The Lost Days of Summer (2 page)

But I wouldn’t, Nell told her reflection bitterly now, because I keep
my
promises, which is more than Mam does. It had been no use arguing, however, when her mother and her aunt were so frantically busy and so very happy. Instead, she reminded herself, she had sulked. Drowning in misery, she had even refused her mother’s offer to make her a packed lunch, in case the journey to Valley – that was the name of the station at which Nell was to alight – took longer than they thought. However, Nell had grudgingly accepted money to buy herself a drink and a sandwich when she changed trains, which had happened three times already. Not that she had bought food; she had simply changed miserably on to the next train, bagging a corner seat wherever possible.

So now here she was, sitting in the stuffy yet cold compartment, with her coat buttoned up to the throat and a dull ache in her heart, heading for an unknown aunt and an unknown destination. It was late September, and for the first time in her life, she realised suddenly, she would be celebrating Christmas in about twelve weeks without a soul she knew.

She had just turned back to the window to hide the tears which were forming in her eyes when she was startled by a voice speaking in her ear. ‘You’s very quiet, alanna. How about you havin’ one o’ me sandwiches? They’s cheese and pickle, and it’s me own bread, baked fresh yesterday. I reckon we’ll be on this train till midnight if the driver don’t get a move on, and you’ll be pretty peckish by then . . . unless you’ve got some grub in that there bag slung on the rack.’

Nell turned towards the woman sitting next to her. She was immensely fat and her round rosy face was pinched with cold, though she was smiling broadly. Nell looked longingly at the sandwich the woman was holding out. Looking round the compartment, she realised that everyone else was eating. A young couple, both in the uniform of the Royal Air Force, were sharing a packet of sandwiches and a bottle of Corona, and a thin, agitated-looking woman was handing round food to three boys, probably her sons, Nell thought. Hastily, she made up her mind; eating on a train must come under the heading of a picnic and anyway, what did it matter? Wartime changed everything, including manners. So she accepted the sandwich, saying as she did so: ‘Thank you very much, it’s awfully kind of you. I haven’t any food with me because my mother gave me money to buy myself some, but I didn’t have time to do so before the train left and though we’ve stopped ever so often I was scared of being left behind if I got down.’

The old woman agreed that the train had certainly stopped frequently and Nell, finishing the sandwich and accepting a second, admitted that she had not dared to so much as leave her seat even when the train was in motion, fearing that her place would be immediately taken by one of the many passengers standing crammed together in the corridor.

‘You’re right, alanna, but now you and me’s acquainted I’ll mek sure no one steals your seat,’ her companion said comfortably. ‘How’s about you havin’ a drop of me tay to wash that food down?’

‘I’d love a drink; I’m dry as a desert but I don’t think I’d better,’ Nell owned. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘The truth is, I need to spend a penny, and if I have a drink of your tea it’ll make it worse.’ For the first time that day, she giggled. ‘I’ve kept imagining myself leaping off the train and running across to the Ladies and hearing the train pulling out while I was still at it. So you see . . .’

The fat woman beamed at her, fished out a very large Thermos flask from her basket, unscrewed the cap and poured a generous amount of tea into it. ‘’Tis plain you don’t travel much by rail,’ she commented. ‘This here’s a corridor train, with a lavvy at either end.’ She thrust the flask cap at Nell. ‘Drink up; I’ll guard your seat like the dragon they’ll think me while you make your way to the WC.’

‘Well I never; a toilet on a train!’ Nell breathed. She drank the tea eagerly, then handed the cap back and got to her feet. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. Don’t let anyone snitch my haversack, though there’s precious little in it. All my tickets and money and so on are in this’ – she patted the small brown leather handbag her mother had given her as a farewell present – ‘and I won’t be parted from it no matter what.’

Presently, she returned to her seat, relieved in every sense of the word. Despite the crowds standing in the corridor, everyone seemed helpful and good-natured and had squeezed up to let her pass. There had been a queue for the lavatory – ever since the war started there was a queue for every perishing thing, Nell thought – and when she reached the head of it there had been no toilet paper in the tiny compartment and the flush had not been working properly. However, there had been a tap over the hand basin, so she had been able to wash her hands and thought that, had the train been less crowded, visiting the WC would have been quite an interesting experience.

Back in her seat once more, she thanked her companion and promised that the next time the train stopped at a station she would jump down and buy a snack from the buffet, if there was one. Her companion smiled, but told her to save her money. ‘I always pack enough food for an army, so I do,’ she said. ‘Mind, I’ve a long journey ahead of me. Where’s you goin’, alanna? All the way, like? This here’s known as the boat train ’cos it’s the one what connects up wit’ the Irish ferry. I’m going to Ireland . . . and you?’

