Marian by A. Richardson©2005

There is a tradition of making small pancakes in North Wales, Welsh cakes, with a flavour all their own. They are delicious at tea time with their hint of spices . Most welsh women are connoisseures in the art of making these special cakes, and Marian was no exception. She just took the art a tiny bit further. You may think this tale is of times long gone by, but sadly, behaviour of a certain type does not necessarily change with time, nor modernisation. Thus Thomas is a common character in any insulated community such as this. The characters, story, as well as the location are all entirely fictitious, but I expect you will have heard of the expression, " If the cap fits, wear it"?

For the last 28 years Marian had cleaned , loved, and cooked for Thomas, her husband, in spite of the fact that he regularly criticised her food, abused her at night after he returned from his regular trip to the local pub, and gave her so little with which to feed the family that she seldom had enough to give her three children an adequate meal, while Thomas spent almost every penny he earned at the slate quarry either at the pub, or making his bets at the bookmakers in town , where he went every Saturday. Unfortunately, Marian was not alone in her life style. It was common practice amonst the men of the area to treat their wives in such a bad way. It did, however, keep the village pub a thriving business, which suited the landlord nicely, except when his customers had consumed a drop too much, leading them to cause him trouble with their fights. After numerous attempts at throwing people out, or banning them for a while, he developed a good working strategy. As soon as any one showed signs of aggression or being too enebriated, he'd send them packing; as he said " Go home , sleep it off, and we'll see you tomorrow." This worked well for his business, but it increased the number of men arriving home both drunk and aggressive, which in consequence increased the number of women and children who suffered in their own homes late into the night , every week. Of course, women who lived alone were also targeted by those sneaking home drunk late at night, and often during the day, when hang-overs ran amok amid this sleepy village. One man, John, by name, managed to enter the home of a widow who lived alone, mistakenly thinking he's arrived in his own house. Well, that was what he later told everyone, but only after he'd been caught trying to bed the lady. He broke in through he back door, crept up the stairs, and gay as you please, slid himself into her bed, whilst she slept. It was her dog that awoke her with it's whining, just as John gave it a nasty kick to shut it up. It yelped, she shot out of bed, kneeing John in the groin to shift him from above her , and screamed so loudly that every house in the street reverberated with the sound. John grabbed his trousers and ran like a madman to get away from her house before anyone could prove it was him, but he was seen by that many people that he felt himself forced to make up his story.

Anyway, Marion decided that the only way she was going to be able to make ends meet at home, was to work. Since her best feature , other than her smiling face and moderate good looks was her cooking, she persuaded the owner of the local pub to employ her to work in the kitchen during the lunch hours. It soon became evident to all that Marions' cooking was improving pub income. The landlord decided to give her the job of chef, but only for lunches as she still had to be home to feed her children, clean, and care for her husband. He, her husband that is, wasn't at all happy about having her working in the very pub where he enjoyed his daily leaisure hours, but when he realised that it was only for lunches and that her income now meant that he could spend even more at the pub, he gave her permission to take the job. Every day Marion fed these drunken sots. Every day she watched the men drink themselves silly, knowing they were going home to bring unhappiness to their wives and children, just as her own husband, Thomas, continued to do.

Her plan was hatched between the cooking of Sunday lunch and the peeling of potatoes for tomorrows' dinners. Each day she added welsh cakes to the menu. Now, her welsh cakes were famous in the area, as I am sure to have mentioned before. Welsh cakes were popped as a "Landlords' Special" on the blackboard above the bar. Everyone loved them. They were eaten as snacks throughout the day, not just in the evenings. What made them even more special was that Marion made themup fresh during the luch hours from 10 a.m. until 2 p.m. She often even served these herself, until it became a regular occurrence for regulars to order at least half a dozen welsh cakes with their very first beer.

It was Geraint from the council houses who fell ill on a Tuesday night. He was about to hit his eldest child across the head, when he clutched his stomache instead , groaning. Within a few minutes he lay writhing on the floor in agony, and only seconds later he was dead. His wife called the doctor, but there just wasn't time to save him. It had all happened so fast. The doctor declared that Geraint had died of a sudden burst appendix, which had caused internal bleeding. Since noone knew any different there was noone to argue with this diagnosis. The funeral wasn't widely attended as most of Geraints' friends were in the pub using his death as an excuse to imbibe even more than usual.

The following Sunday, after returning home from the pub, Thomas collapsed into his favourite chair, complaining that his wife had poisoned him with her pub meal. Since the children were all out playing rather than face a drunken father or a beating , yet again, the only person who heard him was Marion. A small smile played across her face as she leaned close to him and whispered, " You've heard of Death by Chocolate, havn't you, well, it's Wales we're in cariad, so mine's Death by Welsh Cake", at which she laughed, then turn to pick up her knitting bag. She sat knitting until Thomas finally breathed his last, then she gave an almighty scream, and ran from the house calling for someone to get a doctor. When the doctor arrived Marion explained that her husband had been having chest pains for over a week, but he wouldn't let her call the doctor. She informed the doctor, with tears running down her face, that she had at first assumed that Thomas was asleep in his chair when she had come in from work. It wasn't until she had leaned over to put a blanket over him, that she realised he didn't appear to be breathing, then felt his hands which were ice cold, and he was lifeless.

