‘No one’s ordered me to do anything.’
‘Precisely.’
Having finally silenced Hawkins, the sergeant picked up his pen again. Another half an hour ticked by. Alexander watched the clock; the hands had never moved so slowly. No one entered or left the station. No noise came from anywhere within the building. Seven o’clock came and went. Perhaps the town ate an early dinner or late tea and the inhabitants were too engrossed in their food to cause trouble.
The huge policeman, Huw Davies, who had been on the platform to greet them, returned. He removed his helmet to reveal a balding head of greying, ginger hair and a moon-sized face.
‘Maritime will take three,’ the sergeant gestured to the remaining men, ‘but there’s no billets arranged.’
‘Then tell the Ministry we can’t accommodate them.’
‘I wish it was as simple as that,’ the sergeant replied with a patience Alexander found remarkable, considering how many hours he had already devoted to sorting out the problems of twelve unwanted conscripts.
‘They’ve been assigned to this area; forerunners, the Ministry spokesman said when I telephoned.’
‘You should have told them to read their own unemployment statistics. Why didn’t they use their heads, and put them in civil defence or firefighting in their home towns?’
‘That’s what I told them,’ Alfred Hawkins chipped in.
‘Don’t suppose you thought to ask round for a billet?’ the sergeant pressed, ignoring Hawkins.
‘I asked.’
‘No joy?’
‘I wasn’t even sure what pit they were going to.’
‘Maritime. The Graig would be handiest, which was why I mentioned your connections earlier. See what you can do, constable, there’s a good man.’
‘Is that an order?’
‘If you want a quiet life.’
Huw Davies knew what that particular set of the sergeant’s jaw meant. He replaced his helmet on his head.
‘Best you take them with you. I’m fed up with them cluttering this place, and people find it harder to say no when they’re confronted with lodgers that mean an extra couple of bob in their pockets.’
Resigned to his task, Huw looked at the two men sitting on the bench. ‘You’d best come with me.’
‘Do you want me as well?’ Alexander moved away from the wall. Huw looked to the sergeant, who nodded his head.
‘Didn’t they tell you that things are difficult in the valleys?’ Huw questioned as they left the gloom of the station for the damp, freezing night air and blackout.
‘They didn’t tell us nothing,’ Alfred protested resentfully. ‘And before you say any more, we don’t want to be here any more than you want us to be.’
‘Well, seeing as you are here, all we can do is make the best of it.’ Huw led them across the road down Church Street and into Market Square. ‘I take it you’re all conscientious objectors?’ All three nodded. ‘Communists?’
‘Fully paid up member of the Fascist Party, me,’ Alfred Hawkins announced proudly. ‘And there’s no way I’m lifting a finger against Hitler or the Germans. In my opinion, we need one like him in this country.’
‘Best keep your opinions to yourself while you’re here,’ Huw cautioned.
‘Because the valleys are full of the red menace?’
‘Either of you two Communist?’ Huw asked, doing his best to ignore Hawkins, lest he be tempted to thump him.
‘No,’ the boy answered in a small voice. Huw didn’t press Alexander Forbes because he’d already formed his own opinion about him. He contented himself by wondering how the pit management would react to the government sending more Communists to add to the troublesome strength of the ones they already had. Every strike brought out infiltrators working for the mine owners and all of them seeking Communist subversives.
‘If you’re not a Communist, why are you a conscientious objector?’ Huw asked the boy.
‘My family are Quakers,’ he mumbled, keeping his head down as he lugged his worn carpet-bag.
‘Where are you from?’ Huw asked in a kindlier tone.
‘Cornwall.’
‘What work have you done?’
‘Basket weaving.’
‘Well, there’s not much call for that down the pit, but I’ll do what I can to get you a decent billet, for tonight at least.’ He turned to Alexander. ‘You’re not saying much.’
‘You warned me to keep my mouth shut.’
‘So I did,’ Huw smiled. ‘Glad to see you’re prepared to take advice.’
Harry Griffiths opened the cupboard under the stairs and took out the clothes brush. Lifting his best trilby from the hat stand he began to clean it.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ his wife demanded from the landing above him.
‘Civil Defence League.’
‘Let others volunteer for that nonsense. You can’t afford the time with a business to run.’
‘If everyone took that attitude we may as well surrender to Hitler now.’
