A Sixpenny Christmas (32 page)

Nonny had gone to the college to meet her at the end of that first day, and on the way home her bravado had suddenly disappeared and she had pulled Nonny into the nearest café, ordered a pot of tea for two and burst into tears. ‘I wish I were like you, Nonny,’ she had wailed. ‘Mum kept saying it were no use cheating at homework – I copied off of Ella, who’s real clever – nor pretendin’ I understood things when I didn’t. She said I’d end up bein’ a dinner lady like her, or an office girl, whilst pals who really had worked at tech ordered me about like a skivvy. I tell you, Nonny, if I’d had to resit the first year I’d of shot me perishin’ self. As it is I’ll be workin’ like
a slave just to catch up.’ She had turned tear-drenched eyes towards her friend. ‘Will you help me to get meself back on track?’ she quavered. ‘And don’t tell your mum and dad – or Chris – wharra fool I’ve made of meself.’

Nonny had promised, though with certain reservations; she knew Lana and feared that, once she was no longer afraid of a resit, she might slip back into her old ways. But I won’t let her, Nonny told herself now, slowing her pace to an even more snail-like one as the college loomed closer. I’ll keep her up to the mark somehow. It’s a pity she’s not at Perkins where I can keep an eye on her. The only thing is, I really mustn’t let her problems become more important than my own.

She had now reached the college and would have gone up the steps and into the building except that someone grabbed her arm. A small dark-haired, dark-eyed girl of about her own age smiled shyly up at her. ‘Excuse me, are you Rhiannon Roberts? I’m Cerys Hughes; your brother said that you and I were both starting at Perkins on the same day so I said I’d try and spot you and say hello . . .’

‘How did you know it was me?’ Nonny said, feeling anxious. Did she have the words ‘hill farmer’ written right across her forehead? She looked down to check that she was not wearing muddy wellingtons, then looked up at Cerys Hughes questioningly. ‘I’m wearing uniform like the rest; so are you for that matter.’

Cerys laughed. ‘Your brother said you’d be carrying a red bag – he gave it to you for passing your exams – so I kept my eyes open and so far I’ve seen navy bags, blue bags, green bags and even a stripy one, but yours is the very first red one I’ve spied.’

‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ Nonny said devoutly as the two of them climbed the steps and went through the open doors into the hall. ‘But how come you know Chris and not me? You aren’t at the agricultural college, are you? No, of course you aren’t. You said you were starting here today the same as I am.’

‘I don’t know your brother at all, not really,’ Cerys explained. ‘But my brother is at the agricultural college with him – has Chris ever mentioned Tugger Hughes?’

Nonny smiled. ‘Yes, of course. I believe I may have met him when Chris got up a party of them to go mountain walking and brought them to Cefn Farm for a drink and a bite on their way back to the bus. I say, what a bit of luck! I was just thinking I didn’t know a soul and wondering how on earth I’d get on when you grabbed my sleeve.’

Cerys was beginning to reply that she had felt just the same when a bell rang shrilly and all the girls who had been outside came pouring into the hall, whilst a very stately lady, descending the stairs, clapped her hands sharply, putting an end to all discussion. ‘Good morning, young ladies. I hope you enjoyed your summer break and are now ready and eager to start work once more,’ she said in a deep, refined voice. ‘Miss Beaver will come amongst you presently, taking your names and telling you into which classroom you should go.’ She turned to the short plump woman by her side. ‘Go ahead, Miss Beaver!’

That night, when the girls returned home, they both had a good deal to talk about. Lana was interested to hear of her friend’s meeting with Cerys Hughes, who had told Nonny that she was boarding in a cheap lodging
house not too far from Bethel Street. However, it was soon clear that Lana’s interest lay mainly in the fact that Cerys’s brother was a pal of Chris’s. ‘Perhaps we could get together sometimes,’ Lana suggested. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Nonny?’

‘Well, but what about work?’ Nonny said and immediately felt ashamed, especially when Lana said impatiently: ‘Oh, work! I meant in the holidays, of course. Just because we both mean to work very hard doesn’t mean to say we can’t play hard as well. But of course, if you’re going to turn into a really boring person who never has any fun at all . . .’

