Mother’s Day on Coronation Street

Yes, thought Annie, feeling safe and warm as she snuggled under the eiderdown, she would definitely go to church on Mothering Sunday and she would thank the good Lord for finally blessing her and her family with better luck than she’d had when she was young.

Of course, there was one person missing from her family right now; one special person who would have made them complete. A person whose safe return she prayed for every night; a person she wrote to every day and whose photograph she kissed before she went to sleep. Jack Walker, her husband, being the selfless man he was, had signed up for action as soon as he could and was now with the Fusiliers, performing what was considered to be an essential role for his king and his country in the battle against Germany and Japan. Annie understood that what he was doing was important, playing a small part in the greater war effort, like so many others, but it didn’t stop tears pricking her eyelids whenever she thought of him bravely battling in some far away corner of the Empire. He was probably cold and possibly even a little afraid, but she would never know. His letters told her nothing about where he was, or what he was thinking or feeling. Careless talk costs lives was one of the war’s most critical slogans and letters to and from all military personnel were censored to make sure nothing was given away to the enemy that could give them any clues about the whereabouts, movements, or the state of the allied troops. Annie was afraid, but such anxiety had become a part of everyday life, particularly for the women who had been left behind. Sometimes she felt almost worthless, merely standing behind the bar pulling pints, but then she reminded herself that she was fulfilling a valuable role providing solace for those who were unable to fight but who were keeping things going at home until the soldiers were able to return. She could only hope that her letters cheered him a little. She tried not to show her apprehension in any of her daily missives. Instead she gave amusing reports of the children’s antics.

At least, she told him about some of Billy’s escapades, anecdotes that she thought would make him laugh. Though she hadn’t bothered to mention the time last week while her mother was in charge, when the mischievous little devil had locked Joanie into the under-stairs cupboard. The poor little mite had apparently cried herself to sleep in there and had not been found for several hours. Annie saved that story for her own private nightly jottings in the diary she kept. But she liked to send Jack regular bulletins about the welfare of their friends and neighbours in Weatherfield and she eagerly awaited Jack’s letters, not so much for their news content, for that was limited, but, if she was being honest, she had to acknowledge that she was afraid that one day there might not be any letters. Like many women in the street she was afraid that her husband wouldn’t come back, or that if he did, he might be maimed or wounded. Every day there were stories of people she knew being hurt – or worse. But she knew she had to put her worries aside and for Jack’s sake, and for the sake of their children, she refused to let herself dwell on such dark possibilities and she tried to dismiss the wretched images that sometimes threatened to take over her thoughts. She had to stay strong and she had to believe. After all, wasn’t she keeping the Rovers going so that he could pick up where he had left off on his return? Keep the Home Fires Burning, that was what the song said. And thanks to people like Lottie and Sally she had been able to do just that. Between them they had kept things going and she hadn’t had to close the pub for a single day. She couldn’t help feeling rather pleased with herself. She did seem to have a knack for choosing loyal and trustworthy friends.

Suddenly Annie heard a piercing scream and she was brought back to the present with a jolt as she sat up sharply in bed. It took her a few moments to realize it was Billy downstairs who had been yelling at his grandmother, demanding that she give him some jam for his bread soldiers. Annie sighed. How could anyone explain to a small child that jam was rationed and that it would probably be at least a week before they would be able to go and claim their next allocation of anything sweet? But if Billy was becoming fractious, then it was definitely time for her to get up, time she went back to work. She sighed. It had been really nice to have a few days off and she had to admit she did feel much better for having had a rest; any longer, though, and it would become an indulgence. She was needed downstairs now as Sally had to go back to the munitions factory where she had been requested to work longer hours and Lottie too would soon be doing extra shifts there. She knew her mother was looking forward to getting back home too. Everyone had been wonderful, covering for her at the bar and looking after the children, but it was time now for her to pull her weight once more. And perhaps a word to Elsie Foyle in the corner shop about getting some special sweet treat for the children would have to be one of her first priorities. She resolved to get up the following morning.

