Shoes for Anthony (21 page)

‘No, you bloody can't,' Mam replied, turning to look at me. ‘You can wash them under the garden tap. Emrys, find him one of your old shirts. If we put a tank top on him and tuck everything in, he might not look so bad. I'll get the iron out. There's nothing that's not instantly improved by the presence of a sharp crease. Anthony, get those shorts off.'

I was used to helping my sister get ready when she went to dances, but the attention being on me was a first-time experience. Normally, I would spend half an hour on my knees helping Bethan apply gravy browning to her legs before painting a fake seam up the back of her calves with an eyebrow pencil. Turns out I had a good eye. ‘He's good at drawing, inne?' Bopa would say, standing behind me, watching.

Emrys had taken me to the back kitchen and sat me down with a hand towel wrapped around my shoulders. ‘I think we'll have to give you a pompy,' he said, dipping his comb into a tin of Brylcreem. ‘Christ, man, you've got so much hair we could ask Bethan to stick some curlers in.'

Piotr laughed. ‘Get side parting as straight as possible. Then pile it over. Don't you worry, Anthony. We'll have you looking like dapper swag in no time.'

‘A little dab'll do it,' said Emrys, dragging the comb as best he could through my fringe. ‘And keep still. Or you'll end up looking like Rita Hayworth.'

Piotr was unwrapping a blade from a blue Gillette packet. ‘Have you ever had shave, Anthony?' he asked, holding the blade between two fingers. ‘Not close one, of course. Real one.'

I shook my head.

‘Keep bloody still,' moaned Emrys, dragging the comb sideways.

‘So,' began Piotr, ‘we place blade in head, like this.' He held out the head of the razor and slotted in the blade. ‘Then we attach it.' He screwed the head into a patterned silver handle. ‘And so you have razor. Now, what to do with it? Do you know?'

‘No,' I said, mesmerised.

‘You need to make foam. For this, you take scuttle.' He took a dark ceramic pot that looked like a small bowl with a spout. ‘Pour hot water into reservoir and let it stand. Get it warm.' He filled the spout with hot water from the kettle then took a small shaving soap pot and nestled it in his palm. ‘Now you make your lather. So we circle soapy brush in scuttle bowl. And see, in no time, you have thick lather.' He held up the shaving brush that was now coated in a rich, silky cream. ‘Spread that all over your chin and upper lip, take your razor, draw skin tight and let razor slide downwards. Don't drag it. You'll cut yourself. Watch as I finish.'

I'd lived in a house with two older brothers and my father for eleven years and I had never, not once, actually seen them shaving other than in the tub in front of the fire. It was an afterthought, a chore as ordinary as cleaning between your toes, but watching Piotr, shaving felt like the most magical treat. I didn't even know we had a shaving kit in the house, let alone seen anyone use it.

‘There,' said Piotr, patting his face dry with a towel. ‘What do you think?'

‘Very handsome,' said Bethan, wandering into the kitchen. ‘Ant. I need you to do my seams. Well, well!' she added, on seeing my emerging hairdo. ‘I hardly recognised you. I didn't know I had a little sister …'

I screwed my mouth sideways. ‘I'm going to have a shave first,' I said. ‘I'll do your legs after, like.'

‘A shave? When did my little brother become a little man?' said Bethan, registering mock surprise. ‘Look at the effect you've had on him,' she added, looking towards Piotr. ‘My goodness. You can stay for ever.'

‘This book they've given 'em's amazin',' said Bopa, who had brought her GI guests round so we could take them to the dance. She waved a small grey booklet in the air. ‘Listen to this, now …
“The British have phrases and colloquialisms of their own that may sound funny to you. You can make just as many boners in their eyes. It isn't a good idea, for instance, to say ‘bloody' in mixed company in Britain – it is one of their worst swear words.”
Ha! Can you believe it? We say it all the bloody time! Christ! Good job they don't know about the Welsh swear words, innit?
Uffarn den
!'

Father gave a small tut and reached for his book.

‘And this, listen to this bit …
“Don't be misled by the British tendency to be soft-spoken and polite. If they need to be, they can be plenty tough. The English language didn't spread across the oceans and over the mountains and jungles and swamps of the world because the people were panty-waists
.”'

‘What's a panty-waist?' asked Mam, casting a glance towards the two Americans. They were both standing by the fireplace, clutching their caps in front of them, looking awkward.

