slowly and went to see to the impatient kettle, his back to her, his presence filling the room as he went about the mundane task.
‘As for Margaret,’ he added, ‘you know I would never do anything to distress her.’
‘It was unexpected, that’s all,’ Amy said.
‘I’ll finish planting these flowers for you then I’ll go.’
‘No need,’ Amy said, ‘I’ll go up and dress then you can stay for breakfast if you like. I’ll call Margaret. She’d love to see you.’
He reached for her again and this time she responded with a feeling of wonderment at the idea of Billie – plodding, quiet Billie – revealing a passionate side. The thought excited her. His hands, warm through the thinness of her dressing gown felt possessive and strong. She eased herself away with some regret and pushed him out through the door with a forced laugh and a threat. ‘Go you, before I call for help,’ she laughed and the laugh sounded harsh with the tenseness of her feelings. When the borders were cleaned and filled with the plants he had brought, he came back inside and joined Amy and Margaret for breakfast. Margaret was pleased to see him and her being there eased the tension and made the meal a relaxed occasion. ‘Uncle Billie, what have you been planting in the garden?’ she asked, and he took her out and described the flowers that would be in bloom in a few weeks’ time.
‘I’ve brought some carrots for Mr Leighton’s horses. Ask your mam if we can go now and feed them. I’ve got the Land Rover. Like a ride in that, would you?
‘Yes please! Oliver will be jealous!’
Leaving Amy to continue her work and think about the sudden declaration of his feelings, Billie took Margaret to the field beside Nelly’s lane. Leaving the car on the main road they walked up to where the horses were leaning over the gate. Nelly was there, offering the large and gentle animals some bread. She had just refilled the bath with clean water, a task she and George had taken on willingly.
‘Just too late to ’elp carry the buckets,’ she complained light-heartedly. ‘Lovely, ain’t they? My George is buildin’ ’em a shelter.’ She pointed to the top of the field where, protected by a small stand of trees, a wooden shed was receiving the finishing touches from George, assisted by Oliver.
‘Goodness, is everyone awake early today?’ Billie laughed. ‘I thought it was only farmers who rose with the sun.’
‘Some days is too good to waste,’ Nelly said.
Margaret climbed over the gate and called to see Oliver who was sawing a piece of wood to finish the doorway of the new shelter. Nelly stroked the velvet noses of the horses and laughed with pleasure as they took the carrots from the children’s open palms.
‘Gentle giants, ain’t they?’ Nelly smiled. ‘Peaceful things to ’ave about.’
‘Come on, young Margaret. Time I took you back home. I don’t want your mam shouting at me,’ Billie said with a smile. The smile widened as he remembered Amy’s kisses. ‘I’ll come and fetch you later and you can have tea with Mary and me. How’s that? You and Oliver?’
‘I’ll go and ask Mother straight away. Can I ride down to the main road in the Land Rover, Uncle Billie?’
‘An’ me,’ Nelly shouted, ‘I ain’t never ridden in one of them.’
Billie loaded up his passengers and, after going up the lane a short distance to turn, drove back down to the main road. He was in a mood of elation. Amy had not refused to consider him as more than a friend and the morning was full of beauty and calm contentment. Then, as he turned the vehicle left to take Oliver home, everything changed.
There were two policemen outside Netta Cartwright’s house, and this being such a rare occurrence in Hen Carw Parc, Billie knew something unpleasant had happened.
Netta Cartwright was short and dark-eyed like her son Johnny, but she was round and rosy-faced, while he was slim and boyish. She always spoke quietly and people found her presence relaxing and restful as her brown eyes showed a calm and gentle expression. But today her face was bright with shock, the dark eyes anxious and afraid. One of the policemen was Constable Harris and when he saw Billie he signalled him to stop.
‘Another burglary, I’m afraid, Mr Brown.’
‘No! Not Netta?’
‘Makes you angry, doesn’t it? That someone could break into the home of someone like her and take the little she has.’
‘Go and fetch Johnny shall I?’ Billie offered.
‘Will you? That will save time.’
So Oliver, Margaret, Nelly and the dogs had an extra long ride as Billie went up to the council houses to tell Johnny about the robbery.
