When Olwyn Met Gawain
I’ve always hated Barry. I had the misfortune to live there
between the World Wars, when I was young, and I hated it. It was the biggest
coal port in Britain and there was coal everywhere. Rail wagon loads of it
squealing and rumbling their way to the docks. Great black mounds of it looming
over the grimy rows of the dockside terraced houses. And the perpetual cloud of
smelly, choking coal dust. Settling everywhere, getting into everything and
turning into a sticky, black slime when it rained. Then there were the ships,
dozens of them crowding the docks. And ships meant sailors, washing away the
taste of coal dust in smoky pubs. And where sailors and beer combined there
were pimps and where there were pimps there were hookers. Like me.
I was in one of those
dingy pubs close to Dock View Road. Can’t remember what it was called, but it
doesn’t matter now, they were all the same. It was not my usual beat; but
uptown pickings had been lean that evening. And my feet were killing me. I
needed to sit down and you never knew, a customer was a customer wherever you found
him.
And I had a
prospect. A man sitting on his own nursing a half pint. Powerfully built and, by
the state of his suit, probably a sailor. But reasonable looking and by
appearances still sober. I tried one of the standard hooks.
“You look like you
could use some company?”
“What?” he glanced
up, surprised to see a young woman hovering beside the table.
“You look as if
you could use some company,” I repeated, stressing the lilting Welsh accent
that some men seemed to find attractive. “Do you?” I took the plunge and dropped
into the chair opposite him.
He looked at me
silently. I could tell what he was thinking. What they all thought, looking at
my exotic colouring and facial features, and my thick mane of black, curly hair;
the product of an unlikely and drunken encounter between a Somali stoker and a
teacher from Swansea. Not one of the usual girls from the depressing coal ports
of South Wales, down on their luck with nothing to earn a living with apart
from a pretty face and a soft body. Men wondered what it would be like, with a
coloured girl, and whether they could afford me. But perhaps not this man, who
was still silent and I wondered if I’d made a mistake.
“Talkative aren’t
you?” He met my gaze and for a moment I looked into eyes the faded blue of the
wave tossed horizon; deep and mysterious as the ocean. I tried a note of appeal.
“At least you could offer me a cigarette, or a drink.”
He sighed as if I
had asked him to part with his last shilling and then reached into a pocket and
pulled out a crumpled pack of Players, flicking one out for me and taking
another for himself. He struck a Vesta and held it up, instinctively shielding
the flame in powerful, work creased hands. I inhaled a lungful of the peppery-rich
smoke and softly blew it out through pursed, crimson lips, the way I’d seen
Marlene Dietrich do it at the cinema.
“What’ll you drink?”
“It speaks!” I
caught the warning in his eyes, “Thanks, I’ll have a gin and bitters.”
He rose and walked
over to the bar, feeling into his trouser pocket for some coins and weighing
them in his fingers.
“Gin and bitters,
and another half.” He deliberately counted the coins onto the bar. Tight fisted,
I thought, this was going to be hard going. He brought the drinks back to the
table and reached for the water jug.
“Say when.” He
poured water into the bitters laced gin watching the brown tinged liquid turn
into a pale rose pink.
“When. Thanks for
the drink. And now that we’re on speaking terms why don’t you tell me your
name.” I took another drag at the cigarette, picked up the pink gin, and waited
for a reply.
I was trying to act
cool and sophisticated, smiling at him over the rim of the glass, hoping he’d
find me attractive. Was it bravado or naivety? It was a tough life being a working
girl in dockland pubs. And this was not one of Barry’s better ones. A dimly lit,
tiny dive with nicotine stained paint peeling off the walls and ceiling. The
windows grimy with coal dust. The faded threadbare carpet quilted by beer
stains and cigarette burns.
“William, but most
people call me Bill.”
“Well, William,
I’m very pleased to meet you. You can call me Olwyn.” I held out my hand; small
and coffee coloured, the manicured nails lacquered deep-red. He stared at if
for a moment as if he thought his own powerful fist might break it. But when he
held it he was gentle and his grip was reassuringly warm and dry.
“Do you have
another name, then?” he asked, releasing my hand.
“No, Olwyn is my
name. My mum gave it me. It means ‘white footprint ‘in Welsh … and that’s about
the only part of me that is white, the soles of my feet. But not many people
call me that, they like to make up other names for me.”
