Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner Page 2

  Elias’s bitterness had festered, eating deep into the soul of the tormented sixteen-year-old. Nothing but memories remained of his father after George changed the name of the business to G Price & Family, and they emigrated to New Zealand. While Gwenna understood his sorrow, she could never forgive the young man whose wrath had become a beast that grew with each passing year. If only she and Mam could get away, but they had few choices; the law was on his side.

  She sighed; she would never fulfil her pa’s dreams under Elias’s roof.

  “Maybe you should get married again,” ventured Gwenna. “It’d be a way out of this mess.” Gwenna bit the side of her fingernail while she thought through what she wanted to say. “What about Hugh? I’m sure he’s got a real soft spot for you. I’ve seen the way he keeps an eye on you.”

  Bethan stopped chopping to glare at Gwenna. “Rubbish. And you can put those ideas right out of your head, young lady,” she said, pointing the knife tip at Gwenna. “But it’s you he has a fancy for, not me.”

  Gwenna wasn’t sure how old Hugh was – somewhere between her eighteen years and Bethan’s mid-forties, she suspected. He was considerate, dependable and likeable, and she trusted him, but she’d never thought about him like that, not when she had Johnno. “Never!” Gwenna shook her head, denying Hugh’s interest. “You’re dreaming, Mam.”

  “I know what I see, girl,” said Bethan. “And if you took more notice you’d see it too. I’m too old for all that nonsense now, but you should think about getting yerself away, our Gwenna. Before it’s too late.”

  Unbeknownst to Bethan, Gwenna had been thinking about it. She’d thought a lot about Johnno and his constant urging to go away with him.

  “You don’t need to put up with Elias,” continued Bethan, dropping the chopped vegetables into the pot. “He’s no kin to you. Why, even Samuel, his own brother, won’t have nowt to do with him any more.”

  This wasn’t the first time she and Bethan had had this conversation, but Gwenna was torn. She wanted to get away but, almost with his dying breath, Pa made her promise to care for Bethan and Charlie after he’d gone.

  Pa had understood Elias’s loyalty to his father’s memory and watched his resentment grow over the years but he could never have imagined Elias becoming quite so angry and obsessed. It wasn’t until her older sister Matilda married Tom Griffiths the previous year that Gwenna’s sense of responsibility for Bethan and Charlie weighed so heavily on her shoulders.

  Oh, how I miss Tillie.

  To take her mind off the things she couldn’t change, Gwenna rolled up her sleeves and gathered the tools she would need to make a new batch of acid drops with her homemade lemon essence. Since her father had gone, she preferred to work in the scullery rather than the back kitchen where the men worked. Her family still made their sweets and lozenges by hand, despite the proliferation of modern machinery used by many other confectionery manufacturers. The Price family reputation rested on it, and on her.

  George Price had taught his daughters well, but Gwenna had excelled. No one matched Gwenna’s skill at boiling the sugar or pulling and stretching the mixture until it was smooth and pliable. She could flavour and colour to perfection and turn the finished length into sweets – or lollies, as they called them here – of any shape and size she chose. And while she didn’t have the strength to lift the seventy-pound sacks from the Colonial Sugar Company across the harbour in Birkenhead, nor handle the large boxes of finished goods, Hugh did.

  With difficulty, Gwenna reached up to unhook the six-pounder open pan from the collection of copper pots hanging from the rack swinging above the scullery workbench. Her back hurt and her muscles resisted the stretch. She fetched a long-handled roasting fork to help her dislodge the pan then set it on the range to heat.

  With a practised eye, she measured out a good six pounds of sugar, added a pint of water and three pounds of glucose, and stirred it until it had all melted. Leaving the mixture to reach temperature and bubble for about half an hour, she poured boiling water from the kettle, permanently on the range, into the cast-iron hollow workbench Pa had made that better suited her height.

  While she waited for the sugar to liquefy, she squeezed the lemons, grated the skin and put the mixture on to heat with a little confectioners’ sugar. Stirring it all the time while it simmered, she felt the familiar ache in her jaw at the tart aroma. As soon as it was ready, she pushed the mixture through a sieve until she had the right consistency. Lumps of rind didn’t go down well.