‘It must have been last evening when I was out visiting Prue Beynon,’ Netta explained when they got back, bringing an anxious Johnny with them. ‘I came in and went straight to bed. No need to check the doors, as I’d locked them before going out. It was this morning when I went to go outside that I noticed the lock was broken.’
Nelly put an arm around her and, together with Johnny, guided her back inside. ‘Makes yer want to kill ’em, don’t it, Johnny?’ she grumbled. ‘Fancy all this upset fer seven pounds. ’Oo could do it, eh?’
‘Someone wants money badly enough not to care what it does to their victims, Nelly. Someone in Hen Carw Parc.’
Nelly shivered. ‘I ’opes they get caught soon, Johnny. We’re all gettin’ a bit jumpy.’ She wandered back home after Billie dropped her again at the bottom of her lane, and tried to think of who would be in need of money urgently enough to steal for it. Dawn was the first name that came to mind but she discarded that idea. This was not the work of a child. Victor was always broke and Griff seemed desperate enough to cheat on the betting slips he carried to the bookies. And what about those boys with the expensive motorbikes? And that miserable Tad Simmons? He needed money, no doubt about that. But by the time she had reached home she had discarded all the names. Surely none of them would cause such distress to people like old Archie and gentle Netta?
Billie drove Margaret back to get ready for Sunday School and stopped to tell Amy about the robbery. He did not stay this time. Amy’s polite, but firm ‘I have to see to Margaret now’ was enough to warn him not to risk spoiling what was an encouraging start to this new stage in their relationship. With Margaret’s promise to bring her mother for tea, he drove back home well-contented.
Amy watched him go with mixed feelings. Lonely for a man’s affections, she had responded too eagerly to Billie’s sudden advances and now she felt ashamed. Leading him on was what people would call it, and her with no intention of marrying the man. Because, now the moment had passed and she had recovered from the surprising tenderness of his kisses, she knew that she did not feel enough love for him to make him the one man in her life. He was big and strong and utterly dependable but he was not what she wanted. Unbidden, images of Victor Honeyman filled her mind and she knew that if he were free, he would be the one. Billie was available and he obviously loved her. Why was life so perverse?
Johnny ran home from his mother’s house one afternoon, smiling at the conversation they had had about Bert Roberts and his attempts to organise the darts team outing. They had decided to sit in on the next meeting to see the fun. He hoped he could persuade Fay to go with them, although Fay never seemed to see the fun in the ordinary happenings of the village. The meetings were held at The Drovers and, as there was no spare room, they were held in the bar, so anyone could attend, much to Bert’s annoyance.
Johnny half ran up Hywel Rise to St David’s Close where he and Fay now lived, looking eagerly to the end of the close to see if Fay’s car was outside their house. It was not and his footsteps slowed in disappointment. He glanced at his watch. It was almost five: she wouldn’t be long, but he always preferred it when she was there waiting for him.
He went inside and began to prepare the vegetables Fay had left on the draining board. He turned on the wireless to hum along with, to take away the emptiness of the house which he always felt when she was not there. His mother’s house had been so different from the simply furnished home Fay had made. Mam’s chairs were big and there were too many of them for her small room which seemed to overflow with comfort. He adored his wife but missed the bustle and friendliness of his old home when Fay was not with him.
He heard the approach of a car and ran to the front of the house, his dripping hands held against him to avoid spotting the shining floors. It was Fay, so he ran back and put the kettle on and opened the door to greet her.
The sight of her gave him a shiver of pride: she was so beautiful. He still marvelled at his luck in winning her. Her slender figure, always immaculately dressed, her long blonde hair almost touching her shoulders and shining in the sunlight of the June day. As always she wore a hat and today she had on a pale-green suit with shoes and handbag of soft cream leather. The hat was a green straw with a feather in the band to match the suit exactly. A gold brooch on her lapel and small gold earrings were her only jewellery.
She came down the steps to the front door, carrying a small shopping bag which he took from her.
‘Fay, my lovely, there’s glad I am to see you. Thought you’d never get home.’
‘Not late, am I?’ She glanced at the gold watch on her wrist and then, safe inside the front door, she kissed him.
‘I know I can never be too early for you.’ She smiled at him, her blue eyes closing slightly as she added, ‘Now, Johnny, what have you been up to that I should know about?’
