Winners and Losers (11 page)

‘I can't control the press, Luke.'

‘You can't control any bloody thing, Billy!' Luke exclaimed. ‘You and your strike committee allowed management to bring in men to do “essential maintenance” And look what's happened? The bastard blacklegs are doing us out of our jobs by cutting coal.'

‘Abel said he was only cutting coal to fuel the engines that drive the pumps.' Following his father's example, Victor lowered his voice in an attempt to defuse Luke's anger.

‘Abel's a bloody liar,' bellowed one of Luke's men.

‘The more we cave in to management's demands, the more unreasonable they tell the world we are,' Luke raged. ‘Leonard Llewellyn goes down to feed the horses and rescue a stray cat and he gets hailed as a hero -'

‘We have to keep talking to management and we have to work with them to ensure the pits remain in good condition,' Billy countered firmly. ‘And that means allowing men in to do essential maintenance.'

‘Why?' Luke demanded. ‘The more work management's bloody blackleg lackeys do, the less urgency there'll be for the owners to negotiate with us. We want an end to this strike. The men are sick of it.'

‘We are all sick of it.' Lloyd's patience was at an end, particularly with Joey after hearing Victor's account of the part he'd played on Luke's unofficial picket line that morning. ‘But we have to allow overmen and firemen in to do essential maintenance or the pits will flood.'

‘And their idea of essential maintenance is to set the blacklegs to cut coal,' Luke bit back.

‘I'll set up another meeting with management -'

‘The time for talking is over, Billy,' Luke roared, oblivious to the men around him glancing over their shoulders towards the doorway.

‘Joseph James Evans.'

Joey took one look at Sergeant Martin flanked by a dozen constables and didn't attempt to deny his identity. ‘Yes.'

‘Luke Matthew Thomas?'

‘Who wants to know?' Luke retorted belligerently.

‘The law,' Sergeant Martin barked.

‘I'm Luke Thomas, so go on, arrest me,' Luke challenged. Folding his arms across his chest, he glared defiantly at the sergeant and the officers ranged behind him.

‘All in good time.' The sergeant turned to Victor.

‘Victor Sebastian Evans?'

Victor cringed as he always did whenever he heard his full name. Grateful, nevertheless, that his father had persuaded his mother to relegate Sebastian to his second name, he answered, ‘Yes.'

‘I am arresting all three of you on the charge of intimidating officials employed by the Glamorgan Colliery with the intent of preventing them from carrying out their lawful employment. If you gentlemen would come with me.'

‘The hell we will,' Luke shouted to the cheers of his supporters.

The sergeant moved close to Luke and murmured, ‘There are two ways of doing this,
Mr
Thomas. You can come along quietly and calmly of your own free will, or we can make you.'

Billy nodded to Victor and Joey. ‘Go. I'll get the Federation solicitor to the police station as soon as I can.'

Lloyd clenched his fists until his finger joints showed white, but he watched impassively while the sergeant and his escort marched Victor, Joey and Luke out through the door.

‘Abel's a reasonable man. I'll have a word with him and see if I can get him to drop the charges.' Billy ran his hands through his thick grey hair.

‘It won't do any good.' Lloyd went to the door, and watched the police push his brothers and Luke Thomas through a crowd who cheered the prisoners and spat on the officers. ‘I doubt that it's Abel and the Winter boys who are bringing the charges. It's management, and they've primed the police to do their dirty work for them. They are going for the easy targets first and loud-mouthed idiots like Luke are a gift.'

‘And your brothers? Are you saying that they are out of control?'

‘They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.' Lloyd looked his father in the eye. ‘You do realize that no matter how hard every member of the strike committee tries to live by the letter of the law, we'll be the next to be arrested. And, if they've made a list, you can bet your last farthing that you and I are at the top.'