‘It means you're sort of lily-livered,' said the taller one, his voice soft and quiet. ‘You know, panty-waists …'

We all stared at him, none the wiser.

I didn't look good: I was covered in razor cuts, my hair, full of pomade, leant sideways and drew to a point which, from a certain angle, made me look as if I was wearing a large, hairy dunce cap; I was swimming inside Emrys' shirt and tank top, despite the addition of a belt, and my shorts, now with a knife-sharp crease, were still as ingrained with dirt as they ever were. My wellingtons, however, were sparkling.

‘Shame about the boots,' said Bopa, putting the book down and giving me the once-over. ‘But for your first time out, I don't think you look half bad.'

‘If I'd looked that terrible first time I went out,' said Alwyn, who hadn't stopped laughing since seeing me, ‘I'd have never left the house again.'

Bethan gave him a sharp nudge. ‘You look lovely, Ant,' she said, putting her arm round my shoulders. ‘Don't you mind him. He's just jealous.'

‘Alf's here!' said Emrys, who was standing at the parlour window looking out. ‘You can relax, Bethan. He's hasn't got the grocer's van.'

‘Thank God for that,' said Bethan, with a sigh. ‘Now we'll not arrive stinking of onions.'

‘You look after my boys, now,' said Bopa, shoving her two American GIs towards the door. They hadn't really spoken yet, but that was no surprise. Bopa had barely stopped to breathe. ‘And don't be bringin' 'em back in any sort of dopey state! We'll want all the stories when you get back, won't we, Em?'

‘Everything!' said Mam, pushing herself up from her chair.

Alf had managed to cadge the use of a delivery van from Polikoff's sewing factory. A fella he knew owed him a favour, and Alf had seen fit to cash it in.

‘I've put some cushies on the sidebenches,' he said, helping us all in. ‘So it's comfy, like. Nice to make your acquaintance,' he added, to the two Americans. ‘I'm Alf.
Diawl
, Emrys,' he added, squaring them up and down. ‘We can't compete with them togs, is it? We shall have to up the charm offensive if we're going to get any dances tonight.'

The mood was affable, animated. Alwyn had taken the passenger seat up front with Alf, while our American visitors, Emrys, Piotr and Bethan were in the back with me. We had stopped off on the corner of Blaencwm Terrace to pick up the last passenger.

‘I can't get up there!' protested Gwennie Morgan, staring into the back of the van.

‘I'll give you a leg up,' said Alf, cupping his hands. ‘Come on, 'en.'

‘Leg up? Who do you think I am? The scrum half for Treorchy? Haven't you got some steps, or something?' She peered into the van. She wasn't wearing her glasses and without them, her eyesight wasn't what it might be.

‘Can I help you up, ma'am?' said the taller American, standing to help her.

Gwennie's expression changed in an instant. ‘Oh!' she declared, her face breaking into a beatific grin. ‘That's an accent I don't recognise …' She gave a small giggle. Alf rolled his eyes.

‘Do you want this bunk up or what, then?' he asked. ‘There's no other way in. It's that or I'm leaving you here.'

Gwennie flashed him an irritated look. ‘You will not bloody leave me here,' she snapped, then, turning to the American, ‘Thank you kindly. If I could take your hands I'd be much obliged.'

The GI – I think he was Andrew – took both of Gwennie's outstretched hands and pulled her up, with Alf giving her an unceremonious shove up the backside to get her in. She gave out a small, startled yelp and then, once inside, set about presenting herself to the best advantage.

‘All right, Gwennie?' said Bethan, opening her handbag. ‘Sit beside me, if you want. There's a cushion.'

We were sitting on wooden sidebenches facing each other, the Welsh contingent on one side, foreigners on the other. Alf banged the side of the van. ‘Everybody in! We're off!'

‘It's not too far,' said Bethan, pulling out her compact. ‘Shame we've got no windows, mind. You won't see the view.'

‘They'll have to enjoy the view they've got, then, won't they?' said Gwennie, pursing her lips.

‘Did I hear you say earlier you're from Texas?' said Emrys, tapping Andrew on the knee. ‘Isn't that where cowboys come from, like?'

‘Yes, sir,' replied Andrew with a nod. ‘We're both from a small town called Webberville. You won't know it. Only got three hundred and fifty-four residents. It's just outside Austin. That's a proper city. Me and Robert went to school together, joined up together, trained in Wisconsin. Then they moved us to Orangeburg. That's in the state of New York. We got Port Call orders early October last year. Sailed to Belfast, Ireland. And now we're here.'