‘I’ve driven my bus out and back again a couple of times, been to see Mam, and all the time, I’ve been thinking of you.’
‘Best for you too. Don’t stop thinking of me and telling me you love me, will you Johnny?’
He looked at her closely. ‘Nothing wrong is there, lovely?’
Looking away from him towards the steaming kettle she shook her head lightly, ‘Wrong? Nothing at all. Come on, let’s see to that kettle before it blows up!’
They sat in the garden after their meal, the summer air silky on their skin. Johnny had made a small flower bed and improved the lawn and they spent some time each evening in the quiet peace and talked. Mostly they discussed their day, entertaining each other with stories of people and events that had amused or saddened or simply interested them. Johnny heard about difficult customers and Fay heard about the abortive meetings chaired by Bert Roberts. But that evening, Johnny felt Fay was holding something back.
As the light began to fade Delina came to borrow a book and Fay jumped up to greet her friend with more than usual delight. Fay, calm, serene Fay, began to chatter as if grateful for the interruption. Johnny frowned. He would never feel secure in this marriage, he thought sadly, always looking for a sign that Fay was less than content with him. Fay was probably a little out of sorts and here he was trying to make a mystery out of it. He stood up and closed the deckchairs and, after putting them away, followed the chattering women into the house.
‘Got your bike mended then?’ he said to Delina.
‘Isn’t it marvellous!’ Delina laughed. ‘I fall off my bike and everyone knows about it!’
‘How many know it was Tad Simmons who mended it for you though?’ Johnny said conspiratorially. ‘Saw him I did. On the way to my early shift and he was polishing it as enthusiastically as a terrier shaking a rat. Duw, he worked hard on that bike.’
‘Bad-tempered, ill-mannered man. I hope I never see him again,’ Delina said with a scowl.
Johnny looked at Fay and gave her a broad wink. Fay gave him a weak smile but she was definitely distant. He wondered if she were starting a summer cold.
Delina did not stay long and soon they went to bed, where Fay slept at once but Johnny lay wide-awake, worrying about her. The night was still, quiet and long as he lay, trying not to disturb her with his tossing and turning. Something was wrong but how was he to find out if Fay did not talk to him about things that worried her? Dawn crept around the curtains before he finally dropped into a restless, dream-disturbed sleep.
Delina also found it impossible to sleep that night. She was trying not to think about Tad Simmons. It couldn’t be that she was attracted to him. How could she be interested in such an unpleasant man? She wondered if it was something to do with love on the rebound, finding someone else, pretending to feel something for them in an effort to ease the pain of losing the one you loved? She had certainly loved Maurice Davies and, if Sheila had not ruined things, she would be his wife now, watching him go off to work each morning at Beynon’s building firm, and saving to buy their own home. But even thoughts of Maurice, now far away in Australia, could not take the image out of her mind of the small, irritable, blue-eyed man who was so ridiculously over-protective of his daughter.
The day before the Mumbles Train celebrations, Nelly went into town. She went with a suitcase containing several dresses and skirts and two winter coats given to her by people who, seeing her in her usual over-sized coat, believed she was in need of them. In fact, she sold them to Greener’s second-hand clothes shop and enjoyed spending the money more than she would have enjoyed wearing the good quality clothes.
The shop was over-full with racks upon racks of suits, coats, dresses and jackets. There were drawers and cupboards filled with blouses and scarves as well as hats and jewellery and even underwear. As usual, Nelly was shown into the storeroom behind the shop where Mrs Greener, the proprietress, kept her waiting and then bustled her in as if she had but a moment to spare before being swallowed up once more by her busy shop.
Mrs Greener was at least seventy but she wore carefully applied makeup and on her head was a bright wig of red curls which bounced as she walked. She smiled at Nelly and gushingly asked how she was, all the time moving to prevent Nelly getting the impression she had time to chatter.
‘How lovely to see you, Nelly dear. So sorry you’ve caught me at a bad moment, my dear. I’d have loved to stop and hear all your news. Perhaps next time, is it?’ She frowned as she opened the case, her varnished nails covering her dazzlingly white false teeth in dismay. ‘Winter things. What a pity. This means I can’t be as generous as I might have otherwise have been, dear.’ She named a price and Nelly, who was speechless under the fast flow of words simply nodded agreement. Mrs Greener knew she would not want to carry the heavy case all the way back to Hen Carw Parc.
