Wartime on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  ‘Hey, I’m on gardening duty.’ Lily grabbed her arm. ‘That should be easy enough. How about you?’

  ‘I’m in the dairy.’ Vera didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed when she saw her name on the list, for the thought of working with Mrs Sykes frightened her. But at least it meant she’d be working indoors.

  ‘See you later then, have fun,’ Lily said and Vera felt a sudden lump in her throat as she watched her friend disappear.

  ‘I’m in the dairy too.’ Jenny bounded up and took Vera’s arm. ‘I think it’s all very exciting. Let’s go to find the old dragon, shall we? No doubt she’ll be waiting by the desk.’

  Instead of taking them directly to the dairy parlour, Mrs Sykes led the two young trainees to the cowshed and told them this was where they were to report each morning of their first week. ‘I will be seeing you later in the dairy parlour,’ she said, ‘but first you will be in the capable hands of Bert here, who will show you how to milk the cows, a task that has to be undertaken twice a day, no matter what.’

  ‘That’s right.’ A middle-aged man with a slightly balding head came into the shed at that moment, dressed in a short-sleeved T-shirt and knee-length breeches. ‘Now, the missus is right there,’ Bert said, his hand gently patting one of the cows who were lining up quietly in the stalls. ‘Cows don’t want to know that you’re feeling poorly or you overslept, so make sure you’re here on the dot each day, in the morning and again at teatime, cos they’ll be waiting for you and so will I.’ He tried to look stern but there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘The only way cows can tell the time,’ he said, ‘is by the amount of pressure they feel on their udders.’ He bent down and pressed hard against the first cow’s obviously full udder. ‘That’s how they know what time it is, when the pressure builds and they know it’s time to get shot of all that milk.’ He guffawed and slapped his leg as he said this, as if he had cracked a joke. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you how we put them out of their misery.’

  Vera’s image of a cowshed was of milkmaids sitting on cute three-legged stools, pulling on the fleshy udders like they were church bells. But as Bert sat, legs splayed on a tiny stool, he soon put her right. ‘First off, you don’t pull,’ he said as if he could read her mind, ‘not unless you want to the poor thing to have udders stretching to the floor. What you do is to close off the top like this and then you squeeze,’ he stated, demonstrating the movement so that shots of milk squirted into the pail. ‘Once it starts to flow you keep going until you get up a nice steady rhythm.’ He worked the udder for a few minutes while the two girls watched, fascinated, as the cow let down her milk, full flow, and he made it look easy as he seemed to draw out a few inches into the bucket in no time at all. ‘It should take you no longer than half an hour for each cow,’ he said when there were several inches of milk in the pail.

  Bert then stood and watched while Jenny tried her hand. Unfortunately, Vera could see immediately that it was not as easy as Bert had made it look, for no matter what Jenny did the cow kept kicking out at the bucket and refused to give up her milk. Bert shook his head and pushed Jenny aside for a moment.

  ‘She’s got to trust you,’ he said, and he began gently coaxing the cow, guiding Jenny’s hands along the teats under his. When he was satisfied that the cow was no longer objecting and there was finally some evidence in the pail, he turned to Vera. ‘Here, you have a go with this one,’ he said, settling her onto a stool, and he demonstrated the milking action once more. To Vera’s surprise, the cow let down her milk almost immediately and she quickly picked up a rhythm. Bert stood back, nodding approvingly as the milk began to flow.

  To her amazement, Vera found she was enjoying it as the milk gradually began to fill the pail and she was able to get into her own rhythm as Bert had suggested. When she finished her first cow, Vera sat back with some satisfaction. Her hands were sore and her arms were stiff from holding their position and she rubbed her back which was aching from being hunched into an awkward position for so long. She massaged her sore fingers back to life, pleased with her work, but wishing she’d brought some Fuller’s Earth cream with her to soften her skin.

  It wasn’t until then that Bert pointed out that there were fifteen more cows in the herd and that they, too, needed milking twice each day.

