‘I see, and when will they be finished?’
‘They don’t know. Grandad said it could take all day. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ Her mood changed. ‘I hope they do manage it. We’ll never get to America if we have to make a fight of it.’
With that sombre thought in mind I went to find Cliff. He told me Da had been there in the middle of the night to get his father and left a message for Cliff not to say anything to anybody and to see me. I would explain everything. I did.
The day dragged. I went in early to sit and stare at my atlas, thinking of America. About three o’clock I remembered my promise to Sian but the problem was finding flowers or a suitable plant in the last week of November. I ended up taking a bunch of holly from a tree down by the river and placing it on her grave.
As I looked at her headstone I tried to conjure up a picture of her while I told her what had happened. I found her image was blurred and fuzzy. Though I knew it was Sian, her face wasn’t clear. It upset me, but by the time I arrived home my grief had faded. I sat alone in the front room and tried to bring back my feeling of grief but failed. Time was doing its work well.
At five there was still no sign of Da. I wondered if the argument was so bitter they were making no headway. Mam sat nervously strumming her fingers on the table; I looked unseeing at the atlas.
When the door opened Da’s voice startled us both and we jumped to our feet. He came rushing in, a huge grin across his face and grabbed Mam in a hug until she squealed.
‘Put me down, Evan. Put me down, you clown,’ she laughed. ‘What happened? Come on tell us.’
‘Get me a cuppa first and then I’ll tell you. I’m parched after all that damned talking. Oh, and one for Dad, he’ll be in shortly as well. He’s just seeing the committee about something, private like.’ Grandad walked through the door as Da spoke.
‘Did he tell you Meg?’ Grandad was smiling.
‘No, he’s insisting on a cup of tea first. You tell me while I make a fresh pot.’
‘You should have seen him Meg. Evan I mean. You’d have been proud, I can tell you. Anyone would think he’d been dealing with bosses all his life. The way he neg . . . neg . . .’
‘Negotiated,’ supplied Mam.
‘What about compensation for the children?’ asked Mam.
Grandad pulled a face. ‘It was exactly like Evan said. There’s not a hope of getting anything. They’ll drop the charges against the men if we sign an agreement not to take them to court. You know, that in itself convinced me we’d have had a good chance if we’d gone to court. Those stupid fools really cocked things up for us, didn’t they?’ Grandad sighed and added, ‘There was one complication that made our position all the more difficult.’
‘What was that?’ asked Mam.
‘At the front of the train,’ Da said, ‘one of the younger militiamen was playing cards with the scabs. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He was killed when the train went over.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Mam sitting down heavily. ‘But the vicar said . . . Was anybody else hurt?’
‘A few broken limbs and cuts. The boy died when a piece of glass from the window stabbed him in the neck.’ Da said. ‘I did get them to agree to have the militia move back to Cardiff as soon as possible. Hell Meg, think what would happen if they took the law into their own hands and went on the rampage here. And though it sounds incredible we’ve all heard enough stories not to ignore such a thing. Don’t you agree, Dad?’
‘Aye son, I do. I don’t know why but I got this feeling in my bones that there’s going to be trouble. Let’s pray I’m wrong.’ He got to his feet. ‘I must go. Don’t bother with tea for me Meg,’ he said as Mam went into the kitchen.
‘If you’re sure, Dad,’ she replied, returning with the kettle.
‘I’m sure. I want to get home and tell Mam about it. You know how she worries.’ He chuckled, a rich throaty sound and said something I did not understand but made Mam blush. ‘I think I’ll go and celebrate with some of her dandelion wine and pretend it’s her birthday or Christmas,’ he winked at Mam.
‘You are incorrigible,’ said Mam, pushing him towards the door.
‘No doubt, and no doubt I’d be the first to admit it if I knew what it meant. Goodnight to you all. And thanks, Evan, for what you did today,’ he became serious. ‘The village will never appreciate it properly, but me and the others do.’
When Sion came we played word games for the first time since Sian died. I guess it was still too soon because the evening fell flat and Sion and I went to bed early.
