A Sixpenny Christmas (33 page)

Nonny was not the only one who cried on that first night of separation. Molly had told herself over and over that they were doing the right thing, but she had never allowed herself to envisage the time when her darling would no longer consider Cefn Farm her home. Now, however, it seemed that not only Nonny but Chris as well was stretching his wings, preparing to leave the nest. That very day he had rung home, full of excitement, to tell his parents that he was one of only three students who had been offered what he considered a wonderful opportunity. Last term’s exam results had been so good and his work at the college’s farm so exemplary that he had been offered what the principal had called ‘an exchange’. He and two of his classmates were to go for a year to a large farm in Canada, where the most modern methods were being tested. They would attend a similar college to the one they had left behind two days a week, but the rest of the
time they would work on the farm itself, taking part in the trials and being paid a proper wage.

When Rhys had told her what had kept him on the phone for so long, Molly had seen how his eyes had gleamed with pride and pleasure, and knew that she could not possibly point out how very overstretched they would be without Chris’s help during his long holidays from the college. Rhys was saying that he had heard of such things as exchange visits, bursaries and the like, but had never dreamed that his son would be fortunate enough – nay, clever enough – to win one. He had beamed across at Molly, certain that she would share his feelings, never thinking for a moment that her more practical mind saw that for Cefn Farm the loss of Chris for a whole year could be a mortal blow. Nevertheless, she accepted that Chris must seize this opportunity; it would never come again, such things were a once in a lifetime event. So she had agreed with as much enthusiasm as she could muster to Rhys’s immediate acceptance of the plan, and waited for bedtime when they were both relaxed in the warmth of their blankets to point out, as gently as she could, that this wonderful piece of luck for Chris posed a problem for the rest of the family. Nonny was a good girl but she did not have a man’s strength, and in any event would only be home in the college holidays herself. Rhys had enlarged the flock, keeping all last year’s ewe lambs, instead of selling half to market, and actually buying in more stock, and when the next gathering occurred they would need every man they could muster. But Rhys had thought this one out. ‘We’ll get a live-in farm worker, a young chap who’ll be willing to work for a small wage, his keep, and the experience we can give him. He can take
Chris’s room, and then at holiday times Nonny will simply move back into Cefn Farm and help as much as she can.’

Gradually, Molly began to come round to the idea, particularly since it meant that for a whole year, to all intents and purposes her son and Lana would have half a world between them. However, Chris did not leave for Canada until the spring, so she still had several months to guard her son from an unsuitable, if not dangerous, match. It had already been arranged that Ellen and Lana should join the Robertses for an old-fashioned country Christmas, and this would have to be carefully engineered. Molly smiled to herself. No mistletoe should be allowed to enter the house, any games played must not include ‘postman’s knock’, and sledging expeditions up into the mountains would only be permitted if she and Rhys were present to make sure that no funny business took place; in short no huggles, cuddles or similar signs of affection were to be encouraged between two young people who might – just might – be brother and sister.

But these were thoughts which Molly could not share with anyone; thoughts that were best ignored unless there was some sign from either Lana or Chris that things were about to get serious. This had not happened yet and in her more optimistic moments Molly was sure she was worrying unduly. Chris was going away for a whole year; it seemed unlikely that Lana, the saucy little baggage, would be content to wait for a feller when she could take her pick amongst the throng of boys surrounding her. Molly smiled to herself and cuddled her goose feather pillow. Why, by the time Chris returned to Cefn Farm, Lana might be married, or if not married engaged to be so. Molly smiled, and slept, her worries forgotten.

Chapter Twelve

MOLLY HAD JUST
finished feeding the pigs when she heard bicycle tyres crunching over the ridged-up mud on the lane and guessed it must be Jones the post with their mail. Hurriedly she checked that the breeding sows were busily chomping away at the food she had just delivered, then set off across the yard to get back to the kitchen, wash her hands and face and greet Mr Jones.

She crossed to the sink, had a quick wash and was filling the kettle when Mr Jones banged on the door, then shot it open and entered the room. He was grinning. ‘Excited are you?’ he asked in a fatherly manner. ‘Your boy’s coming home any day now, ain’t he?’ He riffled through the letters in his bag, withdrew those addressed to Cefn Farm, handed them to Molly and then slung his bag down on the floor. ‘There’s a letter from him; going to open it first, Mrs Roberts dear?’