  The heat rose in the enclosed space, and she wiped her forehead with her sleeve, bumping her sore nose in the process. “Ouch!” Her eyes watered with the pain, and she held her nose between her fingers until the throbbing subsided. She dabbed at her eyes with her hanky and checked the sugar mixture again.

  Once the pan and workbench reached the right temperature and she settled into her routine, she could produce batch after batch without thinking. Only if she allowed herself to get distracted was she likely to make a mistake, resulting in a cut or burn to her hands. On occasions, she overheated a batch and it would crystallise, but it had been a long time since that had happened. Pa had taught her well. Pa had taught them both – her and Tillie – but for reasons never explained, Elias would not allow the sisters to work together. But then nothing about him surprised her any more.

  Gwenna checked the temperature of the sugar mixture with the large thermometer, stirred in the lemon essence and decided it was ready. Picking up a padded woollen cloth in each hand, she felt every muscle protest as she lifted the pan from the range and tipped the contents onto the hot, greased worktable.

  Using the wide scraper, she briskly folded the sticky substance in on itself several times, flipped it over, and folded it again until it was cool enough to handle. With a quick flick of the wrist, she threw the knot over the hook fixed on the wall above her head and started stretching and twisting the sugar mixture over and over again – pulling it out and turning it back on itself in a continuous motion – until it was the right consistency and turned a creamy colour.

  “You do that so well, Gwenna,” praised Bethan. “You have the right action. I used to watch Owen and your father in amazement, but you are as good as they were – and as quick. I can’t say the same for Elias, but he already knows that. It’s one of the reasons he’s so hard on you.”

  Feeling comforted by the soothing action, Gwenna smiled her thanks at Bethan. She lifted the molten mass off the hook and dropped it on the table. Picking up her father’s favourite wood-handled knife, she cut the sugar mixture into manageable chunks and, regularly dipping one hand into a bag of fine rice flour, she kept up a constant motion, kneading and stretching each piece back and forth between her hand and the heated worktop to make long rolls. Once satisfied with the length and thickness, she swiftly chopped them into smaller pieces using the oversized scissors that were almost as long as her forearm. She shaped each of them into little balls and laid them out on a tray to cool and harden.

  A small hand pulling at her skirt interrupted her rhythm.

  “Can you make me a lollipop? Please, Gwenna?”

  “ ’Course I can, Charlie,” she smiled. She glanced over her shoulder towards the door, nervous about Elias coming in, but shrugged the thought away. It didn’t matter. He would either get angry or he wouldn’t, never mind what she did.

  Taking a couple of portions, she added a drop of cochineal to one and kneaded the colour in. Twisting the two pieces together into a long roll, she curled it into a circle, put a wooden skewer through, and handed the red and white lollipop to Charlie. His grin was worth a thousand tears. He was beautiful when he smiled.

  A memory of Pa flashed into her mind. He used to make special lollipops for her and Tillie when they were little. She missed him so much – and her sister. Oh, Tillie, what shall I do? I’m torn. Can I afford to have dreams?

  A wave of loneliness washed over her. One by one the household had emptied. A few years ago, the oldest of her stepsisters,
Louisa, had married Albert Evans the butcher. Then Janetta wed. She chose Percy Lewis, who worked for the ironmongers. They’d gone before Pa died and understood little of what their brother was like except from what they’d been told. Soon after, Samuel disappeared. Time and circumstances had put distance between them.

  And now Tillie was married too.

  The only chance the four girls had to catch up and talk without the pressure of life was when Elias was away, or sometimes after chapel on Sunday mornings. Gwenna and Bethan would walk past the two-storey corner house in Beresford Street where Tom and Tillie lived, on their way to the gothic-style wooden church in Wellington Street – not that St James’s was chapel, as they knew it; the place was much fancier. And every time Gwenna walked past, she peeked into Tillie’s front room and dreamt of turning it into a shop where the two of them could work together.

  Gwenna tried not to dream too much and shut her heart and mind to the possibilities such thoughts opened up. Elias would never allow it.