She lay back on the pillows contemplating what she would wear for her first day back behind the bar. Clothes were special to her and she enjoyed planning her outfits. She would love to wear something that would help her make an entrance when she first walked into the bar, even if she did then spend the rest of the session sitting on a bar stool ringing the money into the till. She thought about her limited wardrobe but knew with the current stringency in clothes rationing there would be no possibility of getting anything new. Maybe she could dress up one of her old twinsets with the single row of pearls and matching pearl earrings Jack had given her for her last birthday. Then she could wear her newest pleated skirt that she’d bought just before the war started. She would dab on a little make-up – that always made her feel brighter – and she would tell Jack about it in her next letter, remind him how much she missed him and how much they needed him at the Rovers. She knew he would like that.

Annie stretched and yawned luxuriously. She had had a good few days’ rest and she was pleased to say she felt refreshed. But now she was ready to go back to work. For all that Lottie said to reassure her, she worried that they might be struggling a little without her downstairs and one of the first things she must do was look for a new barmaid. Tomorrow she would surprise the children by giving them their breakfast, but for now she slid down on the pillows and shut her eyes again …

Chapter 2

When twenty-year-old Gracie Ashton came to live on Mallard Street in Weatherfield with her mother and two younger brothers she was delighted to find that Lottie Kemp, a young woman of her own age, was living in one of the houses opposite. The Ashtons had moved into a rented house that had become vacant after the Blitz and had been standing empty for some time. The family who lived there before them had flitted to the seaside because they thought it would be a safer place to be when the bombs began to fall. But Gracie didn’t really think anywhere was safe, not while the Luftwaffe were still flying overhead. And they were flying with a vengeance, retaliating against the allies’ severest bombing yet of Cologne with attacks on all the major British cathedral cities. The house where she and her family had lived had been badly damaged in a bombing raid, and her mother, Mildred, was grateful to be able to move them all at short notice to somewhere that was close to the factory where she worked.

Mildred Ashton had been the family’s mainstay while her husband, Petty Officer Bob Ashton, was recovering from the burns he’d sustained when he was with his naval unit somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean. She keenly felt the weight of having to take on so much responsibility for the family’s welfare. She had to sort out the details of their living arrangements on her own, even after Bob was fit enough to come out of hospital, and she relied heavily on Gracie’s support. In the beginning they had few things to fill the new house with, for most of their furniture had been damaged by a fire started by an incendiary bomb and then further destroyed by the gallons of water the firemen used in their efforts to put it out. Mildred had had to work extremely hard, but at least by the time Bob came home they all had enough chairs to sit on and beds to sleep in. With four sets of ration books, and Mildred’s ability to create something tasty from limited ingredients, the family was at least able to eat and they were managing to scrape by. Mildred had also persuaded the two young boys to dig a victory garden before their father came home. There was a tiny square, covered in weeds, next to the privy in the back yard that she knew could be converted with a bit of effort so that they could all benefit from having their own fresh vegetables.

Gracie met Lottie Kemp when she popped out to the local shop early one evening, not long after they’d arrived at the new house. To her dismay, most of the shelves were bare though the queue of hopefuls clutching their ration books stretched out into the street. The two young women got chatting as they stood next to each other in line.

‘I’ve come to see if they’ve any cigarettes left. It’s my only luxury,’ Gracie said diffidently. ‘They help to keep me sane. My mum and I usually share one between us on a night.’

Lottie laughed. ‘You don’t have to apologize to me, you know. I’m on your side.’ And she held up her left hand to show a homemade roll-up burning down between her fingers.

‘We both prefer the tipped ones,’ Gracie said. ‘They don’t taste so strong. But I find smoking does help me to relax, don’t you?’

Lottie nodded. She took a puff of her roll-up as if to prove her point and Gracie smiled. She wasn’t sure why she felt she had to justify her smoking habits to a stranger and blushed when she finally reached the counter and asked for her favourite brand by name. Relieved that her errand was not in vain, she slipped the red packet of Craven “A”s into her pocket.

‘I’m Charlotte Kemp, by the way, known to all as Lottie,’ the other girl said. ‘I live around the corner in Mallard Street, at number 6.’