Molly laughed. ‘He’ll just be reminding me of his arrival time,’ she said gaily. ‘As you know, his course only lasted a year but he was offered an awfully well paid job to stay on at a dairy farm for a further six months. But that time is now up and nothing would make him put off coming home.’ She put the kettle on the stove, then went over to the pantry. ‘Tea or coffee, Mr Jones?’

Mr Jones opted for coffee and sat down with a satisfied sigh, taking the shortbread biscuit that Molly offered.
‘How’s young Nonny?’ he enquired genially. ‘A fine girl, that. Good as a man with the stock, she is. Oh aye, she’ll make some farmer a grand wife one of these days.’

Molly murmured non-committally, and opened Chris’s letter. As she had guessed it was simply a reminder that he would expect to see their smiling faces waiting on the quayside when his ship docked in a week’s time. But Mr Jones, having waited courteously whilst she read it, was talking once more. ‘You’ll have missed the boy sore, that I know from the way me and the missus felt when our Sion took off for Australia,’ he said. ‘But Rhys has told me how well your lad’s done, how he’ll be starting a dairy herd himself, as soon as he can get the right stock.’ He took another biscuit and popped it into his mouth, then blew the crumbs off his long white moustache. ‘A son to be proud of, he is.’

Molly smiled and nodded. She was proud of her son, the new skills he had learned, and equally proud of Nonny, who had come top in most of her examinations and had won the student of the year award, which meant a prize of ten whole pounds and a small cup upon which her name would be engraved. Lana also had passed her exams, doing pretty well all things considered. Nonny had stuck to her guns and kept outings of all sorts to a minimum, but Molly knew that Lana had jumped at every chance that was offered – like a fish to a fly, Chris had said – yet had still managed to get respectable grades. No one else could read her shorthand, not even Nonny, but since Lana read every word unerringly it did not seem to matter much. At any rate she got her one hundred words a minute diploma, as well as a good score in her typing exams, and Molly knew that Ellen was delighted
with her daughter and expected her to get work easily, for she was not only good at her job but a pretty, fashionable young woman whom most men would be happy to employ.

Now, Mr Jones took a big gulp of his coffee and smacked his lips. ‘Yes, your youngsters have done well. Last time I spoke to Nonny – she come into the post office for some stamps while I was there – she said she’d been offered a secretary’s job. I don’t know the details, of course, but I reckon it’ll keep her in Liverpool for a good while.’

Molly nodded. ‘Yes, but you know our Nonny, Mr Jones. She’s saving up as hard as she can and as soon as the farm can afford another worker she’ll be back. She’s never taken to city life and she’s still fancy free. She’s arranged to come home for her two weeks’ annual leave at Christmas because by then Chris will have settled in once more, and I think he and she have plans which they haven’t discussed with their father or me.’

Mr Jones tutted. ‘The young, the young,’ he murmured. ‘Think they know everything they does. When Sion come home last he pooh-poohed just about every word I uttered, told his mam I were just an old fogey still livin’ in the nineteenth century . . .’ he grinned toothily at Molly, ‘which, as I told him, I am – livin’ in the nineteenth century I mean.’

Molly laughed with him. She could remember being baffled as a young girl by the fact that the nineteen thirties were referred to as being in the twentieth century. However, before she could admit to her early puzzlement, Mr Jones was poking an inquisitive finger at her two remaining letters. ‘One of these is from Nonny; I
reckernise the writing. A good gal she is; reckon she writes a good fat letter to her old mum and dad a couple of times a week. Now tell me what’s happened to that other one, that girl what’s the same age as her . . . her mum’s Mrs O’Mara but I can’t recall the girl’s name to mind.’

‘Oh, you mean Lana,’ Molly said, and felt the familiar little jab of worry. ‘She’ll be coming here with her mum for Christmas, of course. Ellen and I take it in turns to spend Christmas at each other’s houses. Last year we went to Bethel Street but only for two days. Nat was still learning and couldn’t be left for long, but he’s more experienced now, Rhys says, and he’s well up to speed, which is lovely because it means we can leave him with Jacob whilst we both go to meet Chris’s ship.’

Mr Jones nodded wisely, then jerked a thumb at Nonny’s letter. ‘Longing to open that you’ll be; carry on while I sort out the letters for the Pritchards,’ he said generously, bending to retrieve his bag. Molly smiled to herself. Mr Jones, she knew, was as curious as a cat and must be longing to know whether Nonny’s letter contained news of a startling nature. She opened the envelope and scanned the pages; they were few, which was unusual for Nonny, who generally wrote reams. Molly read them at a gallop, so to speak, then turned to smile at the postman.