Chapter Six

It took an hour and a half of Lena's and Megan's time to clean the bedroom to Megan's satisfaction. When they finished, the china toilet sets and marble surfaces of the washstands gleamed, as did the furniture Megan had asked Lena to polish with beeswax. The beds were made with fresh linen. The toilet jugs held clean water and Lena had laid out the men's shaving apparatus neatly next to the shaving mugs on the washstands. The room was icy but the nauseating stench had dissipated.

Megan picked up the brush, dustpan and cleaning cloths. She left them on the landing while she and Lena lugged the heavy slop pails downstairs and emptied them down the toilet in the yard. They returned upstairs with clean water and Megan consulted the list. But after two months in the lodging house Lena knew the routine by heart.

‘Sergeant Martin's room is next. All we have to do then is make the beds and tidy the others in between the officers' shifts.' Lena opened the door next to the room they had cleaned. To Megan's relief it held a single bed and, in comparison with the first room, it was pristine.

The sheets and blankets had been folded back to the foot of the bed to air it, and although the linen was down for changing, it was unstained. The chamber pot was mercifully empty, and even the washstand didn't need more than a quick wipe down to mop up water splashes. A shaving mug, cut-throat razor, nail brush, boxed set of tortoiseshell hair brushes, jar of pomade, toothbrush, glass and toothpowder, soap in a clean dish, manicure set and large bottle of cologne were arranged with regimental precision on the marble surface next to the toilet set.

The slop pail held dirty washing water, the bowl had been wiped out, the linen bag that hung on the-door knob outside the wardrobe was full of neatly folded clothes for the laundry. Megan looked around; unlike the other room there wasn't a single photograph, letter or even magazine to be seen.

‘The sergeant's a tidy man,' Lena commented superfluously.

‘So I see.'

‘It usually takes Mrs Palmer and me less than half an hour to do his room.'

‘What about the other rooms?' Megan wanted to know exactly what she had let herself in for.

‘The rooms with the most beds are the worst. Friday and Saturday we clean the big rooms on the next floor. They each sleep eight in four double beds. It's a lot of work to get them straight.'

‘Are there any others like this with just one bed?' Megan asked hopefully.

‘Only Sergeant Lamb's. He's not as tidy as Sergeant Martin, but his room isn't as bad as the one we've just cleaned. Apart from the two largest and the sergeants' rooms, there are five that sleep six and one that sleeps two, but those two are real mucky pups.'

‘Then it's just as well we don't have to do the laundry as well.' Megan stripped the sheets from the bed and set about remaking it. She couldn't help feeling there was something odd about a man who laid out his possessions in such a precise order. Sergeant Martin clearly liked everything in its allotted place and she wondered about his personal life, or even if he had one. She tried to guess his age –thirty or perhaps thirty-five? And there was no evidence of a wife, family or even girlfriend. Given the way he had looked at her, that made her feel more uneasy about him than ever.

‘You've had a long day, Mrs Jones, and from the news we've heard, there's worse waiting for you at home. There's no need for you to come back after you've picked Harry up from school.' Father Kelly took the ladle from Sali, and her place behind the tureen. He carried on filling a row of enamel jugs with soup destined for the families who preferred to eat together at home and bought them from the kitchen for sixpence.

Trying not to think about what was happening to Joey and Victor in the police station, Sali murmured, ‘I know I don't, but I will.' She slipped on her coat.

‘Go on with you now, you look as tired as I feel.'

‘We'll all have a good sleep ...'

‘Don't tell me, after the strike is over. You know, I've heard that phrase so often lately I've set it to music.' He took a deep breath and sang out to the tune of ‘After the Ball is Over' in his booming baritone, ‘After the strike is over, after the strife is done, many a head that's broken ...'

‘What comes next?' Sali asked when he stopped.

‘I have no idea. I haven't worked it out yet. Take care in the streets now,' he shouted after her.

Sali left the hall. It was three o'clock in the afternoon but twilight had fallen early, greying the streets and casting shadows over the rain-spattered terraces. She looked to the gate and looked again.

‘Lloyd, am I glad to see you.' She hadn't realized how exhausted she was until she fell into his strong arms. ‘Father Kelly told me that Joey and Victor have been arrested. I thought you'd be at the police station.'