When Nelly waved goodbye to the still apologising Mrs Greener, she was tempted to step inside the nearby pub.
‘I needs a drink after five minutes with ’er,’ she told the dogs. There were a few things she needed to buy so she ignored the enticing doorway with the sounds of chatter and chinking glasses issuing from it, and made her calls at the stores near by.
Her purchases were mainly food for the planned picnic on the following day but she also bought a few surprises for Oliver. She caught the bus but did not alight at her usual stop but instead at the end of Sheepy Lane.
At the top of the lane she turned into Hywel Rise and as she walked, she extracted from her pocket a note she had written in readiness. As she pushed it through the letter box, the door opened and Dawn stood there. The girl wore a martyred expression and stood silently waiting for some criticism, or so it seemed to Nelly’s sharp eye.
‘Dawn! I thought you’d be in school.’
Dawn continued to stare, a defiant look on her young face making Nelly want to smile.
‘Read the note why don’t yer?’ Nelly waited as the girl picked up the piece of paper and studied it.
‘You want me to come with you on some picnic?’
‘If yer dad says you can. My Ollie’s comin’ an’ Margaret.’
‘I’ll ask Dad.’ The girl’s eyes showed excitement but the mouth remained unsmiling.
‘Taken any snaps yet with that camera?’ Nelly asked, when she realised that was all the answer she would get.
‘Yes.’
The girl went back inside and closed the door. Nelly bent to shout through the letter box. ‘Come early in the mornin’ if you’re comin’. Bring yer camera. Tomorrow could give you a chance of some real good pictures an’ maybe you could enter the competition at school, eh?’ Nelly waited a moment, frowning as she listened for further communication, then shrugged as none came.
Nelly woke early on the day of the trip to Mumbles and her first move as always was to open the door and let the dogs run out. They ran eagerly up the path and waited while she opened it for them. Barking their delight at being free and having her for company, they danced inelegantly on their back legs, a parody of a ballet, before disappearing temporarily through the trees that bordered the edge of the lane.
Nelly stood breathing in the quiet after their departure. There was a calmness, a solitary sensation as if all life around her was oblivious of her presence. Birds sang and a hedgehog strolled past her feet, unperturbed by her intrusion into his world.
Lost ’is watch an’ is late gettin’ ’ome, she thought with a smile.
A lizard lay on the bank where a stream once ran, soaking up the gradually strengthening sun. In a tree close by a blackbird was already busily flying to and from its nest with bills-full of worms for its young. The sounds were all hushed as if she were listening to the world slowly wakening as the sun drew the curtain on a new day.
In the distance other sounds began to intrude; a tractor driving across a field, the sawing of wood as someone mended a fence and far away, beyond the ruins of the old castle, the bleating of lambs and ewes, temporarily separated as the ewes were shorn of their untidy fleeces. They sound more like children, Nelly thought, not for the first time. Every year the plaintive sound disturbed her momentarily until she remembered the innocent cause.
Giving a sigh of contentment, she turned towards the cottage. The dogs were waiting for her; their routine told them that breakfast came next and their eyes stared unwaveringly at her, urging her silently to hurry. Nelly’s sigh and the reappearance of the big dogs caused the blackbird to call his alarm and he clacked and flew deeper into the wood, his wings touching the branches in his haste.
Leaving the dogs inside, Nelly returned to the woods to perform her own morning functions and, after a wash in the enamel bowl set on the table, she began to prepare food for the picnic. She sang as she worked, accompanied by the wireless, and the dogs settled down by the fire, raising their heads occasionally to watch her, looking for clues as to what the day was likely to hold.
The plan was for the children to meet at Nelly’s cottage and, as she guessed, they all arrived early. They played on the swing in the garden while Nelly finished packing the wickerwork basket that had been among her possessions when she had said goodbye to her small, top-storey room in 1940, leaving behind the bombing and the terrors of a London at war to join her evacuee daughter, Evie, in Hen Carw Parc. The basketwork case had been fitted with rope to replace the worn leather straps and, to Nelly’s eyes, it looked elegant. She filled it with the few pieces of china and cutlery she thought they might need, together with some of the food. When she had arrived in the village, it had been filled untidily with the pitifully few clothes she possessed. She smiled as she remembered.