‘Nothing’s changed; Ellen will put Rhys and myself and Chris up for the couple of days we’ll be in Liverpool, though the girls will have to sleep on the put-you-up in the parlour so we can have their beds,’ she explained. ‘Chris will have the lodger’s bed; Mr Taplow is going to spend a week with relatives on the Wirral.’

Mr Jones raised an eyebrow. ‘Mrs O’Mara thinkin’ of remarryin?’ he asked hopefully.

Molly choked on a laugh. ‘You’re a real matchmaker, Mr Jones, but you’re way off beam this time,’ she assured him. ‘Mr Taplow’s nearly sixty and when a man’s been a bachelor for that long he’s not likely to change.’

The postman resettled his bag on his shoulder. ‘A pity it is to see a fine woman like Mrs O’Mara without a man,’ he said sadly. ‘But her first was a wrong ’un I seem to remember, so mebbe it’s once bitten, twice shy. Thanks for the coffee and shortbread, Mrs Roberts dear. See you tomorrow, likely.’

Once he had gone whistling off across the farmyard, heading up the lane towards the Pritchards’ place, Molly sat down again and pulled her half full cup of coffee towards her, giving another little smile as she did so. He had forgotten to wait and see whether Ellen’s letter contained anything of interest. He himself, of course, would have been the last person to admit to curiosity over someone else’s mail. He would have said, reproachfully, that all he wanted to know was that everything was well – and that is all he’ll ever learn from me, Molly told herself, opening the envelope and removing the letter. She began to read.

Dear Molly, I’m fair worried sick about my Lana. She’s got this young feller; handsome I grant you, but I’m not keen and nor would you be, Moll. The awful thing is, he reminds me of how Sam used to be years ago. This feller’s always boasting, a proper know-all, and I’d take a bet he’s a heavy drinker. I’ve warned her over and over, but there you are. I was just such a fool at her age and God knows my mum warned me often enough, and what notice did I take? Ah well, we all have to make our own mistakes, they say, and I suppose Lana is no different from her poor old mum. So you can imagine, I’ll be real glad to get her away from Liverpool and over to Cefn Farm this Christmas. She says if she can spare the time she’ll come down to the quayside to meet Chris off his ship, and she won’t bring the chap with her because I’ve told her it’s not on. Wish she was still head over heels in love with your Chris, but I dare say he’ll have changed a good deal. I’m longing to see you, our Moll, so you can advise me how best to discourage Lana from making a fatal mistake. Love, Ellen.

Molly did not know whether to smile or sigh over the letter. God knew she was keen to have Lana start chasing anyone but Chris. However, she knew it would break Ellen’s heart to see her beloved daughter in the thrall of the wrong young man, and she was so fond of Ellen that she hated the thought of her friend’s pain. But Lana was young, very pretty, and about to start working as a junior typist for a large insurance company. Ellen had not said how Lana knew the young man, and Molly just hoped that he did not work in the same office. She knew from her own experience that ‘out of sight, out of mind’ could be true, as was the reverse. Once Lana was in work, meeting lots of people and having very little spare time, she and this undesirable young man would probably drift apart. With luck, he might start carrying on with some other girl, and Molly knew Lana well enough to be certain she would not share. Lana rated herself highly, which in this instance was a good thing.

Molly got to her feet as she heard the men approaching
across the yard. She put the letters by her husband’s plate so that Rhys could read them while he ate his elevenses, then went over to the stove to make the big jug of coffee the men enjoyed. Next she would begin to prepare the noonday meal, planning all the while how best to welcome Chris home the following week. So much had happened since he left, she reminded herself. Rhys had been as good as his word and employed a young man named Nat for a small wage in return for the experience he would be getting, and though at first Rhys had grumbled that the boy cost them more in food than they paid him in wages he had begun to prove his worth when they had decided to build an extension. He and Jacob and Rhys between them had added two sturdy stone-built rooms to the farmhouse and Molly was looking forward to her son’s pleasurable excitement when he realised that he would have a bigger bedroom and, if he wished, his own sitting room too. Nat had already taken over Chris’s old room, and Nonny, of course, would remain in the little room under the eaves which she had always occupied.