Christmas on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  ‘Back from where?’

  ‘Spain.’

  Elsie felt a boulder hit the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know whether to laugh at the casualness of what she assumed was a proposal or to cry at his mention yet again of going off to fight in a foreign war.

  ‘What are you talking about? You said you weren’t going to go.’ Her voice betrayed her exasperation. She didn’t know what to make of him and his sudden changes of mind.

  ‘No, and I didn’t go then, but I didn’t say I would never go at all. It seems things are getting worse. They need foreign help more than ever now.’

  ‘But it doesn’t have to be you as goes, does it?’

  ‘Like I’ve said before, I don’t have to go, but I want to volunteer.’

  ‘What about if we have a war here?’ Elsie knew Stan had wanted to go for ages but things were different now, surely?

  ‘All the more reason to go to Spain now. Maybe we can stop fascism spreading across Europe. If we can beat Hitler there, he won’t be able to come over here.’

  Elsie was trying her best to follow his logic, but it was difficult for her to understand.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, one minute you’re talking about marriage then you want to flit the country and leave me behind. What’s a girl supposed to make of it, I ask you?’

  ‘I have to leave you, and the country, because I love you and I want to make the world a safer place for us and our kids.’

  Elsie snorted. ‘How are kids ever going to happen if you’re not here? I do know the facts of life,’ she mocked.

  He tried to put his arm round her, but she shied away. ‘Oh, Elsie, my love. Don’t make a fuss. I’ll be back before you know it. Just promise me you’ll wait for me, that’s all.’

  ‘Seems to me you’re not very good at promises, so why should I bother making any?’ Elsie said, all the thrill of the last few moments gone.

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve explained all that. Besides, this one is different. It’s a real promise. An important one. We’ll get married as soon as I come home from Spain.’

  ‘Oh, a real promise,’ she sneered. ‘Why should I believe you this time? You’ve not only been bragging about what we’ve been up to but now you’re buggering off and leaving me to face all those guttersnipes back at the factory. You’ll only let me down again. I can’t trust you.’

  ‘Are you saying you won’t wait for me?’

  ‘What I’m saying is, I’m not prepared to make any promises in case I can’t keep them either.’

  Stan looked staggered at her words. ‘Well, if that’s your attitude, I may as well go and fight.’

  ‘I agree. Go to Spain and don’t worry about ever coming back,’ she added spitefully. His eyes were filled with such sadness at her harsh words that she regretted saying them the moment they left her mouth. But it was too late. She couldn’t take them back. All she could do was let the darkness swallow her up. Without another word, and with such a look of hurt and pain across his face, Stan let go of her hand. He didn’t move and made no attempt to follow her as she ran off into the night, her mind fizzing with anger and betrayal.

  Chapter 10

  Stan didn’t say a word about his intentions to his mother or his brother Charlie, with whom he shared a home. The following morning he packed his few belongings in a bag and set off into the centre of Manchester. He thought he would catch a train from there to London, but when he found out how much a ticket cost he realized he could only afford to go as far as Crewe. From there, in order to preserve his meagre funds, he thought he would try to hitch-hike. When the train finally arrived at Crewe he came out of the station unsure of which direction he wanted to go. He set off walking on what he took to be the road south and stuck out his thumb hopefully. Eventually someone did pick him up and drove him a significant number of miles, but mostly in the wrong direction. It took several more days and a lot more walking than he had anticipated to reach his final destination.

  When Elsie turned up for work the following night she was not surprised to find Stan was missing. She had hardly slept for worrying about the angry note on which they had parted and she regretted the words with which she had let him go off to war. She wished she could find a way to tell him that she would surely wait for him and to let him know that she was missing him already. She didn’t tell the landlord what she knew about Stan’s whereabouts and she wondered vainly if there might still be a chance he would change his mind and not go.

  ‘Well, where is he?’ Mr Harehill greeted her when she arrived at the Butcher’s.

  ‘Who?’ Elsie pretended not to know what he was talking about.

