Shoes for Anthony (6 page)

‘Bethan says there'll be Americans at Porthcawl!' I said, looking towards Father.

‘Ant!' she yelled, from the kitchen. ‘I told you that in secret!'

‘Americans?' said Mam, her eyes widening. ‘Is that true?'

‘So we've been told. They're arriving in two days. Something must be up, we reckon. But we don't know what.'

‘Getting ready to push into France. I'd put money on it,' said Father. ‘But if Bethan has been told to keep it quiet, I want the rest of you to do the same. Once they're here, that's another matter. But not a word until they've come. Careless talk costs lives, remember.'

‘Christ, I wish I could go to France,' moaned Emrys. ‘Stuck down the bloody pit when we could be out fighting. We'll see none of the war. It's not fair.'

‘I'd rather be underground than in it,' said Alwyn.

‘We get to see the Mosquitoes from RAF St Athan,' I said. ‘That's seeing the war.'

‘I don't want to sit on the bloody mountain watching it,' said Emrys, ‘I want to be doing it!'

‘Be careful what you wish for, Emrys. War's a nasty business. Anyway, we've got one member of the family in uniform,' said Father, smiling towards Bethan. ‘And you boys are helping the war effort. You're doing your duty.'

‘Some duty when you have to salute your own sister,' said Alwyn, rubbing the coal soap between his hands.

‘Talking of duty, can I borrow a sheet, Mam?' said Emrys, flicking the end of his cigarette into the open fire. ‘We've been told to take one to training.'

‘What do they want sheets for?' said Mam, frowning.

‘Perhaps they're going to dress up as ghosts. Scare the Germans to death?' grumbled Alwyn. ‘That's all the Look, Duck and Vanish brigade can hope for. Fucking useless.'

‘Shut up, Alwyn,' said Emrys. ‘At least I'm in the Home Guard. More than you can say.'

‘Why would I want to be in the Home Guard? You're all just mucking about. No guns. No clue. I do my hours down the pit and they want me to be up all night pretending Germans are coming? No thanks.'

‘All right,' said Mam, quietly. ‘That's enough. Take the blue one from the top shelf of the airing cupboard. Not any of my white ones, mind. And I don't want it coming back covered in grease.'

‘Thanks, Mam,' said Emrys, tapping out another cigarette.

‘Do you think they'll bring chocolate? And silk stockings?' said Bethan, her face breaking into a smile from the kitchen doorway. ‘They do look so handsome. And American! Imagine that? Americans in Porthcawl!'

‘What's that smell?' said Father, sniffing the air.

‘Ant's wellingtons,' said Mam, handing him his tie. ‘They're always bad after he's been running.'

‘Can't we get him a pair of shoes?' said Bethan. ‘He smells like a mouldy log.'

‘He's worked his way through all the hand-me-downs. The only spare pair of shoes left in this house is an old pair of mine,' said Mam. ‘If he wants them, he's welcome to them. If not, he's stuck with the boots.'

Bethan shrugged in my direction. ‘Ah, well,' she said. ‘You'll just have to hope the war ends. Or an American brings a pair of shoes for an eleven-year-old boy.'

‘Or someone else dies,' said Alwyn, darkly. ‘Here you go,' he added, throwing the coal soap towards Emrys. ‘Your turn.'

The Treherbert 2nd Platoon of the Welsh Home Guard gathered every Tuesday evening at the local Men's Club for training. Being a unit that was off the beaten track, they had never been furnished with a grand arsenal. Between them, there was one rifle that was taken home each week on a rota basis and an assortment of broom handles and sticks that passed for guns. Instead of grenades, they had brown paper bags filled with flour; or at least they did have, until all the mams started complaining about the stuff going to waste. ‘What would you rather have?' Mam asked Emrys. ‘Bread or bombs?' And that put an end to that. One week, a man from Cardiff came with a Bren gun for them to have a go on, but he'd brought the wrong ammunition so they all just stood around staring at it. Not that anyone was that bothered; the likelihood of the Germans invading Treherbert was as slim a chance as any.

Ade and I climbed onto the broken brick wall at the back of the Men's Club to watch the platoon. The early evening sun was casting a golden swathe of light across our mountain. I stared up and watched the ridges shifting. The contours of the mountain were as familiar to me as the lines on the palms of my hands, but I would always marvel at how differing lights could change its personality entirely. I cupped my hand over my eyes to stare into the low evening sun. The black silhouette of a bird of prey floated in and out, soaring on the wind as it eddied above the rocks. There were two of them up our mountain, a breeding pair, I reckoned. I nudged Ade, pointing upwards. ‘There's that red kite again,' I said. ‘Father says there's not many left. You only get them in South Wales, he says.'

