Shoes for Anthony (41 page)

The coffin was taken to Treorchy Cemetery, set into a high hillside of the mountain. I climbed the steep incline, my hand tight inside Bethan's, and stood, looking down into the hole that would take my Father from us forever. It was odd to think of his body down there, out of sight, never to be seen again. Death was such a hard thing for the living. There was no hope to it.

I remember sounds: a few men singing, the midday pit siren howling in the distance because nobody had bothered to turn it off, the quiet clicking of coins being turned in the pocket of a mourner. But above all, I remember my mother's face, carved with woe, anguish burning through her. She'd been strong for all of us for long enough, and as Father was lowered down, she crumpled delicately downwards, as if her bones were made from paper.

It was the single saddest thing I would ever see.

I took the exam two weeks later. Miss Evans had got a special dispensation from the Grammar school and they'd allowed me to sit their entrance paper on my own, one Wednesday in early July. It had rained that afternoon, and the classroom was filled with the metallic smell of a recent downpour. My classmates had all left, scurrying home as the rain slashed down, and I had sat, head resting in my upturned palm, watching temporary waterfalls cascading down from loose guttering. As the rain snaked down the window, my eye was drawn to the windowsill, my name carved into it. It didn't feel right and so I took my compass and etched another name next to it.

ADE

Blowing the sawdust out from the carving, I ran my thumb across the newly fixed legend:

ANT and ADE

It was better.

‘Are you ready, Anthony?' Miss Evans asked me, opening a large envelope that contained my examination paper. She cast a look up towards the clock on the wall. It was four o'clock. ‘You'll have an hour and ten minutes to complete the Arithmetic paper. Then I'll give you the English Reproduction paper. You'll have fifteen minutes to read it and then you'll have to write the passage in your own words. You get fifty minutes for that. Do you understand? Have you got enough ink? Blotting paper?'

I nodded. I'd placed an inkpot at the top of my desk. Beside it sat a battered fountain pen that had been my father's but was given to me by Mam when it was clear there wasn't going to be much in terms of fancy bequests. I didn't care. I only wanted something to remember him by. The pen would do just fine. Alwyn had been given Father's tommy box and Emrys had been given a tie clip he'd been fond of. Bethan, who didn't have much left to choose from, took Father's
David Copperfield
.

‘I'm going to place your paper in front of you,' explained Miss Evans, walking towards me. ‘Then when I say, turn it over and begin. Good luck, Anthony. Take your time with your answers. Think before you write. You'll do just fine.'

She placed the paper in front of me. It was thick, stapled at the seam, and I caught a faint smell of something carbolic and antiseptic. She glanced up again at the wall clock. ‘All right, Anthony. Turn over.'

I reached down towards the paper and flipped it over. Across the top, in large capital letters, it read: ‘
RHONDDA EDUCATION COMMITTEE. COMPETITIVE EXAMINATION FOR ENTRANCE TO SECONDARY AND CENTRAL SCHOOLS
, 1944.' I felt a surge of something nauseous. I hadn't thought of it as a competition, but there it was in black and white. I stared down. Question one.

An aeroplane left its base at 9.00 a.m. and flew to an aerodrome 1500 miles away at a steady speed. It came down, took one and a half hours to refuel, and then returned at the same speed to its base, where it arrived at 11.00 p.m. Find its speed in miles per hour.

I blinked and reached for my pen. I'd fill it up first. Thinking time.
If a plane left its base at 9.00 a.m. and arrived at 11.00 p.m. 1500 miles
… I reached for the notebook I'd been given to write down my answers. My pen gave a little, hungry slurp. I dabbed the nib on the blotting paper and, with a determined hunch of my shoulders, began.

The time slipped through my fingers like melted butter. Before I knew it, Miss Evans had taken away the Arithmetic paper and handed me the English Reproduction. At the top of the first page was the title: ‘The Grizzly Bear'.

I am a Rocky Mountain silvertip grizzly. I can stand up with my back to a tree and, biting over my shoulder, make my mark fully nine feet above ground. I am not afraid of anything that hunts in the woods, barring human beings with guns. I would drive men from my mountains if it were not for their rifles. They take advantage of us poor bears. Being afraid to come into close quarters, they stand off a fair way and shoot at us.

