Snow on the Cobbles

‘If I pays me money I can take me choice of where I sup,’ the man said, and he took a long drink from his pint. ‘Happen Annie Walker will have to look sharp if she wants to keep hold of all her regulars on a Saturday night.’

‘I, of course, have the privilege of working here,’ Hilda said, unable to keep the boastfulness out of her voice, ‘so I’ve come here tonight to offer my support.’ Her hands strayed to the nape of her neck where she detected several loosened strands of hair and she wound them nervously round her finger into a small roll. She gave a satisfied smile. ‘At least, that is, until my Stan gets back from Italy. He’s a prisoner of war over there, been there a while, but if the news is anything to go by, I reckon he could be coming home soon.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ the man said. ‘Haven’t you heard what’s been going on in Germany? Our boys have been involved in some kind of bombing raids over there, a place called Dresden. That could set things back a fair bit, so it’s not over yet.’ Before he could say more, Phyllis Bakewell had pushed her way through the crowd and had come to sit with them followed by an even larger lady with a strident voice who, it seemed, ran the corner shop where Phyllis was registered with her ration coupons. From their ongoing argument it seemed the two had had many a clash with Phyllis having strong words to say about the lack of availability of certain food items for the shop’s regular customers. She practically accused the shopkeeper of running a black market, but before the larger woman could reply, Phyllis suddenly changed tack and turned to Hilda.

‘So, you say your husband’s still overseas. Stan Ogden you said his name was? – how can you be sure they’ll let him come home soon?’ she said as she set down her Campari and soda on the little table between them and chortled as she tried to twist her outsized body in the chair so that she could face Hilda.

‘Of course they will, and don’t you be saying otherwise,’ Hilda said, shocked at the suggestion.

‘I’d be careful what you wish for,’ another voice said, ‘for you may not want him home if it’s the Stan Ogden I remember.’ Hilda looked up, horrified, particularly as she didn’t know the man who now joined the group, but it seemed it was Ron Bakewell, Phyllis’s husband, and that he’d known Stan as a young lad. Ron sat down. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I hope you’ve got a job that pays well, cos otherwise you’ll be hard put to keep his body and soul together as well as your own.’ There was a general titter of amusement among the group and Hilda bristled. She was about to respond with a sharp-tongued reply but Ron turned away from her as he pulled up a stool so that he could sit next to his wife.

‘If you’ve not, maybe he won’t want to come home after all,’ Phyllis said as he joined them. ‘It might dawn on him that he’d be better off staying where he is with guaranteed sunshine and regular meals.’

At that, everyone in the little group laughed and Hilda, uncertain at first, decided to join in, somehow managing to reassure herself that it was just a joke and that they meant no harm. Over the years she’d often been the butt of others’ jokes, but she had found that if she smiled and didn’t object, their playful banter would sometimes make her feel as if she was one of them, even if she wasn’t.

It had been like that with the kids she went to school with, when she’d tried so hard to be one of the gang. They’d teased her mercilessly, always picking on her faults and shortcomings, never seeing any good in her. They used to call her ‘two planks’. ‘Cos that’s what you’re as thick as,’ they’d chant when they were out in the schoolyard during playtime or racing off home at the end of the day. Then they would scamper away, leaving her on her own with no way to defend herself against any of the gangs from other schools and with no chance of running fast enough to catch up with them. How she’d hated those children then. Most of them were worse off than her family was, though it was hard for her to remember that when they tried to lord it over her pretending that they weren’t. But unlike many of the others, she and her two brothers at least had something to eat most days and they had clothes to wear, even if they didn’t always have shoes. She’d also consoled herself that her mother and father had shown her some love – when they weren’t drunk. But it wasn’t in her nature to call the other kids bad names, however poor or stupid they were.

In the end she’d had the last laugh over those she considered to be ‘uppity’, because here she was now, a married woman with an important job in a new pub. A job that paid her enough to rent two rooms in the heart of Weatherfield. Sadly, so many of the young lads had been killed or injured in the war, while most of the girls she knew had made disastrous marriages that usually involved a trail of children, even at their young age. ‘I wasn’t too thick to recognize a good ’un when I met my Stan,’ she reminded herself whenever she thought back to those difficult school years. ‘I spotted him as the man for me right from the start, and even if he didn’t exactly match up to Clark Gable, he was smart enough to live out most of the war in a prisoner-of-war camp in the sun.’

