Читать книгу Mother’s Day on Coronation Street - Maggie Sullivan - Страница 8

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.’

‘So what’s she like?’

‘She’s a fair bit older than you and me and …’ she paused. ‘I’m not sure how to describe her. She’s quite a character.’

‘How old? Old enough to be my mother?’

‘Not at all. I’d say she’d be in her early thirties. I’m twenty-two, by the way. So her clothes are not always at the height of fashion. But then who can keep up with the latest fads when you haven’t got enough coupons to get decent material to make anything new. But she dresses very nicely, wears a bit of make-up and I think she must have her hair peroxided and permed a bit. She’s very particular about looking neat and tidy all the time, whatever she’s wearing. And she likes to keep the bar neat and tidy too. She’s got very high standards so you do have to be on your toes. A place for everything and everything in its place, she’s always saying. And you’ve got to have a big smile for the customers, no matter how bad you might be feeling. You have to look out not to let things slide. On the other hand, it means that even when the public bar is at its worst – like first thing in the morning before Rose comes in to clean – it’s still a reasonably nice place to work although it is still full of the smell of last night’s stale tobacco and beer.’

‘Why don’t you work there full time, then?’

‘Mostly because of the money. Which is why I didn’t suggest it to you in the first place. And, somehow, I’ve never seen myself as a full-time barmaid though I do enjoy it and I’m always willing to help out the odd time. Like I say, I’ve been working there most evenings this past week while Annie was poorly. But hopefully she’ll be back by tomorrow so I won’t be needed any more.’

‘Not if she can appoint someone full time.’ Gracie didn’t want to sound too eager but she couldn’t help feeling enthused by the idea.

‘Are you interested in applying, then?’ Lottie asked.

‘I am. Do you think I’ll like her, or more to the point, will she like me?’

‘There’s only one way to find out. Though I don’t see why not. But I don’t want to speak out of turn and get any false hopes up. All I can tell you is she’ll be wanting to appoint someone as soon as she can. So, if you fancy the job, my advice would be to get in there quick. Shall I tell her you might be interested?’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course. Though I think it’s only fair to warn you that she can seem a bit snooty at times. Sometimes she has this unfortunate way of looking at you as if you’d been dragged in by the dog.’ Lottie did her best imitation of Annie Walker arching her eyebrows and looking down her nose and Gracie laughed. ‘But she’s got a good heart and if you show willing she’s a really good person to work for.’

‘I suppose if I can manage the girls on the bench at the munitions factory I can handle the likes of Annie Walker,’ Gracie said with a confidence in her voice that she didn’t feel.

‘I tell you what,’ Lottie said, ‘I’ll have a word with her tonight and if she’s going to be back at work then maybe you can pop in tomorrow evening before they get busy. Nothing like striking while the iron’s hot. Is that all right?’

‘That would be fine. I’m sure I can swing something at the factory.’

Gracie was aware that Lottie was looking at her critically. ‘You know something,’ Lottie said, ‘I don’t think you’ll regret it.’

‘No,’ said Gracie, determined to be bold, ‘I’ve got a feeling I won’t either.’

Annie came downstairs, as she had promised herself, in time to give the children breakfast the next morning and found she had forgotten how much energy it required. Florence, however, had taken her at her word that she would get up in time to see to the children and it was mid-morning before she made an appearance, ordering Rose, Annie’s young cleaner, to carry her suitcase down into the hall.

‘I asked Neil if he would pop over in the car to pick me up,’ Florence said.

Annie was shocked. Neil was her mother’s business partner, but it still sounded like a cheeky request. ‘Isn’t that a bit of an extravagance? Where will he find the petrol?’ Annie asked.

‘Oh, he’ll find some from somewhere, he always does. He knows I’m relying on him to get me back. How else would I get there otherwise? He wouldn’t expect me to go on a bus.’