After a suitable period of mourning, Marion bravely returned to work. Everyone commented on how courageous she was to carry on the way she had, still smiling and working so hard each day. The village returned to normal without any further mishap until three days after John was found in widow Roberts' bedroom. He had rapidly begun his usual practice of arriving home drunk, yelling to his wife to remove her clothes, then savagely raping her. So it was that on the third day after the event, he nipped into his local for a few pints at lunchtime. Marion, with her best smile, offered him a plate of welsh cakes, from which he took two, eating them greedily. This time there was very little delay. Just as John was leaving the pub he hiccupped, belched from all the windy beer, then fell stone dead to the floor ,right in the pub doorway. The barman saw him fall and ran across the lounge bar, thinking John was so much more drunk than usual that he had passed out, but, no, John had expired. Fast, and suddenly. Noone could be sure why, but the doctor put, " from an overdose of alcohol", on the death certificate, which was only fair agreed the villagers unanimously.

It wasn't until another four deaths had occurred , all equally suddenly, and all men who had been abusers, that the gossip began. Gossip which led to the local police hearing of an uncertain , but numerous number of possibly unexplained deaths happening in their area. One diligent policeman suggested they look into those deaths by paying a visit to all the wives concerned, as well as asking about the life styles of all of the men to see if they had anything in common. It would be worthwhile to point out that by now each and every one of the widows was happy with their new lives, no longer forced to suffer abuse, or fear for their children, nor indeed to work to support drunk husbands, All, that is , except one. She was the youngest of the women left without her husband and her name was Trudi.

Trudi hadn't been married long. She was sure her husband didn't mean to beat her every Saturday, when he arrived home from the pub, because he always apologised each Sunday, in such a nice way that she regularly forgave him. Trudi was pretty, very pretty. She had already been offered marriage by a number of men, but she still grieved for her husband. She felt guilty for his bad behaviour, always blaming herself, just as he had done, when he was alive. Trudi told the police her husband was a young and virile man who had no reason to be ill. She convinced them that there must be foul play afoot, in fact she was sure of it, so they decided to investigate fully.

You can imagine the terror in the hearts of many innocent people when this became known, especially since every one of the wives had a motive for murder. There were by now 12 bereaved wives to consider as possible criminals. Well, eleven if you discounted Trudi, which the police were inclined to do. Enquiries got under way. Each household in the village was visited and extensive questions were asked of every one of the wives, then of all the children involved, well at least those who were old enough to answer the questions which the police asked them. It was a terrible time for the whole village. Terrible for the women who were now in fear of the police instead of drunken husbands, and terrible for the rest of the men in the village who were living in fear of their own lives. The pub became increasingly quiet as one man after another stayed home in case they found themselves lying dead in a ditch, or slung across the pub bar , having drunk their own last pint.

Marian was more worried than most, since she knew she was responsible, but an idea came to her as she cooked her last dinner at the pub. She sent her son to each of the widows concerned with a note asking them to call at her home at 3.30 p.m. They all arrived by the designated time eager to know why Marian had sent for them. She sat them all down on anthing available then handed each a cup of tea. As they drank she told them her story until finally she came to the last mans' name. A gasp could be heard as each killed man was named , but it was all too much for John's wife who collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. Marian explained why she had killed their husbands then taking a plate of Welsh Cakes which she held out in front of her, she told them how she had killed them. Finally she asked the women to understand that she wanted them to have better lives , just as she had wanted a better one for herself and her children. " We do not deserve to be beaten, raped, made fun of or put down, just because we are women who have loved a man", she told them. As she said this every one of the women nodded, knowing in their heart of hearts that their own lives had improved tremendously after the death of their husbands. It was the wife of the first man to die, Geraints' wife, who spoke first, " If we don't do something you will go to prison marian and for a hell of a long time too". Again the rest nodded. " So here's what I think we should do", she continued, " We all tell the police the same thing, that Trudi is totally grief stricken and unable to come to terms with her husbands' death, but that it was natural, just as the others were. We provide each other with alibis if we need to so that noone is left to be accused, and we force the police to give up their enquiries. We women need to stick together".

"Somone will have to take Trudi in hand in that case", butted in one of the wives, " Convince her she is over-reacting to her husbands' death. Shut her up is what we need to do". Once again there was agreement all round. For the following week they all worked on convincing both the police and Trudi that the deaths were merely unfortunate, but not anything sinister, until it worked ; the police gave up the enquiry, and Trudi was convinced it was all her imagination.

That was not , however, the end of this tale. Marians' behaviour had so astonished the women, that they started to worry that if they did something wrong, it could be them next. They conducted a collection to raise enough money to assist Marion and her children to leave the country, as they said to Marian, "It's for your own good, just in case anyone ever tries to bring the case up again. You'll all be much safer abroad".Thus it was that in the spring of that year tickets for the 'plane trip to America were handed to Marian. Included was spending money and enough to get started in a new life. Marian took her children to their new country where not one day went by without them all being grateful to their old friends.(We think)!

I havn't heard of any cases where numerous men have died in inexplicable circumstances yet, so we can assume that Marian is no longer making her traditional welsh cakes!

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