  Chapter 15

  ‘I think this is the last one.’ Jenny jumped up and came over to where Vera was finishing milking a much smaller-looking cow, no doubt the daughter of one of the more elderly beasts. ‘I can’t believe how many we’ve done, considering it’s our first morning.’

  ‘Have we really only been working for a morning?’ Vera asked. ‘It feels like we’ve been at it the whole day!’

  Jenny smiled and Vera was pleased that they were together, for Jenny was proving to be fun to be with. She couldn’t always understand her cockney accent, particularly when she talked about things using funny kinds of rhymes, but at least she was a jolly soul.

  ‘I’d never have believed that milking a cow would be such back-breaking work,’ Vera said. ‘And to think, we’ve got to do it all over again this afternoon …’

  ‘And tomorrow, and then again the day after that!’ Jenny added.

  ‘I know,’ Vera agreed, her smile dropping, ‘It’s funny, at first I didn’t really like the cows – if anything, I felt a bit afraid of them – but I’m getting to like them more now, with their big soft eyes and the way they just stand there looking at you. Though do I feel as if I’ll never be able to move my arms again in any other way than this.’ She took up the milking position and they both spluttered with laughter.

  At that moment the door opened and Bert came back. ‘If you’ve got time for a joke, girls, then you’re obviously not working hard enough,’ he said, and though his tone was jolly Vera felt she had better take him at his word.

  ‘We’ve finished all the milking,’ she said.

  ‘For now,’ Bert added.

  ‘Yes, of course, I meant for now.’ Vera’s face flushed.

  ‘Then you can grab some milk to drink from one of them jugs, if you like,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘We put them out fresh each day for you to help yourselves. And now would be a good time to eat your sandwiches.’

  ‘Sandwiches?’ both girls said together.

  ‘Didn’t you fetch them with you from the kitchen?’ Bert asked.

  ‘No one told us there were any sandwiches,’ Jenny said and when she closed her eyes for a moment, Vera was worried that she was going to cry.

  ‘Oh well, I might have spoken out of turn. There might not have been enough for everyone; there’s often not on the first day,’ Bert said.

  ‘Never mind, Jenny,’ Vera said, ‘I saved summat from breakfast. You can share it with me if you like, though I’m afraid it’s only cheese.’

  Jenny’s face lit up. ‘That doesn’t matter – I could eat a horse right now.’

  Vera put her hand in the pocket of her dungarees and felt something warm and sticky. She swivelled about trying to see what it was and realized that, against the warmth of her skin, the creamy cheese she’d taken from the breakfast tray had melted into a soggy mess and had stuck together the two sides of her pocket.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Vera said and to her relief Jenny was laughing.

  ‘Never mind,’ Jenny said, ‘I’ll live. I’m only sorry for you, having to carry that sticky goo with you all day. But we’ll both know not to make the same mistake tomorrow.’

  ‘Better have an extra glass of milk before you go on to the dairy,’ Bert said, ‘but be quick about it. Mrs Sykes doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

  Mrs Sykes was standing by the door of the dairy parlour with her inevitable clipboard in hand and as the two girls approached she looked at the dainty fob watch that was pinned to the reverse of her white overalls. She kept her eye on the clock as if she was counting down the seconds and when they arrived she pointed to a pile of white overalls and head coverings which were folded neatly on a shelf by the door. With no furthe
r preamble she began her instruction.

  ‘Today I’m going to show you how to make butter and one of our basic cream cheeses,’ she said, ‘and when you’ve finished with that it will be time for you to go back to the byres for evening milking.’

  Vera stared at her. Lily had been right, not only was there not to be a break for dinnertime, but having missed the sandwiches there was going to be nothing to eat either. She wasn’t sure she could stomach any more milk even if it had been offered.

  Vera’s back was breaking, her hands were still sore from the milking and she could hardly lift her arms by the time she had finished churning several pounds of butter. Continually winding the handle on the barrel-shaped churn was bad enough, but by the time she had creamed off the buttermilk to be stored elsewhere, then repeatedly washed the butter ball until the water ran clear, she hardly had any strength left to knead the pure lump of butter that remained into a usable slab.