Suddenly a loud voice was calling for hush and Hilda, remembering where she was, saw that her new boss, Bob Bennett, was banging on an empty pint mug with a spoon. He had come on stage wearing a top hat that looked as old as his master-of-ceremonies outfit and was perched uncomfortably on the top of his head, but as he began to speak he took the hat off and stood it upside down on a chair by the microphone.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could take a few minutes of your time,’ Bob began. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to shout while they’re still playing about with the electrics back there, so I hope you can all hear me.’

There were shouts of, ‘Get on with it before the lights go out,’ and ‘Anyone got a spare bob for the meter?’ but Bob was not a stranger to projecting his voice.

‘It might seem strange to be celebrating the reopening of our lovely new pub on a Wednesday night,’ Bob continued, ‘but then as you know this is no ordinary Wednesday night.’ He paused while he scanned the room, taking in the large crowd. Then he lifted the tankard and shouted, ‘This is Valentine’s night.’

‘I’ll drink to that!’ someone called out.

‘Indeed!’ said Bob, raising his pint pot in the air once more. ‘So let’s have a toast to all our brave soldiers, especially to our absent loved ones to let them know we’re missing them and waiting for them to come safely home.’ Then he turned his head in different directions as he mouthed the words, ‘and we’re keeping the bed warm’ with an exaggerated wink, and several individual cheers went up. ‘And let’s have another toast,’ Bob went on, ‘to all those who’ve made it here today, on this very special, romantic night. Let’s raise our glasses to Saint Valentine.’ He turned towards Lizzie as he lifted his glass.

‘To Saint Valentine!’ everyone in the room responded.

‘To the end of the war!’ someone else called out and a rousing cheer went up again. As the room quietened, Hilda could hear Ron Bakewell muttering to his wife about possible delays to the war ending because of Dresden and the RAF bombers and Phyllis passed the news on like the Chinese whispers game they used to play in school. But Hilda had set her mind on the thought that the war was ending and that Stan would be home soon and she didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary, so she stood up and began edging her way towards the other end of the counter where she could see Lizzie was still swapping vouchers for free drinks.

‘All we want now,’ Bob was speaking again, ‘is for the war to end sooner than they’ve been forecasting recently.’

For a moment Hilda paused as people cheered and banged their fists on the tables.

‘For when that happens, an even greater celebration will be in order,’ he said.

‘How about a free jar every night of the week?’ a voice called out, and it took some time for the ripples of laughter to die down.

Bob raised his hand for silence. ‘I can’t promise free booze, but I can guarantee that having fun is what this pub is all about.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘And that’s what makes it different from any other pub in the area. So just make sure you don’t get them confused. “Any excuse for a knees-up” is our motto, because you must admit fun has been in rather short supply of late.’

Hilda had finally reached Lizzie and she leaned over the counter. ‘From where I’m standing, Bob Bennett looks like’s never been short of having a bit of fun,’ she said quietly, then she pursed her lips.

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ Lizzie said with a grin.

‘No, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Hilda said. ‘Every time I look at him he seems to have his hand on someone’s backside. And I’m just making sure it isn’t mine.’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows.

‘And he never gets within spitting distance of you that he isn’t putting his arm round you and giving you a quick squeeze. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ Hilda added wagging her finger at Lizzie.

Now Lizzie laughed. ‘I can’t say as I’ve noticed, Hilda, honestly, I’ve been that busy, but I’m sure he means no harm.’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Hilda said, ‘though I’m not surprised tonight when you’ve got that really pretty frock on. It’s far too nice for work. But I can tell you now I’ll have something to say if he lays one finger on me.’

‘I don’t know how he’s resisted that tonight, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. Hilda turned to look at her sharply, not sure what to make of the remark. ‘In fact, you’ll have to look out for all the men. No, I mean it,’ Lizzie said when Hilda protested. ‘I’ve not seen you dressed up like that before and I’ve been wanting to tell you since you first came in, that you look lovely. I love the way you’ve brushed out your hair too,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s very in vogue, and it really suits you. It’s good to see what’s been hidden underneath your headscarf all this time. I can see I’ll have to persuade you to leave off with your curlers more often.’