‘Why on earth not? It’s what most of us mortals have to do.’ Annie couldn’t hold back her sarcasm but Florence seemed to be immune. She sat down in the kitchen and picked up the Weatherfield Gazette to read as she waited for Neil.

As the morning wore on, Annie was surprised how wobbly she felt. She was having difficulty standing for long periods and she had no energy to run after the children. She wondered if it was her imagination that Joanie was even more demanding than usual and Billy was running around so much it made her feel dizzy to look at him. She was very relieved when Rose had finished cleaning in the public areas and was free to watch them. Her mother’s departure had left her with mixed feelings. Even though a part of her was glad she had left, she realized how much she had relied on her over the last few days.

‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fetch you a nice cup of tea?’ Rose said when Joanie was finally settled in the playpen with her teddy and doll. ‘And you have no need to worry, Mrs Walker, I won’t desert you. I’ll carry on here looking after the children till you get your strength back.’

‘Thank you, Rose. I must admit I don’t feel ready to take over everything just yet. I must have been more poorly than I realized.’

‘Well, don’t you fret. You just take your time.’

‘Why don’t you take them out to the park? I know there are no longer any swings or slides left, but at least Billy can kick his ball about and run off some of his energy.’

Sally Todd arrived in time to open the bar for the dinnertime trade. She had been such a help as she knew her way around the bar better than anyone. Annie was grateful Sally wouldn’t be returning to her normal daytime job at the factory until the following week.

When she had taken her coat off, Sally proudly showed Annie the till rolls which marked up all the bar takings since she had been out of action. Annie was surprised at how much money they had taken. As far as she was aware, the number of customers had dwindled recently since all but the old men and the wounded were away fighting. To see that the figures had actually increased while she had been away was a pleasant surprise.

‘Well done!’ Annie said, not usually known for her lavish praise. ‘I know that prices have risen a little but there seems to have been a sudden increase in customers. What’s brought that about?’ she asked. ‘Did the army suddenly discharge them all? Or have those left behind been partying every night?’

Sally laughed. ‘Nothing like that I’m afraid.’ But there was a mysterious glint in her eye. ‘You’ll soon see for yourself once we get busy.’

‘Welcome back!’

‘Lovely to see you again.’

‘Good to have you back, though Lottie and Sally have been doing a splendid job.’

Annie inclined her head from side to side in acknowledgement of all the good wishes when she finally made an appearance from behind the curtain that separated off her living quarters.

‘It’s nice to be back.’ ‘Lovely to see you again.’ ‘Thank you for your kind message.’

She let a gracious smile play on her lips as she greeted each in turn in the way she had seen Queen Elizabeth do on the newsreels as she accompanied King George on their visits round the country. She was enjoying the attention almost as much as when she had been cast in the lead role in the amateur dramatic society before the war and had taken a final curtain call. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed seeing all the familiar faces at the bar while she had been ill. She didn’t really like being shut away from everything and everybody even if it was only for a few days. She was actually looking forward to being able to take on all the duties of her customary role as landlady once more, including pulling pints, though she would have to try to ease herself back into the job gradually.

It was interesting, she thought, how she had grown used to being a publican at the Rovers. She had even become quite fond of the place and the job, and it surprised her how pleased she was to be back. Not that it had always been like that. She remembered how she had felt when she had first come here as a new bride. Running a hostelry had not been something she had ever aspired to. She had long accepted that her family’s fortunes had really gone and she knew she would never be returning to the grand life she had once known, but when Jack had first proposed and suggested they become innkeepers she had dared to dream of a small country pub set in leafy Cheshire lanes. She saw Tudor-style oak beams, and horse brasses hanging on the walls but for Jack’s sake she had been willing to consider the Rovers Return as a sort of trade apprenticeship, a place where she would learn all she could about the hospitality industry. Perhaps one of the most important lessons she learned in the early years was always to greet people with a cheerful smile, even if it didn’t reflect how she felt. And that was a lesson that had stood her in good stead. Even when Mr Ridley himself had come to tell them that the brewery had no country pubs available for the foreseeable future she had somehow managed to grit her teeth and smile.