  Fortunately, Jenny had already completed her own tasks satisfactorily and Mrs Sykes didn’t object when, towards the end of the day, she offered to help Vera take all her newly formed products into the cool stone room where they were to be stored. Vera was glad of the help, for when the time came to hang up the bags of cheesecloth in order to separate the whey from the newly formed cheese curds, she was no longer working as efficiently as she had at the beginning and the pungent smell of the soured cream was beginning to overwhelm her and to make her feel sick to her stomach.

  It was almost seven o’clock when the two of them finally finished for the day and dragged their weary bodies up the long driveway to the hostel, both complaining about having a sore back and aching arms and legs. They were hungry, too, but most of all they wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep. And then on the path Vera was delighted to see Lily. It was the first time since breakfast and she perked up, a smile suddenly crossing her face.

  ‘It’s so good to see you again, Lily,’ Vera said. ‘Are you all right?’ and she moved forward eagerly to embrace her friend. But she stopped before she got too close.

  ‘Phew!’ Vera held her nose. ‘Will you get a whiff of that!’

  ‘What have you been doing all day?’ Margaret came up the path to join them and she too took a step back.

  ‘Sorry about the pong,’ Lily said with a laugh. ‘I’ve sort of got used to it. I don’t even smell it any more.’

  ‘Where were you? I thought you were supposed to be on gardening duty?’ Vera said.

  ‘I was, but they changed their minds so I ended up in the stables for a large part of the morning, cleaning up after the horses. Believe me, they don’t call it mucking out for nothing. I’ve never been so knee deep in muck in all my life.’

  ‘It certainly smells like you’ve brought most of the muck with you,’ Jenny said.

  ‘I can see I’ll be popular for the rest of the evening,’ Lily said and she chuckled. ‘It reminds me of when I was a kid and my dad made me go with him to follow the coal cart and collect the muck from the horses so that he could grow some roses in a pot in the backyard.’ She shuddered. ‘No one would speak to me for days at school. I thought I’d never get the smell out of my nose and yet here I am now and I can’t even smell it.’

  ‘Were you at it all day?’ Margaret asked.

  ‘No, I did lots of hoeing, first thing, trying to keep the weeds at bay from rows and rows of beets and turnips. Then I was breaking my back trying to get some wretched potatoes out of the ground and most of them didn’t want to come. That was not only dead painful but deadly boring too. And look at my poor hands.’ She held her once neatly manicured hands out, palms up, to show the red sores and blisters then she flipped them over to reveal the broken and cracked nails.

  ‘Then I was feeding and watering the chickens before I went on a hunt for eggs. Now that bit was fun. I found over thirty eggs, would you believe, all in different places. You’d be amazed at all the hidden places where I found them. After that I spent the rest of the day washing dishes and cleaning up the kitchen and helping to prepare the supper for this evening.’

  ‘What! Smelling like that?’ Jenny said.

  ‘No one complained,’ Lily said with a shrug. ‘There was too much work to be done, and not enough hands to do it.’

  ‘I hope we’re getting more than bread and cheese to eat tonight,’ Vera said.

  ‘And if I drink any more milk you’ll be able to milk me,’ Jenny grumbled. ‘Seriously, though, were you cutting up more bread?’ She sniggered.

  ‘No, there’s no bread tonight,’ Lily said. ‘It’s some kind of stew, I think, with lots of vegetables in it, though it seemed to me to be mostly potatoes. All I know is I’ve been peeling pounds and pounds of spuds, turnips, swedes and carrots – oh yes, and then pickling onions which isn’t easy when you start off with blistered hands.’

  ‘Well, I’ll eat anything put in front of me because right now I’m starving.’

  ‘Me too,’ Jenny said, and Vera nodded as well.

  ‘Did any of you know there were sandwiches that we could have taken with us?’ Lily asked. ‘One of the girls who’d already been here a week, told me about them. I was going to tell you, Vera, but you and Jenny had already left.’

  ‘I heard about them but by the time I got there they were all gone,’ Margaret said, ‘though I believe they were hardly worth fighting for.’