The cottage had been in a neglected state and she and Evie had camped out in one room, sleeping on the floor with some blankets of dubious cleanliness over them. Evie had cried and complained, resentful of the mother who had followed her and taken her from the comfort of the home where she had been placed. For her mother to reappear when she had begun to hope never to see her again was a depressing blow to Evie, Nelly knew that. Everything about her mother embarrassed her then and the feeling had intensified through the years.
‘Poor Evie,’ Nelly whispered as she pressed the lid down on the basket.
Evie arrived on the morning of the picnic, neatly dressed and with her face wearing a look of disapproval as she entered the room and greeted her mother. She was half dragging a protesting Oliver, who fought back against coming in as he pleaded with her to let him wear something different.
She had dressed him in a short-trousered suit and knee- length socks with turned-down tops. His shoes were heavy and polished like mirrors, the shirt was fastened at the neck with a bow tie and his hair was so flattened with water that the ends rose away from his head in timid protest. His face was wild with despair and embarrassment, and his eyes, enlarged by tears, were enormous.
Nelly wiped her fingers on one of the dogs as she fought back anger. ‘Oliver, come on, love, you’re just in time to ’elp me with this ’amper.’ She moved closer to him and winked.
‘Mind his clothes, Mother, your hands are probably covered with fish paste. It’s only his second best, but I don’t want it ruined, ’ Evie warned as Nelly went to hug the boy.
‘Just you go ’ome, Evie, an’ leave Ollie to me. ‘E won’t get a spot in these clothes, not a spot, I promise yer.’
Evie kissed the boy, warned him to behave, remember what he had been told about eating too much, not to eat any rubbish and managing to succeed in wringing every hope of an enjoyable day out of him.
Nelly watched her daughter leave and winked at Oliver again. ‘Go an’ look in the bag on the stairs,’ she said.
Oliver opened the carrier bag and, with his eyes shining, unwrapped the shorts and summer shirt. A pair of rubber soled daps for his feet and a pair of short socks completed the outfit and he went joyfully upstairs to change. They set off soon after with Oliver proudly admiring his new clothes and each of them carrying something towards their day out.
Oliver carried a bag containing two bottles of Nelly’s homemade lemonade whilst Margaret, who’d arrived shortly after Ollie, carried a blanket on which they planned to eat their picnic. They sang as they marched in front of Nelly and the dogs, around the bend in the lane towards the main road. Nelly looked behind them several times, hoping to see Dawn, but it was not until the cottage was out of sight that she appeared. She hung back, allowing Nelly only a darting glimpse before moving back out of her sight. Nelly spoke without turning around. ‘Come on then, young Dawn, give us a ’and with some of this stuff.’
Dawn came forward and took the coat from Nelly’s arm and, as Oliver and Margaret, seeing the interloper, slowed their pace to walk one each side of ‘their’ Nelly, she pushed Oliver aside and walked between him and his grandmother. Margaret then pushed between Oliver and Dawn, glaring at Dawn to remind her she was the newcomer and should remember her place. Nelly laughed, her mouth wide open to reveal her uneven teeth. ‘Blimey, it’s like a game of draughts walkin’ with you lot!’
Amy was waiting for them at the end of the lane, with the baby in her arms. ‘It seemed less work than struggling with the push-chair,’ she explained, ‘but I’m glad she isn’t an ounce heavier!’
They caught the bus and, with the three older children upstairs in the front seat, Amy and Nelly settled themselves with all their luggage near the platform. Nelly thought Amy looked strained and worried and wondered if she should ask what was wrong, or wait to be told. Amy was a good friend but inclined to be sharp at times so she decided to wait.
‘Prue is coming for the day on Sunday,’ Amy said and Nelly wondered if this was the reason for the tension.
‘Want any ’elp, do yer? I could ’ave Margaret fer the day then you an’ Prue could concentrate on the baby. Giver ’er a chance to get to know ’er, won’t it? Let me an’ George take Margaret off yer ’ands, why don’t yer?’
‘That is tempting, Nelly. I’ll think about it, shall I? I hope Prue will be well enough to have Sian back one day. I keep pretending I only have her for one more week.’
