Wartime on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  Elsie picked up her port and lemon and started to walk away, but Ena prodded Elsie’s shoulder sharply with her finger. ‘How dare you!’ Ena raised her voice

  ‘Oh, I dare, all right.’ Elsie cut off her words with a grin. ‘It’s just a pity Vera doesn’t dare a bit more.’ And Elsie laughed out loud. ‘I tell you what,’ she went on, not trying to stop the smoke from her cigarette from curling in Ena’s direction, ‘Why don’t you leave it to me? I’ll find her a suitable lad.’ She said the words scornfully. ‘Though I don’t know how he’ll feel about having to take on her mother as well.’

  ‘You’ve no need to bother, thank you very much,’ Ena all but shouted. ‘There are some very eligible young lads come to the Mission of a Sunday, who could do far worse than our Vera.’

  ‘A mission boy, is that right?’ Elsie scoffed. ‘And what would he be doing in the Glad Tidings hall when there’s a war on?’ She winked and watched with satisfaction as Ena clenched and unclenched her fists, her chest heaving.

  ‘I’ll have you know I’ve already got my eye on someone who’s just the ticket.’ Ena attempted to end the conversation.

  ‘And what does Vera think of him?’ Elsie asked. ‘Or do you not care?’

  ‘My Vera doesn’t think owt without my say so. She’ll do as she’s told.’

  ‘Is that right? Well, you might be in for a nasty shock, Ena Sharples. Believe you me, there’s more to that girl than meets the eye.’ Elsie’s tone had an exultant ring.

  She leaned forwards and wagged her finger close to Ena’s face. ‘I reckon that daughter of yours will surprise you one of these days, you mark my words.’

  Chapter 3

  Vera was sitting on the edge of her bed and she couldn’t stop crying. Ena had already left in disgust, but Vera didn’t know how she was going to face the girls at the factory where they worked together. How could she, once the story of Ena’s barney with Elsie in the Rovers Return had done the rounds? Now everyone would know that Ena was on the lookout for a nice Christian boy so that she could marry Vera off as soon as possible. The story had already whipped round Coronation Street, so the factory girls were bound to have heard it too. The trouble was that in Weatherfield everyone knew everyone else’s business, sometimes before they had time to know their own.

  ‘Surely she wouldn’t do that to me?’ Vera sobbed out loud. She thought back to all the times she had let her mother take charge of things. It had always been easier that way, but did Ena really think Vera would let her choose a husband for her?

  As soon as Vera clocked on at the factory and hung up her coat she doubled over, pretending she badly needed to go to the lav, and she begged her supervisor to allow her five minutes’ special time. What she really needed was some cold water to splash on her face before anyone saw her puffy eyes because she’d cried all the way as she ran to get to work on time. Her supervisor tapped her watch and held up her hand – five minutes and no more – so Vera disappeared down the stairs and into the basement as quickly as she could before anyone else could see her go. Vera hated working on the same factory bench as Ena; she felt as if she was under constant scrutiny but that was something she’d had no choice about.

  It was cold and dark in the basement and there was a lingering smell of disinfectant on the damp air so she had to take a deep breath to avoid losing her breakfast. But at least down there the racket of the machinery was nothing more than a distant hum. Vera leaned up against the cold damp wall, taking no heed of the condensation. She turned on the solitary tap in the sink in the corridor and wiped her eyes and nose with the piece of flimsy cotton from her pocket that served as a handkerchief.

  Fancy my own mother talking about me in public like that – Vera’s thoughts were screaming in her head – as if I had no feelings? She wants to find me a husband but what about what I want? She sat down heavily on a nearby carton. I can’t let her take over my life like that. The words were swimming silently in her head because she didn’t say them out loud for fear she might start crying again. She took a deep breath. I’ll show her, she thought. I might have made a mistake with one American soldier but there are plenty more fish in the sea. I’ll find my own husband, thank you very much.

  Suddenly feeling full of defiance and with a new determination, she stood up abruptly, but just as quickly sat down again. The story was bound to be all around the factory floor by now and really she just wanted to go home.