‘Well, what do you know! We’ve not long since moved into number 9, opposite. I’m Grace Ashton, my friends call me Gracie.’

Lottie had exuded such an immediate air of warmth and friendliness as they’d begun to chat that Gracie felt drawn to her already by the time they shook hands. Lottie looked immaculate in her neat, if not stylish, clothes as she stepped forward to receive the newspaper that was usually put by for her father. Gracie couldn’t help noticing that her hands were carefully manicured and the French pleat in her hair looked as if it had been freshly pinned. Gracie felt positively unkempt beside her in her wide-legged working trousers, that would keep catching fluff in the turn-ups, and the hand-knitted sweater her mother had made up from an unravelled shawl. As usual, strands of her flyaway hair had worked their way out of the elastic band that was doing a poor job of holding together the ponytail she’d scraped off her face only an hour ago.

‘It’s really nice to meet you,’ Lottie said.

‘You too,’ Gracie said. ‘I was hoping I might meet some younger folk when we moved here, but you can’t be sure who’s still around, what with all the blokes away in the army and the women working all hours in the factories.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the people in the queue who were mostly women of her mother’s age.

‘I tell you what,’ Lottie said, ‘why don’t you pop round to ours one night, we can listen to the gramophone? I’m working most evenings at the moment, but that won’t be for much longer. I’m only helping out a friend, so you can pop in of an evening, any time after tea. I’ve got a couple of Benny Goodman records we could listen to. If you like swing, that is?’

‘I love it. Fancy you having records of the king of swing. I’ll look forward to that. Thanks.’

‘Do you know “Darn That Dream”? It was a number one hit some while back.’

‘Yes, I love it. I used to catch it sometimes on the Light Programme.’

‘Have you got a wireless? That’s something we don’t have.’

‘Not any more.’ Gracie looked wistful. ‘We used to have one, before the fire. I miss it. Maybe we’ll be able to replace it one of these days. It’s good to be able to catch the news without having to go to the pictures to see the newsreels. When my dad was first sent out to the Pacific I was always trying to listen out for news of his ship.’

‘Is he in the navy, then?’ Lottie enquired.

Gracie shrugged. ‘Not sure exactly. He’s only just come home from the hospital. His ship was hit by Japanese torpedoes and he got badly burned. We’re not sure where that puts him now.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Lottie said, adding, ‘My dad’s at home. Bad eyes and a bad chest. They wouldn’t take him on in the first place, worse luck. My sister Maggie and me would both have liked to see the back of him – for a while, at any rate. We might have been able to get out a bit more then. He watches us like a hawk, always wanting to know where we’re going and who with.’

‘I know what you mean. I used to think the same about my dad, but now I feel guilty for ever having had such thoughts. It’s hard on my mum too. I try to do my bit but everything seems to fall on her. We don’t know anyone round here. We used to live on the other side of the viaduct nearer to town.’

‘I tell you what, why don’t I knock on when I’m not working nights any more and let you know when I’ll be in? I presume you’re not working the late shift?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not working at all just yet. I’m on the lookout for a job. I used to work in a school as a dinner lady and I looked after the kids at playtime. But they closed it down when most of the kids were evacuated. Those who stayed behind were sent to another school, somewhere near here. Most of their kids had been evacuated before the Blitz.’

‘You must mean Bessie Street, that’s the main elementary school hereabouts.’

‘That sounds like it.’

‘Well, finding you a job shouldn’t be much of a problem, if you really want one,’ Lottie said.

‘Course I do. I need to be able to help out at home. And I’ve heard they’ll be conscripting women of our age into jobs soon; they want to make sure we’re all pulling our weight. I’d like to find one of my own before that happens.’

‘I do know of at least one job,’ Lottie said, then she paused, ‘though it’s not in a school.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Where is it?’

‘At the munitions factory where I work. They’re desperate for women to work there. In fact, there’s an empty place on my workbench and it’s only up the road. You could probably go down there right now and apply; the office never seems to close.’

‘Do you know, I think I’ll do that. Thanks Lottie, that’s really helpful,’ Gracie said when they both emerged onto the pavement. ‘I’ll let you know how I get on.’