Hilda smiled coyly now. ‘Ta very much.’ She chuckled, her face suffused bright pink, and she had to turn her head away so that Lizzie wouldn’t see her eyes glistening. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘Though it won’t be me as wins the prize tonight.’

Bob’s welcome speech was going down well, for everyone was smiling now and seemed in cheerful mood. Hilda kept hearing grunts of ‘hear, hear’ and saw nods of agreement all around as Bob continued speaking.

‘So, are we ready for the fun and entertainment that’s about to begin right here and right now?’ Bob leaned forward. He cupped his hand behind one ear and waited until the crowd had shouted, ‘Yes!’

‘OK, then first things first,’ Bob said. ‘As you may have noticed, our staff have made a special effort to dress up for you tonight and don’t they all look splendid?’ He paused while a cheer went up and there was a round of applause. ‘Well, we promised a prize for the best dressed and I’m sure you’ll all agree that that prize must go to our terrific barmaid – Miss Lizzie Doyle! A round of applause ladies and gentlemen, please.’

Lizzie was surprised and pleased when her name was called and there were approving shouts and wolf whistles from the crowd as Bob pulled her up onto the stage and then handed her a bottle of gin.

‘Congratulations and well done to Lizzie,’ Bob said, putting his arm round her shoulders and pulling her towards him in a flamboyant embrace. ‘I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone here when I say that we look forward to seeing you dressed up every night,’ he said, then he gave her a clumsy embrace and Lizzie was aware once more that she would need to keep her eye on him as he held on to her for several moments longer than was necessary while his hands slid down her dress to cup her backside and give it a pinch. She turned her head sharply when she realized he was going to kiss her, and his lips landed on her cheek but he recovered quickly and didn’t let his smile drop. He patted Lizzie playfully. ‘Now, please enjoy the rest of the evening,’ Bob said. ‘The first drink, as you all know, is on the house.’

‘Been watering down the beer already?’ some wag shouted and everyone laughed again, more loudly this time.

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ was Bob’s response when he could make himself heard once more, and his tone was still jocular.

Hilda frowned. ‘There’s many a truth in jest, as my mother used to say, so I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for that one,’ she muttered, though no one heard her for Bob was still talking.

‘All I can say is that the Rovers Return must be deserted tonight,’ Bob said with a broad grin. ‘And that’s how I hope it’ll remain every night from now on. Remember, Saturday nights are cabaret nights and only the best will do for the Pride of Weatherfield. We’ll be providing you with top-class singers and the funniest comics this side of the Pennines. And of course, at any time there could be the odd bit of magic thrown in.’ As he said that, he turned over the top hat that he’d parked on the chair and shook it vigorously before showing it to the crowd. People leaned forward, straining to see what was inside, and they looked disappointed when they saw nothing more than a black lining. So a genuine gasp went up when Bob reached inside and, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, began producing a seemingly endless stream of brightly coloured silk scarves. When the flow of fresh scarves had stopped and he had dropped them all on to the stage, he stooped to pick them up and began knotting them together, giving one end of the string to a member of the audience to hold and stretching out the whole string for everyone to see. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the spontaneous rumble of applause.

‘Thank you, ladies and gents,’ he said. ‘Now – let the evening’s entertainment begin!’ He was about to make a grand gesture to herald the entrance of their first guest when there was a shout of, ‘Three cheers for the Pride of Weatherfield!’ and, with a chinking of glasses, a chorus of assorted voices bellowed, ‘Hip, hip, hurray!’ several times.

Bob looked delighted, then looked up at the clock on the wall. He took a moment to check that the microphone was working and then yelled, ‘Now, will you please put your hands together in the traditional way, and give a warm welcome to our own Weatherfield nightingale, Miss Jenny Farrington!’

Lizzie was run off her feet for the rest of the evening once the show had begun. She was pulling pints, mostly for the men, and mixing port with lemon, and gin with tonic for most of the ladies once the singer had begun her act. She couldn’t help thinking about the Rovers Return, and feeling sorry for the landlady of the pub that Bob saw as his main rival. Could there possibly be enough people in the neighbourhood to fill both pubs, she wondered, now that all the GIs had shipped out?

