A Sixpenny Christmas (44 page)

‘Shan’t,’ Lana said with a cheeky grin. ‘It’s my life, and I’ll do what I want to with it. I’m going to train to
be a hill farmer’s wife.’ She sobered, suddenly. ‘You think I can’t do it, but I’ll surprise you yet.’

The two girls were in the hospital waiting room, which was deserted save for themselves. The doctor in charge of Rhys’s case had impressed upon them that it was important his patient should not grow anxious or excited, which meant he was allowed only two visitors at a time. When Molly and Ellen left the ward, therefore, Nonny and Lana took their place, sometimes only for ten minutes, and then they all returned to Bethel Street. Now, Molly and Ellen entered the waiting room, both looking fagged to death. Molly gave a huge yawn. ‘He’s sleepy, and not inclined to talk or, I suspect, to listen,’ she announced. ‘I’ve passed on all the messages from Chris about how he and Rhodri, old Mr Williams, Nat and Jacob are managing, but though he nodded and even smiled I doubt if he took much in. You’d better not stay very long, so we’ll wait for you in here.’

‘Right,’ Nonny said quietly. ‘Have you told him about Auntie Ellen helping out at weekends? And that kind Mr Taplow doing the same? People are so good; neighbours from as far away as Beddgelert have promised to help when the ewes start lambing. But Auntie Ellen and Mr Taplow spend half their lives travelling between Bethel Street and Cefn Farm, which isn’t fair on them; don’t you agree, Mum?’

Molly smiled. ‘I agree, but right now I’ll accept help from anyone,’ she admitted. ‘We’ll just have to see how we go. Rhodri and Chris get their heads together every now and then and parcel out the work, but of course whilst Mr Pritchard is so poorly . . .’

Ellen broke in, her face flushing. ‘He can’t still be in
shock, can he?’ she said rather impatiently. ‘It’s four whole weeks since Christmas Day; surely he realises the load he’s putting on his son? He could at least get them both a meal and make up the fire when it begins to burn low. I think he should be told to pull himself together.’

Molly patted her friend’s arm. ‘I don’t think he can; pull himself together, I mean,’ she said quietly. ‘I think he’s simply given up and is waiting to die. He and his wife went to school together, have known each other all their lives . . . but it’s no use talking. We’ll just have to wait and see.’

Nonny nodded. ‘You’re right, Mum. Rhodri says the same, and he should know.’

‘Well, I guess you know best,’ Ellen said, sinking into a chair. ‘Hurry up, you two. I’m dying for a cup of tea and my bed.’

After her mother’s words Nonny expected her father to be almost asleep, and so he was, but he still managed to give the girls a small and weary smile. ‘How’s it going?’ he whispered. ‘When your mum left just now, Nonny, I suddenly remembered I’d not asked after the Pritchards. I pulled myself up on my elbow, and was about to call Molly back when I felt a jab of pain in my right foot.’ He grinned palely at them, ‘I was so surprised I forgot to call out, but you must tell Mum because I’ve had no feeling in either leg until now.’

‘Oh, Dad, that’s wonderful,’ Nonny breathed. ‘I’ll tell Mum as soon I see her; she and Auntie Ellen are in the waiting room, so we can all go home together. Oh, this must be the beginning of you getting better, I’m sure of it.’ She bent over Rhys and kissed his forehead, then backed away from the bed, her expressive blue eyes full
of tears, but she said nothing until they had left the ward and her father behind them. ‘Isn’t it awful to be glad about pain?’ she said as they turned towards the waiting room. ‘Oh, Lana if only this really is the beginning of Dad getting better, how wonderful that would be!’

When they reached the waiting room they shared their news with Molly and Ellen and Nonny was delighted when she saw the breathless pleasure on her mother’s face. ‘I know your father and he’ll suffer any amount of pain if only he can walk again one of these days,’ Molly said. ‘Even if he can only oversee the work done by others that would satisfy him, for a while at least.’ She gave her daughter an impulsive hug, then pointed to the coats and scarves which the two girls had abandoned when they entered the warm hospital. ‘Get yourself dressed in your cold weather gear and we’ll all get home to Bethel Street as soon as possible. You girls will be making an early start in the morning to go back to the farm so that Chris can come and see his father. It’s good to see how Rhys’s eyes light up when they fall on him. He’s interested in every detail Chris can give him and keeps impressing upon us that we can employ a couple more men if necessary and pay them out of our savings. Though people have been so good that we’ve not needed to do so as yet.’