All Nell’s misery returned abruptly. ‘I’m going to stay with an aunt, to give her a hand on her farm,’ she mumbled. ‘I gerroff the train at somewhere called Valley. My mam came with me as far as Birkenhead and saw me off, but she couldn’t come any further because she’s joined the WAAF and had to be at somewhere called Bridgnorth training centre by Monday morning. But I got on all right, though I were in a fair tizzy when we changed trains at Chester. I asked a porter where I should go and he said to follow everyone else, so I did and here I am.’

The fat woman nodded sympathetically. ‘Awful, ain’t it? But we don’t have no more changes now, t’ank the good Lord. And you’ll be gettin’ off before I do, though only by a few minutes. Someone meetin’ you, are they?’ She delved into her basket once more, produced two slices of fruit cake and offered one to her companion. ‘Or would you rather have an apple? I allus pack a few apples ’cos they don’t dry up like sandwiches and cake, and since me darter lives in Connemara, I’ve the whole of Ireland to cross afore me next proper meal.’

Nell accepted an apple gladly and began to crunch. ‘I’m being met, though I don’t know whether my aunt will come herself or send someone else.’ She looked at her companion’s friendly, smiling face and decided to share her troubles. ‘The truth is, my Auntie Kath and I have never even met before; there was a quarrel, long ago. I think my mother disapproved because my aunt’s husband, Owain Jones, was very much older than my aunt. I think Mam tried to dissuade her from marrying him because of the age difference, but I suppose Auntie Kath must have loved him because she went ahead anyway. Then they moved to this Welsh island and she and Mam simply lost touch. Why, when she wrote to Mam to suggest that I might go and help on the farm, she didn’t even know my name. She said “your eldest”, so, as I said to Mam, she probably thinks I’m one of half a dozen!’

‘And you ain’t?’ her new acquaintance said. ‘Well, I reckon I should have guessed, ’cos you’re very independent, like most only children. What’s your name, by the way? I’m Mrs McFarlane, goin’ to see me darter Siobhan, her husband Padraig and their new little baby what they’re goin’ to christen Albert, after my husband, ’cos I married an Englishman for me sins.’

Nell giggled. ‘Albert’s a very English name,’ she agreed. ‘I’m Helen Whitaker, only everyone calls me Nell.’ She held out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs McFarlane.’ She got carefully to her feet as the train clattered to a halt. ‘Guard my place while I see what’s for sale in the buffet.’

Nell was fortunate; as she climbed down from the train, a man in a blue and white striped apron and checked cap came along the platform, trundling a makeshift trolley laden with sausage rolls, Cornish pasties and sandwiches. They looked good, and smelt better, and Nell was happy to part with a couple of shillings in return for two large pasties. She walked quickly as far as the engine and back to stretch her legs, then got back into the train and collapsed into her seat once more, handing over the larger of the two pasties to Mrs McFarlane, who tutted and told her she should not waste her money, but thanked her anyway and stowed the pastie away in her capacious basket, assuring Nell that she would save it until she boarded the ferry. ‘Though I’m beginning to fear this perishin’ train won’t reach Holyhead in time for me to catch the night boat,’ she told Nell. ‘Still, there’s always somewhere a well-cushioned woman can doze for an hour or two. But what about you? We ain’t even reached the island yet. Suppose your aunt gives up on you and goes home?’ She chortled, then gave Nell’s shoulder a reassuring pat. ‘Don’t you worry, alanna, she’ll wait. The stationmaster at Valley will tell her the train’s been held up and you won’t be arriving on time. I were only coddin’ you when I said that.’

Nell smiled. ‘I may not be as well cushioned as you, but I reckon by the time we do arrive I’ll be so tired I could sleep on a clothes line. I wonder if there are taxis lined up outside Valley station, like there are in Lime Street at home?’

Her companion snorted. ‘It’ll be donkey carts more like; I were born and raised in Anglesey and only moved to Ireland when I were first wed, and Anglesey’s rare like Ireland in some ways. I can tell you’ve never lived in the country, have you? You’ll find it’s very different; better in some ways, worse in others. But you’ll see for yourself soon enough.’ She settled herself more comfortably in her seat and lowered her voice. ‘Anglesey is a queer place, not at all like the rest of Wales. You know the Welsh call it Mam Cymru? That means Mother of Wales. They say it’s an enchanted island and it was from there that the Druids ruled in the ancient days. Wicked, they were.’ She lowered her voice still further. ‘They believed in human sacrifice; their whole religion was based on blood. Ever heard of the Wicker Man?’