  Vera didn’t realize she’d made any kind of noise until she heard a reedy, high-pitched male voice call out, ‘Who’s there? What are you doing down here? Show yourself, now.’ And the next minute a flashlight was shining directly into her eyes.

  She lifted her hands to fend off the glare. ‘It’s me,’ she said, unhelpfully.

  ‘Yer what?’

  ‘I said it’s me,’ she repeated.

  ‘And who’s me when you’re at home? Say your name.’ The voice struck a deeper note as if trying to sound more authoritative. ‘What are you doing down here? It’s not time for a lav break yet.’

  ‘It’s Vera Sharples.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I work upstairs in the factory and I got special permission to use the lav. I’ve not been feeling well and I won’t be long.’

  The beam of the torch flashed to the side and was no longer directed onto her face. Vera blinked, trying to refocus to the dim, shadowy light. It took a few moments but she could eventually see that the young man standing in front of her was considerably taller than she was and that he was slim, even skinny, like a matchstick man. His face seemed to be in even darker shadow, as if he hadn’t shaved. He was wearing dark overalls, probably regulation brown, she guessed, with Earnshaw embroidered on the left-hand breast pocket. He looked familiar and she was sure she had seen him hanging around the factory.

  ‘Was it the lav you was wanting?’ he asked, not unkindly.

  ‘I did, but I’m all right now, thanks. I’m ready to go back up.’

  ‘Here, I’ll put the light on for you,’ he said. ‘Them stairs can be dangerous in the dark.’

  She heard the click of a light switch but nothing happened.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got my torch here,’ he said. ‘Come on, then, I’ll take you back upstairs.’ And he flashed the light in front of him.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said again.

  ‘It’s pretty gloomy down here in the best of times, never mind when the lights are not working. It’s a good job I’ve got a torch,’ he said, and he offered her his arm. ‘I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Lomax. I’m one of the maintenance men,’ he added proudly.

  ‘Thanks very much, Bob,’ Vera said and she clung on to his arm. As they climbed the stairs the heat of the factory hit her forcibly, as did the light, and she glanced across to look more closely at his face. He was quite handsome, she decided, though his needing-a-shave look was made all the more obvious by a slanting white scar that slashed across his upper lip. The dark brown of his hair was emphasized by the paleness of his skin, in particular the boyish cowlick that fell across his forehead. He looked at her as she regarded him and smiled.

  He looked like a dark-haired version of her favourite film star, Alan Ladd, Vera thought as she let go of his arm. ‘Thanks, Bob.’ She made exaggerated lip movements since she knew her words would be swallowed up by the racket of the machinery as they emerged once more onto the factory floor and she gave a little wave as she hurried towards her bench. Bob stood watching her for a moment before turning away and she didn’t realize she was grinning as she took her place on the workbench until she saw her mother scowling at her.

  ‘Are you wanting to get your wages docked, or get thrown out of here altogether, grinning like the Cheshire cat?’ Ena barked. ‘Where the heck have you been?’

  Vera drew her lips into a straight line and chose not to answer. She caught sight of the supervisor making sure that she was returning to her work and tried her best to look as if she really had been ill.

  Chapter 4

  Ena stood in front of the mirror over the
hearth and dropped her felt hat onto the hairnet that covered her hair. She patted it down without looking. She didn’t really need to use the mirror as she had long since mastered the feel of the movements involved and she knew just where to position her arms so that the hat fell more or less accurately into place.

  ‘Are you ready, Vera? We haven’t got all day!’ she shouted in the general direction of the bedroom. ‘I hope you’ve put on the blue skirt with the buttons down the front like I told you. It looks nice with your best white blouse. Here, I’ll button it for you, you do want to look good.’

  Vera came out of the bedroom, scowling. She hated the blue skirt Martha Longhurst had made for her before the war had even started and she’d been tempted to ignore her mother’s instructions and put on something else.

  ‘You should wear that more often, there’s nowt wrong with it,’ Ena said as Vera stood sullenly in front of her. ‘I don’t know what you’re fussing about. Now fetch your coat and let’s be having you.’