But things had changed since then. She had changed and she accepted for now that she would be happy enough to remain behind the bar at the Rovers Return. Not that she would admit that to anyone, especially not to Jack, for she would never give up on her dream.

What she hadn’t expected to see on her return to the bar was so many new faces and several different uniforms and for the moment she thought she was in the middle of a Hollywood film set. For mixed in with the locals, whose voices she mostly recognised, was the unfamiliar drawl of American accents.

Sally laughed at Annie’s astonished face. ‘What do you think to that?’ she said. ‘I bet you didn’t know the Yanks had arrived in full force, did you?’

‘I knew there’d been more and more coming since the first batch arrived in January, but I hadn’t realized there were such numbers arriving up here.’

Gracie nodded. ‘We’ve got GIs, soldiers, airmen – and some Canadians as well for good measure. They’re all over the country now and, fortunately for us, one of their bases is not far from here, in Warrington.’

‘Well I never.’ Annie didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry.

‘Seems like they’re trying out all the local pubs in the area and I’m doing my darnedest to make sure this is the one place they want to keep coming back to. And you know what they’re saying? “Overpaid, oversexed and over here”.’ Annie’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment at Sally’s choice of language but the young girl seemed not to notice. ‘So I reckon we need to make the most of it,’ Sally went on, ‘because they seem to have access to all kinds of supplies we can’t get hold of – cigarettes, nylon stockings, chocolate. They’re pretty amazing.’

Now Annie laughed. ‘Well, it looks like you’re doing a good job of hanging on to them, young lady.’ She was looking at the barmaid and actually smiling.

‘I think I must be doing something right,’ Sally grinned back. ‘One of the men told me last night he was even getting to love warm beer.’

Annie looked puzzled at this and pursed her lips, unsure how to take what sounded like a backhanded compliment.

‘Apparently, they serve all their drinks poured over ice cubes – “on the rocks”, they call it over in America – and they even like their beer to be ice cold,’ Sally explained. ‘At first, they complained about the Shires being warm, but now I think they’re beginning to get used to it.’

‘So long as they keep coming back for more, I can hardly complain,’ Annie said as she perched on a stool by the till and surveyed the room. She watched Elsie Tanner who was single-handedly entertaining the largest number of GIs and for once Annie was grateful Elsie was a regular customer. She was certainly the centre of attention tonight among one group of Yanks. It seemed that most of them couldn’t keep their hands off her and she didn’t mind that at all. She was flirting outrageously in true Elsie-style. At least, thought Annie, with so much misery around they’re bringing some life and fun into the place. Without them things could easily deteriorate and we’d be left with a pretty dull atmosphere. Thanks also went to Sally, who was confidently pulling pints, serving the customers with a laugh and a joke and generally keeping the clients happy while Annie tossed tanners, shillings, half-crowns and florins into the cash drawer at a steady enough rate to make her one very happy lady.

Gracie didn’t know what to wear as she sifted through the hangers on the rail that served as a wardrobe in her bedroom. Not that she had a lot to choose from. Clothes rationing meant she hadn’t bought anything new for ages and several of her old clothes were actually worn out. But her real dilemma was whether to wear a skirt or trousers. Since she had taken to wearing trousers at the factory she had felt more comfortable in them and normally wouldn’t have thought twice about wearing them when she was popping into a pub. But from what Lottie had told her about Annie Walker she began to worry that they might appear too casual for the landlady who sounded a little prim and proper. She discarded each thing onto the bed as she tried it on. Both the straight, pencil-line skirt with the side pockets and the slightly flared skirt with the patch pockets still looked to be in reasonable shape, whereas the trousers did look rather shabby. In the end, she settled for her cream pleated skirt because it went well with the coffee-and-cream-coloured jumper that she loved, even though she would have to remember not to lift her left arm for that would show up the darn there. The outfit made her feel more grown up and ladylike with its set-in sleeves that were gathered in tucks at the shoulders so that they looked like shoulder pads. It would give her a boost of confidence at what could prove to be a difficult meeting. She drew a stub of bright red lipstick across her lips, pinched her cheeks and looked at herself in the mirror. She smoothed down the tendrils of hair that persistently escaped from her ponytail and twisted this way and that to try to see her back. ‘It will have to do,’ she said out loud and ran down the stairs.