  ‘Stan, your pal, that’s who. What have you done with him? Never bloody turned up this lunchtime, did he!’ Mr Harehill was furious and she couldn’t blame him, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. ‘I can’t believe the cheek of the lad. He never even let me know.’

  Elsie had no idea what to say, especially when the landlord poked at her shoulder and said, ‘You know him. So where’s he disappeared to then?’ He stared at her as if he trying to read her mind, then poked at her again, ‘Where is he, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything to me,’ Elsie said, remembering a long-ago promise not to talk about the possibility of Stan volunteering to go to Spain.

  ‘Well, where does he live? I could send one of the lads to give him a kick up the backside and tell him to get himself here at the double.’ He clenched his fists. ‘I promise you, I’ll give him a piece of my mind when he does turn up. Bloody cheek, leaving me in the lurch like that.’

  ‘I’ve honestly no idea where he lives, I’m afraid,’ Elsie said, relieved that on that score she could at least tell the truth. And I’m never likely to now, she added silently, thinking of the terrible things she’d said to Stan last night.

  Mr Harehill shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Kids these days. He knows how busy we are. How am I going to replace him at such short notice?’ He looked at Elsie. ‘You’ll have to do his work, that’s all there is to it,’ he said and he turned and walked away.

  ‘For his wages?’ Elsie called after him without thinking. The landlord stopped.

  He twisted his head to look at her. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I said, I’ll do his work for his wages.’ She could feel the colour rising to her cheeks but she was determined to stand her ground now that she had said it. ‘Only seems fair. If I’m to do his work, I should get his money for doing it.’ Mr Harehill opened his mouth to speak but she wouldn’t let him get a word in. ‘Otherwise I’ll be doing two jobs for no wages,’ she added quickly. ‘And them as collects glasses are hardly going to get any tips, are they?’

  Mr Harehill thought for a moment. Then scratched his head. ‘I’ll admit you got me there. I tell you what. You can have half his wages, ’cos after all you’re only a woman. I think that’s very fair.’

  Elsie didn’t think that was fair at all and was about to protest but then she thought better of it and nodded her agreement. If she tried to insist on being paid more, it might enrage the landlord so much she could end up with nothing.

  ‘I’ll pay you half what he got till Wakes Week – and no fingers in the till, mind,’ he said. Then we can look at things again. We’ll see how you do.’ He winked at her. ‘If you’re any good, I might have no need to replace him. Know what I mean?’

  Elsie was sure that she knew what he meant, but she had no time to say more than, ‘OK. Thanks,’ for the doors began to swing as customers started to arrive and she was kept busy serving, clearing and even helping Ray to wash glasses for the rest of the evening.

  She thought about Stan again as she set off on the long walk home. It was the first time in ages that she had to walk back alone. Not that she’d call it walking. More like hobbling. She’d managed to find some shoes at the Sally Army charity shop, but they were too small and having worn them all day her feet were killing her. It always helped having someone to talk to on the journey, to take her mind
off the pinching of her toes. For that reason – though it was not the only reason – she found herself wishing Stan was walking along beside her. She even imagined their conversation and how it might go, for the memory of their joyful making up was still vivid in her mind. She was sorry that they’d parted in the way that they had and she blamed herself and her quick temper for the guilt she was feeling now. But she had had her first proposal, and that she could never forget. Nor would she forget the man who had made it, for he was also the man who had given her her first-ever birthday present.

  If she was honest, Stan Walsh was a really nice bloke and she had been a fool to let him go. He was a hell of a lot nicer than most of the lads that usually chased her. The ones who only wanted her attention. He was much nicer than those who expected her to give in to their advances without any thought of offering her anything in return. She should have told him that she would wait for him, instead of almost willing him to go.

  By the time Stan finally arrived in London he was exhausted, hungry and wondering whether he was doing the right thing after all. It took him another whole day and much of his precious funds to get himself cleaned up and to find the recruiting office. He wandered the streets fruitlessly for most of the day and it wasn’t until the late afternoon that he came upon it. He had thought then that the actual process of signing up would be easy, but he was wrong. The building seemed smaller and less significant than he had imagined. There was a wrought-iron handrail and stone balustrade running alongside some steps that led up to a wooden door. The steps were not steep and should have been easy to negotiate. But the approach to the front door was blocked by a small crowd of people. Several men on crutches, some with bandaged heads and limbs, and one with an alarming empty jacket sleeve were standing or sitting on the steps and doing their best to bar entry to anyone who tried.