I closed my eyes and fixed the words in my mind.
I am not afraid of anything that hunts the woods, barring humans with guns.
I stopped and stared out the window. The dark cloud had lifted, the rain stopped. I cast a look out across the mountain.

‘I've read it,' I said, turning to Miss Evans. ‘I'm ready to write now.'

She came a week later, knocking at our door, and Mam had let her in and they both sat, drinking tea in the parlour, until I returned from an errand to the baker's. I walked in, loaf tucked into my armpit, and Mam had stood up, her face soft and welcoming.

‘Miss Evans is here,' she said, needlessly. ‘She's got some news for you, Anthony.'

Miss Evans placed her cup back into its saucer and rose from the chair. ‘I've heard back from the Grammar, Anthony. Would you like to know how you got on?'

‘S'pose,' I said. A small explosion of butterflies released itself into my stomach. ‘Yes, please.'

‘You've got a Special Place, Anthony,' said Miss Evans, beaming. ‘That means all your fees are paid. Only the cleverest boys are offered them. I'm very proud of you. Well done.'

She stepped forward, her hand extended. I took it and shook, the butterflies fluttering gently skywards.

‘What about the uniform, though?' I asked, casting an anxious look towards my mother. ‘The shoes? We can't afford them.'

‘It's a Special Place, Anthony. Everything is paid for. It's all going to be taken care of. Your mother will be sent vouchers and she'll be able to get everything you're going to need with those. Uniform, stationery, books, equipment, everything.'

‘And shoes?' I asked again.

Miss Evans nodded. ‘And shoes, yes.'

‘Smashin',' I said. I didn't know what else to say. My mother was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

‘You'll never have to go down the pit, Ant,' she said, smiling through her tears. ‘An educated man, in our family. Your father would have been very proud.'

Yes. He would. A wave of sadness coursed through me, and I glanced up towards the mantelpiece. We had one photograph of Father, the only one taken of him on his beloved Brownie camera. He was standing, jacket slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up, hand on hip and laughing, his hair blowing in the wind, and behind him, our mountain.

‘He knows,' said Mam, catching my glance. ‘He knows.'

A lady from the Education Board came to visit Mam. She was a thin, shrewish woman, tight lips and curls, in a meticulously pressed two-piece. She smelled of Parma Violets and had an air of anxiety about her, as if she needed to eat more meat. She had lots of forms for Mam to fill in. I don't know what they all were, but it rattled down to making sure we were as poor as we said we were. Once she was suitably satisfied of our impoverished state, she made me stand up and unfurled a cotton tape measure from her handbag. I stood, back against a doorframe, and she measured my height, my chest, my waist, my cap size, my inside leg and my feet. She didn't say much. Instead, she made a few scribbles in a small red notebook and then left without wanting tea. Mam didn't like her. I'm not sure I did, either.

The rest of the summer passed without incident. Fez, Bozo and I would head up to the den, sit on the ridge and watch the Mosquito squadrons like we always did. Occasionally, there would be bomb raids on Swansea or Cardiff, and we'd sit watching the sky illuminate in the distance, but they were increasingly infrequent. Hitler was on the back foot. Allied forces were pressing further into France. The war was as good as over, Fez reckoned.

The pit remained closed. It would be another two months before it re-opened. There was disquiet in the village as the pit owners refused to give anyone wages until they were all back at work. It made a lot of people sour and resentful, and many lifelong pitmen decided never to return. Alwyn was still having trouble with his wrist. It had mended badly and if he went back, he'd never be allowed underground again. He hoped he might get a job as a tallyman, but like Emrys, he was looking around for other work. The big news was that he'd met a girl called Frances at a dance, and I suppose you'd call them sweethearts. Mam liked her; she seemed to calm him down. It was what he needed, she said: a sensible girl with thick ankles.

Emrys had managed to get work with a local decorator's. The boss's son had been killed somewhere in France, and he'd been keeping his job open for him till he came back, but now he wasn't, well, it was different. Emrys had a trial period, learning the ropes, seeing if he was any good with a paintbrush, but the fella liked him and they made the arrangement more permanent. He used to bring home the long strips of wallpaper-edge cuttings for the kids in Scott Street to use as race tape and, for a while, he almost became popular.