Lizzie knew Elsie Tanner often drank in the Rovers, but not tonight, she thought, seeing her neighbour making her way to the bar.

‘My, don’t you look posh,’ Elsie said, peering over the counter to admire the full effect of Lizzie’s dress. ‘No wonder I heard him say you’d won the prize. That really is gorgeous, and the colour suits you. You’re very talented, you know.’

‘I didn’t make it from scratch,’ Lizzie protested.

‘As good as, from what I saw. I can’t believe it’s the same old dress you showed me. I tell you something, you can make me one the next time I get married.’

Lizzie laughed.

‘I’m serious,’ Elsie said, ‘but in the meantime I’ll have a G & T when you’ve got a minute.’ Elsie brandished her voucher. ‘So who’s in tonight to appreciate this work of art? Though I don’t suppose you’re familiar with enough of the locals to know who’s who.’

‘Afraid not.’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Though right now I’m too tired to notice anyone. I feel done in already. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not used to these kinds of hours. I’ve been run off my feet since I got here and the night’s only halfway through!’

‘I think it’s busier than anyone thought it was going to be,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s made quite an impact. Most of the Rovers seem to be here tonight. Here, this might help.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and offered one to Lizzie.

Lizzie shook her head. ‘I’m sure it won’t always be like this,’ she said, ‘but once word got out that we had a free round of drinks on offer it wasn’t surprising the crowds came out.’

‘’ark at you with the we,’ Elsie laughed. ‘You’ve not been here five minutes.’

Lizzie blushed. ‘I know, but I do feel right at home. Anyway, I’d rather be kept busy, no time to think.’

‘The devil makes work for idle hands, eh?’ Elsie said. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’

Lizzie felt the warmth rush to her cheeks. ‘Oh, thanks very much!’ she said and laughed.

‘It’s one of the favourite sayings of the Rovers’ very own Ena Sharples,’ Elsie said. ‘She’s the one I was telling you about who can bring two walls together any day of the week.’

‘Is she here tonight?’ Lizzie said. ‘Maybe I’ll get to see her in the flesh.’

Elsie looked around. ‘She is indeed, with her two cronies as ever.’

‘So, which one is she? Or can I guess?’

‘Look over there and I’m sure you can tell me,’ Elsie said and she pointed across the smoke-filled room. Lizzie’s first gaze was drawn to a table where a young man was sitting alone, nursing a pint as he scanned the room. There was something about his face and she found it hard to look away. His dark hair was cut very short as though he was in the services, but what caught her attention was his fine moustache. For a moment he looked so familiar that Lizzie almost cried ‘Joe!’ and she made an involuntary movement towards him.

‘Are you all right?’ Elsie asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Lizzie said. ‘It was nothing, really.’ She closed her eyes for a few moments and took some deep breaths. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.’ She forced her eyes open. ‘Now, show me again, where’s this Ena Sharples.’

Elsie pointed and this time Lizzie concentrated on searching for a table with three older women as she peered into the haze. They seemed to have placed themselves as far away as they could from the stage but Lizzie recognized Ena now from Elsie’s description. She paused for a moment to steady her breathing.

‘I’d say she’s the one on that far table,’ Lizzie said eventually. ‘The woman with the hat and coat and the miserable face.’ As she watched, the woman she’d decided must be Ena took off her hat, revealing a hairnet that completely covered her mousey-coloured hair. She had a glowering look on her face and she was sitting with her arms firmly folded across her ample chest.

‘Spot on.’ Elsie clapped her hands. ‘That’s our Ena, as usual with her two guardian angels, Minnie and Martha, though who looks after who there I’m not sure.’

‘Do you think they might change their allegiance, then?’ Lizzie said. ‘Drinking in here from now on instead of the Rovers?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Elsie said but she looked doubtful.

‘And how about you?’

Elsie shrugged. ‘We’ll have to see about that, but I’m not sure it’s really possible to change when you’ve been around as long as we all have. You know, if you support United you can’t suddenly change your colours and become a City supporter. You’re a red for life.’