‘If you think I’m serving in the shop …’
‘Jenny’s offered to go in the shop until closing time.’ He rammed his hat on his head and reached for his coat.
‘And where is this precious meeting of yours?’
‘Graig Hotel.’ He could hear her sharp intake of breath from where he was standing.
‘If I find out …’
‘If you find out what?’ He shrugged his coat over his shoulders and stared up at her. ‘You’d refuse to allow me into your room? Your bed? The only thing of mine you have, Mrs Griffiths, is my name. And I’m giving you fair warning, you won’t have the use of that much longer.’
‘I’m a decent –’
‘Respectable married woman?’ He raised his eyebrows as he put his hand on the door handle. ‘Try divorced. You may even get used to it,’ he said brusquely as he walked out.
Phyllis had finished washing the tea things, and was tidying the kitchen in readiness for the evening. Megan had insisted on helping, and was stacking the clean dishes in the pantry, although both Phyllis and Evan would have been happier if she had sat down and conserved what little strength she had left. A sharp knock at the front door, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock, disturbed them.
‘It’s only me,’ Huw’s voice echoed down the passage.
‘You’re too late for tea.’ Megan walked to the pantry door. ‘Although I could do you egg and chips.’
‘Not now, love.’ He picked his sister up from the pantry step, lifting her so he could kiss her cheek.
‘I hate it when you do that,’ she complained.
‘Hurts my back to stoop to your level.’
‘Two visits in one week.’ Evan looked up from his paper as Phyllis took an extra cup and saucer from the dresser. ‘We are honoured.’
‘There’ll be a blue moon tonight,’ Megan said, closing the pantry door and joining them in the kitchen. ‘Come to see if I’m crying over William?’
‘Much as I love you, Megan, I must confess it’s Evan I’ve come to see.’
Evan laid his pipe on the mantelpiece and folded his newspaper. Huw couldn’t help reflecting that no matter how much effort Phyllis put into taking care of him, Evan was looking tired, and a lot more washed out since he’d given up his rag and bone round to go back underground.
‘Well at least none of the boys have done anything. Have they?’ Evan demanded, suddenly realising that if there had been an accident in training camp, or London, where his eldest son Haydn was living with his wife Jane, Huw would be the obvious choice to bring the bad news.
‘Not that I’m aware of, although knowing those three it’s my guess they’ll be up to something if they’ve got any energy left after a day’s square-bashing, even if it’s only a few jars in a pub.’
‘Well if it’s not the boys, what is it?’
‘Sergeant had a surprise parcel this morning. Conscription board sent us a dozen conscientious objectors.’
Huw lowered himself into the seat opposite Evan’s and took the tea Phyllis handed him.
‘What for?’ Evan asked.
‘That’s what the sergeant wanted to know. He rang up the Ministry of Labour and asked if they knew we had more miners in the valleys than jobs. They didn’t. Apparently some silly sod up there decided we could use a few more, untrained at that, and now they’re here we’ve no choice but to keep them. Sergeant split them between the pits, there’s three for the Maritime.’
‘And you want me to keep an eye on them?’
‘Bit more than that. They’ve nowhere to stay. No billets arranged.’
‘And you thought they could stay here?’
‘I wouldn’t have come unless I was desperate.’ Huw pulled a creased handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped his forehead. The Graig hill was steep, it had been a long haul up it at the end of a full twelve-hour shift, and it was warm in the kitchen. ‘I had three of them. One was a Fascist so I persuaded Richards next door to take him in, I thought he’d feel at home there.’
Evan appreciated the irony. His neighbour was well-known for supporting Mosley. The only man on the Graig to do so.
‘There was a bit of a fracas when they arrived at the station this morning. Dai organised a reception committee and you know what he can be like.’
‘I know,’ Evan said drily, thinking of the tough time the Communists in his own pit who’d tried to register as conscientious objectors had been given by people like Dai, and they had the advantage of being local.
‘The ones who shout the loudest and kick the hardest are always the ones who’ve never fought, and wouldn’t know how to if they came face to face with Hans or Fritz.’ Huw was thinking back to his own time in the trenches. A time he wished he didn’t still remember and rarely mentioned.
‘So, you feel sorry for these two conscripted miners and thought we’d take care of them for you?’