‘I knew you'd be worried if the news had reached here. My father didn't want me to wait in the police station with him because he thought it might make the situation worse. He's hoping that one member of the strike committee will be tolerated where more would be seen as a threat.'

‘Father Kelly said the union solicitor was going to the police station. Will he be able to clear things up?'

‘Frankly, no.' Lloyd tilted his umbrella over her head as a sudden shower driven by a bitter squall of wind gusted down the mountain. ‘I was there when they were arrested. The charge is intimidation, and both of them were with Luke Thomas and his cronies when they threatened and turned back men who were trying to get to the pit to man the pumps. They'll have to go to trial.'

‘I'm sorry, Lloyd.' She drew closer to him.

‘Not as sorry as I am. I can understand Joey getting mixed up in trouble, he always acts before he gets his brain in gear –but Victor?' He shook his head. ‘He usually walks away from the likes of Luke Thomas.'

‘Perhaps he was trying to protect Joey.'

‘That would be just like him.' He folded her hand into the crook of his elbow and caressed her gloved fingers. ‘You're not the only one who has heard gossip. I met Beryl Richards in Dunraven Street. She told me what happened this morning.'

‘It was horrible. Oh, Lloyd, that poor woman ...' The moment Sali reached the soup kitchen she had been besieged by volunteers and customers who'd demanded her undivided attention. They hadn't given her a minute to think about the Hardys. Lloyd's reminder conjured the tragedy anew. An image of Mark Hardy's face, contorted with hatred, came to mind and she shuddered from more than cold.

‘She also told me what Mark Hardy said to you.'

‘He was out of his mind with grief.' Sali was glad it was raining so Lloyd couldn't see her tears.

‘He was out of his mind with drink when I last saw him,' Lloyd commented caustically. ‘God only knows where the money came from but he could barely stand upright.'

‘I can't blame him. Can you imagine what it must be like to lose two children and the person you love most in the world? You've no idea how glad I was to see you waiting at the gate for me just now.'

‘After what's happened to Joey and Victor, believe me, I needed to see you more, sweetheart,' he said fervently.

‘I wish I could do something for them.'

‘My father's doing all that can be done so there's no point in us talking about it. The weather's foul and it's cold so I thought we'd go wild and use some of the coal Victor dug out of the drift to light the stove early and you can make us a mutton stew. Joey and Victor will be glad of it. It's freezing in the police cells.'

‘You sound as though you're speaking from experience.'

‘Joey's experience. He was blue with cold after he spent the night there for drunk and disorderly when he was sixteen.' He gave a grim smile. ‘But my father soon warmed him when he got home.'

‘I can make a vegetable stew. We haven't any mutton.'

‘We have.'

She was horror struck. ‘Lloyd, you didn't -'

‘I haven't enticed a sheep from the mountain inside the house and chopped its head off in the basement, if that's what you're thinking.' Neither of them laughed. Since the onset of the strike, sheep stealing had taken over from drunkenness as the most common crime in the valleys. ‘The farmer brought a leg of mutton down to the house this afternoon. He said he owed it to Victor for shoeing his horses and fixing his wagon.'

‘I have to go back to the kitchen after I've picked up Harry. Our busiest time is between four and six.' Sali had never been so tempted to let Father Kelly down. The thought of making a stew in front of a warm fire with Lloyd, Harry and the rest of the family sitting around the table, reading, talking –but more likely arguing politics –made her long for the calmer days before the strike.

‘I could take Harry home and prepare the vegetables. Then when you come back from the kitchen we can have a cosy evening by the fire and discuss our wedding. And don't say that it's the wrong time for a celebration.' He second-guessed what she was about to say. ‘We need all the good times we can get, especially at the moment.'

‘You know why I don't want to talk about our wedding just yet.'