  ‘I still don’t know why we’re going to the Bowmans,’ Vera complained as she trailed down the street after her mother. ‘Why would we want to visit the rag-and-bone man? Shouldn’t he be calling on us?’

  ‘Course he should, and Mr Bowman does, in his line of work, but this is not about his work, you daft ha’p’orth. I’ve been trying to tell you, only you seem determined not to listen, it’s about you getting a chance to meet his son.’

  ‘You mean Eric the Bogeyman? Cos that’s what the kids around here call him, you know.’ Vera giggled. ‘Why would I want to meet him again?’

  ‘You should know better than to call people names,’ Ena said sternly. ‘He does well now that he’s working with his father and I bet he’s very nice if you’d take the time to get to know him.’

  ‘But I already know him. We were in the same class at school for a bit,’ Vera said.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but you don’t really know him. You’ve never actually had a conversation with him, have you?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About anything. Whatever it is you young people like to talk about,’ Ena said and, setting her lips in a tight, determined line, she speeded up her pace as they turned into Inkerman Street and stopped at the corner before they reached the old chapel. She banged the knocker of the first house in the terraced row and before the door was opened she leaned across to adjust Vera’s collar.

  ‘Stand up straight, girl, and remember to be polite. You want them all to like you, don’t you?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Vera was genuinely puzzled, not putting Eric the Bogeyman together with her mother’s plans to find her a husband. ‘The Bowmans? Why do they have to like me?’

  ‘Because it would help, if you’re going to be their daughter-in-law,’ Ena said.

  Vera stared at her as if she had spoken a foreign language, but at that moment the door was opened by a small, round woman with a grease-spotted apron tied across her large stomach.

  ‘Mrs Sharples! So pleased you both could come. This is such a good idea of yours, we’re all very excited. You must be Vera and I bet you’re excited too.’ She put out her hand. ‘I’m Aggie Bowman.’

  Vera ignored the hand and merely stood on the doorstep, staring.

  ‘You’ve probably seen me before, at the Mission,’ Aggie said to Vera. ‘The whole family’s occasionally been there to worship of a Sunday. He’s a good Christian, is my Eric.’

  When Vera didn’t respond Ena hurriedly filled the silence. ‘Vera was only saying how she remembers Eric from school.’

  ‘Of course,’ Aggie said. ‘Well, him and Wilf is waiting for you. Do come in.’ And she led the way down the dimly lit, busily wallpapered corridor. She showed them into the back room and indicated they should sit at the dark wood table that was covered with a white lacy tablecloth. Then she disappeared. Eric was already sitting next to his father at the other end of the table and they both nodded to the visitors. Some thick cups and saucers like the ones in the factory cafeteria had been laid out at one end of the table and in the centre stood a single plate stand with half a dozen pink wafer biscuits.

  When Aggie Bowman came back with a teapot in one hand and a jug of hot water in the other, she solemnly began to fill the cups.

  ‘Pass them round, Eric, dear,’ she said.

  Vera stared down into her lap, trying not to look at him. When Vera had last seen him he had been sitting up high on the rag-and-bone cart next to his father as he steered the horses through the cobbled streets and she was surprised to see, close to, how small and skinny he was when he stood up, though he still seemed to have the runny nose he’d been known for at school. He didn’t look as if he’d made any effort to dress for the occasion, Vera thought, looking down at her hated blue skirt. His crumpled shirt was collarless and hung from his scrawny neck as if it was several sizes too big and his shirt sleeves, scruffily rolled up to the elbows, revealed two stick-like arms. He grinned as he put a cup with a cracked saucer down on the table in front of Vera and sniffed into his cuff. But she couldn’t smile back. She looked away.

  ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’ he said, peering at her over his beaklike nose, ‘not just when I’ve been on the cart with Dad.’

  Vera nodded. ‘We were both in Mrs Angel’s class for a bit,’ she said, ‘at Bessie Street school.’

  Eric glanced at his mother before looking back at Vera. ‘And I’ve seen you in the Mission Hall,’ he said.