‘Spoken like a true fan, if I may say so,’ a man’s voice suddenly interjected and Lizzie looked up to find she was staring directly into the laughing eyes of the man she had momentarily mistaken for Joe. Close to, to her relief, he was nothing like Joe, though she had to admit he was good-looking and she was finding it difficult to ignore his warm, flirtatious smile.

‘And which side do you come down on? It’s Lizzie, I believe, isn’t it?’ he asked, not shifting his gaze from her face.

Lizzie nodded. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, but then found for once she was lost for words. ‘I can’t say I’m much of a supporter of either of them,’ she said at last, ‘Mr …?’

‘Steve Carter.’ The man put his hand across the counter.

Lizzie shook it tentatively. ‘I don’t really know much about football.’

‘But you can’t live round here without declaring that you’re on one side or the other,’ Elsie said. ‘You’ve got brothers, so you should know.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Lizzie said. ‘They do talk rather a lot about United if they talk of any team, so I suppose, if I’m honest, I lean that way a bit too.’

‘Me, I blow whichever way the wind blows,’ Elsie said. ‘How about you, Steve?’ She turned to face him as she said this, lifting her eyebrows suggestively.

‘I must admit, I’m a Reds’ fan,’ Steve said. His eyes flickered from Lizzie’s face but only for a moment.

‘Maybe when you’re talking about which pub you’d choose to drink in, as we were,’ Lizzie said, ‘it’s not quite so all-embracing. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, for life, does it? Not like it seems to be with football.’

Steve laughed. ‘Probably not,’ he said. ‘I like to think people can be a little more flexible.’

‘It might be more fun to share things out a bit when it comes to pubs.’ Elsie grinned. ‘Like, sometimes I might drink at the Rovers, sometimes here. Then there mightn’t be so many fallings out.’

‘Nothing to stop you going to both on the same night if you’ve a mind,’ Steve laughed.

‘Do you know?’ Elsie pretended to think. ‘I might even do that,’ she said and her grin expanded into a personal smile that looked like she’d saved it just for him. ‘So tell me, Steve, you’re not from round here, are you? I don’t reckon I’ve seen you in any of the locals. Have you ever been drinking in the Rovers Return?’

‘Not yet,’ Steve said. ‘But as I’m thinking of moving into the area I’m sure I’ll get to it eventually. I thought I’d try this one first as it was new.’ He turned to look directly at Lizzie as he said this, but she was suddenly busy searching for a cloth to dry the glasses.

‘Well, I normally go the Rovers,’ Elsie said as if she hadn’t noticed him addressing Lizzie. ‘But I’m prepared to give this place a chance. I’ll wait and see what else they have to offer.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘I go to the Rovers more out of habit. It’s not as though Annie Walker’d miss me. She’s the landlady there,’ she explained. ‘She doesn’t even like me. If anything, it’s just the opposite. Let me tell you, she’s given me a lot of grief over the years. When I first came to live in Coronation Street, I admit I was too young to be drinking legally but didn’t she like to show me up, especially if I was with a bloke? It didn’t matter what he ordered, she only let me drink lemonade. And she always seemed to be looking down her nose at me, like she thought she was too good to give the likes of me the time of day.’ She gave an ironic laugh. ‘She still does. It would serve her right if I were to switch my drinking habits and start coming here instead.’

‘I’ll be sure to try out the Rovers on your recommendation then,’ Steve turned back to Elsie and laughed. Elsie flashed him another of her special smiles and said, ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you there.’

Steve grinned and turned away. ‘And I’m sure I’ll be back here again to see you, Lizzie,’ he said, giving her the full beam of his smile. ‘But for now, can you pull me another pint, please?’

By the time Bob had closed the bar and cashed up the till, Lizzie was hovering outside the kitchen, ready to go. She was feeling the effects of having been on her feet all evening and couldn’t wait to get home.

‘Well, that was a good day’s work,’ Bob said.

‘Only it feels more like a day and a half,’ Lizzie said. ‘I wonder what the weather’s like out there now? Everyone was coming in well bundled up, saying it was getting colder, so I hope it’s not snowing.’

‘Would you like me to see you home?’ Bob said. ‘Then it won’t matter about the weather, I’ll keep you safe and warm.’ He reached out to put his arm round her waist.

‘No, thanks,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.’ She stepped away so that he ended up embracing the air.