Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) Read Free

had been his wife’s creations. The sheep had been one of his earlier efforts and was showing clear signs of abuse and neglect. He felt rather more proud of the fortress that he had created two years ago as a Christmas present for young Edward. The wood had been salvaged from the scrap bin at the sawmill where he worked and the lead soldiers had been made by his brother James using strips of lead flashing thrown away by roofers repairing a property near his home.
    Jim had made the moulds from Plaster of Paris, building them up in two sections with grease proof paper in between. Edward remembered how even he had been excited when Jim had taken the molten lead out of the oven in his black-leaded range and poured it into the plaster cast moulds. Then he had been as thrilled as any schoolboy would have been when they were broken open to reveal the shiny lead soldiers.
    ‘Dad. When you’re away can I shift that wood out of the shed so that I can put my bike in there?’ his son shouted, intruding into his reverie.
     
    ***
     
    Edward had said his goodbyes to his widowed mother and his brothers the day before. She had told him to make sure that he got plenty of potatoes down him and not have too much of that foreign muck that they all eat over there. To send him on his way, his Mam had sat him down at the table and given him a large plate of hotpot, cooked with a thick, shortcrust pastry top, followed by his favourite custard tart.
    As he had left, she had told him to watch his bowels and, in a rare show of emotion, had given him a big hug and a kiss on his cheek.
    Edward now bent his head tentatively towards his wife’s face but the hurt in her grey eyes made him hesitate and he turned, instead, and kissed the forehead of the sleeping baby that she was holding. Laura was embracing the child protectively against her breast but her gaze held Edward’s steadily in wordless communion. They heard the clatter of a horse-drawn cart passing down the cobbled street outside. There was no thudding rumble in the note from the wheels. It would be the coalman returning empty to the yard at the top of the street.
    ‘Laura. That money in my wage packet. I need to tell you. They paid us off. I have no job to come back to.’
    She placed her hand on his shoulder and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘I know. We’ll manage. Something will turn up.’
    ‘I’m sorry love. You just seemed so pleased with the extra pay that I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. How did you know, anyway?’
    ‘Brig told me. You must have mentioned it to Liam.’
    ‘It’s not right really. The Corporation are keeping the jobs open for their lads but all the private firms round here seem to be laying their people off.’
    ‘Maybe it is safer to have the money in your pocket now. A job to come back to won’t help the families of those who don’t come back.’
    Edward suddenly sensed the deep dread that had gripped his wife. It had locked her into this silent world of fear where even the odd word spoken might betray thoughts that were too awful to air. She had seen more clearly than he had that this wasn’t a rugby match with its bruising physical contact but limited dangers; it wasn’t the pantomime heroics on the practise fields of the Prestatyn army camp. This was a real war, raw and brutalising. They would be facing an army of professional soldiers that had rampaged ruthlessly through Europe and men would be killed and maimed. The camaraderie and bravado of the pub, the rush of the preparations, had dominated the last few weeks and obscured the realities of the combat. He had dwelt on domestic arrangements – she had sensed sacrifice and feared for his life. He had dreamt of a heroic, vanquishing, Comic Cuts adventure whilst his wife was seeing his battered and lifeless body; unreachable and beyond her care.
    The constricting tightness in his throat and chest crushed the words of his farewell. The kiss would be the final act of parting. Edward touched