‘I didn't care for the sea voyage,' said Robert, shaking his head. ‘Sick as a dog. We all were.'

‘Nice you've known each other for so long, like,' said Emrys, with an appreciative nod. ‘I'd have joined up with my brother if we'd been allowed. But we're miners, see. Essential work, innit?'

‘You talk so funny,' I said, staring at them.

‘To me, you talk funny!' said Andrew, smiling.

‘And to me,' said Piotr, ‘you
all
talk funny!' We laughed.

The girls were acting giddy, cooing over everything the Americans said, but the men weren't what you'd call flash. The taller one, Andrew, had teeth that wouldn't look out of place on a sheep, while Robert had one eye that seemed to have a mind of its own. I wondered if it might be a bit lazy. He needed a go on Bozo's glasses.

They'd seemed out of their depth when we saw them the previous day, but now, sitting in close proximity, they had an air of men well travelled. The furthest I'd ever been was a day trip to Tenby. We'd gone on the bus and Mam had bought me an ice cream in a cone. I fell in a rock pool and we had to come home an hour after arriving. As day trips go, it wasn't much cop. Travelling an ocean seemed unimaginable to me.

Gwennie Morgan had not stopped crossing and uncrossing her legs since getting in. She was wearing a bright-red swing dress, white polka dots, a thick red belt pulling her waist in tighter than looked comfortable, and her hair was swirled up like a dollop of cream. If I'd been older, I'd have been terrified.

‘You got sweethearts, then?' she asked, batting her eyelids. ‘Back home, like?' She lay her hands on her knees and stretched her legs out, I guessed to show off her calves.

‘Yes, ma'am,' said Robert. ‘In fact, we're both engaged to be married. Just as soon as we get home.'

‘That's the second time you've called me “mam”,' said Gwennie Morgan, sitting upright abruptly. ‘I don't look that old, do I?'

‘It's what they call ladies,' said Emrys, laughing. ‘Short for madam. Ma'am. Not mam. Ain't that right, boys?'

‘Yes, ma'am,' said Andrew.

‘Sounds the same to me,' said Gwennie, looking umbraged.

‘So how long you here for?' said Piotr, both hands resting on the top of his walking stick.

‘They don't tell us nothing,' said Andrew, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees. ‘All I know is, today we had to do digging. That's it. I know where the mess is. I guess I know where we're headed, and that's about it. Infantry men are the last people to hear anything.'

Piotr laughed. ‘It was same for me. We'd get in truck, be driven somewhere, told to get out, commander would point at something on map, tell us to hold it or take it, and that was that. You get on with it then check you've got all your limbs at end.'

‘What's it like?' asked Robert, his voice dropping. ‘Action, I mean. Proper fightin'.'

‘You're so terrified you haven't got time to be terrified,' said Piotr. ‘If that makes sense?'

The Americans both nodded.

‘Piotr saved people,' I said. ‘A man from the RAF said he's probably going to get a medal.'

‘Pay no attention,' said Piotr, waving a hand through the air. ‘I didn't do anything out of ordinary. When you're in thick of it, last thing you're thinking about is medals. All you're thinking about is how you get out as quickly as possible. That's not bravery. That's necessity.'

‘All the same,' I persisted, ‘he definitely said medal.'

‘Too easily impressed, Anthony,' said Piotr. ‘You should be impressed by your brothers! Going underground day in day out. They're the engine that drives us all. They are just as brave. More brave!'

‘Shame you can't dance, Piotr,' said Bethan, who was touching up her lipstick. ‘I'd have asked for the first one.' She snapped her compact shut and pressed her lips together.

‘Don't you worry, Bethan,' yelled Alf, from the front. ‘I'll stand in for him.'

Bethan shot Alf a quick glance and then turned to look at Piotr. Their eyes met, Bethan blushed, and as quickly as she had stared at him, she turned away. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought my sister was going soft.

The town hall was jumping. As we arrived, a mass of people stretched up to the large double doors, crowding to get in. Blaring from inside was a noise so vital and urgent that couples, not able to contain themselves, had started dancing on the pavements. I didn't recognise the moves. In Treherbert, the standard dance was mostly ballroom, but Mrs Collins, who was paid a shilling to man the piano every Saturday, had heard about a new dance, swing, and had sent off for the sheet music. It had taken everyone ages to learn the new steps. We were many things in our valley, but up to the minute wasn't one of them.