A Sixpenny Christmas (38 page)

Another two days would elapse, however, before they set out on the long trek to Cefn Farm and Ellen was checking over in her mind whether she had got presents for everyone. This particular present buying had not been as easy as usual because it included the Pritchards. She had met them often and liked them very much, but the fact that their first language was Welsh made conversation a little difficult. Mr Pritchard spoke some English, Rhodri was equally at home in both languages, but although Mrs Pritchard might have understood a few words Ellen had never heard her speak in any but her own tongue. Ellen had taken Nonny’s advice and bought pipe tobacco for Mr P and chocolates for his wife.

Furthermore, Ellen knew, Mrs P was only going to be at home because the doctor at the hospital, as Welsh as Mrs P herself, had told Molly that if they kept the old lady on the ward over the festive season he thought it might prove fatal. ‘She’ll die just to spite us so she will,’ he had informed the horrified Molly. ‘She’s not going to get any better than she is now, not if she has all the physiotherapy in the world. I do believe she might even get a trifle of movement in her left side if she was at home. The reason we’ve not discharged her earlier is because there’s no woman at Cae Hic to look after her, and from what her son tells me he and his father have all they can do to keep up with the farming. It’s very kind of you to say you’ll have her with you, or go up
daily to the Pritchards’ place; her husband was telling me they’d spent Christmas together for the past fifty or so years, and it means a lot to them. But are you sure you can cope? They’re strong chapel, so the minister will visit them on the day itself . . . oh, I’ll leave it to your discretion, Mrs Roberts. If you’re sure you can manage I’ll release her to you and young Mr Pritchard on the day before Christmas Eve.’

So now, checking over the presents she had bought, in her mind, Ellen thought of the lovely shawl which a kindly neighbour had knitted to go with the chocolates for Mrs Pritchard, the pipe tobacco for Mr Pritchard and the box of coloured handkerchiefs for Rhodri. It was easy buying gifts for Nonny; Ellen simply doubled up on whatever she bought for Lana, and of course she and Molly, being so close, knew each other’s tastes. The earrings which she had admired and bought would look delightful against her friend’s rich chestnut hair.

Satisfied that she had done all she could to prepare for her stay, Ellen finished off her plait with a rubber band and stood up. She was already wearing her long cotton nightdress and now took off her dressing gown, telling herself that she must not forget to pack it, knowing that however hard Molly and Rhys tried their bedrooms would be a good deal colder than those in Bethel Street. Not that she ever felt cold at Cefn Farm once she got into her bed, because not only did it have a wonderful feather mattress into which one sank, but a heap of beautiful woollen blankets surmounted by a patchwork quilt which had belonged to Molly’s grandmother kept the occupant of the bed as warm as toast.

Now Ellen climbed into her own bed, shrugged the
blankets up over her shoulders and allowed her mind to dwell pleasantly on the days to come. It would be great fun introducing Mr Taplow – she must remember to call him Bob – to the many delights of Cefn Farm. Ellen’s feet wriggled further down and found the hot water bottle she had placed there earlier. Good, it was still deliciously warm. She was just marvelling over the fact that Mr Taplow had said he could milk a cow when her thoughts became dreams and she slept at last.

When Dafydd had told her that she was going home, old Mair Pritchard shed tears of joy. She wanted to tell her dear Davie, as she had always called him, that she was delighted, would get well now, but she still could not make her treacherous tongue say what it ought. When Davie asked her if she had enjoyed the roast lamb, mashed potatoes and gravy which had been served by the hospital staff, she had wanted to say that the lamb was mutton, the gravy watery and the potatoes lumpy, but when she opened her mouth the words came out all wrong, causing her to weep with frustration. She had hated the ward, though she understood that the staff were only doing their duty when they made her sit up and washed her with offensive thoroughness, but she had known all along that she would not get better until she was in her own home. And now, because it was Christmas, she was to be allowed the wish that she was still unable to put into words; like everyone else, she was desperate to get home for Christmas.

She had lost track of time, but guessed it must be only a couple of days before the great day itself, when a conference was held about her bed. She listened eagerly
but the talk was in English, too fast and difficult for her to follow. Doctors nodded, wrote on the chart which hung on the foot rail, smiled and seemed full of the Christmas spirit. She had gathered at last that she was to go home, and her dearest Davie confirmed it. He told her in slow, gentle Welsh that the discussion had been over the method of getting her there, but this was now decided; she was to be taken the very next day in an ambulance. She would not go to Cae Hic at first, but to Cefn Farm, and though this was a trifle disappointing it was still a good deal better than being in hospital. When a nurse came to her bedside, telling her that her son had just delivered a Gladstone bag with her clothes in it, she gave the young woman a lopsided smile of delight and actually spoke. ‘Goood, good,’ she crooned, and after some thought added, ‘appy; appy!’