‘Okay Mam.’ With a shock I saw she was crying. I came awake with a start as she turned and left. I grabbed my clothes and followed her. She was sitting at the table, a half empty cup of tea in front of her.
‘It’s Grandma and Grandad,’ she said, having to bite her lip to keep back the tears. ‘They were both killed last night. A fire in the house or something. Da’s there now. He’s been there for hours since they came to get him. We both went to see if . . . if there was anything we could do. There was nothing.’
I threw off my pyjamas, forgetting the newly found bashfulness I now had in front of Mam and pulled on my underpants. ‘Are . . . are you sure . . . ?’ my voice quivered, but I held back the tears. ‘They . . . they’re d . . . d . . .’ I could not bring myself to say the word.
Mam nodded. ‘I didn’t want you waking to an empty house so I came back. I’ll wait for Sion but go and see what’s happening and come back to tell me.’
I nodded and rushed from the house. My heart was like lead. First Sian and now Grandad and Grandma. It was too much. Grandad had only been with us a few hours earlier, laughing and joking and talking about it going to be Grandma’s birthday or something.
I ran. Their place was further up and two streets back. After a few hundred yards I had to walk to get my breath back. The house was at the end of the street, just before the allotments. There was a group of people standing in the road, mostly the family but a few others too.
All that was left was a smoking, blackened ruin. The house next door was also damaged, the roof half gone and the wall demolished. I felt the tears starting afresh as I saw the ruin. Through the blur of my tears I saw the blackened figures of Da and my uncles picking amongst the rubble. Aunts Maud and Gwyneth were standing on the road crying, a few of my cousins with them.
All that was left of the house was the outside wall and the chimney. The front, back and roof had collapsed, taking the second floor with it. Charred remains of the rafters stuck out, black, jagged daggers against the blue sky. The top of the sun appeared over the valley edge, adding warmth to the day, melting the white frost of the night. I stood alone, watching, not wanting to talk to anyone.
I knew our family had been Granddad’s favourite. He had loved us just a little bit more than he loved the others. Mam had been the special one among his sons’ wives. I choked on the thought. I remembered why I was there and went across to Da. I noticed the bundle wrapped in blankets near my aunts. It took a few moments to remember what it reminded me of and when I did I was nearly sick. I thought of Sian and knew without doubt what was under there. I turned my head, trying not to look, and picked my way across the rubble to Da.
He was too busy picking around in the black, soot covered bricks to notice, me until I was right next to him. I had to call him twice before he looked up. His blackened face was tear stained. I burst into tears and threw my arms around his waist.
‘Easy, Dai, easy,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose Mam sent you, did she?’
I nodded.
‘Go home, son, and tell her that I’ll be back shortly. Tell her everyone knows so there’s not a lot she can do. I want to get hold of the undertaker, Dai Coffin, before I come, ok?’
Again I nodded. When I turned to go I saw my cousins were also crying but the grown ups, though their faces were tearstained, had stopped. We were a forlorn and dishevelled group. I hurried back, certain Mam would want to be there too, in spite of what Da said.
I literally bumped into her at the door. ‘I’m on my way up. Sion’s having breakfast. I haven’t had the heart to tell him yet. What did Da say?’
‘He said he’s going to find Dai Coffin before he comes home.’ I paused, a picture of the house came to my mind. ‘It’s horrible Mam, really horrible. There’s nothing left and . . . and there’s a bundle in a blanket just by the road. Like Sian was.’ I bit my lower lip trying to fight back the tears.
‘They could only have just found them then, I suppose that’s something. It must have been awful for your Da and your uncles. Stay with Sion and don’t let him go out until I get back. I won’t be long.’
I put on a brave face for Sion and when he asked what all the excitement was about I told him nothing. I did not have the heart to tell him the truth; besides, it wasn’t up to me. It was difficult waiting for Mam to return and I was annoyed at her for not having told him. Sion was disgusted because he could not go out and play with his friends. Finally the front door opened and Mam and Da came in. Da was streaked in black, Mam dirty handed and with a smudged face. Gently Mam explained to Sion what had happened. He nodded, appearing not to understand properly. Then he asked: ‘Have they gone to be with Sian?’