“People?”
“Well, men. Gives
them a sense of possession.”
“What sort of
names?” he asked, curious.
“You know,” I squirmed,
suddenly uncomfortable, “exotic ones like Ashanti and Ebony or Sheba.”
“Because they
think you’re exotic.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Well I’m not like
most of the other girls you see round here, now am I?”
I watched while he
slowly scanned the bar. “Matter of fact I don’t see many other girls here at
all,” he said. “Not the usual sort of place for your quality of trade is it?
Roughing it are you?” Despite the dark skin I’m sure he could see me blushing;
but I was angry, not embarrassed.
“Look mister if
you don’t want my company that’s one thing, but there’s no need to be rude.” I
stubbed the butt of my cigarette viciously into the ashtray and started to
rise. He placed a firm, restraining hand over mine.
“At least finish
your drink. I didn’t say I didn’t want company, but let’s not pretend it’s just
the pleasure of my company you want. You’re a nice looking girl and if you want
to have a drink with me where it’s warm and dry, until someone makes you a
better offer, then that’s okay.”
I hesitated. I
could have walked away, but I needed that drink and in my experience a man’s
“no” didn’t always mean no. Sometimes they just needed persuading. “Well you
really do know how to make a girl feel welcome,” I said, smiling now. “I can
see there’s no taking advantage of you, William bach. But you’ll forgive a girl for trying.” I clapped a hand over my
mouth in mock horror. “You’re not married are you? I’d hate your reputation to
suffer being seen talking to a girl like me.”
He laughed, a
deep, rumbling, chuckle and his eyes creased with merriment. “No, I’m not
married and my reputation is in no danger from you. Fact is you might improve
it, things being what they are.”
“And how are
things?” I asked. “Forgive me for saying so but you look just as out of place
in this bar as you say I do.” It wasn’t true; but flattery sometimes works
wonders.
His mouth twisted
into a rueful grin. “Aye Olwyn, I’ve seen better times, that’s for sure. But
the beer’s good here, and cheap, and the landlord doesn’t make a fuss if I sit for
an hour over half a pint.” He took a swig and his mouth curled appreciatively.
“It’d be good to get a ship though.”
“Thought you were
a seaman as soon as I saw you,” I said. “Too well dressed for the foc’sle
though and there’s not much dirt under your fingernails so I’m guessing you’re
looking for a mate’s berth?” I watched him bristle at the reference to his
personal appearance.
“I’ve sailed in
plenty of foc’sles girl,” he growled. “With dirty hands and dirty clothes.
There are times when you don’t have the luxury of being too choosy.”
“You and me both,
boyo.” I snapped back. And then, softly, “Present company excepted of course.
Anyway you won’t be finding a ship at this time of night.” It was time to try
some coquetry. “But finding a berth where you could have a little fun, that
wouldn’t be so bad now, would it William bach?”
The desire in his
eyes was plain and his gaze so direct that I felt as if he could see right
through my clothes, but I did my best to smile demurely. He had to be tempted
and not just by the colour of my skin. If he was hard up and not married then
it might have been weeks, months even, since he’d been with a woman. I could
almost feel his urgency. But even cheap hotels, ones where the night manager
didn’t ask too many questions, cost money. Would he be able to afford the room
as well as me?
“Seems you find
the idea tolerable then?” I said, managing to split tolerable into four
distinct syllables and sexily rolling the middle ‘r.’
“You’re not from
round here are you?” he said.
“Changing the
subject are we? You want to know more about me before you decide if I’m worth
it. Is that it? Well if you must know I’m from Swansea.”
“Thought you
didn’t sound like one of the local girls.”
“Worst accent in
Wales, that’s what they say about Barry. Worst accent, worst coal dust and
worst girls.” I laughed and winked across the table. “Surely you’ve found that
out by now, William bach?”
“Chance would be a
fine thing,” His suddenly blushing face betraying an enforced period of
monasticism.
“Chance is it?” I
replied, encouraged by the sudden chink in his armour. “Not too shy to ask a
girl to dance are we?”
“Dancing?” It was his
turn to laugh. “Haven’t seen much of that in Barry, been too busy chasing
work.” He hesitated, perhaps unsure whether to continue. Perhaps afraid that I
might scorn or pity him. “And the truth is Olwyn, I’m skint. If I don’t find a
mate’s berth tomorrow, well I’ll be sleeping rough or back in the foc’sle on
the next collier out of here.”