  ‘You don’t want to be going in there, mate,’ they said each time he tried to walk purposefully up the steps.

  ‘Whyever not? I’ve come to join up,’ Stan said, in what he thought sounded a reasonable tone.

  But the men took no notice. Some even shouted at him to ‘clear off’. They kept milling about in such a way that no one could get past them. They bumped and jostled; not roughly, but sufficient to deny people access. Stan hovered uncertainly, wondering what to do. He was tempted to turn and walk away, to forget the whole thing. No one knew he was here, so no one would be any the wiser if he didn’t complete his mission and no one could call him names for running away. No one but Elsie Grimshaw, that is. And she wouldn’t care either way.

  At the thought of Elsie, Stan shook his head. He really thought he loved her, but now he knew he had to forget her as quickly as possible. She was nobbut trouble. He looked up at the wooden door. He had come such a long way, spending considerable time and money in the process, and he was reluctant that all that effort should go to waste. He tried once more to climb the stairs and this time one of the men on crutches hopped directly in front of him and made no attempt to move out of the way. Stan found himself staring into the young man’s pale blue eyes that were watering even as he looked. The man swiped the back of his knuckles over his face and his look hardened. He lifted one crutch and waved it in the air.

  ‘Is this what you want to sign up for?’ he said. From his accent, Stan reckoned he too had travelled a fair distance to be there, and he wondered what story the young lad had to tell. ‘Is this really what you want?’ The lad nodded towards the door. ‘I’m eighteen and I’m on the scrapheap because I’ve lost one of my bloody legs.’ He prodded one of Stan’s feet with his crutch.

  ‘I … I’m sorry about that,’ Stan mumbled. ‘I never really thought about people getting injured.’

  ‘Well, think about it now, before it’s too late. Before your life is ruined like mine was.’

  Stan gulped, not sure what he should say. But the lad hadn’t finished.

  ‘Another few days and this could be you,’ he said, engaging Stan’s gaze, refusing to let him move or even look away. ‘I was full of idealism. I thought I was going to change the bleedin’ world. Well, I found out the hard way that I couldn’t do that, but the world sure as hell changed me.’

  Stan was dumbfounded. He had to admit he had his own ideological beliefs. He was there because he believed he could be a hero by saving Spain, and possibly the whole of Europe too, from the right-wing upsurge. Because clearing dirty glasses was the best he had been able to manage so far and fighting in a war, even someone else’s war, seemed like a much better thing to do.

  ‘Go home before it’s too late,’ the lad said. ‘Let me and all my mates here be a lesson to you.’ He waved his crutch in the direction of the other wounded men. ‘Do you really want to end up like one of us?’

  Stan backed away. Hell, no. He didn’t. ‘I’m not sure that I do,’ he voiced the words. Then he shivered. It felt as if someone had chucked a bucket of cold water over him.

  ‘I bet you’ve given up a good job to come here,’ the young soldier went on. ‘Like I did an’ all.’

  Stan nodded.

  ‘But take our word for it’ – the lad indicated his companion with the bandaged head who had come to stand next to them – ‘and go home now while you’ve got the chance.’

  At that moment a huge man in a dark suit, like the pictures he’d seen of the men who sat in parliament, bounded up the concrete stairs two at a time, pushing the wounded and anyone they had accosted to one side. Then he turned to face the small crowd that had now gathered on the steps.

  ‘All right, everyone, may I have your attention please. Would all those wounded in the battle for the noble cause please stand aside and make room for those who still feel they have a duty to perform. Make way, everyone, please. You lot’ – he indicated the ex-soldiers ‘come on now, off with you or I’ll have the police on to you for causing an affray.’

