A Sixpenny Christmas (14 page)

‘Could we make one for Rhodri as well, Mum?’ Nonny asked eagerly. ‘They do keep hens but Mrs Pritchard was
saying only the other day that they’re all old and not very productive. I’m sure Rhodri would love an egg custard, especially if you made it in a pastry case so all the Pritchards could have a slice.’

Molly agreed to do this and as the morning wore on she was delighted to see how hard her daughter worked, and how interested the child became in the tasks she was set. She’ll be a grand little cook one of these days, Molly told herself, as the two of them began the Herculean task of baking sufficient bread for the week to come. Nonny pummelled gently at first, then with more enthusiasm, leaving the dull work of greasing the loaf tins to her mother whilst she worked happily at her first bread making.

Jacob was not the only one who enjoyed the Welsh cakes, either, Molly thought as the three of them sat round the table to drink their tea and eat the flat little griddle cakes which her daughter had just made. She had decided to have a cold meal at midday but changed her mind when she saw Jacob eagerly eyeing the minced mutton which she meant, presently, to turn into shepherd’s pie. The filling was made and cooked; all she had left to do was to boil the potatoes, mash them with some milk, spread them over the top and put the large dish into the oven to brown.

Having eaten his share of the Welsh cakes and drunk his tea, Jacob sloped off to clean down the cowshed, a task he performed every morning, and mother and daughter settled down to continue cooking. There was much hilarity in the kitchen as Molly demonstrated all the methods she knew of separating yolks from whites, including breaking an egg into the palm of her hand.
Gently and carefully, she separated her fingers, allowing the white to slip through into the bowl below. Nonny thought it looked easy, but her own first attempt was a disaster, the yolk seeming to have a life of its own. Molly tried to catch the slithering thing whilst Nonny screamed, laughing helplessly, just as the potatoes reached the boil. Molly abandoned the mess on the floor and went over to pull the pan half off the flame. She turned round to tell her daughter that exactly the same thing had happened to her the first time she had tried to separate an egg by hand, and it was then that disaster overtook her. She slid on the broken egg on the floor and grabbed wildly to try to save herself, sending the pan of potatoes and their boiling water all over her legs. The pain was excruciating, and in her effort to escape from the scalding water she somehow managed to twist her leg beneath her, so that Nonny’s efforts to help her up were so painful that she could only sob out a protest to be left alone for a moment. ‘Fetch Jacob,’ she managed between shrieks. ‘You can’t move me; I’m too heavy. Fetch . . . Jacob . . .’

Nonny stared down at her mother for an appalled moment. What on earth was she to do? Molly lay in a positive lake of steaming water and potatoes with her right leg bent at a most peculiar angle, her face streaked with sweat and lined with pain. But then Nonny pulled herself together and ran for the back door, shouting Jacob’s name as she went. He must have been letting Jessie out of the shed, for he did not answer and Nonny fairly flew across the farmyard, screaming his name again. The Pritchards, their nearest neighbours, were five miles off, and though Mrs P was probably in the
farmhouse at Cae Hic, Rhodri and his father would be checking the sheep as Rhys and Chris were doing.

But even as she hesitated, Jacob came loping across the farmyard, a worried frown etched on his brow. ‘What’s the matter, Nonny?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I heared the missus yellin’ and come at once. What’s up?’

‘Mummy’s hurt,’ Nonny said briefly. She did not want to start trying to explain to Jacob just what had happened; it would take too long and would only confuse him. Better that he should see with his own eyes, then he could help her to get Molly off the floor and into a chair. The two entered the kitchen at a run and Nonny very nearly followed her mother’s example as she slid in a patch of egg and water, but she saved herself by grabbing the table and then bent over Molly. ‘Mum? Are you all right? Jacob’s here; he can help me to lift you on to the chair, or we might carry you upstairs . . .’

Molly’s eyes shot open. Her face, which had been as flushed as Nonny’s own, was white as a sheet save for a round scarlet patch on each cheek. She had managed to get herself into a sitting position, leaning against a table leg, and now shook her head feebly. ‘No, you mustn’t move me; I think my leg’s broken, and the burns are already forming blisters. Oh, Nonny darling, I’m so sorry, but I think you’d best see if Dr Llewellyn can come and take a look at me. If it wasn’t for my leg I’d try to get myself into Minnie the Moocher somehow, but when I was a girl I was a member of the St John’s Ambulance Brigade, and they taught us that not moving a patient is terribly important.’