“That’s a no
then?” I replied, trying to keep the dejection out of my voice, realising that
if he could not afford it I would have to find another prospect as soon as
possible, before all the reasonable looking ones were tucked up in bed with
their wives or lovers, leaving just the sweepings of Barry’s dockside pubs.
“I’d be lying if I
said I wasn’t tempted, Olwyn. But –“
“There’s always a ‘but.’”
“But,” he
continued determinedly, “much as I’d be happy to see the landlady go short, I
can’t get by on fresh air, no more than you can. “ He glanced around the bar.
It was almost closing time but the remaining patrons were either too old or too
drunk. “Look, you won’t have any luck in here, but I’ll walk you up towards
King’s Square and perhaps you can find someone coming out of the cinema or one
of the big hotels.”
He pushed his
chair back and stood up, holding out his arm. I decided to make the best of it.
“Thank you, kind sir. A gentleman to offer me his arm.”
He led me towards
the door, mouthing good night to the landlord. Then we were outside in the
cold, damp air, the darkness intensified by the stinking, coal dust tainted mist
that had settled over the town. I gripped his arm for warmth as we walked away
from the docks towards the town centre.
“Where do think you’re
going then?” A familiar, but unwelcome voice hissed from the darkness and its
owner stepped out of an alley way into the cone of pale, yellow light under the
corner gas lamp, barring our passage.
He was a nasty
piece of work that went by the improbable name of Bertie. Rakishly dressed with
his trademark green scarf and with deceptively boyish good looks he looked
anything other than what he was, a vicious petty crook and a pimp. My pimp.
Which had its benefits because most of the other pimps were afraid of him and
left me alone. And he was not overly fond of sampling the merchandise. Perhaps
he found my colour a threat to his sense of superiority. On the other hand he
was not averse to raising his hand when business was not as brisk as he liked
it.
“I’m on my way to
King’s Square, this gentleman has offered to walk me there.”
“Gentleman, is
it?” The voice was harsh and sneering.
“Now Bertie we
don’t want any trouble,” I said.
“There won’t be no
trouble, will there mister?” It was a threat as much as a challenge. “I seen
you in the pub, chattin’ her up, takin’ up the best part of an hour of her
time.”
“I’ll make it up
to you Bertie, I just needed to sit down for a while and this gentleman offered
to buy me a drink.”
“Very nice, very cosy
in the pub the two of you were, while I’m out here in the cold waiting for you
to earn some money. You’ve wasted Olwyn’s time boyo, you’ve wasted my time.
Time’s money. Time has to be paid for.”
“Bertie, there’s
no need -”
“Step away from
him girl, he’s not going to hide behind your skirts.”
I wasn’t expecting
Sir Gawain; but William looked more than a match for Bertie so I was shocked
when he dropped my arm like a hot brick and shrank backwards. “I didn’t mean no
harm, Bertie,” he whined. “I didn’t mean to cause her any trouble.” He huddled
protectively and grasped his hands pleadingly in front of his chest.
Bertie’s mouth
twisted into a sadistic sneer. “Makes no difference to me boyo whether you’ve
had her or not. Now you’re going to pay.”
“Please don’t hurt
me.” The tone was craven and William crept further away from the pool of light,
as if the darkness could protect him.
Bertie reached
into his coat pocket. I heard a sharp click and a switchblade glimmered in the lamp
light. “You picked a right champion in this one.” He spat the words at me, then
beckoned William with his fingers. ”Come on boyo, let’s see the colour of your
money.”
William raised trembling
hands and slowly reached inside his overcoat, drawing out his wallet and offering
it out towards the advancing Bertie.
“Give it here,”
barked Bertie, lunging impatiently.
Which is when I
realised that I was mistaken about William, and so was Bertie, although for him
the consequences were near fatal.
William easily
sidestepped the outstretched hands, flicked the wallet into the suddenly startled
face of the off-balance Bertie, locked his two powerful fists onto the hand
holding the knife and twisted it back sharply. I heard the bones crack and Bertie’s
scream; the knife clattered to the pavement. Releasing the shattered wrist, William
smashed a fist into Bertie’s face, the blow sounding like a cleaver chopping through
bone. Bertie’s legs crumpled and he slumped, senseless to the pavement where William
delivered several vicious kicks to his ribs. I’d seen men fighting before, but the
ferocity of William’s attack frightened me and I grabbed his arm. “Don’t kill
him.”
