A Sixpenny Christmas (29 page)

‘How can I tell her how I feel when I don’t know myself?’ Rhodri had said irritably. ‘Besides, I’m too old for her. And anyway, I’m too busy to go a-courting, as they used to say.’

His mother had clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy; you’re in the prime of life and the gal’s fond of you; even if you’ve not noticed, your da and I have. When she was just a kid she always wanted to be with you . . .’

Rhodri snorted. ‘Of course she did, but she’s changed. She’s a young woman now. Oh, we’re pals, I’ll grant you, but nothing more. Nothing more on either side,’ he finished firmly, and left the room to the sound of his mother’s derisive laughter.

Now, however, he thought how much simpler it must have been in the olden days, when the hero could rescue
the girl from the dragon and whisk her off on his white charger without having to explain anything. If there was something he could do for her, he would do it like a shot, but Nonny was self-reliant, ploughed her own furrow, had never as yet asked him for help. But there must be something he could do which would earn her gratitude and make it easier for him to speak . . .

‘Hi, Rhodri!’

Rhodri turned. It was Nonny, panting and pink-faced, still clad in what he thought of as her city clothes, save for the large and muddy wellingtons on her feet. Rhodri slowed to let her catch up with him. ‘Hello, Nonny. Did you have a good time in Liverpool?’

Nonny laughed and punched his shoulder playfully. ‘Yes, I did, though I must admit I missed the farm. Did you miss me?’

It was an opportunity. Rhodri opened his mouth to tell her that he had indeed missed her most dreadfully, but she was telling him that Molly had sent her to invite him to join them for supper, if he would like to . . .

The opportunity was gone. And as he regretfully declined, saying that his parents would be expecting him, Rhodri cursed his stupidity. Would he never tell her how he felt?

Molly had watched Lana fling herself at Chris with mounting unease. The girl was pretty as a picture and the exact opposite of Nonny, and Molly had to admit that her son was extraordinarily good-looking. As they went indoors, however, she told herself briskly that Lana was only kidding when she pretended to be interested in Chris; Molly had heard all about Tim and Rupert and
various other lads in whom Lana had taken an interest. She grudged Lana none of them, but if the worst should happen and the child started to take a real interest in Chris, then the secret which was always on the edge of Molly’s consciousness might have to be told, and God alone knew what would happen then.

But right now everyone was busy, carrying in luggage, exclaiming over the meal – cold ham and salad with plenty of homemade bread and butter – which was set out on the kitchen table, along with the teapot and cups standing ready to be filled upon their arrival. Chris grinned when his mother congratulated him, telling the girls that he had cooked the salad himself, but admitting that he had had a good deal of help with the rest of the chores; Rhodri Pritchard, who could not hear enough about Chris’s course, had helped with everything whilst the two young men talked. Chris knew Rhodri would have loved to go to college, knew also that it was not possible. The Pritchards could barely manage Cae Hic even with Rhodri’s help; without it, Chris thought, they would surely go under.

It was not long before they were all settled around the kitchen table eating and talking, planning what they should do the next day, and asking Chris what he would be doing when he returned to college the following week. Slightly warily, he admitted that this term they would be learning bookkeeping. ‘All about prices and quantities and so on – all the things a farm secretary has to know,’ he finished.

Lana, who had been listening intently, turned to her mother. ‘Oh, Mum, I’d really love a job as a farm secretary. Are they well paid, I wonder? And do they live in?’ She
turned away from her mother and back to Chris. ‘Nonny was telling me how you mean to enlarge the farm and keep a whole heap more sheep; does that mean you’ll need a secretary one of these days? If so, I apply for the job!’

Nonny snorted and stuffed a slice of ham into her mouth, then spoke rather thickly through it. ‘Huh! If there’s a job going at Cefn Farm, my little friend, it’s going to me, not you. Why, you can’t even milk a perishin’ cow, and as for mucking out the pigsty . . .’

‘Farm secretaries don’t muck out pigs, nor milk cows,’ Lana protested. ‘They have clean hands and shiny nails and wear smart little office suits. They answer the telephone, order up supplies of animal feed, hay, straw for bedding and overalls for the farm workers. They write down all the prices in one column and how much money the farm got for its wool clip in another, how many eggs were sold at market, how much milk went to the dairy . . .’