‘Sali -'

‘But if you light the stove as soon as you get home with Harry, it will be warm enough to make a cake. I think we've enough flour and a spare egg for a fatless sponge. Joey and Victor will be back from the police station with your father, won't they?'

‘That will depend on the success the solicitor has in reasoning with the police. From what I saw of them today, they didn't seem to be in a particularly reasonable mood.'

‘Lloyd -'

‘As I said, there's no point in discussing things that can't be changed. Here,' he handed her his umbrella, ‘you take that with you when you walk back to the Catholic Hall. I'll tuck Harry under my coat. And here's my boy.' Lloyd stepped forward and swung Harry off his feet as he raced across the yard through the rain towards them.

‘You beat up any policemen today, Uncle Lloyd?' Harry asked cheerfully.

‘Wherever did you get the idea that I beat up policemen?' Lloyd was shocked both by the question and Harry's assumption that it was something that he'd do.

‘Bertie Thomas. He said his dad does it all the time and he's a striker like you. His mam doesn't like it but his dad says she has to lump it.'

Lloyd exchanged troubled glances with Sali. Bertie Thomas was Luke's son. ‘Well, I'm a striker and like most law-abiding strikers I don't beat up anyone. Come under my coat?'

‘No, it doesn't matter if I get wet, I'll soon dry.'

Sali recalled that morning and decided not to ask Harry for a kiss. Men lived dangerously; women worried and picked up the pieces. Harry was learning his lessons in life early.

Billy Evans looked up apprehensively as the union solicitor, Geoffrey Francis, walked into the waiting area of Tonypandy police station. Geoffrey dropped his briefcase on to the chair next to Billy, draped his muffler around his neck and shook out his overcoat.

‘All three have been remanded in custody to appear at Porth magistrates court in the morning.'

‘There's no chance of getting them out tonight?'

‘None, Billy. But your boys are both of good character and Father Kelly's offered to speak for them, so I shouldn't have too much trouble getting them bail pending a full trial, which probably won't be held for a couple of months.'

‘Will the court want a surety?' Billy thought of his empty bank account. For the hundredth time since the strike had started he wished he hadn't bought that last house. It was hard trying to live on their combined strike pay.

‘You have property.'

‘For what it's worth,' Billy replied acidly.

‘Offer the deeds as security. The court might take it as proof that the boys aren't going anywhere.'

‘Can I see them?'

Geoffrey shrugged on his cashmere overcoat. ‘I asked. Permission's been refused. But I spoke to them. They're all right.'

‘And the case against them?'

‘The police say they have witnesses but I doubt they'll produce them before the full trial. I'll see you in court tomorrow. Get there early or you won't have a seat. But whatever else you do, tell your union men to stay away from Abel Adams and the Winter boys. The last thing we need is any more accusations of harassment or intimidation.'

At eight o'clock, Megan was exhausted. Her legs ached from running up and down the four flights of stairs in the lodging house. She had dusted, swept, polished, scrubbed, washed, cleaned and waited at the table until all she could think about was bed. Even the narrow hard bed in the attic next to Lena's seemed like the ultimate luxury, but there was one final sitting of supper to go.

Joyce saw Megan rubbing the calf muscles in her legs. ‘As soon as you've served the pie, your time's your own until five o'clock tomorrow morning. Considering it's your first day, you've done well.'

Too weary to talk, Megan nodded.

‘Go into the dining room and check that Lena's laid the table properly. I'll be along with the pies in a moment.'

Megan rose from the chair and went into the lodgers' dining room, a large wood-panelled room, with a long table that would seat twenty-five at a push, although with three sittings for every meal there were rarely more than twenty at the table at any one time. There was one person in the room now –Sergeant Martin, who was standing with his back to her, staring down into the fire. He turned as she entered.

‘How did your first day go, Miss Williams?'

‘Fine, sir.' There was no sign of Lena but the table had been laid incorrectly with all the knives on the left and the forks on the right. Megan set about swapping them over.

‘Then it sounds as though you had a better day than your young man. That
was
your young man I saw you with this morning?' he enquired.