Gracie had only been at the factory for a few days when she realized that munitions work was not for her. But she wasn’t sure what she should say to her new friend who had been so kind in trying to help her get the job. She was grateful that the noise of the machinery drowned out the possibility of any private conversations on the shop floor while they were working and it was too sensitive a topic to explain by the mouthing or sign language they had to resort to if they needed to communicate. Gracie waited till the two of them were sitting down for dinner together, with their chunks of bread and slivers of cheese to be washed down by thick mugs of watery-looking tea in a quieter corner of the canteen.

‘It’s not that I’m not grateful, Lottie,’ she broached the subject tentatively. ‘I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me; I want you to know that. Honestly, I was so pleased when you told me about the factory in the first place, but the problem is, I really can’t stand it. It’s worse than I thought it would be. I need a job badly and I can’t afford just to give it up but I’m going to have to look for something else.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Lottie asked. ‘I know it’s repetitive and boring as hell, but I reckon that describes most jobs on offer at the moment for the likes of you and me. I don’t know any job that isn’t tough. It’s going to be hard work wherever you go right now.’

‘I understand that. It’s not the hard work I’m afraid of, it’s just that …’ She wasn’t sure how to say it, so she plunged in. ‘I hate the idea that we’re making guns that are actually going to kill people,’ she said.

‘But we’re not making the guns. The floor manager’s always been very clear about that.’

‘No, I know. I’ve heard him say that many times an’ all. But the truth is that we’re making bits of guns and it doesn’t really matter that it’s other people who are going to assemble them.’

‘But they’re not the guns that are killing our boys,’ Lottie argued, though it was obvious Gracie had made up her mind. ‘The guns we’re making parts for are going to help to kill the Jerries and the Japs.’

Gracie hung her head and dropped her voice as low as she could while still being heard. It felt important to get her side of the argument across. ‘The point is, these past few days, I’ve realized that I don’t care who these particular guns are killing. I don’t give a monkey’s if they’re only killing our sworn enemies. The fact is, they’re killing people and I don’t like that one bit. It’s got so’s I can’t sleep at night. All I can see is the cogs clicking into gear and me pulling the lever that brings the cutter down. And you know what pops out each time I do that?’

‘Of course I do. We’re on the same bench, remember.’

‘Exactly. So it’s something we both know is the part of the gun that holds the ammunition. And honestly, Lottie, it turns my stomach. It makes me feel physically sick. When you first told me about the job I jumped at the chance. I thought it would be like any other work. I thought I could close my mind to what I was doing. The fact is, I thought I could handle it and I actually find that I can’t.’

Lottie shrugged. ‘Someone’s got to do it. And if it means we can rest easier in our beds knowing the Jerries are being taken care of by our lads then I’m prepared to be one of them. Frankly, I think it’s a small price to pay.’ She sighed. ‘And as far as I’m concerned it pays my share of the rent.’

‘Maybe you’d feel better if we were making holsters, or bren vests,’ a stranger’s voice suddenly piped up.

‘It’s a bleeding sight better than filling shells and having your whole body turning bloody yellow, I can tell you,’ sniggered her mate.

Gracie looked up angrily. She hadn’t realized that two girls had come to their table and had parked their trays close by. She had been so involved in her explanation she hadn’t noticed that not only were they sitting within hearing distance, but they were avidly listening in to her conversation. She felt her face flush and knew her cheeks must be scarlet.

‘Don’t worry,’ the first speaker said, standing up from the wooden bench where she’d been sitting next to Gracie. ‘There’s a part of me agrees with you, so I shan’t be saying owt to nobody. And we’ve got to be getting back now, any road. Come on, Luce.’

The two girls took their trays over to the serving hatch. Lottie looked bemused.

