Winners and Losers (15 page)

‘A whole ... flaming night in the police station, a five-hour wait in the court cells and all for two minutes in front of the magistrates. And even then we weren't allowed to say a single word in our defence,' Joey complained indignantly, tempering his language for Mr Francis' sake when he and Victor joined his father and the union solicitor outside the court.

‘It's not over yet, Joey. And it won't be until the jury bring in a verdict after a full trial in Pontypridd,' Geoffrey Francis cautioned him.

‘When will that be?' Billy asked.

‘My guess is not until after Christmas. February perhaps, or maybe March.'

‘About Lloyd ...' Billy had problems restraining his anger every time he thought of his eldest son's injuries.

‘They dropped the charges against him. He's been released.'

‘Dropped the charges! After what they did to him!'

‘Apparently they thought he'd thrown a brick that injured a Constable Lamb in Dunraven Street the night before last. When Gwyn Jenkins and another constable, Huw Davies from Pontypridd saw the charge sheet, they went to the duty sergeant and told him they'd seen Lloyd down the railway station at the time of the attack on Constable Lamb. Gwyn told me just now in the court that the doctor took Lloyd home half an hour ago.'

‘Unable to stand on his own two feet thanks to the beating -'

Geoffrey signalled to Billy to keep his voice down. He took his arm and led him down a side street away from the courthouse door. Victor and Joey followed. ‘You can't talk publicly about Lloyd being beaten because we can't prove that he was.'

‘Have you seen Lloyd?' Billy exclaimed in exasperation.

‘I saw him at the police station when I interviewed Victor, Joey and Luke. I also had a quiet word in the local sergeant's ear. The police won't be picking up anyone in your family or searching your house again for quite a while, Billy.'

‘Let me guess, on condition that I don't make any formal complaint about what they've done to Lloyd, Sali, or the damage they did to my house.'

‘If you do, you won't get anywhere,' Geoffrey warned. ‘The official version is that Lloyd fell down a flight of stone steps and, as the only witnesses are police officers, it's their combined word against his.'

‘So you're saying that the men appointed to uphold the law in this town can beat my son to a pulp, push my future daughter-in-law downstairs, steal my private papers and those of the strike committee and union, smash my belongings and wreck my house– '

‘The notebooks of the constables who arrested Lloyd state that he was aggressively drunk when they picked him up and they were forced to restrain him for their own and his safety.'

‘Lloyd stayed in last night and we haven't had any drink in the house since the strike started. He was walking Victor's girlfriend, Megan Williams, back to Joyce Palmer's when they arrested him. She'll swear to it -'

‘You really want her to do that, Billy, when she is working in the house the police lodge in?' Geoffrey broke in.

Billy looked to Victor, who shook his head.

‘We can't put Megan at risk.' Billy sighed in frustration. ‘Two people falling down the stairs in one night is bad enough. The last thing I want to see is Megan ending up like Sali and Lloyd.'

‘The police don't deny that Lloyd and Mrs Jones have suffered injuries, but they insist those injuries were the result of accidents. Without independent witnesses to either event, you don't need me to tell you which way that will go in court.'

‘And the ransacking of my house?'

‘Sergeant Lamb's story is that he was acting on information that men responsible for attacking his officers had been seen entering the premises.'

‘Information from who?' Billy demanded.

‘The police don't have to name their informers.'

‘And no doubt these attackers transformed themselves into letters and papers, which is why so many documents were taken from my house. Half the people in the street saw them being removed,' Billy said in disgust.

‘I'll see what I can do about getting them back for you, Billy.'

‘You do just that.' Billy turned to Victor and Joey. ‘It's time to go home.'

Victor thrust his hands into his coat pocket. He hadn't been able to get warm since he had been taken to the police station. ‘I'll call in to see Megan, to set her mind at rest.'

‘Be sure to use Joyce Palmer's back door and avoid her lodgers.' Billy glanced at Geoffrey Francis. ‘They may not all have been told that they're supposed to stop arresting us.'