  2

  Frustrations and regrets

  April 1899

  The following month, much to Gwenna’s surprise, Elias decided to accompany Hugh on his rounds to the Franklin area. They had stock to deliver to regular buyers, as well as seek out new customers. Most times Elias serviced the local shops, leaving Hugh to do the travelling further afield. Nevertheless, every month Elias ended up in a state of indecision. Was Hugh doing the job well enough? Should he go instead and leave Hugh behind to replenish the stock? But he didn’t trust Hugh enough to leave him on his own. Round and round, Bethan and Gwenna had heard these arguments, but they did not dare express an opinion.

  “Whatever you decide is best, Elias,” said his mother.

  “Yeah, I’ll go this time. We’ll get it done in half the time and I might get a few new clients. We could do with some. The local market’s gettin’ too crowded.”

  Elias had a number of fixed ideas on why he was having problems. First, there was that vulgar American company, the Chicago Sugar Boilers, with shops at either end of Karangahape Road.

  “ ‘ ... due to unprecedented success’, it said in their advertisement,” Elias spluttered. “I’d like a bit of that ‘unprecedented success’ to come my way.” He got to his feet and paced the floor, rubbing his hands through his hair. “Even Smeeton’s boasts a confectionery section in his grocery store these days, never mind that the Chicago crowd is right next door to them. They’ve started demonstrating how to make sweets in the shop window too, giving away all the trade secrets. It’s not right, I tell ya. Not right at all.”

  And second, according to Elias, their slump was all to do with the long-lasting after-effects of the 1886 stock market crash.

  Gwenna had little knowledge of the crash or the Shop Hours Bill passed in 1894, except it had forced a half-day closing for all shops except pharmacists, confectioners and eating houses.

  “Surely that must be better for us?” said Bethan. “If confectioners are one of the few shops open, won’t they sell more goods and need more supplies? We sell medicinal lozenges and sweets for those who just want lollies for their own sake. Won’t we benefit both ways?”

  Elias grunted. Although many shops had begun selling confectionery to get around the law, his order base had not increased to match. Competition was fierce among the nearly six hundred sugar boilers and retail outlets in the city.

  “Stick to what you’re told, old woman, and leave me to manage the trade,” said Elias, dismissing his mother with a wave of his hand.

  Gwenna wished he would manage the business – and properly. Of late, she’d often thought to remind him of all the plans her father once had. If only Elias would listen.

  Pa had built up a healthy manufacturing and distribution trade in the six years between their arrival in Auckland in 1891 and his death two years ago. In that time, her father’s ideas had grown larger, and he’d developed plans to expand and open a retail shop.

  In readiness, he had leased their large, two-storey house with its courtyard and stable for the horse and wagon, and he’d enclosed the lean-to at the back. There, he built a working kitchen where they could process larger batches of sugar, and where a young Tillie and an even younger Gwenna had refined their skills.

  But Pa’s plans never came to fruition. Too many drenchings while making the deliveries and too many long, hard hours with a recalcitrant Elias and an inexperienced Samuel had drained his strength. A cold, wet winter took its toll and Pa’s dreams died with him.

  Since then, Elias had chased Samuel away, irritated enough customers that they were losing sales, and split the family. Gwenna hoped he wouldn’t lose the roof over their heads as well.

  “Now, listen to me Gwenna. I want no nonsense while I’m away. No gadding off to the stores, ya hear? She can do all that.” He pointed at Bethan. “You’re to double the stock levels by the time I get back so I can do the local shops.”

  He pulled a list from his pocket: peppermint drops, Irish moss, barley sugar, aniseed balls, butterscotch, gumballs, humbugs and bullseyes, as well as toffees, jellies and caramels, and so it went on. Gwenna nodded and took the piece of paper – she was going to be busy if she was to fill those quantities – but resisted the urge to say anything.

  A small tingle of anticipation flared. With Elias away, Gwenna could see more of Johnno, and she and Tillie could get together. Maybe she could also arrange for Louisa and Janetta to visit their mother.

  Bethan prepared a basket of food while Gwenna helped with the loading and soon after, the wagon was ready to leave. They watched Hugh ease the horse and wagon around the turn at the end of the street until he was out of sight.

  Gwenna whipped off her apron and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.