‘You must do whatever you think is right,’ she said, but Gracie didn’t say any more. She didn’t like confrontation at the best of times and she certainly didn’t want to fall out with Lottie who had done her best to help. But she’d made a mistake. She should never have taken the job in the first place. She hadn’t realized how strong her feelings were. The fact of the matter was she didn’t like armed conflict, and certainly not wars of any kind, but she had been sucked into wanting to do her bit for the war effort and for her country. She had realized too late that she would have been better with a job that supported the allied soldiers in a different way; one that had nothing to do directly with all the killing. It was a subject they never discussed at home. There was no need. She knew how they all felt. Her father had become embroiled in the war by signing up early on and being assigned to a big ship that had been sent off to the Pacific shortly after the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. There, he’d ended up fighting an unseen enemy so he didn’t think much about it, though he did blame the Americans for his plight when his ship took a hit. She knew that her mother would have joined one of the armed forces too, like a shot, if she could. She often said that if she’d have been younger and didn’t have children she’d have gone to fight given half a chance. So would Gracie’s brothers. Thankfully, neither of them was old enough to be called up into the services yet, though she knew that didn’t please them and she was afraid that if the war continued much longer both Paul and Greg would run off to join up and lie about their age as so many young men had already done.

‘I know you don’t like war,’ Lottie said after a while in a placatory tone. ‘No one does, truth be told. But there’s lots of men from round here felt they had to fight. There’s dozens from this street, Rosamund Street, Mawdsley Street and Coronation Street alone who signed up right from the start, like you said your dad did. And I bet not many of them really wanted to go off and fight if there would have been any other way to defeat bloody Hitler. So I feel I want to try to help them in any way I can.’

Gracie nodded. ‘I can understand that, and I realize I have to do my bit now that we are in the war. None of us have any choice, really. I just wish there was a different way I could serve my country than making the actual guns, that’s all.’

‘Would pulling pints in a pub be more to your taste, then? How would that suit you?’ Lottie sounded as if she was joking and Gracie was glad that the tension of the moment had eased, but then she realized Lottie was serious.

‘Down to the ground, I’d say. That sounds like my dream job.’ Gracie was not sure how to gauge the sudden switch in the conversation so she added in a jocular fashion, ‘In my opinion, it ought to be a protected occupation.’ She was surprised when Lottie continued to look serious. Gracie frowned. ‘Why are you asking?’ she asked. ‘Is there a job going? Or are you just teasing?’

‘No, straight up, there is a job going. Why? Would you fancy it?’

‘Course I would. Where is it? Is it local?’

‘It’s at the pub where I’ve been working these past few nights. The Rovers Return in Coronation Street.’

‘Really? How come you never mentioned it before?’

‘I never thought of it before. Probably because I know the factory pays better. But Annie Walker, the landlady at the Rovers, is a friend of mine and I know she’s been looking for a barmaid for some time. She’s been trying to get someone permanent ever since her husband went into the army.’

‘I’d have thought lots of girls would have jumped at the chance to work in a place like that.’

‘Someone did, very quickly. A nice young lass called Becky. She was doing all right, but then she suddenly flitted one day. Didn’t turn up one dinnertime and left no word, but then Annie found out that she and her family had had enough of the air raids and had moved out to the country.’

At this Gracie laughed. ‘Honestly, with all the people who’ve rushed to get out of town since the war began you’d have thought the countryside would have been full up by now.’

Lottie chuckled. ‘By the same reckoning all the cities should be empty. But the fact is, Becky’s departure left a gaping hole at the Rovers as far as poor Annie’s concerned, so maybe it’s a gap you could fill.’

‘It could be just the job. How do you know her, this Annie?’

‘I used to help out in the bar occasionally before the war whenever she was tied up with little Billy and they needed an extra hand. She’s got two little ones now, she only had the one then. But during the Blitz we ended up down in the Rovers’ cellar together on several occasions when the sirens went off. Then one night there was a very long raid and we were cooped up down there for ages. Her little boy, Billy, was only a toddler and he was running riot. Poor Annie had her hands full with little Joanie who was still a babe in arms. I suppose you could say I “entertained” Billy. At least I managed to keep him quiet and well out of Annie’s way while she coped with the baby and she was very grateful for my help. She always said I reminded her of someone she used to know years ago. I can only assume it was someone she liked because we’re very different, Annie and me. But somehow we clicked that night and we’ve been good friends ever since.’