‘Let’s be having a look at you.’ Mildred stopped her as she went to open the front door.

‘I’ve no time now, Mum. I’m already late. I can’t afford to give a bad impression. I’m scared enough without having to worry about that.’

‘What on earth are you scared about? You’ll knock ’em out.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t know what the landlady can be like. Lottie’s been telling me and I can’t help worrying: what if she doesn’t like me?’

‘Of course she’ll like you. Everybody will.’ Her mother gave her a kiss. ‘Just be yourself and she can’t fail to love you. But slow down for a moment. You know what’ll happen if you keep rushing about. Your hair will fly out of its band for a start, and in no time at all you’ll be looking a mess.’

‘Oh, thanks a lot for that!’

‘You didn’t let me finish. What I was going to say was that at the moment it looks lovely. Just make sure to keep it that way.’

‘And from what Lottie says, I must remember to smile,’ Gracie said giving her mother a big grin. Mildred laughed.

‘When do you not smile? Now go. And good luck.’

‘Punctuality. That is what counts at all times, my dear,’ was the first thing Annie Walker said, glancing up at the clock in the bar. Gracie’s heart sank. As far as she understood they hadn’t set a specific time for the interview but Annie had the bit between her teeth. ‘Always remember that our clients expect us to open the doors on time and we have, by law, to close up on time. Fortunately, the bar is not officially open yet so we do have some time to talk before the rush begins.’

‘Yes, Mrs Walker,’ Gracie finally got an opportunity to say. ‘I agree. I’m quite a stickler for timekeeping myself.’ She didn’t want to explain that she might have come sooner if she hadn’t been dithering about what to wear. Annie smiled at her but there was no warmth in it and Gracie wondered for a moment if she had made a mistake in coming. Maybe this job was not for her after all. But she took a deep breath and calmed herself down. Then she lifted her chin and began to answer Annie’s questions.

‘And tell me, my dear, do you have a sweetheart away in the forces?’ Annie said finally.

‘No, I don’t,’ Gracie admitted. She was surprised by the question and wondered if that was going to make any difference to the outcome. But Annie merely looked directly at her and this time gave her a warm smile.

‘I married mine,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘And now he’s gone away, fighting abroad.’ She looked so wistful Gracie couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her, but Annie quickly became businesslike again as she handed Gracie a pen and a piece of paper.

‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind writing your details on here and then working out the answers to the little sums that I’ve written out on the back …’

Gracie hadn’t expected a test, though she supposed it was the best way to make sure she could read and write, and make the correct change if she had to handle customers’ money. So she did her best approximation of the neat copperplate-style handwriting they had been taught in school, and wrote down in figures, as quickly and as accurately as she could, the solutions to the arithmetic questions. She took a deep breath while Annie was scrutinizing her answers and nervously tucked away the stray tendrils of hair that she could feel had escaped from her ponytail. Annie was reading carefully and didn’t speak for several moments. When she looked up, Gracie stopped breathing for a second or two.

‘When would you be free to start if I were to offer you the job?’ Annie asked.

‘Tomorrow,’ Gracie said without hesitation. ‘Does that mean I’ve got it?’

Annie’s face finally creased with pleasure and the warmth of her expression at last reached her eyes. ‘I would like to offer you a week’s trial,’ Annie said. ‘At the end of that time we’ll both be at liberty to call time on the offer, if you’ll pardon the pun, if things haven’t worked out. But I feel sure they will.’ She put out her hand. ‘I look forward to working with you, Gracie,’ she said. ‘I presume I may call you Gracie?’