‘Is it too much for yer?’ Nelly’s brown eyes saddened in sympathy for her friend.
‘It’s partly that and partly because I don’t want to become too attached to her.’ She stared out of the window for a while, an unhappy and strained expression in her blue eyes that made Nelly worry. She waited for Amy to continue.
‘And there’s Freddie, still after that Sheila, in spite of the way she’s carried on,’ Amy added after a pause.
‘Don’t worry. ‘E’s young an’ there’s bound to be plenty of girlfriends before ’e settles down. She ain’t fer ’im, an’ all ’e feels is sympathy, like what Billie said. After all, she was ’is first love, even if it was a one-sided carry-on. Freddie’s a good sympathetic boy ain’t ’e?’ Nelly said, repeating Billie’s words.
To Nelly’s relief, Amy turned and smiled at her. ‘You’re right Nelly, as always.’
When they reached their destination they were at once caught up in the excitement of the occasion. Bunting hung from every available space: from lamp-posts, trees and cavities in the rocks along the shoreline. Music came from groups of musicians and Nelly could see that choirs from schools were gathering to add to the air of carnival. Everyone seemed to be shouting as they tried to make themselves heard above the din of the ever-thickening crowd.
There was colour everywhere. Among the normally dressed onlookers was a large number of people dressed in the clothes of earlier times. Assorted Victorians as well as Edwardians with leg-of-mutton sleeves stood side by side with a modern miss wearing a sleeveless dress and stilletto heels. Nelly wandered through the crowds, with Amy shepherding their charges to follow behind, marvelling at it all.
Along the track, small grottos built of sea shells and attractive pebbles gathered from the beach shone with lighted candles and even, in some cases, torches. The architects of these waited hopefully for passengers and onlookers to throw coins into them as appreciation of their artistic endeavours.
‘Can we have an ice cream?’ Margaret pleaded.
‘Look at the queues!’ Nelly protested. ‘You’ll be there all afternoon,’ but she and Amy shrugged and handed the three children a coin each and prepared to sit and wait for them to be served.
‘Be sure an’ come straight back ’ere!’ Nelly warned them at the top of her voice and, although the noise of the crowd was deafening, they heard and acknowledged with a wave. When they returned, licking around the cornets which threatened to lose their contents in the warmth of the day, Nelly and Amy set off to find a place to sit and wait for the celebrations to begin.
‘Not too far from the station, or we won’t see a thing,’ Nelly warned.
‘We can sit on the sand, can’t we?’ Oliver asked.
‘As long as we stay together we’ll do anything you want to do. It’s your day out,’ Amy said.
As they pushed their way through to find a place where they could spread out their belongings and make themselves comfortable Nelly still looked around her, memorising everything so she could tell George when they got home.
There were groups of flappers in cloche hats, strap shoes and long strings of beads, with skirts just below their knees and even, in some cases, the short Eton Crop hair style that had been popular in the twenties. Bloused tops overhung waists, straight skirts, pleated skirts, and double-breasted jackets, intended to hide any shapely curves and give a mannish slimness, were all represented. As they walked past, Nelly smelt several gusts of mildew from dresses and hats obviously recovered from an attic or a half-forgotten trunk.
‘’Ere, Amy, I bet I could’ve found somethin’ to wear if I’d looked in the back bedroom!’
‘Thank goodness you didn’t think of it, then,’ Amy laughed. ‘We’d’ve been thrown off the bus!’
The shouting from the crowd told them the first train was in sight and, leaving their belongings on the beach, Amy picked up the baby and they all pushed their way forward. From the sea wall, Oliver and Margaret saw the horse-drawn coach approaching. Nelly found a place for Dawn and the camera began to click as the girl took several photographs, not of the train, but of the faces of the crowds watching and cheering its arrival. The coach had open stairs and on these people sat, filling every possible space so that, as the commentary explained, the poor conductor had to swing from passengers and any available hand-hold to move around and collect his fares.
‘He had to use the passengers as a ladder,’ Nelly shouted to Oliver in case he missed the words. ‘Blimey, that must ’ave bin dangerous!’