Chapter Eight

Victor paid the conductor on the tram that ran from Porth to Tonypandy with two of the last four pennies he had in his pocket until the next strike pay day. From the outset of the dispute, he, Lloyd and Joey had handed over nine of the ten shillings they received every week to Sali for basic housekeeping expenses, which just about covered the cost of their food. The shilling he was left with made him feel as though he were a twelve-year-old apprentice on ‘pocket money' again, with one major difference. The shilling didn't go anywhere near as far as it had done thirteen years before.

As usual since the riots, Dunraven Street was full of police. Pulling his cap low and keeping his head down, he walked quickly until he reached the turn to the lane that ran behind the lodging house. Megan was standing outside the kitchen door, her back turned to him as she scraped leftovers into the pigswill bin. His breath caught in his throat as it did every time he saw her. She was so incredibly beautiful. Even though she'd agreed to marry him he still found it unbelievable to think that she could love him.

He continued to stand, mesmerized by the graceful curve of her neck, the rich red gold of the curls that escaped her calico work hat, the slim lines of her lithe body. She closed the bin, looked back and saw him.

‘Victor!' She ran towards him and flung her arms around his neck, grazing his cheek with the edge of the plate and fork she was holding. ‘I was so worried. Oh no! Look what I've done! There's gravy all down your overcoat.' She sprang back and set the plate and fork on the window sill.

‘It doesn't matter.' He pulled her towards him and kissed her.

‘You really are all right?' she asked, when he released her.

He caught her hands in his. ‘As you see.'

‘I was so afraid they'd put you in prison. That I wouldn't see you for months –or even years ...'

‘I can't promise that won't happen, love,' he said soberly. ‘Joey and I have to stand trial in Pontypridd. But Mr Francis thinks it won't be until after Christmas.'

‘And Lloyd? How is he? I saw Sergeant Martin arrest him last night and the milkman told us they're saying all over town that the police beat him up. Is that true? And Mrs Palmer heard this morning in Rodney's that the police pushed Sali downstairs last night when they raided your house. Was she pushed? Is she badly hurt?' Her questions tumbled out faster than he could answer them.

‘I haven't been home yet, so I haven't seen them. But according to my father, battered as they are, they'll both survive.' He gave her the only answer he dared, considering they were standing behind a house full of police officers who might be eavesdropping through open windows.

‘Mr Evans?' Joyce Palmer opened the kitchen door.

‘I know I shouldn't be here, Mrs Palmer. I only called to tell Megan that I'm free.' When she didn't respond, he added, ‘Megan didn't know I was coming and I was just about to leave.'

‘Before you do, may I suggest you ask Megan to wipe the gravy from the back of your overcoat before the stain sets,' Joyce advised.

‘The gravy!' Megan exclaimed. ‘I forgot.'

‘Everything by the look of it, Megan, including your manners.' The twinkle in Mrs Palmer's eyes belied her offhand tone. ‘Won't you come in, Mr Evans, so Megan can see to your coat?'

Victor went into the kitchen. Megan dumped the plate and fork next to the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes, picked up a clean tea towel, soaked it under the cold tap and sponged the back of his coat. ‘It's coming off.'

‘Thank you.' He couldn't help but smile at her. Even in her grey work dress, blue butcher's overall and cap she outshone the most beautiful variety stars he'd seen on stage in the Empire.

Joyce intercepted their look and frowned. ‘After what happened to your brother when he walked Megan home last night, it might be as well if you leave before any of the lodgers see you, Mr Evans.'

‘Have you decided which will be Megan's free afternoon, Mrs Palmer?' Victor asked.

Joyce pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Saturday afternoon would suit me because I make a cold dinner for the lodgers, which is less work than hot. I'll be able to manage without you, Megan, provided you help Lena give one of the big bedrooms a full clean in the morning as well as lay the fires and cover your normal duties.'

Megan glanced at Victor. When he nodded, she said ‘Saturday afternoon will be fine, Mrs Palmer.'

‘Your father was insistent that you should have time to go to chapel. So you will also be free from half past five to half past eight on Sunday evenings. And something tells me that smile isn't in anticipation of the sermons you'll be hearing.' Joyce turned to Victor. ‘Mr Evans?'