  As he spoke, Vera could see that his top teeth stuck out over the bottom ones. She shrugged without answering and the room fell to silence.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve not spoken to each other since you were at school and Vera’s mother thought it would be a nice idea for you two to meet properly,’ Aggie said to Eric when a few uncomfortable moments had elapsed in which the grandfather clock in the hallway could be heard ticking loudly. ‘So you could get to know one another.’ There was a pause. ‘You might find you want to arrange to go to the flicks together or something,’ she said, trying to sound hearty. ‘And … well, who knows after that? You’re both of an age to be making up your own minds about these things, I’m sure.’ She cleared her throat and sat back in her chair, staring at the plate of biscuits that no one had touched. Meanwhile Wilf Bowman never said a word.

  Vera looked at her mother and from the stern look on Ena’s face she could see that leaving her daughter to make her own mind up about anything was not what Ena had in mind. Suddenly Vera felt as if her throat was being squeezed and she wanted to cry. Is this really what her mother had been planning for her? She looked across the table again at Eric and saw his damp chin where a faint trace of tea seemed to have dribbled from the corner of his mouth. No, no, no! This was definitely not what she wanted. She would not be marrying Eric Bowman no matter what her mother thought. Somehow Vera would have to show Ena that she was capable of making her own decisions.

  ‘Lily will be here shortly.’ Ena raised her voice so that Vera would be sure to hear her over the top of the motley choir that were singing on the wireless. She raised it another notch so that she was almost shouting. ‘Martha said Lily would be popping in some time though I told her there was no need as I shouldn’t be back too late,’ Ena bellowed.

  ‘I don’t mind her coming. She’s good company. And you don’t have to shout, I can hear, you know,’ Vera said, though she pitched her own voice louder. She was curled up on the overstuffed couch in the living area, leafing slowly through a cinema stars’ magazine that Elsie Tanner had given her. Elsie gave her all her old magazines as she finished with them and Vera was delighted because she had no money to buy things like that and she was glad her mother no longer tried to put a stop to Elsie passing them on. She was looking to see if she could find any of Alan Ladd to check that Bob Lomax really did look like him. Some of the pictures had been cut out, but Vera didn’t mind. There were still plenty left, even if there were none of Clark Gable, another favourite, who was now serving with the US Air Force. Not that she had any
where to put them. She didn’t have a wall of her own to pin pictures on like Elsie had once shown Vera in her bedroom at number 11. But if she did find any while Ena was out, she intended to stick them into the scrapbook she kept hidden under their bed. So far she’d had no luck.

  Vera shrugged and glanced up. ‘You don’t have to wait till Lily comes, you know. I’ll be perfectly all right until she gets here,’ Vera said. ‘And even if she doesn’t come …’ she dared to add. She looked at her mother’s face to check her reaction, but Ena didn’t seem to have heard.

  All Ena said was, ‘Well, I’ll be off then. Tar-rah.’ And, surprisingly, for once she left without a backward glance.

  As soon as she heard the door shut Vera jumped up, stretched out her arms and walked slowly round the room, skipping on every other step. She was actually glad to be on her own for a bit and she began to hum along to ‘That Old Black Magic’ that the choir was singing on the wireless and doing little dance steps in time to Glenn Miller’s well-known dance band. She’d meant what she’d said. She was perfectly capable of being on her own in the flat. She was more than able to look after herself if only her mother would give her a chance. She didn’t know why she always made such a fuss. Did Ena think she had to ask Lily to come over to sit with her every time she went out? Did she think Vera wouldn’t notice? Fortunately, Vera really enjoyed Lily’s company. She hummed and tapped her feet some more as the music switched to the Benny Goodman band playing ‘Taking a Chance on Love’. She smiled each time she caught her image in the mirror and, as she twirled by, she held up her arms as if she was dancing with Alan Ladd and tilted her head to rest on his imaginary shoulder. Only this time the face she saw was Bob Lomax. She paused while she parted her hair as if she was drawing back curtains and pulled forward the hair from one side of her centre parting to cover one eye, in her favourite Veronica Lake pose, and practised the famous film star’s pout that the magazines always called ‘sexy’ as she stared into Bob’s brown eyes. After a while she tired of playing film stars and sat down with what was left of the magazine and she began to wonder just how much longer Lily was going to be.