Nell shook her head. ‘No. I know nothing about the island at all,’ she admitted. ‘And I’ve never heard of the Wicker Man. Tell me about it; it sounds exciting.’

‘Well it ain’t, and you don’t want to know about the Wicker Man,’ her companion said firmly. ‘It’s all different now, of course, but I reckon, though the Druids is long gone, there’s still a sort of magic about the place.’ She smiled at Nell and nudged her in the ribs. ‘Only it’s a nice sort of magic now. Where’s you going when you leave Valley?’

‘I can’t pronounce it,’ Nell admitted, hanging her head. ‘Well, part of it I can. It’s Llan . . .’ she spelt it out carefully, ‘fwrog.’

Mrs McFarlane chuckled. ‘An f is pronounced v in Welsh, and w is oo, so it’s pronounced Llanvoorog,’ she explained. ‘Lucky for you you ain’t headin’ for the village I were born in, which is called Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwll llantysiliogogogoch.’ She grinned at Nell’s expression. ‘Longest name in the world, they say, and the first railway station on the island, so when you reach it you’ll know you’ve crossed the Menai Straits and are in Anglesey at last.’

‘But surely I’ll know when we cross the Menai Straits,’ Nell objected. ‘I thought that since Anglesey is an island we’d have to take a ferry. It would take an awfully long bridge to get the train from the mainland to the island, wouldn’t it?’

‘It is an awfully long bridge, but since it’s completely enclosed it’s more like going through a tunnel,’ her companion explained. ‘And in fact Anglesey is really two islands because Holy Island used to be cut off from Anglesey itself by an arm of the sea, but now there’s a road and of course the railway across so it don’t seem like two islands no more.’

‘Well I never did,’ Nell breathed, fascinated by Mrs McFarlane’s revelations. ‘Is the village I’m going to on Holy Island?’

Disappointingly, Mrs McFarlane shook her head. ‘No, m’dear. The port of Holyhead is on Holy Island, and I’ve heard tell there’s a lighthouse called South Stack below the cliffs, which are mortal high. I dare say your aunt and uncle will take you for a trip around, show you the sights, such as they are.’

Nell opened her mouth to say that her uncle was dead, then closed it again. She had never known Owain Jones and guessed that Mrs McFarlane would want to know details, which she would have to invent since she had no idea what had caused his death. If it was simply old age . . . but best to say nothing. Instead, as the train began to slow, she turned towards the window and peered out. ‘Is this the beginning of the tunnel?’ she asked. ‘Goodness, surely we must be nearly there? It’s growing dark already.’

Her companion leaned across her to peer out of the window. ‘I dunno where the devil we are,’ she said doubtfully, ‘except that we’re nowhere near the Menai Straits yet. This perishin’ train ain’t goin’ much faster than walkin’ pace. Oh, drat it. I’m bound to miss the night ferry at this rate.’ She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. ‘How I do run on! But now I’ll make up for it and try to have forty winks. Just you do the same, m’dear. The train makes a hellish clatter going through the tunnel, so you ain’t likely to miss your stop.’

Nell did not think she could possibly fall asleep. For one thing, her feet were numb with cold, and within seconds of closing her eyes her companion began to snore so loudly that other passengers turned their faces away to hide their grins. However, despite the rattle of the train, the subdued chatter and her companion’s deafening snores, Nell did fall asleep. It was not, however, a very restful slumber. Visions of the island which was to be her home entered her dreams. Tall, long-haired Druids in blood-bespattered white robes pursued her along high cliffs and long, pale beaches. Lambs bleated, seagulls mewed and babies were carried away in monstrous wicker baskets, whilst Nell chased after them, bearing in her arms for some strange reason a large bucket of seawater. She knew that if she hurled the seawater at the Druid, it would save the life of the baby in the basket.

But presently the scene changed and she was having a polite cup of tea and sandwich with her aunt Kath, who was the image of her mother . . . who was her mother . . . come to take her away from this extraordinary land and back to her own dear place, which was the corner house in Kingfisher Court, just off the Scotland Road, where her mother had grown up. She could even hear the traffic going past on the road outside. Only suddenly the noise grew louder and louder and a huge train, its firebox spitting red-hot sparks, burst into the room. Nell and her mother both screamed and Nell awoke, shaking, to find Mrs McFarlane smiling down upon her.