‘We should find the eggs,' said Ade, kicking at a loose brick in the wall with the end of his shoe. ‘You can get good money for rare bird eggs.'

‘Who'd you sell 'em to?' I said, frowning. ‘No one round b'here's got money to buy 'em with.'

‘Dunno,' said Ade, with a shrug. ‘P'raps someone up Cardiff way. Or old Pughsy. He owns a factory. Got to be worth a bob.' Ade nudged his head down towards the backyard of the club.

Old Pughsy was Captain Pugh, leader of the Treherbert 2nd Platoon Home Guard, or, if you'd known him before the war, Mr Pugh, manager and owner of Polikoff Sewing Factory. He lived in a detached house, an unimaginable luxury, and was rumoured to have an indoor toilet. ‘He shits INSIDE,' Bopa once told Mam, shaking her head in wonder.

Below us, the platoon was scattered about the backyard. Emrys was standing, leaning against an empty beer barrel and staring up at us. ‘You two got nothing better to do?' he said, pulling out a pack of rolling tobacco.

‘Better than the radio, watching you lot,' answered Ade. ‘Better than the pictures, even. What you doing tonight? Knitting?'

Emrys picked up a broken bit of slate and chucked it at us. We ducked. Missed. ‘Bugger off,' he said. ‘Home Guard's important business. You'll be glad of us if the Germans come. We're your only hope.'

‘Yeah,' said Ade, ‘they'll surrender the minute they see your broom handle.'

I laughed. Emrys scowled. ‘We've got a rifle. It's my turn with it, 'n' all. You watch on, Adrian Jenkins. Or I might confuse you for a German.' He mimed holding up a rifle. ‘Bang. Bang.'

‘Right. You two. Be quiet and you can stay. If you're going to be chucking insults, you can be off.' Captain Pugh strode out towards the back of the yard. He turned his back to us and faced the platoon. ‘Attention!' Ten men hurriedly arranged themselves into two lines and tried their best to look efficient.

‘Your Emrys really got the rifle?' whispered Ade, leaning in.

I nodded. ‘Only for a bit, mind, while it's his turn. Mam made him keep it in the outtie. She doesn't want it in the house.'

‘You had a go on it?'

‘No, man. Don't be daft. Besides, I don't know where he keeps the bullets. And even if I did find 'em, he's only got five. He'd miss any if they were gone.'

Ade sniffed and carried on working the loose brick with his toe. ‘P'raps we should go have a look at it, like?'

Ade was always for having his fingers into everything, but I was naturally more cautious. I stared up again towards the mountain to catch the last glimpses of the sun skimming off its peak. The red kite was circling again. Hunting. She liked mice. Saw her catch one, once, those russet wings hovering then the sudden dive, the flash of light eyes, grab and away, the slow beat of mighty wings thumping through the air. Beautiful, graceful, deadly.

‘Come on,' I said, hopping down from the wall. ‘They're going to do something with sheets up the street. Let's get up there.'

Captain Pugh did not really know what he was doing. Everybody knew this, even Captain Pugh, but he was the epitome of enthusiasm over talent, so everyone forgave him. He was an odd-looking fellow: hunched shoulders, a pinched, bird-like face and then a mass of black curly hair greased down so it undulated like the coal-filled waters of the village river. He had married once but rumour had it that within weeks of walking his bride up the aisle, she'd skipped off with a man who sold cockles. Bopa said she'd lost her mind. ‘She's given up a life of luxury!' she wailed. ‘He's got electricity upstairs. And now what has she got to look forward to? Stinking of fish till the end of days.'

‘Right, boys,' Captain Pugh said, staring into his Home Guard handbook. ‘Hang your sheets at random intervals all the way up the street.'

‘On what?' asked Emrys, shaking out Mam's blue sheet. ‘There's no washing lines.'

‘Did you bring that ball of string, Malcolm?' Pugh asked a thin lad in thick glasses.

‘No, Mr Pugh,' said Malcolm, looking sheepish. ‘I couldn't find it. I brought my mam's wool. She wants it back, mind.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright red ball.

‘Right,' said Pugh, nodding. ‘Then that will have to do. String it up. And don't cut it. And when we're in our uniform, what am I, Malcolm?'

