Chapter Four: Tucked Above the Towy
A 14 year old girl is the epitome of selfishness, but Rita was
there to look after Mary her younger sister --- two years her
junior and the family baby. The jewellery shop was in King
street. Small, but posh, Rita thought, and allowed herself
to be led upstairs to their bedroom.
Mrs Ward said she would bring them their luncheon, in a
minute now.. smiling wistfully at her new London wards.
She busied herself down in her private space - her kitchen,
where all was in its place, cutting thin slices of bread and
corned beef, with just the smallest suggestion... of home
made cake.
Rita could see little out of the attic window, and ached to
see the world outside. ''Mary, dear'', she whispered -- but
Mary was fast asleep still in her travelling clothes, her
small form tucked now, thumb in mouth, and a teddy
held warm and tight.
Mrs Ward knocked carefully, and placed Rita's plate on
the small metallic bench near the window. Love her,
she thought, as the elder girl smiled eagerly yet
raised a delicate finger to her rosebud lips.
Shhh, they both said at once, and broke into smiles.
''Well!'' said Rhiannon later that night, to her husband.
''I do believe those two children will do well here...''
''Better off than in that smokey old London, indeed,''
Aneirin replied, measuring his pipe.... squinting in
the dusk light. ''Perhaps.. you worried too soon.''
Dawn flew in - in stages of curious sounds. A small owl
hooted between silence and insistence. Then several
competing cockerels wrenched the day open. A dog
barked and set off others ...and all the Carmarthen
crows told them - to shut up.
''Breakfast!'' thought Rita, and took the steep, highly
polished wooden stairs down following her nose..
to the kitchen. Mrs Ward started - then relaxed.
''Good sleep for you two?'' she enquired, looking back
at Rita's form in the doorway. ''Yes, thank you, Mrs
Ward...'' She waited for Mrs Ward to reply with an
invitation to call her a more intimate name --- as
would be the case in London's informal way....
but it didn't happen. Mrs Ward didn't see the
look that turned her mouth down.
''There's a nice boiled egg and soldiers for you
and the little dab'', Mrs Ward voiced airily.
''That will be wonderful,'' Rita replied, with a
dazzling smile, which stayed long enough
for Mrs Ward to catch it, as she turned
with the breakfast plates.
''May I call Shirley down?''
''But of course... dear,'' the little Welsh woman
replied. ''You're not prisoners here, are you!''
It was market day, and the town on the river
Towy was abustle with beasts, men..... and
children - surprisingly - also from London.
''We didn't see one of these.. on the train,''
said Mary. ''Let's go and say hello, then'',
Rita countered and walked up to a gang
of boys trying to open a gate to a small
official looking kiosk. They were all in
long shorts, as was the way then ----
and looked at the two sisters with
pretend adult eyes, narrowed.
''Hi,'' said Rita cheerily. ''Where's all the fun,
then?'' The oldest boy stopped wrenching
at the iron gate and spun his eyes over
Rita's body.
''That depends on you,'' he smirked.
Rita called him a name that made
all the boy's companions laugh.
Then she minced away... with
Shirley toddling proudly after.
Into the adult man's world
....of the farmers' market.
Chapter Five: The farmers' Market
Of course, there was a bar... where the cider flowed like a
wolf whistle .....down gullets and into the over-stretched
stomachs of magenta-faced farmers, far into the night.
Rita crawled to the back side of the bright white tent
with the overweaned ambition - of an eager 14-year
old's ego. She opened her legs and scratched her
knickers, knowing this would be appreciated by
the drunken boyos inside... as the tent's flaps
were raised to let in a cooling fresh breeze.
''Look!'' --- whispered an elderly stockman to his young
companion.... who looked. Shocked and drawn to the
rare sight of a young ladies privates being disclosed
the young man sprawled across the gap - then slap!
He heard the struggle - saw the girl hoisted - and
returned to his seat in a quick scuttle. Mrs Ward
appeared ....staring at him with what felt like a
fatal contempt. He lowered his eyes.
Back in King Street, the elderly couple talked on and
off, into the night. Silence, dark and thick ....stained
the girls' room upstairs.
''This girl is just ---- too much,'' Mrs Ward concluded.