‘Well, I did wonder, what with the boys’ room being empty and everything, if you could put them up until we have time to get things sorted. They’ll be paying normal lodging rates of seven and six a week.’
‘Only a bachelor could ask a man a question like that. The decision isn’t mine to make. I’m merely the head of this household, it’s the women you should be looking to.’
‘As long as it is only for a few days,’ Phyllis began hesitantly. ‘The boys’ room is empty now, but they’ll be needing it when they come home on leave.’
‘When they come home it will only be for a few days, and I can always move in with Diana,’ Megan volunteered.
‘And Brian can come in with Evan and me,’ Phyllis added.
‘Looks like it’s sorted,’ Evan said to Huw.
‘We have to do all we can to help the war effort, don’t we?’ Phyllis looked to Megan for confirmation.
‘Seems to me, this particular copper,’ Megan picked up the teapot and refilled Huw and Evan’s cups, ‘knows where to come for a soft touch and a pot of tea just brewed.’ A suspicion crossed her mind as she went to the pantry to fetch more milk. ‘Huw, where are these men?’
‘Outside the door.’
‘Huw Davies, it’s cold enough out there to turn an Eskimo blue.’
‘I couldn’t be sure Evan would say yes.’
‘You best go and get them before they freeze to death.’ Megan lifted down another two cups while Huw went to the door.
Evan rose to his feet and extended his hand as Huw ushered them in. He wasn’t sure what conscientious objectors should look like, but he doubted Huw could have found two more disparate men if he’d tried. One was tall and thin with clothes that spoke of money, and a fair amount of it; the other, a young boy dressed in a shabby jacket several sizes too large for him, a cloth cap, collarless shirt and muffler, clean, but more darn than cloth.
‘Evan Powell.’ Evan shook the hand of the older man. ‘This is my wife, Phyllis,’ he said avoiding laborious, embarrassing explanations, ‘and my sister-in-law Megan Powell.’
‘Pleased to meet you, ladies.’ Alexander removed his hat and shook hands with Phyllis and Megan before Evan.
Huw unbuttoned his jacket as the boy shook hands with everyone. He’d heard Megan shuffling around in the pantry and he knew his sister. She wouldn’t allow the new lodgers to go to bed hungry, and if there was a supper going it would save him the trouble of slicing bread and cheese in his own house.
‘Well as you’re staying, you’d better take your coats off, you can hang them in the hall. Put the light on for them, Huw. I hope you’ve pulled the blackout curtain, because the last thing we need is Dai Station snooping around.’
‘I think we’ve already met him,’ Alexander said wryly.
‘You did,’ Huw confirmed.
‘You look as though you could do with a cup of tea.’ Evan smiled at the younger boy, who hadn’t said a word since he’d come into the house.
‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Mr Powell.’
‘Have either of you eaten since breakfast?’ Megan asked as she emerged from the pantry.
‘We had tea and biscuits in the police station.’
‘I know what police station tea is like.’ Megan lifted the kettle and took it out to the wash-house to fill it.
Phyllis followed her. ‘We’ve all the ingredients for a Welsh rarebit,’ Phyllis said practically. ‘If you don’t mind making it, I’ll sort out the boys’ bedroom.’
‘Be glad to. If you’re short of space to put the boys’ things you’re welcome to store them in my room.’
‘I think there’s room in the second wardrobe in Diana’s room. Do you think she’ll mind?’
‘Looks like she’s never home long enough to notice what’s in her room.’
‘This really is very kind of you,’ Alexander said. He opened the door to take his and the boy’s coat into the passage.
‘I’m trying to stay on the right side of the law.’ Megan earned herself a frown from her brother, who had found it difficult to come to terms with her incarceration.
‘Can I do anything to help?’
‘Looks to me like you need a warm. Go and sit by the fire.’
As Alexander returned to the kitchen and pulled a chair close to the cooking range he was struck by two things: the warmth and cleanliness of the room, and the hours of work that had gone into making the rag rugs and patchwork cushions and curtains, which brightened the scuffed and battered furniture. He had never sat in a kitchen before, never seen well-scrubbed flagstones, nor a cooking range at close quarters. Above all he’d had no social contact with the working classes, and he hoped it wouldn’t show.
Megan cracked eggs, grated cheese and sliced leeks into a basin. ‘Ten minutes and you’ll have a meal in front of you. I hope you both like Welsh rarebit.’