Dawn climbed down from the wall and, while keeping near to Nelly, managed to take a full film of snaps, sometimes asking people to pose for her, and at others sneaking in to snap the unwary. She went as close as she was allowed and took a picture of the horse, whose name, Oliver discovered, was Kay.
‘Why don’t you take pictures of the coach?’ Oliver asked.
‘You can borrow the camera and take one if you like,’ Dawn offered, so Oliver went through the crowd, watched by an anxious Nelly, to take a photograph of the coach and the horse who was enjoying all the attention.
When the next train arrived they were in a better position and watched the approach of the steam engine with its bustled and long-skirted passengers in the carriages behind. Cinders blew back from the engine and the passengers were all dishevelled and dusty. Dawn ran forward and, ignoring Nelly’s shout, managed to reach the train in time to snap a woman who ran out in a red flannel petticoat and a cap. She was carrying a bucket which she filled with hot water from the engine and began to wash the train free of the grime that resulted from the short journey in a replica of a once-regular routine.
Nelly laughed as young boys cartwheeled beside the train and girls skipped and danced to music, filling the area with colour and happy sounds. Nelly absorbed it all, although rarely taking her eyes off Dawn, Margaret and Oliver. It was so easy to become separated with so many crowded into the small seaside village and once she became worried when Dawn was lost to her sight. She was only missing for a moment and, when Nelly learnt that the little girl had asked a man to refill her camera with fresh film – which he paid for – she doubted her wisdom in bringing her. She was not sorry when, after the electric train had deposited its passengers, Oliver announced that he was hungry and was it ever going to be time to eat?
They returned to their spot on the sands and began to unpack their picnic. Nelly and Amy exchanged glances as Dawn ate with great enthusiasm. The girl did not say much but tried occasionally to squeeze between Oliver and Margaret. This manoeuvre Margaret swiftly thwarted, much to Nelly’s amusement.
‘There’s me thinkin’ your Freddie’s too young fer girls an’ look at my Ollie,’ she whispered proudly, ‘got girls chasin’ ’im already, ’e ’as!’
Flirting seemed a major part of the afternoon and when Gerry Williams and Pete Evans turned up, it was clear they were intent on finding a girl with whom to spend the evening. Amy and Nelly watched them teasing and laughing as they approached some of the prettiest girls, and wished Freddie were with them.
‘That’s what Freddie should be doing, having fun with lots of girls, not bogged down worrying about someone like Sheila, whatever you say about him being sensitive,’ she said as she waved to the two friends.
People pushed past and Nelly was constantly brushing the dirt from the cloth set out on the table of sand made by the children. When one of the passers-by stopped, she did not look up for a moment. Then a voice said, ‘Cafe open, is it?’ and Phil sat beside them and helped himself to a sandwich.
‘Phil, there’s a cheek you’ve got,’ his wife scolded gently.
‘Sit down, both of you. There’s plenty,’ Amy invited. ‘We thought Fay and Johnny might come and one or two others, so tuck in, you.’
‘Bert and Brenda Roberts are here and Milly and her daughter with that son of hers. I haven’t seen Johnny and Fay though.’
When Johnny did come he was on his own.
‘Fay must be working,’ he explained. ‘I went home to fetch her but there’s no sign. No note either so she must have decided to work. Can’t stop her and that’s a fact. Never idle, that girl.’
Nelly thought he really meant Fay was never at home.
The food was rewrapped and the children once again queueing for ice cream when Victor and Delina found them.
‘Missed all the fun, have we?’ Victor groaned.
‘By the look of things it will go on for hours yet.’ Amy pointed to where there were couples dancing and he gestured to her to join them.
‘Go on, Amy, Catrin and I’ll look after Sian,’ Nelly coaxed, but her smile of encouragement was forced. She was afraid that Amy was heading for another disaster if she became seriously involved with Victor Honeyman. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ she went on, hiding her fears. ‘You don’t get many days off.’ She watched as Victor led her through the crowds, a protective arm around her shoulders. Why can’t she settle for that Billie Brown? she thought sadly. Delina felt uneasy as she watched her father escort Amy towards the dancers. They looked like a couple; relaxed and comfortable with each other. Should she show her disapproval instead of encouraging them? Then she thought of the barren life her father led because of just one mistake, and she knew she could not. Loyalty to her mother fought against love to her father, and lost.