  ‘There was fish paste or fish paste from what I could see,’ Lily said scornfully. ‘No different from home. So I’m starving now too. Though I did manage to munch on the odd carrot when no one was looking.’

  ‘We had a couple of pints of milk for dinner,’ Jenny said and she looked at Vera and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Lily said. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Jenny and me were together in the dairy,’ Vera said, ‘and as far as Bert was concerned we could have drunk milk all day long.’

  ‘Was it easy work? How did you get on?’ Lily wanted to know.

  ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it easy,’ Jenny said. ‘I don’t think either of us can move our arms.’ She demonstrated to prove that she couldn’t lift them above waist level.

  ‘And my back is killing me from that stupid milking stool,’ Vera added, ‘but apart from that it was OK. Maybe I’ll sleep better tonight. I won’t be so worried about falling out of bed cos I won’t be able to move!’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry you’re all so tired and have had to work so hard today because I’ve had a fun time and feel fresh as a daisy,’ Margaret said with a grin.

  They all stopped and turned in her direction.

  ‘Why? What have you been doing?’ Jenny wanted to know.

  ‘I’ve been driving a tractor,’ Margaret said with some satisfaction, as though it was something she did every day. ‘But best of all I’ve been learning how to tinker with a tractor engine; I’ve always wanted to know how to do that.’

  ‘How is that fun?’ Lily said with some disdain as she looked once more at her poor, blistered hands.

  ‘Oh, but it is, I can assure you. Of course, I’m used to the driving bit,’ Margaret boasted. ‘When I was at home, sometimes my father let me drive a military truck, he taught me as soon as I was old enough; said he would even buy me a car after the war when hopefully petrol will no longer be rationed,’ Margaret said loftily. ‘It really is great fun.’

  ‘I dunno that I’d want to be breaking my nails learning about engines, even if I ever learned to drive,’ Lily said. She was trying to inspect her hands once more but it was getting too dark to see them clearly.

  ‘It seems to me there’s not many jobs round here that won’t hurt your hands,’ Vera said.

  ‘I can’t say mine hurt, though I have been working as hard as anybody,’ Margaret protested.

  ‘I don’t know about hard work, from the sounds of it you really did have fun.’ Lily had difficulty keeping the scorn from her voice.

  ‘I think we’re all extremely tired, and very hungry, and it’s getting quite cool,’ Jenny int
ervened, ‘so shall we hurry up and get back right now? Let’s make sure that we’re not late for supper again.’

  The inside of the hostel felt warm compared with the surprising chill of the late July evening that had settled outside and the girls trooped in and headed straight for the dining room. As Vera passed the reception desk she noticed a slate that she hadn’t seen before propped up near the bellpull at the far end of the countertop. Several names had been scratched onto it with a charcoal stick, and hers was at the bottom. A young girl she hadn’t seen before was standing behind the desk, looking as if she was a shop assistant on duty. She stepped forward as Vera scrutinized the board.

  ‘It means there’s a letter for you if your name’s on there,’ she said to Vera.

  ‘A letter for me? Vera Sharples?’ She was surprised, but the girl handed her a brown envelope. At home brown envelopes meant bills to be paid and she inspected it with a frown.

  ‘You’re lucky. Who’s that from?’ Lily asked coming up behind her.

  ‘Dunno,’ Vera said. ‘It’s not my mam, I know that. But right now I’m too hungry to be mithered.’

  Vera waited until she was sitting on the top bunk with only a few minutes to spare until lights out before she retrieved the brown envelope and her torch and slid her finger under the gummed flap. Inside was a single sheet that looked as if it had been torn out of a child’s exercise book. It had been written with a fountain pen that had deposited blobs of excess ink after every few words and a spider seemed to have jumped into the miniature pools before crawling drunkenly over the page.

  Dear Vera, she managed to read,

  Your mother told me that you had gone away for a little while and that I should write to you. I hope you are having a good time and not working too hard. Everything is exactly the same in Weatherfield and I am still working with my dad. What work are you doing? I went to see a film called Casablanca with Humfry Boggert. Have you seen it? At the end everyone was crying though I am not sure why. Is there a cinema near where you live?