‘Yes, of course, and thank you very much.’ Gracie grinned. She was surprised to find Annie’s handshake was warmer than she had expected.

‘And I’m Annie,’ the landlady said. But the softness in her voice suddenly sharpened as she added, ‘Although I prefer to be referred to as Mrs Walker in front of the customers.’

Annie was pleased she had managed the interview so soon after coming downstairs from her sickbed. It would certainly make her life easier to have a permanent barmaid in place. But then, she had always prided herself that she had learned how to gather good people around her, and it was an essential attribute at a time like this when she was running the pub and bringing up the children single-handed.

The only person she had been unsure of hiring was Ned Narkin, who had turned up as a potential potman, in answer to her ad, shortly after Jack had joined up. It was not an easy job to fill as all the young able-bodied men were abroad, fighting for the cause. Even those who weren’t fit enough to join the forces, like Albert Tatlock, had taken on civic duties and become firefighters, ARP wardens or joined the Home Guard, jobs which occupied them full time. She had been forced to take on the only man who had shown up in response to the card she’d placed in the window. From the moment she first saw him she wasn’t sure she trusted Ned Narkin, for she thought he had a shifty look about his eyes. He was too old for the army and he came with no references but she had no choice but to take him on. She needed a man about the place and she was pleased when he set to work in the cellar almost immediately, heaving the crates and barrels that were too heavy for her to lift.

Then one day, in a crisis, she had seen a different side to Ned. He surprised her when he’d fearlessly challenged two youngsters who were hanging around by the back door. They looked as though they were up to no good and he’d actually been injured when they took on his challenge and picked a fight with him. Annie warmed to him after that and she had to admit she felt safer during working hours having him about the place.

But hiring Gracie, of course, was a different matter. She seemed like a nice class of girl, very much in the Lottie mould, and she sounded to come from a decent family so Annie had a good feeling about her right from the start. Annie was sure she would be staying long beyond the week’s trial she had offered her. When Sally and Lottie left, it would be a great comfort to have a bright young person like Gracie about the place.

Gracie forgot to walk with any kind of poise as she made her way back to Mallard Street and every few steps she did a little skip, followed by a hop, a step and a jump. She would have to mind her Ps and Qs with Annie, she could see that, but the idea of working behind the bar was so much better than being on the workbench in the factory. Wait till she told them at home. They might not be pleased about the cut in wages she’d had to agree to, but her mother, at least, would certainly understand that she would be much happier. She hoped Lottie would be pleased too. It would be hard work, she would be on her feet most of the day, but she wasn’t afraid of that. And she’d have a chance to get some time off if they weren’t busy. She had always been conscientious and having decided she really did want the job she would do her best to make a good impression from the start.

The only problem she could anticipate was the little tearaway she had seen several times being shooed out of the public area. He didn’t look to be more than three, but the cleaning lady, Rose, had to chase him out of the bar several times even in the short time Gracie’d been there. When Annie proudly introduced her son, she seemed very relaxed about his behaviour but all Gracie could think was that Rose was a saint for putting up with his antics. Gracie’s younger brothers had taught her all there was to know about mischief-making and she would hate to have to work with a little terror like that running round her feet. All she could hope was she wouldn’t have anything to do with him while she was working, for a public bar was certainly no place for such a little boy.

By the end of the week Annie was surprised how tired she was, given that she had spent much of her time perched on a bar stool by the till while her new barmaid, Gracie, ran around after the customers. But the constant buzz of conversation and the fog of smoke that permanently filled the atmosphere had given her a headache. Tobacco was supposed to be in short supply but there was no shortage of cigarettes among the American soldiers who were distributing packages of tens and twenties generously.