Nonny laughed. ‘Don’t be so daft. Of course I’d like to have fun, lots of it. I was just afraid you might have begun to think you could serve two masters, as my dad says. But of course in the holidays we can do what we like; paint the town red as they say.’ She picked up a large sheet of foolscap paper and waved it under her friend’s nose. ‘See that? It’s my homework timetable. It starts today and goes on until the end of term, which is only a few days before Christmas.’

Lana pulled a face. ‘You mean you won’t be able to come out with me in the evenings . . .’ she was beginning when Ellen, who had been sitting in her favourite basket chair, knitting something pink and fluffy, interrupted.

‘Lana O’Mara, do you mean to tell me that you’ve forgotten how busy you’ll be in the run up to Christmas? You’ve got your Saturday job, remember, and if your second year at college is anything like the first you’ll be writing dozens of Christmas cards and buying lots of little presents. I know they do the dip thing at college, but you’ll want to buy for Auntie Molly and Uncle Rhys,
Nonny and Chris . . . and with a big family like ours it takes a good three or four weeks to choose something nice for everyone, so you won’t have much time before Christmas for gadding about.’

Ellen was addressing her daughter but it was Nonny who spoke. ‘Auntie Ellen, what did you mean when you said that the college would do the dip thing? I don’t understand.’

Ellen laughed. ‘Everyone buys one present which must cost no more and no less than an agreed sum. Then all the presents are wrapped up and put into a large box, and everybody lines up and takes one present each.’ She smiled as she saw comprehension dawn on Nonny’s face. ‘Everyone gets a gift but no one has to spend more than anyone else; good idea, ain’t it?’

Nonny agreed, adding that Molly had taken part in a similar scheme in the WAAF, and Lana said wistfully: ‘Wish we could do that with the cousins! Some of ’em ain’t workin’, one or two of ’em are mean and the rest don’t have no imagination. Last year I were give three boxes of face powder, all the wrong colour, a bottle of nail varnish that I swear I’d give cousin Maggie last year, a bag of cotton wool balls – that’s for cleaning make-up off – and a paperback romance what looked like it had already been read.’

Ellen shook a chiding head at her daughter, but could not suppress a smile. ‘You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I know what you’re saying, queen, and it’s true that some things do reappear year after year,’ she admitted. ‘But you’re luckier than most; you’ve gorra well paid Saturday job and they’re willing to employ you over the Christmas holidays as well when we’re not at
Cefn Farm. But it’s too soon yet to think about presents, cards and so on. How did your first day go, Nonny?’

Nonny considered before she answered and when she did so it was thoughtfully. ‘It was a bit confusing at first but I’m sure I’m going to like it once I grow accustomed,’ she said. ‘Good thing we’re on the phone now, so we can keep in touch. I gave Mum a quick ring on my way home just so that she’d know I was all right, but I had to tell her there was an awful lot to learn. Not lessons, I don’t mean, but classrooms, teachers’ names, who does what, in fact. There’s a big room with desks and a typewriter for each pupil, and they hand round cards with letters and figures on. Then the teacher plays a record of music and we have to type in time to the tune. It’s really odd and at first everyone kept giggling, but then the teacher got cross and explained that we must get the rhythm right or we could never become first rate typists. After that nobody dared giggle.’

‘Oh, that’s old hat; I did musical typing in my first year,’ Lana said loftily. ‘Everyone does. But what did Auntie Molly say about the farm? How are they managing with neither you nor Chris?’

‘Very well, I think,’ Nonny said, ‘but even if they weren’t, Mum wouldn’t tell me in case I wanted to go back. It’s really important that I do well . . . but you know all that. By the way, Cerys says if we can arrange it she and I might both get home for the odd weekend. Her brother has a motorbike and sidecar and he says if I pay some of the petrol he’ll take Cerys on the pillion and me in the sidecar.’ She beamed at Lana. ‘I didn’t say anything to Mum, but it would be wonderful to have a weekend at Cefn Farm before the hols start.’

Lana, who had been staring dreamily into the fire, perked up. ‘If we squeezed in could we get two in the sidecar?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Oh, I’d love to have a weekend with Auntie Molly and Uncle Rhys.’

‘And Chris,’ Nonny murmured wickedly. ‘You still fancy my brother, don’t you, Lana?’