The nurse smiled, ‘Like all of us you are, Mrs Pritchard dear,’ she said. ‘Everyone wants to be home for Christmas.’

There was a hard frost on departure day, and despite being bundled up in a multitude of garments, blankets and shawls old Mair Pritchard saw her breath form a mist before her face as she was wheeled out to the waiting ambulance and tenderly placed on the long bed inside it. Rhodri was in front with the driver so that he could give directions, whilst Molly sat close to the old woman, holding her hand and chatting away reassuringly to her as the driver wended his way through the traffic, heading for the mountains.

If the journey had seemed long in the jeep, it seemed a good deal longer in the ambulance. Unable to see out, Molly began to feel queasy, but Mrs Pritchard, knowing she was heading for home, seemed to grow stronger with
every mile that passed, and when the vehicle drew up alongside the back door at Cefn Farm she actually gave a little crow of laughter, seized Molly’s hand and declared: ‘Home. I home!’

‘Well, very nearly,’ Molly assured her. ‘Remember we told you in hospital that you would be with us for two or three days.’ She chuckled as Rhodri and the ambulance driver threw open the van doors and began to transfer the old woman from the bed to a stretcher, whilst she ran ahead to open the back door. Bright light streamed out, and good cooking smells, and as Mrs Pritchard was deposited in a basket chair near the glowing fire she gave a sigh of deep content. This might not be her own home, that would be for tomorrow, but it was the next best thing, and she knew herself to be amongst friends. She saw her son thanking the driver, pressing something into his hand and ushering him out to his vehicle. Then he returned to the kitchen, shutting the door on the cold and dark and beaming with real pleasure as Molly gave her visitor the kiss of welcome whilst Nonny made tea in the big brown pot, poured some into a feeding cup and held the spout to Mair’s eager lips.

Molly crouched beside the old woman, telling her that they would have a full house this Christmas, that Ellen and her daughter would be with them and would be bringing a friend, their lodger, Mr Taplow. Mair nodded and smiled, not even trying to take in all that they were telling her. Soon Rhys and her dear Davie would be here; soon, therefore, it stood to reason that she would be taken to Cae Hic and get well again.

Chapter Fourteen

CHRISTMAS EVE CAME
at last. Ellen, Lana and Bob Taplow had journeyed by train and bus and then by jeep to arrive at Cefn Farm before dusk had fallen. When they walked into the kitchen, however, laden with bags, packages and cases, it was to find their hostess arguing with the elderly man they knew was Mr Pritchard. The three of them blew into the kitchen with Rhys and Nonny, who had accompanied her father in the jeep, to find Molly clearly distressed and Mr Pritchard apologetic but firm; his dear Mair wanted to wake up in her own home on Christmas morning, and he saw no reason to deny her such a simple wish. He was promising Molly that he would wrap his wife in blankets, cover her with a waterproof in case it began to rain or snow, pop her into the farm cart with his old horse, Nell, between the shafts and take her at a gentle pace the five miles from Cefn Farm to Cae Hic. Rhys, who had left the farm earlier to fetch their guests, was astonished, for there had been no question of Mrs Pritchard’s leaving the comfort of Cefn Farm when he had departed. They had made up a bed in the parlour, the room was as warm as toast with a fire blazing on the hearth, Molly had moved the wireless set from its usual place in the kitchen so that the old woman might have it beside her bed, and everything had seemed arranged so that the invalid might join in all the Christmas festivities.

Molly was tearful, reminding Mr Pritchard that she had promised the doctor she would keep his wife with her until the district nurse could make other arrangements, but though Mr Pritchard nodded his head and patted her hand, it soon became clear to everyone, including Nonny, that nothing would do for the old lady but to return to the home she had known all her married life.

‘But weren’t you warm and comfortable last night, Mrs Pritchard dear?’ Molly said in her somewhat stilted Welsh. ‘I know you couldn’t face a big meal, but you had chicken broth, and bread and butter, and tea.’ She smiled hesitantly at Mr Pritchard. ‘I’m sure you’re a very good cook, Dafydd, but the Aga might be out; certainly the farmhouse won’t be warm and comfortable. Do think again before you move your wife.’