  “Are you going to see Tillie so soon? Don’t go yet, Gwenna bach. He might turn around to check on you.”

  “Not with Hugh driving, he won’t. Stop worrying, Mam. I’ll be all right, you’ll see. And I might have good news when I get back.” Gwenna stooped to kiss the work-weary cheek. Within minutes she was knocking at Tillie’s door.

  Tillie’s husband Tom worked in the men’s department at the impressive new store of Smith & Caughey near the corner of Queen and Wellesley streets. The pair were a perfect match. Tom was a bright, cheery person who could sell coal to a coal miner if he wanted to, while Tillie was good-natured and a skilled needlewoman. She did piecework for Smith & Caughey, making handkerchiefs, cravats and shirts, and any other items they needed. The tailors, of course, made the suits. Tillie was happy with her lot, even if sometimes she wished she could make pretty things for the ladies, but those tasks went to the professional dressmakers.

  “Gwenna, how wonderful!” exclaimed Tillie as she opened the door and hugged her sister. “But what are you doing here?”

  “Elias is out of town for a few days. We need a family chat, Till. Bethan is in a poor way. Elias makes her life miserable and I fear for Charlie. Elias could turn on him any day.”

  Hand in hand, Tillie led the way through to the kitchen at the back. The sweet, warm smell of baking stirred Gwenna’s taste buds – one of Tillie’s other skills was making fudge.

  “And what about your life? He’s harder on you.”

  “But I’m strong enough to take it. She isn’t,” insisted Gwenna.

  “Hmm. Maybe. But I’m not so convinced after his last attack. Your face is getting better and the bruise is fading at last, but you were lucky he didn’t break your nose.”

  “I’m all right,” said Gwenna, chewing the side of her fingernail, dismissing her sister’s concern. “It’s Mam and Charlie we have to worry about.”

  “But what can we do?”

  “I’m wondering if Louisa or Janie could consider taking Mam and Charlie to live with them ...”

  The kettle whistled, Tillie made tea and laid slices of fudge on a plate, and for a few minutes the two sisters chatted about the latest news and gossip as if there were no problems in the whole world.

 
Before long, they began to talk about the family.

  Charlie was now attending the Beresford Street School. He had proved to be a quick learner when he was well enough to go, but he couldn’t even raise his head when the coughing fits took him, and winter was yet to come. On those days, Bethan fretted over him, which only served to annoy Elias and make his temper worse. Neither was Tillie surprised to learn trade was not going as well as Elias wanted, since he was always so disagreeable.

  “Janie couldn’t take Mam. She’s pregnant again,” said Tillie. “I don’t know how they’re going to manage when the baby comes. Let’s hope Mr Lewis gets a promotion or an increase in his pay and they can find a house of their own instead of living in lodgings.”

  “Of course. Silly me, always wishing too hard for a way out.”

  Gwenna bit into her second piece of fudge and closed her eyes as she let it melt on her tongue. “This is gorgeous. How do you get it so smooth?”

  “Practice. As you well know. We both have the knack.” Tillie sipped her tea. “Louisa might consider taking her, but not yet. They can’t while they’re living with his parents; however, she says they plan moving to a house of their own sometime in the New Year.”

  She agreed to talk with Louisa and get both her and Janie to visit their mother before Elias and Hugh got back.

  “It would be wonderful if we could all be together again just for a little while,” said Gwenna, fiddling with the empty plate, turning it round and round. “Pa had such dreams. We have to do something to save his dreams, Tillie. We have to.”

  3

  Doors open; doors close

  October 1899

  One of the bright spots lightening Gwenna’s darker days was Charlie – he had survived the winter. Despite a serious bout of bronchitis, he was well again now, and colour crept back into his cheeks as spring arrived.

  Another bright spot was Johnno. His endless good humour and persistent wooing gladdened her heart and put a different sort of spring in her step. A secret smile tweaked Gwenna’s lips at the memory of their frequent trysts over the winter months. Johnno had turned up at the oddest of times, with a message to meet him when Elias wouldn’t notice her absence. He took her to the theatre where they sat in the cheapest seats at the back; they went dancing, and kissed in the darkest shadows; they made love and promised the impossible.