Lana denied it, with one eye on her mother, but Nonny could tell from her friend’s heightened colour that it was still as true as when she had first teased Lana about it. However, she was forced to disillusion her, knowing full well that the sidecar would only hold one. Lana took it well, merely remarking that she supposed she could catch a bus and join Nonny at the farm, but Nonny guessed that the long journey, with several changes, would not be worth doing just for a weekend. ‘And anyway, Cerys only suggested it to cheer me up because I was a bit down when we walked home together after class,’ she admitted. ‘It suddenly seemed so strange to be walking along with the street lamps hiding the stars – you can’t see stars from a lamplit street – that I got a bit upset.’ She heaved a sigh and turned to Ellen. ‘Oh, Auntie Ellen, I know how lucky I am and I cheered up as soon as Cerys suggested the motorbike trip, but it may never come off, after all.’

Ellen smiled her sweet lazy smile and heaved herself to her feet. ‘What we need is a nice cuppa,’ she said comfortably. ‘Then I’ll start getting the meal ready; we’ll eat when Mr Taplow gets in from work.’

When the girls made their way up to bed that night, Lana chatted away about a boy who had asked if he might walk her home. She had refused, saying she had some shopping to do on the way, but he had not been
deterred, it seemed: ‘George – that’s his name, George Wright – was disappointed, but said he’d try again tomorrow. He’s ever so nice looking; you’d like him, Nonny,’ she finished.

Nonny made a non-committal mumble. She had no intention of getting mixed up with even the nicest boy; why should she? She had always been single-minded, first over the farm and now over her secretarial course. She had seen how Lana’s fascination with the opposite sex and urge to spend her time having fun had affected her friend’s marks and she had no intention of falling into the same trap. Besides, if I get married at all, which I don’t really want to do, it will be to a farmer; someone like Cerys’s brother, she told herself, climbing into bed. Aunt Ellen’s house was on the electric, but as Lana clicked the light off a wave of homesickness for the smell given off by a snuffed candle hit Nonny with such force that she could have wept, and presently, when she heard Lana’s breathing grow even and knew that her friend slept, she turned her face into her pillow and shed a river of tears.

She had not wanted to leave the valley, her home, her parents and the animals. She had only done so because she had realised that if she did not earn she would soon become a liability, and that her parents wished her to experience the kind of social life enjoyed by Lana. And now the die was cast and it seemed to her that her future stretched ahead of her, a path of duty, barren of all pleasure. To make matters worse, she knew that she could not confide her feelings either to Auntie Ellen or to Lana, her closest friend. To do so would cause hurt, for knowing both Ellen and Lana as she did she feared that it would
soon come to her mother’s ears that she was not as happy as Molly wanted to believe. But the thought of Molly’s distress gave her strength. She would not turn tail and scurry back to Cefn Farm without a single certificate to her name; she would not admit that she was miserable, hated the glow from the street light which had lit up the bedroom when Lana jerked the curtains back. And most of all she would damned well concentrate on the good things in her new life: the lovely shops, the cinemas and theatres, and, perhaps most important of all, the friendship and kindliness of Auntie Ellen and Lana.

Nonny snuggled down and reminded herself firmly that she was no stranger to the house in Bethel Street, nor to the friends and neighbours she had met on previous occasions. But then, of course, she had only been what you might call a holiday visitor. Now she was living here with no prospect of returning home to the farm at the end of a couple of weeks. She lifted her face from the tear-wet pillow and scolded herself. She was not living in Bethel Street for ever; she would be going home to Cefn Farm just as soon as the Christmas holidays arrived. Provided everything went well she would spend all her holidays at home, so why on earth was she being such a baby, shedding tears as though she would never see her parents and her home again? Resolutely she closed her eyes and began an old game which her mother had taught her: things to be glad about, Molly had called it. There was Cerys’s friendship, which had already made life much more fun for both of them. There was the fact that Lana had already done a year’s secretarial training and so had been able to clear up a couple of problems which had reared their ugly heads when Nonny had
begun to tackle the homework she had been given. And best of all there was dear Auntie Ellen who had promised to go with Nonny at the weekend to see if she could find a Saturday job. This thought made Nonny’s lips curve into a little smile. Her mother had promised to send her a postal order every couple of weeks so that she would have some money of her own, but how grand it would be to write to her, explaining her generosity would no longer be necessary because she, Nonny, had actually found herself a job! Nonny could imagine how pleased and proud her mother would be, how she would tell neighbours and friends that already her daughter was proving her worth. Nonny slept at last, but even in her dreams the little smile lingered on her face.