‘I am leaving now, Mrs Palmer.'

‘If Megan should happen to spend any of her free time with you, I'll trust you'll keep her –and yourself out of trouble.'

‘I've never gone looking for trouble, Mrs Palmer.'

‘Your family seems to be attracting it at the moment.'

‘Unfortunately. Bye, Megan, Mrs Palmer.' Victor stepped out of the door.

‘One more thing, Mr Evans.' Joyce stood on the back doorstep. ‘I spoke to Nurse Roberts' mother in Rodney's this morning. Tell your father that if he needs any help while your housekeeper is laid up, I'll be happy to do what I can.'

‘I'll do that, and thank you, Mrs Palmer.' Victor gave Megan one last quick conscious look through the window. As he turned to go, he saw to his annoyance, that Luke Thomas and a bunch of his cronies had gathered at the entrance to the lane.

‘Victor, just the man I want to see,' Luke said.

‘After the events of the last twenty-four hours, you're the last man
I
want to see.' Victor tried to push past.

‘Please.' Luke laid his hand on Victor's arm.

Victor shrugged it off and gave Luke a warning look. ‘Standing in the dock together doesn't make us friends.'

‘But it does give us a common problem. You do realize that if we're found guilty we'll be fined or sent to prison.'

‘Given that none of us is in a position to pay a fine, I'd say we'll be sent to prison or sent to prison. And I wonder whose fault that would be?' Victor finally allowed his anger with Luke to surface.

‘Come on, Victor, you were there.' Luke raised his voice for the benefit of the men around him. ‘We only did what we had to.'

‘You prevented essential workers from carrying out maintenance to keep the pit viable,' Victor said coldly.

‘I stopped blacklegs from taking our jobs.'

‘I have no intention of arguing with you about it. You see things one way, I see them another.' Victor closed the discussion.

‘You do support the strike, don't you?' Luke challenged.

‘Anyone say any different?' Victor questioned softly.

‘No!' Luke backed off. He wasn't a small man, but at five feet ten inches he was eight inches shorter than Victor.

‘Luke's only trying to say that if this strike lasts much longer, all of us will be queuing outside the workhouse door,' Ben Duckworth, a platelayer, who maintained the underground tracks for the coal trams chipped in.

‘The workhouse isn't big enough to house every miner's family in this valley.' Victor recited one of his father's maxims.

‘Either way, we could all do with a few bob.' Ben stepped close to Victor and whispered,. ‘Have you heard that the police and soldiers fancy they've a few boxers in their ranks?'

‘I've heard that there've been a couple of matches up the mountain,' Victor replied guardedly. At sixteen he'd been taller and stronger than most grown men. Encouraged by the blacksmith he'd been apprenticed to, he'd started training and fought half a dozen bare-knuckle boxing bouts. His father had been furious when he'd seen his bruises, but spurred on by the guinea he'd made for every match he won –and he'd won half of his bouts –he'd refused to allow his father or Lloyd to talk him out of carrying on. Right up until the Saturday afternoon he'd gone up against a blacksmith from Fernhill Colliery who'd knocked him literally into the middle of the week after next. His winnings had been swallowed up by the loss of fourteen days' pay and he'd never been tempted to repeat the experience.

‘Interested?' Luke hazarded.

‘In seeing you fight, yes.' Victor chose to deliberately misunderstand Luke, but there was a part of him that would have enjoyed seeing Luke's ebullience knocked out of him.

Ben roared with laughter. ‘Luke's talents lie in other directions.'

‘So I've seen,' Victor muttered.

‘We're recruiting men to go up against the police and soldiers. There'll be a good purse for every winning fighter and a chance for everyone to bet and make a bit on the side.'

‘Who's running the book?' Victor enquired suspiciously.

‘The soldiers,' Ben admitted. ‘The police don't dare do it in case word gets back to the authorities and we haven't the money to set it up.'

‘Then the soldiers will be the only ones to make any real money,' Victor declared.

‘I've seen you fight. You'll win, and the police and soldiers have seen to it that the victors –your father gave you the right name,' Ben grinned at the unintentional pun, ‘aren't paid in guineas but fivers. Crisp, white five-pound notes for an afternoon's work if you're the lucky winner. That's more than most men make grafting for three weeks underground.'