''Yes... I believe you know best, dear,'' said Aneirin.
''I propose that we write to the girls parents and tell
them that we can no longer manage the two girls
and that it would be best if we look after Mary
and that - sadly - Rita will have to return to
her address in Woolwich.''
''Woolwich, is now bombed most, dear,'' said Aneirin
gently. ''Because that London government ...hides
its munition factories amongst ordinary people.''
He knew Rhiannonon's views on politics, and held
his breath, waiting, looking at a calender on the
- by now.... dark yellow kitchen wall.
''I cannot help where her parents choose
to live, can I!'' his spouse snapped.
So it was settled. The two girls kissed and hugged
each other and cried. Especially little Mary, who
tried to give her Teddy to Rita as a keepsake,
then shrank back into the cold house on
King Street, Carmarthen.
The London trains were still regular because of the
Ireland connection, and, to Rita, the journey was
short. When her mother met her at Waterloo...
all was forgiven, and her parents both gave
the outraged maiden all the soothing
they could muster.
''Bloody communists - all of those rough
Welsh,'' her mother muttered, grimly.
Her father grinned, as usual. ''I expect they did
their best, so we could forgive them for that,''
he exclaimed, lighting his pipe - then fast-
skipped out ---- onto the porch.
But Rita ...would never forgave the Wards.
Or the Welsh.
Chapter Five: late!
Rita - and the war is over - is 18 now, and asks
her dad if he minds if she goes on a holiday.
Fred, her dad, is a man of wide cracking smiles
who never crosses his wife. It was she, who
got him through his nervous breakdown in
the '30s, when he could easily have been
cold-showered and electric shocked in a
place where professional detachment --
was a useful, scientific sounding way
of dealing with those who had hearts
broken by the mass unemployment
of the inter-war decades.
But Minnie had found him a generous
soul in London with more humanity -
who let him alone to grow a beard
and hair down to his shoulders....
until doctor rest and doctor time
....had let him cure himself.
Minnie then taught Fred to design, cut
and stitch clothes..... until he grew so
good at it that he now subcontracted
to a top Saville Row outlet.
''Of course you can, love'' --- and he
laughed. ''Don't worry about your
mother..'' he winked, ''she'll say
ok to it.'' He was still laughing
as Rita hugged him.
The Isle of Sark had been liberated
from the nazis, and the cliffs soar
was intoxicating .....as the ferry
slowed at the plain wooden
jetty and Rita looked for
the hotel sign.
An unofficial taxi drove her the short
distance... and refused her offer of
money, so she finally turned with
a swirl, into the hotel lobby.
By now, Rita had a figure as voluptuous
as any Hollywood star ---- and the desk
clerk's adams apple wobbled, as his
throat dried ...and contracted.
''Here's your key. Miss....'' he managed
and watched Rita's hips sway, as
she smiled inwardly.
''Boy oh boy,'' she murmered... ''Am I
going to have a real fun time here!''
There he was. On the corner. An Italian
suit and a thin dark moustache. Black
hair slicked back, carefully shod.
Rita swanned towards him then quickly
turned. He caught her arm. ''That was
a great approach,'' he grinned -- his
teeth white as the cigarette held
out to her.
Rita giggled and placed the cigarette
between her lips. ''Fancy a drink?''
Emrys clipped his silvered case
shut and waited. ''You're fast''
- said Rita, tartly.
''Come on. The pub round the corner
does great food - it'll be my treat.''
That night Rita laughed and drank
and ate ....and laughed and drank.
She gasped - as he entered her in
her room, later... her womb throb
suckling madly, feeling his slim
muscles on her, everywhere -
and cried out.
A cigarette - senior service - and
she spoke. ''Well -- you've a way
with you!'' She laughed. Emrys
nodded. Took a drag... blew
smoke from his mouth,
and said softly.. ''I'm
known as a bit of a
ram, where I live.''
Rita was tempted to ask, ''what bit
is that then?'' but dared not break
the magic.
She moved her fingers around him
and pulled him towards her.
''Again,'' she whispered.
Three months later, Emrys got a letter.
Basildon Bond. Perfume. The letter
was from Rita and told him that
she was pregnant.
It was 1946.