‘Right,’ Nonny said. She tried to sound decisive and unworried but knew her voice was shaking a little as she
turned towards where Jacob had been hovering in the doorway. ‘Jacob, would you go into the village and . . .’ She stopped speaking. Jacob had already gone.

Some while later, Nonny stood amidst the scene of chaos which was the farm kitchen, looking helplessly around her. Molly had been taken off to hospital, Jacob had returned to his work, and she was alone in the house. Her mother had been moved with infinite care from where she sat on the floor into the waiting ambulance, which would take her to the big hospital at Bangor, down on the coast. Nonny knew her mother had been brave, had exerted all her willpower to stop herself from screaming out when the men had first had to move her, but she guessed that the little whimpers Molly had given would have been screams of pain had she not wished to save her daughter worry. Jacob was in the farmyard, probably going about the tasks he would normally undertake at this hour, but apart from him Nonny was alone, and would be alone until her father and Chris returned. Sighing, she looked around the kitchen once more. She must get this dreadful mess cleared up before Rhys saw it, because discovering that his wife was in hospital would be quite bad enough without seeing the shambles their kitchen had become.

Nonny was still wearing the big cooking overall which her mother had made out of old meal sacks. It was wet and covered in flour, egg, butter and sugar; it would probably make quite a good pancake, Nonny told herself with grim humour. Sighing, she looked to where the loaves were standing in the hearth to prove. Well, I’d better start being useful and put the loaves into the oven,
she decided. I can’t do much about the shepherd’s pie at the moment, but at least I can bake the bread. She opened the bake oven door and saw a tray of blackened jam tarts and sighed, then got down her mother’s oven cloth and fished the charred objects out, thus making room for the loaves. Mustn’t slam the door, or the bread will be flat, she reminded herself. And now for the clearing up!

Despite the shock and her worry about her mother, Nonny had the kitchen neat as a new pin by the time her father and brother re-entered it. She thought she had cleared all signs of the disaster, and prepared to tell Rhys exactly what had happened, but her father took one long look around the kitchen before crossing the room and grabbing both her hands. ‘What’s happened, cariad?’ he asked urgently. ‘Where’s your mother?’

Nonny had had a terrifying and appalling day. She opened her mouth to begin to explain, and instead of words a great wailing sob emerged; she was only ten years old after all, and had had to cope with only Jacob to assist her. Rhys put both his arms round her and gave her a hard hug. ‘You poor kid. We met Jacob as we turned into the lane, but you know what he’s like. He was in a real state, stuttering and stammering so badly that all I got from him was that there had been an accident involving the baking. Until I walked into the room and saw your poor little white face I imagined burnt loaves or a ruined apple pie . . .’

The moment her father said the words
burnt loaves
Nonny snatched herself out of his arms and flew to the oven. ‘The bread!’ she squeaked, wrenching the door open. ‘Oh, Daddy, I clean forgot the bread!’ Rhys bent and peered into the oven, then picked up the cloth and
began to take out the tins whilst Chris, who had been standing back, round-eyed, came forward to shake the loaves on to a cooling rack. Only when this was done did he turn and give his sister a hug.

‘I don’t know why you’re in such a state; even our mum couldn’t cook better bread,’ he said consolingly. ‘Now sit yourself down, little sister, and tell us where Mum is and what’s been happening.’

Rhys and Chris listened in complete silence save for a hissing in of breath as Nonny told of the day’s happenings, her voice only shaking slightly when she tried to describe the injuries her mother had sustained. As soon as the recital had finished, however, Rhys jumped into action. ‘Damp down the fire, Chris, and put the loaves on the windowsill to cool,’ he said briskly. ‘Which hospital did they take Mum too, Nonny my love?’

‘They said she was going to Bangor,’ Nonny said. ‘They were ever so nice; the ambulance men I mean. Mum told us to fetch Dr Llewellyn, but when Jacob had explained what had happened he got them to send an ambulance straight away. Oh, Daddy, by the time it arrived Mummy was sort of sleepy, and they gave her something before they started to move her which should have made her even sleepier, only I don’t think it did because she cried out – just little cries, you know – several times as they took her across the farmyard to the ambulance.’