One afternoon Annie felt in desperate need of a rest and longed for a chance to go back upstairs for a brief break. As they weren’t very busy, she signalled her intentions to Gracie and got down from the bar stool. She was about to slip away behind the curtain that separated the vestibule to her living quarters from the public bar when she saw a young girl, with long blonde hair straggling over her shoulders, push her way through the double doors of the street entrance. Her greasy-looking fringe almost covered her eyebrows and her eyes were virtually invisible as she tried to peer out from underneath. Her clothes were even shabbier than most of the young women who came into the Rovers these days. The last time she had seen such a young girl in the bar was when Elsie Grimshaw, now Elsie Tanner, living at number 11 Coronation Street, had first put in an appearance when she was not yet of an age to be drinking alcohol. Not that this girl had Elsie’s poise, or the touch of glamour that had somehow surrounded Elsie even in her darkest days. The appeal and charm Elsie exerted over others was obvious right from the start, so that when Annie had insisted she be served only lemonade she knew for certain that Elsie’s friends were slipping her the odd shot of gin. This one looked even younger than Elsie had been then and Annie could feel her hackles rising. She stepped down from the stool ready to do battle.

The fair-haired girl glanced about her almost furtively as she stepped nearer to the bar and, when she caught Annie’s eye, it seemed as if she might turn and run out again. But then a resolute look crossed her face and she made a strange sight as she walked up to the counter in a determined manner. Large black shoes flapped out beneath a blue serge skirt, so that it looked like the old-fashioned Edwardian style. The skirt’s coarse material was gathered at the waist under a stiff buckram band that seemed to be cutting her in half and the whole thing looked like a hand-me-down because it was too big and much too long for her, far longer than the current fashion dictated, given the limited availability of fabric. A tight, rib-knit jumper with several holes in it flattened whatever there was of her breasts. The girl’s hands were hidden from view, plunged into the two side pockets, and a small wooden box was tucked under one arm.

‘Can I help you? Annie asked in the most superior voice she could muster. Now that she was close to, she felt as if there was something familiar about the girl’s face. Was it the unusually high cheekbones that didn’t seem to have much flesh on them, or the narrow chin giving her a diffident, almost impish, look that Annie was sure she had seen before?

‘I’ve not come to drink,’ the girl said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Annie’s laughter was steeped in sarcasm. ‘I should hope not, young lady. I don’t know who you are, but one thing I do know is that you are far too young to be in a pub at all. Now I must ask you to leave or they’ll be after my licence.’ The girl glanced down. She had released her hands from her pockets and was twisting her fingers awkwardly, only stopping now and then to pick at the cuticles. Her hands looked red and sore; Annie’s response had obviously unnerved her and she suddenly seemed unsure.

‘You’d better leave quietly before I get cross.’ Annie made a waving motion in the direction of the door but the girl didn’t move. She plunged her hands back into her pockets.

‘I’ll go as soon as you’ve answered my question,’ she said, her voice suddenly strong.

‘Oh, and what question is that?’ Annie sounded amused.

‘Is your name Anne?’ she asked. ‘I’m looking for someone called Anne.’

Annie’s first reaction was to raise her eyebrows in astonishment. As the landlady of the Rovers Return she was not unknown in these parts, but she would never have expected a young girl to march in and ask for her by name like that. Then she frowned. She tilted her head trying to get a closer look at the girl’s face; there was something familiar about those cheekbones …

‘And who …’ Annie began. But the girl cut across her.

‘Did you used to work at Fletcher’s Mill?’ the girl asked.

Now Annie’s jaw fell open and for a moment she was speechless. Nobody knew about the time she’d worked at the mill. Except for her mother and Jack, of course, but the shame of it would preclude Florence from ever disclosing the fact to anyone. She glanced round the room. Quite a few of the locals and several GI soldiers still lingered, though to her relief no one seemed to be listening to what the girl was saying.

‘I think you’d better come this way,’ Annie said abruptly, her voice stiff and unnatural, and lifting the velvet curtain she led the way through the little vestibule that lay behind it, and into the living room.

