his way home from school a couple of times a week? If he could teach me some useful words and sentences I’d be so grateful.’
Mrs Pritchard agreed at once and sat smiling contentedly whilst Chris chattered to her about his new little sister. Rhys insisted on giving Mrs Pritchard a lift home in thebaby Morris and later that evening Molly asked him if he too might begin to speak to her in Welsh, for surely if Chris could learn she should be able to do likewise.
‘I hope so,’ Rhys said, but he spoke rather doubtfully. ‘Our language means a lot to us all; did you know that during the war the men who sent the radio messages from ship to ship in the Navy and from one division to another in the army were nearly always Welsh? The enemy could not understand a word. So you see, Welsh really isn’t a dead language and we don’t want it to become one. If you’re sure it’s what you want, I’ll speak Welsh to Chris, and I expect you’ll soon find you begin to understand everything we say.’
Molly was anxious to do as Rhys suggested and produced an exercise book which she had bought in the hospital shop, announcing that it should become her Welsh dictionary. ‘By the time it’s full I’ll hardly ever need to use it,’ she promised Rhys. ‘In fact by the time Chris’s old enough to go to the village school we’ll both be chattering away in English and Welsh. And by the time Rhiannon’s in school . . .’
‘Oh, by the time Rhiannon’s in school you’ll be a positive professor,’ Rhys said, laughing. He glanced at the clock above the mantel. ‘Do you want me to fetch Nonny through? It’s twenty past ten; she’s already late for her next feed.’
Ellen and her mother climbed aboard the tram with the baby in Ellen’s arms. Mrs Meakin hustled her daughter into a seat, ordering the conductor, in a very peremptory fashion, to ‘let the gel sit down. That baby’s a new ’un, and don’t want no more jiggling about than she can help.’
The conductor grinned. ‘Right you are, missus,’ he said breezily. ‘We don’t want to turn the milk sour, do we?’
‘Cheeky bugger,’ Mrs Meakin said disapprovingly, but Ellen could not forbear to smile. She was so happy with her beautiful baby that she did not care whether she was jiggled or not. All she cared about was getting back to 21 Dryden Street so that she could settle the baby into the Moses basket her mother had given her, and start her new life as the mother of the beautiful little girl who slumbered now in the crook of her arm.
The tram decanted them at the appropriate stop, the conductor shouting to the driver to give these ladies plenty of time to alight. ‘They got on at the hospital so the baby’s only a few days old,’ he assured his colleague, jumping off the tram as soon as it stopped and tenderly assisting Ellen to get down. Then she and her mother waved him a cheery goodbye and set off to walk the short distance between the tram stop and Dryden Street. Ellen had thought the baby a light little burden when they left the ward and was astonished and even a little dismayed to find how heavy the child became as she walked. She said as much to her mother, making Mrs Meakin give a snort of amusement.
‘I’d take over, ’cept this here suitcase weighs four times what your babby does,’ she assured her daughter. ‘What have you got in it, anyway? Bricks?’
Ellen laughed, ‘Nah, just me night things and baby stuff,’ she said. ‘I’ve never thought of meself as superstitious, but oh, Mum, I wanted this baby so bad and I were so scared something awful might happen that I wouldn’t go buyin’ anything more than the hospitalneeded. But I got money hid away so’s I can buy her an old pram. Whilst she’s little she’ll sleep in one of the drawers of the big dressing table, but later on I mean to see she has a proper cot wi’ bars an’ that; you know, the sort with the side that lets down.’
‘Aye, I know what you mean; your sister
Mrs Pritchard agreed at once and sat smiling contentedly whilst Chris chattered to her about his new little sister. Rhys insisted on giving Mrs Pritchard a lift home in thebaby Morris and later that evening Molly asked him if he too might begin to speak to her in Welsh, for surely if Chris could learn she should be able to do likewise.
‘I hope so,’ Rhys said, but he spoke rather doubtfully. ‘Our language means a lot to us all; did you know that during the war the men who sent the radio messages from ship to ship in the Navy and from one division to another in the army were nearly always Welsh? The enemy could not understand a word. So you see, Welsh really isn’t a dead language and we don’t want it to become one. If you’re sure it’s what you want, I’ll speak Welsh to Chris, and I expect you’ll soon find you begin to understand everything we say.’
Molly was anxious to do as Rhys suggested and produced an exercise book which she had bought in the hospital shop, announcing that it should become her Welsh dictionary. ‘By the time it’s full I’ll hardly ever need to use it,’ she promised Rhys. ‘In fact by the time Chris’s old enough to go to the village school we’ll both be chattering away in English and Welsh. And by the time Rhiannon’s in school . . .’
‘Oh, by the time Rhiannon’s in school you’ll be a positive professor,’ Rhys said, laughing. He glanced at the clock above the mantel. ‘Do you want me to fetch Nonny through? It’s twenty past ten; she’s already late for her next feed.’
Ellen and her mother climbed aboard the tram with the baby in Ellen’s arms. Mrs Meakin hustled her daughter into a seat, ordering the conductor, in a very peremptory fashion, to ‘let the gel sit down. That baby’s a new ’un, and don’t want no more jiggling about than she can help.’
The conductor grinned. ‘Right you are, missus,’ he said breezily. ‘We don’t want to turn the milk sour, do we?’
‘Cheeky bugger,’ Mrs Meakin said disapprovingly, but Ellen could not forbear to smile. She was so happy with her beautiful baby that she did not care whether she was jiggled or not. All she cared about was getting back to 21 Dryden Street so that she could settle the baby into the Moses basket her mother had given her, and start her new life as the mother of the beautiful little girl who slumbered now in the crook of her arm.
The tram decanted them at the appropriate stop, the conductor shouting to the driver to give these ladies plenty of time to alight. ‘They got on at the hospital so the baby’s only a few days old,’ he assured his colleague, jumping off the tram as soon as it stopped and tenderly assisting Ellen to get down. Then she and her mother waved him a cheery goodbye and set off to walk the short distance between the tram stop and Dryden Street. Ellen had thought the baby a light little burden when they left the ward and was astonished and even a little dismayed to find how heavy the child became as she walked. She said as much to her mother, making Mrs Meakin give a snort of amusement.
‘I’d take over, ’cept this here suitcase weighs four times what your babby does,’ she assured her daughter. ‘What have you got in it, anyway? Bricks?’
Ellen laughed, ‘Nah, just me night things and baby stuff,’ she said. ‘I’ve never thought of meself as superstitious, but oh, Mum, I wanted this baby so bad and I were so scared something awful might happen that I wouldn’t go buyin’ anything more than the hospitalneeded. But I got money hid away so’s I can buy her an old pram. Whilst she’s little she’ll sleep in one of the drawers of the big dressing table, but later on I mean to see she has a proper cot wi’ bars an’ that; you know, the sort with the side that lets down.’
‘Aye, I know what you mean; your sister
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