Bethan was promoted at RAF St Athan and became secretary to one of the majors. There was some talk of moving her to London, but she didn't want it. Like our teacher Miss Evans, she loved our mountain too much; and, more importantly, she wanted to be near Mam.

With the pit closed and no pitmen in the house, Mam took a while to adjust. The daily routine she had set her clock by was gone, but it was a hard habit to break. Occasionally, I would hear her, still getting up at five in the morning to light the fires and get everything ready, only to realise she'd forgotten she didn't need to do it; but she kept herself busy, did some more cooking for the Women's Guild, and started playing cards with Bopa, a pastime, declared Alwyn, that would end in nothing but ruination.

I was all right. It had been such a strange, upsetting summer. I missed Father, I missed Ade, but every time I went up the mountain, I felt them with me. They would always be part of our mountain, as would I. It was us, and we were it. I felt excited about my future, going to the Grammar school. Fez told me I better not turn into a posho, but Bozo said loads of the Grammar boys were on Special Places. He reckoned there'd be lots of boys like me.

It was the last week of August and I'd slept in, one of those thick, drowsy mornings when you can't get yourself out of bed. Bethan was back in her own room but I was still underneath Alwyn and Emrys, and I'd woken thinking I hadn't looked in my shoebox for a while. I reached over and dragged it towards me, sliding the lid off as I did.
The Dandy
was still there and I picked it out to have another look at it. As I lifted it, something fell out and onto my chest. It was a photograph, the one I'd taken of Gerhard and Bethan at Porthcawl. I frowned. I hadn't put it there. I stared at it, remembering how much I had loved him that day, and how I'd thought I could never be happier. I looked at his face, that large, toothy grin beaming out at me. I stared at it, and, struggling not to cry, I threw it down. But as I did, it flipped over. There was something written on the back. I picked it up again. It read:

For my friend

‘Ant!' A yell came from downstairs. Mam. ‘Come down, please,' she continued. ‘There's something here for you.'

I stared again at the photo. He must have left it here for me to find. His words came back to me: ‘I am your enemy, but not really.' And, finally, I understood. It was this war that had raged over us, not him. To think I had longed for it to come. We all had. And then it did. Be careful what you wish for.

‘Anthony!' my mother called again.

I tucked the photo back into my shoebox and crawled out from under the bed. I pulled on my shorts, dragged a dirty shirt down over my shoulders and slipped my feet into the ever-dank wellingtons. I never did manage to get rid of that rubber ring round my shins. Maybe, one day.

I trudged downstairs and walked into the parlour. Alwyn, Emrys, Bethan, Bopa and Mam were there, all standing.

‘Wassup, like?' I said, rubbing at my still-sleepy eyes with a fist.

‘Look over b'there, Ant,' said Mam. She pointed towards the far end of the parlour, and I turned.

Hanging from an unused picture hook was a brand-new school uniform. Navy blue shorts and jumper, white shirt, blazer with a cream trim, complete with school crest, a striped tie, socks with the same cream trim and a cap dangling from the top.

I looked back towards Mam, my mouth gaping open.

‘Careful, Ant,' said Bopa, ‘shut your mouth or people'll think you're a fish.'

‘Well, get it on,' said Alwyn, gesturing back towards it. ‘If we're going to have a genius in the family, I want to see what he looks like.'

‘There's shoes too,' said Mam, her smile spreading. ‘On the floor underneath. Go on, try them on.'

I had never seen anything more beautiful. Black leather lace-ups, polished to within an inch of their life. I picked them up, the wonderful, deep smell of brand-new leather filling my nostrils. I let my hand run over them, caressing every contour.

‘Are they really mine?' I said.

Mam nodded.

I kicked off my wellingtons and reached for the socks. They were soft and warm, and I pulled them up, snapping the tops just under my knee. I quickly pulled on the rest of the uniform, and then, taking one of the shoes, I loosened the laces and slipped my foot down into it. It felt strange. Years of rattling about in loose, rubber wellingtons, and now my feet were held, supported. I couldn't fathom it. I stood and stared down at my new shoes. I never wanted to look at anything else.