Nonny, knowing herself to be a great favourite with Mrs Pritchard, dropped the bags she was carrying and went across to kneel by the older woman. ‘Mum’s right, Mrs P,’ she said gently. ‘Cae Hic will be cold and you really aren’t fit enough for a five-mile journey in the farm cart. Please think again! You know we promised to take care of you, and how can we do that if five miles separate us?’

Mr Pritchard cleared his throat. ‘Cae Hic is not cold; made up the fire before I left this morning I did,’ he announced. He looked appealingly from Molly to Rhys. ‘If you could let me have some of that chicken broth and a loaf of your good bread then we’ll manage very well. It’s not as though Mair means to stay for the great day itself; I’ll bring her back for her dinner tomorrow, though I doubt she’ll eat much. But she’s a fancy to wake up in her own home on the day of Christ’s birth, and deny her
I cannot. Can you understand? So good you have been to us . . .’

Rhodri broke in, and Nonny saw from the slight flush on his high cheekbones that he was embarrassed, though he clearly meant to stand by his parents. ‘I know you promised the doctor that you’d look after Mam, and so you shall,’ he assured Molly, then turned to Rhys. ‘You’ll lend me the jeep to run us home, won’t you? And I promise you I’ll get up at the crack of dawn and bring her back here before you’ve had a chance to miss her. It’s – it’s the only thing she’s asked of us and to deny her would be hard . . .’

‘Would be impossible,’ Rhys said with a wry smile. ‘Very well, but I don’t mean to let you drive off with only your father to hold her steady over that rough track. You can drive and your father can sit one side of Mrs P and I’ll sit the other, to steady her over the bumps.’

‘I’ll come too,’ Nonny said firmly. She turned to her mother. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mum? I think we all ought to have that lovely meal you’ve prepared before we set out. And there’s no need for Dad to come along; heaven knows there’s enough for him to do here! I’ll look after Mrs P, and if Rhodri and his father can make me up a bed of some description, I’ll sleep in the kitchen.’ She turned to the Pritchards, who were watching her intently. ‘If any of you need me all you have to do is give a yell and I’ll come running. And if Mrs P agrees, we’ll be back here in time for breakfast to wish each other a merry Christmas.’

Rhys looked relieved and agreed that if Nonny wouldn’t mind she would be far more useful when they arrived at Cae Hic than he could possibly be. ‘I’m no
nurse,’ he said apologetically. ‘And I’m no cook, either, though I guess anyone can heat up a pan of chicken broth, and make a plateful of porridge. But if you’re sure, Nonny my dear . . .’

Molly was murmuring doubtfully that she supposed it would be the best solution when the back door opened and Chris came in, shivering and beginning to take off his coat.

‘It’s freezing cold; real brass monkey weather . . .’ he was beginning and then, Nonny guessed, he must have sensed something in the atmosphere, for he stared round at the assembled company, eyebrows rising. ‘What’s up? Don’t say the dogs have run off with the turkey!’

Nonny laughed. ‘Not exactly; but Mr P wants to run off with Mrs P, so that they can both wake up in their own home on Christmas morning,’ she explained. ‘Dad’s agreed that Rhodri can drive them back to Cae Hic in the jeep, Mr P has assured us that the place is warm and I’m going along to do any nursing necessary.’ She smiled warmly at the old woman. ‘Not that there’s likely to be any,’ she ended.

Chris nodded his comprehension. ‘Right. Then will you set out at once? Only you’ll want to get back here before dark.’

‘No, you don’t understand,’ Rhodri put in. ‘Nonny will stay the night at Cae Hic and I’ll drive the whole party back to Cefn Farm first thing in the morning, hopefully in time to share your breakfast.’ He grinned at the younger man. ‘Obviously, the best place for Mam is in your parlour with the whole family on hand if help is needed, but we’ve talked that all out and come to the conclusion that it’s more important for Mam to have
what she wants, and that is a night in her own home.’

‘Fair enough,’ Chris said. ‘If you can’t persuade her to stay then you’ve little choice.’ He suddenly seemed to become aware of their three guests, still standing rather awkwardly in front of the range. ‘I say, I’m awfully sorry, Auntie Ellen, Lana, Mr Taplow. I’m afraid I forgot my manners. Grand to see you all, and especially Mr Taplow, at Cefn Farm.’