Fall of Giants

“Out!” he shouted. “And never come back!”

Mam said: “But your grandchild!”

Billy spoke. “Will you be ruled by the Word of God, Da? Jesus said: ‘I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’ Gospel of Luke, chapter five, verse thirty-two.”

Da rounded on him. “Let me tell you something, you ignorant boy. My grandparents were never married. No one knows who my grandfather was. My grandmother sank as low as a woman can go.”

Mam gasped. Ethel was shocked, and she could see that Billy was flabbergasted. Gramper seemed as if he already knew.

“Oh, yes,” Da said, lowering his voice. “My father was brought up in a house of ill fame, if you know what that is; a place where sailors went, down the docks in Cardiff. Then one day, when his mother was in a drunken stupor, God led his childish footsteps into a chapel Sunday school, where he met Jesus. In the same place he learned to read and write and, eventually, to bring up his own children in the paths of righteousness.”

Mam said softly: “You never told me this, David.” She seldom called him by his Christian name.

“I hoped never to think of it again.” Da’s face was twisted into a mask of shame and rage. He leaned on the table and stared Ethel in the eye, and his voice sank to a whisper. “When I courted your mother, we held hands, and I kissed her cheek every evening until the wedding day.” He banged his fist on the table, making the cups shake. “By the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, my family dragged itself up out of the stinking gutter.” His voice rose again to a shout. “We are not going back there! Never! Never! Never!”

There was a long moment of stunned silence.

Da looked at Mam. “Get Ethel out of here,” he said.

Ethel stood up. “My case is packed and I’ve got some money. I’ll get the train to London.” She looked hard at her father. “I won’t drag the family into the gutter.”

Billy picked up her suitcase.

Da said: “Where are you going to, boy?”

“I’ll walk her to the station,” Billy said, looking frightened.

“Let her carry her own case.”

Billy stooped to put it down, then changed his mind. An obstinate look came over his face. “I’ll walk her to the station,” he repeated.

“You’ll do what you’re told!” Da shouted.

Billy still looked scared, but now he was defiant too. “What are you going to do, Da-throw me out of the house and all?”

“I’ll put you across my knee and thrash you,” Da said. “You’re not too old.”

Billy was white-faced, but he looked Da in the eye. “Yes, I am,” he said. “I am too old.” He shifted the case to his left hand and clenched his right fist.

Da took a step forward. “I’ll teach you to make a fist at me, boy.”

“No!” Mam screamed. She stood between them and pushed at Da’s chest. “That’s enough! I will not have a fight in my kitchen.” She pointed her finger at Da’s face. “David Williams, you keep your hands to yourself. Remember that you’re an elder of Bethesda Chapel. What would people think?”

That calmed him.

Mam turned to Ethel. “You’d better go. Billy will go with you. Quick, now.”

Da sat down at the table.

Ethel kissed her mother. “Good-bye, Mam.”

“Write me a letter,” Mam said.

Da said: “Don’t you dare write to anyone in this house! The letters will be burned unopened!”

Mam turned away, weeping. Ethel went out and Billy followed.

They walked down the steep streets to the town center. Ethel kept her eyes on the ground, not wanting to speak to people she knew and be asked where she was off to.

At the station she bought a ticket to Paddington.

“Well,” said Billy, as they stood on the platform, “two shocks in one day. First you, then Da.”

“He have kept that bottled up inside him all these years,” Ethel said. “No wonder he’s so strict. I can almost forgive him for throwing me out.”

“I can’t,” said Billy. “Our faith is about redemption and mercy, not about bottling things up and punishing people.”

A train from Cardiff came in, and Ethel saw Walter von Ulrich get off. He touched his hat to her, which was nice of him: gentlemen did not do that to servants, normally. Lady Maud had said she had thrown him over. Perhaps he had come to win her back. She silently wished him luck.

“Do you want me to buy you a newspaper?” Billy said.

“No, thank you, my lovely,” she said. “I don’t think I could concentrate on it.”

Waiting for her train she said: “Do you remember our code?” In childhood they had devised a simple way to write notes that their parents could not understand.

For a moment Billy looked puzzled, then his face cleared. “Oh, aye.”

“I’ll write to you in code, so Da can’t read it.”

“Right,” he said. “And send the letter via Tommy Griffiths.”

The train puffed into the station in clouds of steam. Billy hugged Ethel. She could see he was trying not to cry.

“Look after yourself,” she said. “And take care of our mam.”

“Aye,” he said, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “We’ll be all right. You be careful up there in London, now.”

“I will.”