‘Give me the baby,’ Delina offered. ‘You go and look around for a while.’ Nelly shook her head. ‘Me legs ’ave done enough lookin’,’ she said, laughing at her confusing remark. ‘Glad to sit down,’ she admitted, ‘although Gawd knows ’ow I’ll get up again!’
The baby was restless, aware of the strangeness of her surroundings and Delina picked her up and cuddled her.
‘Will her mother be well enough to take her back soon?’ she asked.
‘We hope so, but she’s still poorly. I think Amy’s got Sian fer a long time. Pity really, it doesn’t ’elp ’er chances, does it?’
‘Chances?’ Delina queried. ‘Chances of what?’
‘Finding a ’usband,’ Nelly replied.
‘Damn me, Nelly, you don’t think that would stop anyone falling for Amy, do you?’ Phil laughed.
‘Yes, a good catch she is, with the shop an’ everything,’ Johnny agreed.
‘I can see that having a child would be an extra strain on a new marriage but if the love was strong enough it would work,’ Delina said.
‘I don’t know, ’ow would you feel if you fancied a bloke an’ found ’e ’ad a baby to look after. Put you off, wouldn’t it?’
Nelly was surprised to see Delina blush. Blimey, she thought, there is someone. That didn’t take ’er long!
Dawn came back and, with an ice cream held awkwardly, took some photographs of the group around the sand-table. She glared at Delina, who tried to talk to her, ignoring Delina’s attempts at conversation.
‘Have you had a good day, Dawn?’ she asked, ‘What have you enjoyed best? Tell me about the trains, I missed seeing them. Will you let me see the photographs you took when they’re developed?’ To all these, Dawn made no reply. She just hung her head and looked sulky.
‘What you got against ’er then?’ Nelly asked when Dawn helped her to pack the wicker basket.
‘She’s a teacher, isn’t she? Fishing for something to complain about, that’s all she’s doing.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Nelly said.
‘Well, why else would she want to talk to me? And she isn’t seeing my photos either.’
‘Tell me then. ’Ad a good day, ’ave yer?’
‘Best I can ever remember.’
When it was time to leave, Victor offered Amy and Margaret a lift in the van he had borrowed but Amy declined. ‘I came with Nelly and I’ll go home with her. Although,’ she added, ‘if you could take the luggage it would be great.’
But eventually, Amy, Margaret and Oliver did go with Victor, delighted at the prospect of a ride home in the back of the van. Johnny, Phil and the rest travelled home with Nelly and Dawn on the bus. Nelly could see the sense in Amy having a more comfortable journey with the baby but she was not happy about the increasing ease with which Victor was slipping into her life. He had a wife and Amy had had enough trouble with her love affairs. Why hadn’t Billie Brown come to take her home? She had hinted to him and explained where he would find them.
‘Life ain’t never perfect, is it, Dawn?’ she sighed. Dawn was mystified but didn’t ask Nelly to explain. She was over-full with food and lemonade and ice cream and very tired. She wished she could have gone home with Oliver but she didn’t mention that to Nelly, contenting herself with pouting all the way home to show that her day had been far from perfect too, in spite of her earlier remark to the contrary.
They all left the bus at the bottom of Sheepy Lane and Nelly began to walk up the narrow road to the council houses. A car approached, the engine screaming protestingly as the driver accelerated in a low gear and Nelly turned to see that her daughter, Evie, was driving. She waved, but Evie seemed to be looking down at her feet and she did not acknowledge her.
‘See that, Johnny?’ Nelly shouted as he strode ahead, anxious to see if Fay was home. ‘My Evie’s drivin’ Tedious Timothy’s car! What d’you think of that, then?’
‘I think she should stick to using buses!’ Johnny laughed.
‘Don’t you think she’ll pass ’er test?’
‘Snowball in hell’s chance! Too conscious of herself to think about driving, and she’s cruel to cars!’
‘But if she’s determined?’ Nelly insisted, shouting at the top of her voice as Johnny had all but disappeared.
‘I wish her luck, but she’ll never be as good as my Fay.’
‘My Dad says women shouldn’t be allowed to drive,’ Dawn said.
‘Another endearing trait! ’E’s determined to be popular, ain’t ’e?’