  The man with the crutch laughed. ‘You wouldn’t want to be doing that now, would you? The police are the last people you want here right now. What you’re doing ain’t right.’ But no one took any notice, least of all the man in the suit. The crowd parted and without looking right or left he strode through. One or two new arrivals started up the steps after him and Stan took the opportunity to do so too. He could hear the man with the crutch calling out to him to think again and come back, but he followed the dark-suited man through the wooden door and into the forbidding-looking building. Stan told himself there was no going back now. He had come here to fight for what he believed was right and had even sacrificed the love of Elsie Grimshaw to do so. He was going to Spain to fight the fascists, and no one – man or woman – could stop him.

  Chapter 11

  Fay found it hard now that Elsie was out of the house so much, for all the skivvying work fell to her. In the past she had never minded mucking in with the household chores, or looking after the younger kids whenever Elsie asked her to help out, because it was always fun being with her older sister and she was happy to share the work. Elsie had an endless stock of stories, real and made up, that made Fay laugh and she was always getting into scrapes with her silly pranks. Elsie didn’t like the harshness of their life any more than Fay did, but somehow she never let it grind her down. The face she showed the world nearly always had bright eyes and a ready smile. Fay didn’t know how she managed it or where she got all her energy from. Fay always felt tired and the days when the younger children were her sole responsibility were often more than she could cope with. Yet her mother seemed to think that Fay should take on all the duties whenever Elsie wasn’t around and used her pregnancy as an excuse for not doing them herself.

  ‘You know how difficult it is for me to be getting around, love,’ was her favourite plea for not doing what Fay would have considered her fair share.

  Maybe Elsie was right with what she said about their mother. It would have helped Alice to build up her strength if she had done some work around the house instead of sitting in the threadbare armchair most of the day gazing out through the mud-s
peckled window into the street. Alice spent hours watching the neighbours going by, occasionally chiding the younger children who tried to scramble over her as she sat listlessly picking at dust on her shabby housecoat. Meanwhile Fay was expected to cook as best she could in the blackened pot that hung permanently over the fire, to clean as much as the house ever got cleaned, do the washing, and to keep an eye on the little ’uns just as Elsie did whenever she was available.

  The house was permanently dirty and keeping the children clean was impossible. There was mess everywhere and Fay dreaded laundry day on a Monday when she’d spend all day slaving over the tiny copper in the outhouse at the back. Scrubbing and washing for the whole family was backbreaking work – the clothes never seemed to get any cleaner and were often sodden and damp-smelling for days afterwards in the colder months. Fay was sorry now she had left school. She thought she was being helpful to Elsie, doing her bit for the family. But all she had done was to scupper her own life. Her chances of fulfilling her ambition and getting to a college to learn how to be a secretary got slimmer every day.

  One of the problems for Fay about working so hard was that she was permanently exhausted. She was so tired that most evenings she could hardly stop herself falling asleep as soon as she sat down. She almost had no energy left to drag herself up the stairs to bed. What she missed most, now that Elsie was not around so much, was the long chats together they’d both enjoyed. Of course she understood that of late Elsie’s time had been taken up with Stan. Fay liked him and she could see that Elsie was really sweet on him too, but something had gone seriously wrong recently. She hadn’t yet seen Elsie to find out what it was. And then there was the second job Elsie had, working in the pub – the job that she had somehow managed all these months to keep from her father; the job Fay had only recently found out about.

  Often of an evening if there was no mending or darning to be done Fay would go next door where she wouldn’t have to worry if she nodded off. Megan James’s children were grown up and had fled the nest and the older woman was lonely. She invited Fay to join her to keep her company whenever she wanted and didn’t seem to mind if the young girl fell asleep. She seemed to value Fay’s company any time she felt like coming to sit in the warm, which Fay loved to do, particularly of a winter’s evening when the embers would still be glowing in the grate. She didn’t know how Mrs James managed to keep them going all day. And Fay would sit in the alcove and enjoy the cosy warmth. It always amazed Fay to think that the layout of the next door house was identical to her own, because from the inside they looked in no way the same. For one thing, Mrs James’s oven door was still in one piece and with no family left to cook for she had the luxury of using the oven to keep warm.