Gracie had seen the young girl enter the bar and was unsure what she should do so she was pleased that Annie had not yet gone upstairs and was still around to deal with her, but she was surprised to see Annie usher her into her private quarters. Annie had been looking tired before the girl appeared and was looking even more so after speaking to her. Gracie wondered who she was. She collected all the dead glasses and went to attend to Mrs Sharples, who had just banged her pint pot on the counter demanding immediate attention in her customary way. Gracie recognised the girl’s face. She had seen her hanging round outside on her way into work but when Gracie had tried to smile at her she had quickly looked away. She had been carrying a small wooden box with her then and she was carrying it now. What could she want with Annie Walker, she wondered? What would she give to listen at the living room door in the vestibule!

‘A pint of stout when you’ve finished dreaming.’ It was Ena Sharples. Her reputation went before her and Gracie was anxious not to cross swords with her.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Gracie said. ‘What can I get you?’

Ena shook her head at Gracie’s forgetfulness, but for once she just pointed at the row of black bottles and didn’t say anything.

Annie gathered herself in the time it took to usher the girl into the room and settle her in to a chair. It took a few moments but finally her breathing rate returned to normal. She would have welcomed any excuse to leave the room while she collected her thoughts. But she knew she couldn’t do that.

She sat down opposite the girl and entwined her fingers so that her hands lay passively in her lap.

‘Now then, young lady,’ she said and smiled benignly, ‘who are you exactly? And what is it you want to know?’

‘I want to know if you’re Anne Beaumont. It’s not such a difficult question, is it?’ The girl lifted her chin and tried to sound defiant but it was obvious her bubble of initial confidence was beginning to deflate as Annie’s gaze didn’t flinch. ‘My name’s Annette, Annette Oliver,’ she added looking away.

Annie’s brows knitted together. The name didn’t immediately mean anything to her, but the similarity to her own name was not lost on her. ‘Am I supposed to know you?’ she asked.

The girl shrugged. ‘Dunno.’ She looked as if she was going to say something else but then changed her mind.

Annie’s eyes were then drawn to a white lawn handkerchief Annette was pulling out of the box that had been under her arm. She could clearly see the initials that had been embroidered in the corner in red silk thread. AB. Now it was Annie’s turn to look uncomfortable. She visibly blanched. ‘Where did you get that?’ she asked, her voice sharp now.

‘It was in this box the orphanage gave me now I’m old enough.’

She passed it to Annie, who held it loosely in her fingers as if she were afraid to touch it. Then she let it fall into her lap. Even though her eyes had misted she could recognize the unevenly embroidered stitching and the sight of it brought back floods of unwelcome memories. She looked at the girl from under hooded lids. Annette was almost twelve years old, she’d said. Annie did some quick arithmetic and sat back in shock. She looked again at the handkerchief and her breathing quickened. Then she looked at the girl. There was something familiar about the girl’s face, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

‘I grew up in the orphanage, no one ever knew my mum or dad.’ It was Annette who broke the silence. ‘And for some reason they thought I should have the box on my twelfth birthday. It was the only thing that was left with me, apparently, when I was abandoned in a shopping basket outside the gates. I was only a baby, just a few days old, one of the staff once told me, but no one had any idea where I came from.’

‘That’s very sad,’ Annie said.

‘I suppose it is, but it’s all I’ve got. That handkerchief’s my only clue, really. You recognize it, don’t you? I can tell the way you was looking at it.’ The girl was staring at her disconcertingly and Annie began to feel uncomfortable.

‘There was a dummy and a rattle in the box as well,’ Annette went on. ‘But they had no marks on them to say where they came from. Or where I came from, for that matter.’ Annette stopped and stared directly at Annie. ‘I was hoping the rattle might be silver so’s it could make me rich.’ She shook her head. ‘No such luck, though.’ Annette gave a little smile. ‘It’s shaped like a man in a funny hat and it’s got bells hanging from it. Mean anything?’

Annie looked at her, her expression blank. She didn’t know what to think. She shook her head slowly. Though she was still wracking her brains about what was so familiar about the girl’s face.