‘You could put it that way’ said Mam.
‘That’s good. Now there’ll be somebody to look after her. But I’m going to miss them,’ he added. ‘Mam, why didn’t they come and say goodbye?’
Mam forced the ghost of a smile. ‘I don’t think they knew God was going to call them away when He did son.’
He began crying and put his arms around Mam’s waist, squeezing tightly. ‘I don’t think I like God any more,’ he said, using the same words he had used after Sian’s death. ‘He shouldn’t have taken them from us like that.’
David Jones was known as Dai Coffin and had been for as long as Da could remember. He had developed the art of burial to a fine degree, and Grandad had always said when he passed on he was to be buried by Dai. He used to joke about booking up with him in advance, just in case. We used to laugh, assuring Grandad he would be around for a long time yet. The laughter that used to greet Granddad’s description of his own funeral was missing on the day, a week later. The weather had changed and the morning started grey, with a fine drizzle soaking the land.
Before Dai arrived we paid our last respects. Both Grandad and Grandma were being buried together in one coffin. Da was the last to go through and he slid the lid into place.
After the death of the children there had been no wake. Today was different. In his will Grandad had put aside ten pounds to be spent on beer and whisky. Grandad had written, “So my sons and their families can see me off in fine style.”
‘Here’s to the old souls,’ Uncle David announced. ‘Perhaps not so old but they had a good innings. God rest them.’
They raised their glasses in a toast, the men with whisky, the women with sweet sherry. As the drink flowed the merrier they became, cracking ribald jokes and laughing. I realised a lot later when I thought back on that day the reason behind the fun. Death was no stranger. But it was still difficult to become accustomed to, if we ever did. Turning it into a wake, laughing at death hid, if not actually removed, the fear we felt at its proximity.
The women had spent days preparing food for those who came to pay their last respects. Each person was given a glass of ale and something to eat and all toasted my grandparents’ memory.
‘He was a good man,’ said Lewis Lewis, ‘and he’s going to be sorely missed in the years ahead. He did a lot for us and the village. God bless his soul.’
BOOK 2
The Story of Evan
11
Evan Matthew Griffiths stood in the middle of his front room after the wake, and proudly, through his drunken haze, watched his son grimace over the ale he had been given. Aye, he thought, he’s a good lad and no doubt. Tall for his age. With his black hair and good looks he will be a lady-killer one day, no doubt of that. Evan felt the tears rising and quickly drank more whisky, spluttering on the sharp taste.
He looked at the others, and said to Dai, the only one awake. ‘I don’t think they’re going to be very well in the morning,’ Evan managed to say with difficulty. ‘But then I don’t think I am either. Dai, how about a cup of tea?’ he slumped into a chair. ‘Please.’
‘Okay, Da,’ Dai replied but he doubted whether his father heard because he was already asleep.
When Evan woke, the grey dawn lit the room. For a few seconds he stayed slumped in the chair, wondering how he had got there, where the blanket had come from and who had removed his shoes.
He groaned. His head was splitting and he had a foul taste in his mouth. He half noticed the room had been cleaned, the ashtrays emptied, glasses removed and spilt ale cleaned up. He still felt giddy as he went to the kitchen and drank lots of water to cure his raging thirst. He sat at the table, his head in his arms, closed his eyes for a moment and was next aware of his surroundings when Meg shook his shoulder.
He lifted his head with difficulty and groaned. ‘Roll on, death.’
She smiled. ‘Suffering are we? And serves you right. I thought you and your brothers were planning to drink the valley dry.’ She felt sorry for him. ‘Do you want the hair of the dog?’
‘No, Meg,’ he gagged. ‘The thought makes me feel ill. Just give me some love and kindness in the form of a cup of tea with plenty of peace and quiet.’
‘Poor Evan,’ she bent and kissed his cheek. ‘Aren’t you going to work today?’
‘No, love. William and me have got things to see about. We have to talk to the others as well. We thought today would be a good time to do it, under the circumstances.’