Warmly dressed, the four women set off for the tram stop. It was bitterly cold and there was snow on the wind, but Nonny knew it would be even colder in Snowdonia, knew that Chris and Rhodri would be anxiously checking on the ewes, for sometimes despite the farmers’ best efforts a ewe would lamb early, putting herself and her offspring at risk. Nonny longed to be
back at the farm, yet in a way she dreaded it. If only Chris had been able to remain with her she would have been quite confident, would have enjoyed the challenge in fact, but her arrival meant that Chris would climb into the jeep and drive off to Liverpool, not returning until the next day. They would then spend a couple of days together whilst Molly, Ellen and Mr Taplow held the fort in Bethel Street, and then Nonny and Lana would return once more by public transport back to Bethel Street.

If only the fact that Rhys had felt pain in his foot meant something! It was all very well saying that time would tell, but time was not on their side. Once lambing started, farmers who had given their help generously would have problems of their own to face. Before then, Nonny told herself, we’ve got to get sorted out. There’s poor Rhodri, his father a burden now instead of a help, doing his best by working twenty-four hours a day and eking out his savings by employing a fairly useless lad to see to the cows and hens, keep Cae Hic warm and cook the food with which kindly neighbours supplied him. At least the lad’s presence ensured that Mr Pritchard did not freeze, and he would have been fed as well had he eaten what was presented to him. Nonny had known the old man too long to think that he realised what a burden he was to his son, and she understood that there was nothing anyone could do until Dafydd Pritchard recovered from the death of his wife.

The tram rumbled up beside them and they climbed aboard, Nonny’s mind still fixed on the problems which would face her next day, whilst Lana chatted about boys, clothes and dances.

Once back in the house Nonny was thankful to climb
into bed, remembering to wind her alarm, for she and Lana had to set off before it was light the next morning in order to reach the farm by mid-afternoon. Drowsily, Nonny went over in her mind the things she had to do before she abandoned civilisation and returned to the wilds, though even the thought made her chuckle. It was how Auntie Ellen had thought of the farm in the early days, before she had visited them so often that she had grown accustomed to the conditions there. Downstairs, in the kitchen, were two large haversacks packed with food: Auntie Ellen’s contribution to the next few days, because Nonny and Lana would be too busy seeing to the flock and the other animals to start baking. In addition there were clean clothes for Chris and some for themselves, though most of theirs she and Lana would wear on their backs.

What else? What else? Nonny’s tired mind said. She was bound to forget something, to remember it only as she and Lana climbed aboard the train which would take them on the first leg of their journey. Nonny sighed deeply, heard Lana begin to give little purring snores, and slid into slumber.

It was early April and Rhys was beginning to grow impatient, both with the hospital and with his own inability to force his legs to walk, when the surgeon asked for an interview with Rhys and Molly.

He took them along to Sister’s room, sat them down, and spoke to them seriously. ‘Mr and Mrs Roberts, what I’m about to say will come as a shock to you, but once you have thought it over I trust it will not be an unpleasant one.’ He was a tall lean man with sandy hair,
a pair of tiny gold-rimmed glasses and an understanding smile, and now he pushed his spectacles further down his nose so that he could look at Molly and Rhys over the top of them. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell you that you’ll never walk again; that, Mr Roberts, is in the lap of the gods. What I am going to tell you, however, is that unless you take my advice you almost certainly will see little improvement. In fact you may deteriorate quite sharply.’

Rhys opened his mouth to speak at the same moment as Molly, but Mr Callahan hushed them peremptorily. ‘Let me finish, if you please. The fact is that despite every effort we have made you are already struggling against osteoarthritis, and if you were to return to Snowdonia where the winters are so harsh and the summers usually so wet I’m telling you now that your condition will worsen. But if you and your wife make up your minds to live in a more congenial climate, then I have every hope, if not of a complete recovery, at least of an easing of the pain. I truly think that though you may always have to employ crutches you will walk again. But not, I fear, if you remain at Cefn Farm.’