‘The box has a letter in it too, telling me to go look for Anne Beaumont. I haven’t had much time lately because I’ve started working after school and most weekends as a scullerymaid in Grant House on the edge of the big park in Cheshire.’

‘But that’s miles from here.’ Annie lifted her head and looked with pity at the young girl.

‘I know. But whenever I gets a day off I goes looking. And though I save what I earn to help pay fares, I usually have to walk most of the way so it takes me a while. But I do what I can. I really wanted to find you.’ She hesitated. ‘That’s supposing … you are Anne Beaumont?’ She peered directly into Annie’s face, as if she was hoping to recognize something, some specific feature.

Annie didn’t answer. She looked down into her lap and fingered the white lawn square. What was Annette reading into this, she wondered? She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling agitated and unsure. How did Annette think she was related to AB?

‘Do you want to see the letter?’ Annette stood up and carefully unfolded the fragile piece of paper into Annie’s lap. Then she stood behind her so she could read it over Annie’s shoulder. ‘See?’ She pointed a red, swollen finger. ‘See there, it says I’m to contact Anne Beaumont from Clitheroe. That is you, init? I know I’m right.’

Annie picked up the delicate letter by the corner. It looked as if it had been torn from a notebook. She turned it over but there was nothing written on the back. The letter wasn’t signed and she didn’t recognize the tiny scrawl. Finally, she gave a little nod.

‘Yes, it is me,’ she said. ‘Beaumont was my maiden name. But … but I don’t know how my handkerchief ended up in your box. I … I don’t know anything about your mother,’ she said softly.

Annette stiffened.’

‘The trouble is …’ Annie hesitated. ‘I don’t know how you think I can help you.’

Annette didn’t reply.

‘Do you know who wrote the letter? You do realize it could have been written by anybody?’ Annie said.

Annette hung her head. She sighed and her shoulders dropped as she turned away and slumped back into the chair.

‘I’ve been looking for you for ages,’ was all she said then.

‘But the fact that your letter mentions me by name is no proof that I’ve any connection with your mother,’ Annie said, ‘or that I even know who she is. For all we know, it could be a different Anne Beaumont entirely.’

‘I suppose so.’ Annette sounded dejected. She leaned forward and put out her hands in a pleading gesture. ‘But I’ve got to find out about her. I’ve got to know where I come from and the letter says you could help …’ Her voice cracked and a tear plopped onto the carpet.

‘Are you sure you—’ the girl tried again, but Annie cut in sharply, ‘The letter is wrong.’ Her voice was firm, but then she saw the despondent look on the girl’s face and Annie had to look away. ‘I’m truly sorry, Annette,’ Annie said sadly, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

Gracie was pulling a pint of Shires for Albert Tatlock when the bedraggled young girl finally came out from Annie’s living quarters, the small wooden box still tucked under her arm. Gracie watched her make her way to the door, her shoulders slumped. Annie was only a few steps behind her, as if to make sure she didn’t turn to come back into the bar. Gracie thought Annie looked a lot paler now than she had before and somehow even more weary, though her jaw seemed set in a kind of grim determination. Neither she nor the girl spoke so Gracie was left to wonder who the stranger was and what she had wanted.

As soon as Annette had gone, Annie climbed the stairs as fast as her unsteady legs would carry her but she stood uncertainly on the landing for a few moments, remembering the feel of the handkerchief, seeing again the words of the letter. Her legs were trembling and she had to work hard to control her breathing as her mind was flooded with memories. She gripped hold of the bannister and opened her eyes wide, hoping the sight of the vase of silk flowers tucked into the recess on the landing would help to shut out the images that assailed her.

Annie felt sorry for Annette. How dreadful not to have any idea who your parents were. She had seemed a nice enough child, but Annie really hoped she would never have to meet her again. For Annette, even in her short visit, had managed to rake up so many painful memories of heat and lung-filling dust, memories of long, uncomfortable hours in a loom shed; memories Annie would rather forget.