His eyes blazed in
the lamplight and the veins bulged in his neck. Then the anger drained from his
face. “Sorry, but when I knock a man down I like to make sure he stays down, or
at least if he gets up he’s in no state to do any further damage.” He bent down
to pick up his wallet then knelt beside the unconscious Bertie and placed two
fingers on the side of his neck. “He’s not dead, but he’ll have a broken wrist
and some very painful ribs when he wakes up, he’ll need a doctor.” He reached
inside Bertie’s coat, located his wallet and stood up, stepping into the lamp
light to examine its contents.
“What are you
doing?”
“I don’t see why you’re
so worried about him. He was going to cut me, or worse. And I bet he’s knocked
you about before?”
My silence was agreement enough.
“He’ll be all right and I’ll send for help in
a minute. But look here,” he pulled a handful of notes from the wallet. “There must
be almost sixty pounds. No wonder he was keen to keep you working if men paid
that well for you. Here,” he thrust the notes towards me. “Take it, you earned
it.”
I slapped him
hard. “How dare you talk to me like that? I might be a working girl, but I
still have some respect.”
He slapped me
back. It stung but I knew he wasn’t trying. I’d had far worse from Bertie. I
raised my hand and swung it at his face, but he caught it, laughing. “Okay,
were even now. I’m sorry, but really, it is your money.” He pushed the wad of
notes into my hand, then paused, then paused. “Was he from Swansea like you?”
“No, he’s from
North Wales, Wrexham I think. I met him after I arrived here.”
“Any friends or
family in Barry?”
I thought for a
moment. “No, he never mentioned anyone. I think he came here just before I
did.”
“It’ll be a while
before he wakes up and he won’t feel up to much when he does. So my advice to
you, Olwyn, is to get the next train out of Barry and find somewhere to make a
fresh start. Somewhere far away from places like this and men like him.” He
glanced up and down the dark and still deserted street. The whole encounter had
only taken a matter of moments and perhaps the residents knew better than to
get involved with two men fighting over a woman.
“Let’s get away
from here. I’ll walk you towards Holton Road and look for a phone box to ring the
police.”
“What about you?”
“Never you mind
about me, I can look after myself.”
I grinned in the
darkness and took his arm. “You can indeed, William bach.”
On well-lit Holton
Road, away from the grimy lanes around the eastern docks, William found a
telephone box and dialled the police station, reporting a fight and an injured
man beside an alley off Jewel Street. The desk sergeant asked for his name, but
he declined to give it and hung up. There was sheepish grin on his face when he
turned around.
“This is
embarrassing Olwyn, but I need to ask you a favour. Can you lend me five quid?”
“You want me to
give you money?” I couldn’t resist enjoying the irony of it.
“It’s just a loan,
I’ll pay you back at the end of the voyage.” His eyes were sparkling.
“I bet you say
that to all the girls,” I counted out ten pounds and pressed them into his
hand.
“We’re quits now Sir
Gawain.”
“Sir Gawain?”
“One of King
Arthur’s Knights. He was Welsh and kind to maidens in distress.”
“I’m not Welsh,
and you’re hardly – ”
I put a finger
over his lips. “Don’t spoil it now, unless you want another box on the ear.
Thank you for getting me away from that pig. But I’m curious as to why.”
“Don’t get me
wrong Olwyn. I’m no saint, I’ve had my share of hookers. My mother was one, but
she had little choice after my father was killed in the Great War. Perhaps if
just one of the men who took advantage of her had stopped to help, she’d still
be here now.” He stuck out a hand. “So long Olwyn and good luck. And I hope I never
see you round here again.” His tone was surprisingly stern.
I took his hand
and shook it, afraid that if I kissed him I wouldn’t be able to go. “Thank you Sir
Gawain. You really do know how to make a girl feel welcome.”
I watched him
disappear into the darkness. In the distance I heard the bells of a speeding
ambulance. Pulling my collar up against the cold, I stepped out briskly in the
direction of my digs. I had fifty pounds in my pocket and a train to catch.
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