‘Oh, pooh; you’re just guessing,’ Nonny scoffed, but Chris looked at Lana with increased interest.

‘She’s pretty well right though,’ he admitted. ‘Well, not about the shiny nails and neat little business suit, but about working on the books. Only most farmers hand that particular job over to their wives.’

Lana squeaked, then fluttered her eyelashes at Chris. ‘Right; then I apply for the job as farmer’s wife,’ she said, then turned to Nonny. ‘And that’s one job you can’t pip me at the post for,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Pass the bread and butter!’

As soon as the two girls had changed into the old slacks and sweaters they wore on the farm they went outside
with Chris and Rhys to do what they could to help with the evening chores. Molly called them all in as soon as it grew dark, lighting the hissing paraffin lamp which hung from a hook in the kitchen ceiling, and sat them down to enjoy a light supper before making their way to bed, for farm hours mean early bed and rising early too. She and Ellen had provided homemade bread and cheese, green tomato chutney and apple tart as well as a large jug of cocoa, and as soon as this simple but delightful repast had been eaten Molly chased the youngsters off to bed, so that she and Ellen might have a comfortable chat. Rhys betook himself to the small room he called his office and settled down to do his books as he did every week, leaving the two women to catch up with one another’s news.

Naturally enough what interested Molly most was how her daughter had got along with both Lana’s friends and Ellen’s, and Ellen had to recount all over again what had happened at the Grafton Ballroom, not leaving out that poor Rupert had ended up on his behind in the middle of the dance floor.

‘I asked Lana to find out just what made Nonny react so violently, and she said Nonny had told her that she had felt trapped. She apologised very nicely to Rupert – your daughter has very nice manners, queen – but d’you know, I can understand it. I ain’t criticising you nor Rhys in any way, but Cefn Farm is a long way from anywhere, ain’t it? She’s never had the sort of experience with fellers that other girls take for granted. Didn’t you, before you married Rhys I mean?’

Molly thought back. Now that she considered it, she realised that there had always been boys in her life. She
had gone to a mixed school; had joined the WAAF which meant that she had worked, and played, with a great many delightful young aircraftmen. No, it would be idle to pretend that she had not had plenty of experience before her marriage. She said as much to Ellen, adding with a smile: ‘And I bet you were a devil with the boys when you were young, Ellen O’Mara!’

Ellen, however, shook her head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, queen,’ she said. ‘I were scared stiff of men, didn’t want no part of all that courtin’ business, told me mum I were going to be a spinster and look after her and have a career. And then I had a drop too much and got in the family way, and though I hated the thought of marriage and that . . . well, you know the rest.’

Molly saw that her friend was looking at her half shamefaced and hastened to reassure her. ‘I knew that you were pregnant when you and Sam got wed, and that you lost the baby,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘But it never occurred to me that you – you hadn’t wanted to get married or have boyfriends. Was there – was there any reason for the way you felt? I mean, had you had a bad experience which put you against fellers? Because if so you’re probably the one of us most likely to understand Nonny’s feelings.’

Molly was thinking hard. If Ellen’s dislike of men sprang from a good cause, then there was no reason to link it with Nonny’s feelings, but if not, then the ward maid, Flossy, might well have been right. Some mischief-making person really might have swapped Nonny and Lana, which meant of course that she and Ellen had been rearing each other’s children. But Molly told herself that whether Nonny was her daughter or no, she loved her
exactly the same as she loved Chris. She loved Lana too, but obviously not as much, for they had only met for the first time when Lana was ten – you could scarcely count the meeting in the maternity hospital. So it really should not matter, unless of course Chris and Lana . . .

But the thought was too horrible to contemplate, and Molly had not failed to notice how swiftly Chris had put Lana in her place when she had tried to flirt with him. Chris regarded both Lana and Nonny as kids and she knew, though he had not told her, that he was taking someone to the flicks and to dances, a girl who was at a college not far from his own. Suddenly she realised that Ellen was looking at her, eyebrows raised, and burst into speech. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid my mind was miles away. What did you just ask me?’ But it appeared that even the easy-going Ellen could take umbrage, for her cheeks had flushed and when she replied it was stiffly.

‘Oh, it were nothing much, nothing important anyway. Only I’ve never telled a living soul . . .’

