Anyway, as I was saying, after that, your father and me were enjoying our tea, when niblo charges in. Smothered he was, tar or something. I couldn't get it off. His hair was plastered with it. Then he walks over, bold as brass, climbs into his high chair, squeezes himself in and shouts, 'Tea!'  'I'll give you tea', I said, 'get out of there!' Well, I've only today finished getting the rest of the tar out of his hair. I don't know how to handle him, Ronnie. It's a man's job, don't you think? Look out!  Speak of the devil, here's yer ol' man coming down the street. Get all that stuff off the table, Ronnie. You know what he's like, wants it in his mouth soon as he comes in," she said hurriedly pulling out the cutlery drawer.

"What-a-bloody-day I've had!  Where's my grub?" bawled Dad from the kitchen closet, hanging up his dirty old working clothes.

"Food, is what you mean. Not, 'Where's my grub.' Don't speak like that. Don't show yourself up, Alf.  I'm sure Ronnie doesn't want to hear that sort of talk. (As if I mattered). It'll be ready when it's in front of you, and not before," she retorted, not wanting to hear anything about the kind of day he'd had.

"And that's enough of your bloody lip an' all," he snarled back, adding, "and where's those other 'fly-by-nights'?" looking directly at me. He was alluding to Malcolm and Gwyn.

"Out somewhere, Dad," I replied sheepishly, nervous of his short temper.

"Out where? I want them in. You and the other one, down the allotments, the pair of you. And go and see what Gwyn's up to first," he ordered, adding, "We've got hold of seven perch of good soil now, costing me twelve and six. So, the next few evenings, it's digging till dark, you pair stoning and other jobs, like chopping it all up. You can take turns, and no squabbling. I want it done, so don't go slinking out. Have your teas, and get down there."

At that moment, my two younger brothers strolled into the parlour.

"Alright, alright Alf," Mam chirped in, "You don't have to go mad at it. Why don't you enjoy a bit of gardening?  Other men do."

"You want to do a bit of it, and see how you enjoy it," he snarled, stretching his neck forward for emphasis.

It was plain to see Dad was already exhausted, but still he intended to go digging for the rest of the remaining daylight hours. All this work, I thought. So why were we so poor?

- 3 -