Malcolm stood very still, thinking. ‘Very handsome?'

Everyone stifled a laugh. Pugh blinked. ‘No, Malcolm, I am
Captain
Pugh. Not Mr. Although thank you for the compliment.'

‘Can I get the rifle, Captain?' asked Emrys, pushing his blond fringe out of his eyes. ‘For training, like?'

‘Yes, let's have it out,' said Captain Pugh, turning a few pages of his treasured handbook. ‘No bullets, mind. Not with the sheets.'

Ade nudged me. ‘We'll get to see the gun,' he said, grinning as Emrys ran past us and in through our front door.

I heard a short burst of shrill admonishment from my mother, and then Emrys reappeared, holding the rifle like a flag.

‘Bear that arm properly,' said Captain Pugh, frowning. ‘I don't want you waving it about as if you're frightening crows. Now, then. Your objective, Emrys, is to advance up the street with your four men, and take the five men up at the top. Think you'll manage that?'

‘Course he will, he's got the only gun,' shouted Ade. ‘Just don't tell 'em he's got no bullets!'

There was an outburst of laughter. Ade and I had joined the usual concentrated bunch of Scott Street kids who hung about waiting for anything to happen. The weekly Home Guard training session was the highlight of the week.

‘Ignore them,' said Captain Pugh, reaching into his pocket. ‘On my whistle. Begin!' He blew down and off Emrys went, crouching behind a billowing sheet.

Fez had some cigarette cards out, looking for swapsies. ‘Got that one?' he said, holding up a card with two people on it dressed head to toe in what looked like yellow mackintoshes. ‘Rubber Clothing,' said Fez, tapping it with another card.

‘Nah, I've got Anti-Gas Suit,' said Bozo. ‘Wanna swap it for that?'

Fez shook his head. ‘I've got three Anti-Gas. If you've got Respirators I'll have that. You got any ciggie cards, Ant?' He turned towards me.

I shook my head. ‘Father don't get packet cigs,' I said, peeking over his shoulder into his battered Strepsil tin full of cards. ‘Can I have a look?'

He handed me the card he wanted to swap. It was a man and a woman, running away from a house. They looked posh. They were running up a pathway leading away from some fancy windows. A tall, creeping plant was edging up the side of the house wall, and either side of the pathway were beds filled with decorative flowers. The pair both wore yellow rubber coats, the woman's coming with a fashionable belt, and they were in matching yellow sou'wester hats. Each wore a gas mask. Above them, in the daylight sky, there was a German plane and a small, smoky explosion just behind it.

I flipped the card over and looked at the words on the back.

During an air raid, the safety of the citizen may depend to a considerable extent on his knowledge of how to behave. Splashing from the liquid liberated from certain gas bombs, or subsequent contact with it, produces a serious blistering of the skin. The Government provides each individual with a respirator, which is complete protection for the eyes, throat and lungs. Prudent persons, if forced to go out of doors during air raids, should provide themselves with rubber or oilskin coats and hats and rubber boots.

I looked down at my own rubber wellingtons. ‘What does “prudent” mean?' I asked Ade, showing him the card.

He shrugged. ‘Isn't that when girls won't kiss a lad? Maybe that's why she's wearing the gas mask?'

I stared back at the picture. It was impossible not to feel a twinge of regret. We'd never get to run away from German gas bombs dressed up in rubber outfits. Perhaps they got to do that in Cardiff?

‘Emrys!' shouted Captain Pugh. ‘It's no good just crouching there! You need to advance! You've got to make your way up the street using the sheets as cover! Pull your finger out and crack on, man!'

‘Does he think sheets are going to stop Germans?' asked Ade, scratching his neck. ‘The man's mad. Come on, let's jump 'em.'

Ade dropped down to a stoop and gestured back towards Fez and Bozo. Tucking their Strepsil tins of ciggie cards into their pockets, the two of them joined Ade, crawling along the house fronts. Stopping at the mid point, Ade picked up a clinker from the gutter and rubbed it under his nose, making a small black smear. Grinning, he passed it back to Fez and Bozo, urging them to do the same.

Emrys was almost at the halfway point. He was in a crouched position, cradling the rifle. Behind him were four others, two lads from the pit of about the same age, then two much older men. One of the older men kept standing up and shouting ‘Bang, bang, bang!' while pointing a garden fork in the direction of the opposing team.