The opening of the door behind her cut the words off short as Rhys, pushing a hand through his hair, came into the room. ‘Sorry if I’m interrupting, ladies, but I could kill for a cup of tea,’ he said plaintively. ‘Anyone care to get a brew on the go?’

Rhodri got back to Cae Hic just as his mother put supper on the table. He went straight to the sink to wash his hands, knowing that water would have been brought in, then turned to grin at his parents, already sitting at the table, his father buttering the slices of bread as his mother cut them from the big loaf.

Mr Pritchard returned the grin. ‘I’d put money on the
fact that you’ve been pumping Chris about that there course of his,’ he commented. ‘I wish you could go along with him ’cos I’ve no doubt these colleges teach all the latest modern methods, but it’s not possible. The truth is, Mother and I have never quite managed to put no money aside. We tell ourselves that the old ways is best, but we know it’s not true, of course. The Robertses have kept their land in right good heart . . . Oh, well, there’s no use in talking.’

His wife cut a wedge from the large pie which she had just placed upon the table. ‘Hill farming’s always been hard, and most of the work falls on you, lad, now your da and myself don’t have our full strength no more. But we manage. Now tell us how Chris and young Nonny are getting on.’ She smiled reminiscently as she dug her spoon into a large tureen of mashed potatoes. ‘I’m that fond of little Nonny . . . I don’t mind admitting I missed her sorely whilst she was away in Liverpool with her Auntie Ellen. Did she say she’ll pop up to Cae Hic before school starts again?’

Rhodri nodded. ‘Aye, she’ll come for an hour or two. Wouldn’t it be grand now, if she could work at Cae Hic! Chris said his parents were thinking of sending her to secretarial college. Not that hill farmers need secretaries as a rule . . .’

Mrs Pritchard laughed. ‘The poor gal would start at nine o’clock in the morning and finish at a quarter past,’ she said. ‘Mind you, the Robertses are doing pretty well. What if say three or four of us hill farmers were in business big enough to support a secretary between us?’

Rhodri mumbled some sort of reply and settled down to eat his meal and to think about Nonny. He had known
her all her life, had admired her pluck when she had been kidnapped by a feller he had thought was a tramp, and had been amazed when he had suddenly realised that she was no longer a child but a young woman, and a pretty one at that.

Chapter Eleven

MOLLY LOVED THE
spring gathering, when their sheep were collected together in the small stone-walled fields on one side of the rocky mountain stream which crossed their land. Of course, it was impossible to say that they had collected every single beast, because hill ewes were wily creatures who no sooner realised that they were being rounded up than they headed for the woods, the high tops or indeed any other place where they might be overlooked. Nevertheless, Molly thought, with Rhys, Chris and Rhodri on their tail, let alone the dogs, few, if any, would have escaped the round-up.

Once they had got most of the flock together in one of the fields which led down to the water, they would separate the lambs from their mothers – indignant bleatings could be heard for miles – since first year lambs were never shorn. Then the dogs, the family and every neighbour who could be spared would drive the ewes down to the washing pool, which had got wider as the years passed. They would arrange themselves on the stepping stones in order to make sure that each sheep was properly washed, pushing their heads under with crooks or sticks despite the animals’ determination to escape this humiliating process.

The Pritchards and the Roberts always arranged their gatherings a few days apart, so that they could help one
another, for as the size of their flocks increased, making sure that every fleece was clean and maggot free became more and more difficult. The Pritchards were an old couple, well versed in the ways of hill farming, and had helped Rhys and Molly many a time with advice, the loan of equipment or simply with their presence. Rhodri was now in his mid-twenties, and though he worked as hard as any man could on the farm he had told Rhys privately that when his parents retired he did not see himself being able to manage Cae Hic without employing more workers, and this would be difficult in their present financial circumstances. His parents would need money after their retirement, for they had never paid into a pension scheme, so the farm would have to continue to finance them. Molly had frowned; she knew how Rhodri loved the land, knew he would leave it with the utmost reluctance, and secretly hoped that by the time the Pritchards retired Rhodri would have saved enough money to pay a worker and thus be able to take over the farm. Or he might marry; a farmer’s daughter who knew all about sheep, might even bring a dowry of sorts, which might enable Rhodri to keep Cae Hic, for the farm had been owned and run by his family for more than a hundred years.