Rhys stared at him, his face gradually paling. ‘But how could we possibly buy another farm? And all I know is hill farming anyway,’ he pointed out. ‘You aren’t suggesting I should become a clerk of some description, I trust? Because I simply couldn’t do it. No one would employ me, would they, Molly?’ He turned appealingly to his wife. ‘Since I left the Royal Air Force after the war I’ve always farmed, and I always will. What other option is open to me?’

Mr Callahan smiled and patted Rhys’s shoulder. ‘I
have a brother who practises in Sydney – Australia, you know. I telephone him once a month and write often, but lately we have been in almost constant touch, with your problem, Mr Roberts, very much in mind, and I can assure you that if you go to Australia there will be employment for both of you on what they call a sheep station. You would be well paid to manage the place, and Mrs Roberts would be paid to cook and clean and so on for the station hands. Apparently the farm in question is owned by an old lady who does not want to sell it and does not intend to see it fall into disrepair. It has been in her family for many years, but she is the last surviving O’Rorke and can no longer cope. She has had managers but they have not been satisfactory, so she mentioned the matter to my brother and asked him if he knew of a suitable couple who might take over. But as far as I am concerned, the climate is what matters most. It is hot during the summer, warm during the winter and very very dry, save for perhaps a month of rain around July and August. It is the very thing for you, I promise you, if only you can bring yourself to leave your beloved Snowdonia, at least for long enough to give it a try. I believe you would be almost pain free from the moment of landing in New South Wales; isn’t that an inducement to follow my advice?’

Molly heaved a sigh; every time she thought of the winters they had endured at Cefn Farm she had wondered how Rhys would cope, for she had noticed, when she pushed him out for a little walk in his wheelchair, how even the relative coolness of the air outside the hospital had made him shiver and demand more blankets and another pair of socks. She and Chris had discussed trying
to sell up at Cefn Farm in order to move down to the west country, but they had dismissed the idea as not being practical. Property in the west country was more expensive and acreages far smaller than in the Welsh mountains. She looked from Rhys to the surgeon.

‘I’ve been thinking about it too,’ she admitted, carefully avoiding her husband’s eyes. ‘I think I realised that Rhys would not be able to manage our acres, many of which are difficult to access for a healthy man with uninjured legs. But we must have time, Mr Callahan. Will it be all right if we go home as planned in a couple of weeks and discuss it with our family? You see, this way we shan’t have to sell up because from what you’ve said we would be paid in Australia and would not have to touch our savings. That would mean that our children could still keep Cefn Farm, though it would be very hard for them without their father and myself to advise them and help with the work. Will Mrs O’Rorke mind if we neither accept nor reject her offer for two or three weeks?’

Mr Callahan gripped Rhys’s shoulder once more. ‘She knows very well that an important decision such as the one you would need to make will take time,’ he said. He smiled at Molly. ‘Perhaps it’s hardest of all for you, Mrs Roberts, to leave your home and your children . . . everything you know and love, in fact. But it’s not as though you’ll simply be a wife, waiting for your husband to come in each evening. You will have an important job, staff to do as you tell them and a very good salary. And of course all the excitement of a new country, new friends and so on.’

‘We’ll have to think about it,’ Molly said again. ‘We will have a family conference as soon as Rhys and I return
home. We should be able to give you a decision say in three weeks.’

Mr Callahan nodded and handed Rhys a sheaf of papers. ‘There are photographs of the sheep station – they call them stations not farms in the outback – and a great deal of information regarding accommodation, conditions, the jackaroos – that’s their term for farm workers – and so on. Read it whenever you’ve got a moment, and remember, you are not being offered a one way ticket. If you hate it, and your health does not improve, then you can come home.’ He held out a hand first to Rhys and then to Molly. ‘Good luck! It takes a great deal of courage to change your lifestyle, but I have faith in your ability to do so.’

It was May, and Rhys’s first day at home since the accident, and the whole family – and that included Ellen, Lana, Mr Taplow and Rhodri Pritchard – almost filled Cefn Farm’s kitchen. Every face wore a beaming smile, though Rhys could not help noticing that Rhodri looked pale and strained, for it had only been a short while since the lad had come into the kitchen after a hard day’s work to find his father apparently asleep, huddled up in his chair, pulled close to the fire. Rhodri had crossed the room and said cheerfully: ‘Goodness, Dad, asleep already? It’s not yet five o’clock.’