Chris saw Rhys give a little shiver, but when he spoke his voice was calm and steady. ‘She would have been in shock, I expect; very nasty, but they would give her something for it, I’m sure. Now, did Mum take anything with her? A nightdress, slippers, her handbag, that sort of thing?’

Nonny did not even have to think but shook her head immediately. ‘No, nothing. There wasn’t really time, Daddy, and the kitchen was such a mess with cooking and potatoes and boiling water and stuff all over the place. The ambulance men just wanted to get her where she could be properly looked after, they said. And what would Mummy want with her handbag anyway? She only uses it when you go off for a day out or to market in Wrexham.’

Rhys nodded. ‘You’re right, of course, but I remember when you were born, love, all the women in hospital had their own things brought from home, slippers and so on. And as soon as Mum begins to feel a bit better she may want to buy some little thing off the trolley – scented soap, or talcum powder, or . . . oh, I don’t know, some kirby grips to keep the hair off her face, perhaps. So if you’ll run upstairs and fetch down Mum’s things, Chris can get my old Gladstone bag out of the cupboard under the stairs and we’ll pack a few bits and pieces that Mum might need. Oh, and I’ll cut one of those nice new loaves and butter the slices, and we’ll eat them as we drive along.’ He smiled with would-be cheerfulness into the two frightened faces. ‘Don’t worry, kids, we’ll be at the hospital before you know it and seeing for ourselves that Mum will soon be back at Cefn Farm and in charge of us all once more.’

It took a little longer than Rhys had expected; in fact it was a good hour after his return home that the baby Morris set off. As they turned on to the Bangor road, Chris cleared his throat.

‘Dad, won’t it be awful late by the time we reach the hospital? Will they let us see our mum? Suppose they
won’t let us bring her home tonight? If Nonny’s right and she’s broken her leg, she’d be rare uncomfortable squeezed into Minnie the Moocher.’

‘I don’t think they’ll release her tonight,’ Rhys said. ‘But tomorrow maybe. If necessary I suppose we could hire a bigger car, or perhaps they’ll bring her back by ambulance. But whatever they say we must agree with, because they are the experts, after all. The only thing I am certain of is that Mum will be as anxious to get home as we are to have her. And now stop worrying, both of you. The next time I see a lay-by I’ll pull in and we can have our little picnic. No point in passing out from hunger; Mum wouldn’t want that, you know.’

‘But Daddy, who’ll do the work of the farm tomorrow if we have to fetch Mum?’ Chris asked. ‘Jacob’s ever so good but he hates responsibility; I’ve heard his mum say that it goes to his head like a glass of whisky, and makes him do the oddest things.’

Rhys laughed. ‘If I have to go to the hospital tomorrow, then you two will be in charge of Jacob; he’ll do exactly as you tell him, you know that,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Ah, here’s a lay-by! Get out the sandwiches, Nonny.’

They reached the hospital before the last light had faded from the sky, but though Rhys himself was allowed to go very quietly on to the ward to look at his wife, Nonny and Chris had to wait outside, and when Rhys re-joined them, though he did his best to seem cheerful, Nonny guessed at once that he was worried. ‘Mum’s been to theatre to have her leg set and plastered and her burns dressed. The doctor told me she had come round after the operation but was in such pain that they gave her
morphine. They don’t think she’ll be awake again until tomorrow so I shall take you home, have a few hours’ sleep and then come back here.’ He looked from Chris’s serious, sensible face to Nonny’s white and frightened one. ‘Just do your best, and if things don’t get done that’s simply too bad,’ he said. ‘I wish you could see Mum, but the hospital rules are strict. No children on the ward except during visiting hours and that’s seven till nine in the evening.’

‘But if you’re going to come back here tomorrow morning, we shan’t be able to visit at all,’ Nonny said. ‘We don’t have a car and we can’t drive anyway.’

Chris laughed. ‘What about buses, stoopid? Is Miss Rhiannon Roberts too grand to catch a bus? If we get all our work finished by about four o’clock we can take sandwiches and ask the conductor to drop us near the hospital. We needn’t get return tickets ’cos Dad will bring us home.’

As they walked back to the car Rhys pointed out the window of Molly’s ward, and Chris was struck by another idea. ‘You go on to the car, Dad, and wait for us,’ he suggested. ‘Nonny and me will take a look through the window just so we can see Mum and know she’s all right. They can’t stop us doing that, can they?’