‘If you'll excuse me, I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'd like to get home.' Victor touched his cap and eyed the men blocking his path. They moved aside. He walked into Dunraven Street and turned up the hill.

‘Mam?' Harry wriggled out from under the bedclothes, leaned over her shoulder and close to her ear. ‘Can I get up now?'

Sali turned over and opened her eyes. Harry was sitting on Lloyd's pillow, his nightshirt pulled up around his knees, his eyes sparkling.

‘There's no need to ask if you're still tired.'

‘I'm hungry.'

The smile on his face turned to a look of fear when the door opened and Victor and Joey helped Lloyd into the room. Lloyd's head was heavily bandaged, the little skin that could be seen between the strips of linen was bruised black, and it was evident that if it hadn't been for the support Victor was giving him, he wouldn't have been able to stand upright. Sali blanched and covered her mouth with her hands.

‘I'm all right, sweetheart,' Lloyd mumbled unconvincingly.

Seeing Harry's eyes round in fear, Joey forced a smile. ‘No need to look as if you've seen a monster, young man, Uncle Lloyd will soon mend.'

‘That's right,' Lloyd added, his speech slowed by concussion.

‘We heard you chattering downstairs, Harry. If you get your clothes from your room and go down, I'll boil you an egg,' Victor promised.

Harry looked uncertainly at Sali. She patted his hand. ‘Uncle Lloyd and I are both fine, Harry, just tired. You run along.'

Lloyd sank down on the bed beside her after Harry, Joey and Victor left. ‘I could swing for whoever put that bruise on your face.'

‘I honestly think I did it to myself. I don't recall anyone touching me. But you.' She reached up and stroked his face, and he winced even at her light touch.

‘It would appear that a certain Constable John Lamb is in the Royal Infirmary in Cardiff. He was hit with a brick that was thrown in Dunraven Street the night before last. He has a fractured skull and hasn't yet regained consciousness. Someone, I have no idea who, told his brother, Sergeant Lamb, that I threw it. His mates were happy to get their own back by putting the boot in. My face didn't get the worst of the kicking,' he slurred, preparing her for the sight of the bandages that swathed his chest and stomach. ‘They were probably congratulating themselves on a job well done until Gwyn Jenkins stepped in and told them I wasn't even in Dunraven Street the night before last. They might have argued with him if he hadn't been backed by a young copper from Pontypridd called Huw Davies.'

‘Constable Huw Davies?'

‘You know him?'

‘I've met him.' She recalled standing at the door of the Hardy's hut looking for someone to help her. ‘What's going to happen, Lloyd?'

‘To me –nothing. But Joey, Victor and Luke Thomas are going to trial sometime in the New Year. The police had no choice but to drop the case against me but they insist that I wasn't beaten. According to the sergeant who was on duty in the station last night, I tripped and fell down some stone steps. It's my word against that of police officers. And we all know what that means these days.'

‘What did the doctor say?'

‘That I'll live. Move over. And do me a favour. Help me undress.' He pulled at his jersey.

‘You're coming to bed?'

‘Yes, and for once, my love, just to sleep.'

Megan laid the fires and served the breakfasts in a trance on Saturday morning. All she could think about were the hours she was about to spend with Victor. But the rooms that slept eight were as bad as Lena had predicted and it took them hours to clear the mess.

Joyce Palmer joined them when Lena was bundling the linen for the laundry and Megan was carrying the brushes on to the landing.

‘After you've taken those things downstairs, come into my private sitting room and I'll pay you your wages, Megan, so you can get a postal order off to your father. I've made Cornish pasties for our lunch. You can eat in the kitchen before you go.'

Megan had been about to say that she would eat with Victor and his family, then remembered the strike. Just one week of living in a house where there was no shortage of food had been enough for her to start taking both quality and quantity of meals for granted. ‘I will, thank you, Mrs Palmer.'

‘Lena, go upstairs, wash, change your overall for your apron and make yourself presentable to wait on the lodgers' table.'