Christmas on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  ‘We don’t use either of the upstairs’ fireplaces,’ Fay said chattily one late afternoon when she was at her neighbour’s. She had watched as Mrs James put another small scrap of coal in among the twigs and had a sudden picture of having to heave a coal bucket up the narrow stairs. ‘At least it’s one less chore for me to do.’ She sighed. ‘You don’t light a fire up there, do you?’

  ‘Nay,’ said Megan James. ‘Too much like hard work – and for what? Between you and me, I never wanted to encourage any of the buggers to stop in bed.’ She chuckled.

  ‘I’d rather have a cold bedroom than have to drag coal all the way up there an’ all to light a fire,’ Fay agreed. ‘You can always keep warm if you gets dressed fast enough. And it’s first up best dressed in ours anyway. If there’s only one clean dress to be had of a morning, I like it to be for me.’ She stretched and yawned. ‘I wonder if the rain has stopped yet.’ She got up and peered out of the window. Night was drawing in. ‘I’d best get home and see what scraps I can find to make for tea. My dad’s bound to be yelling for summat as soon as he gets home from the pub.’

  There was a smell of grass and fresh mud in the air as she walked over the wet cobbles, stepping gingerly for they felt as slippery underfoot as they looked in the yellow gaslight. As she crossed to the passage beside the houses, she heard a commotion from number 18 and hurried along to see what the matter was.

  The front door was ajar and she pushed it open carefully. Her father was standing in the middle of the room and he was slowly and menacingly taking off his belt. Two of her sisters, Phyllis and Nancy, were standing in front of him, their faces set. Fay was surprised to see they had their fists raised. A stranger to the scene would have been forgiven for thinking the two young girls were seriously thinking of squaring up to their father. But anyone who lived in the neighbourhood would have known that, for all the bravery of their stance, in a matter of minutes both girls would be left with black eyes and raised welts across their backs. Phyllis, the older girl, already had a black eye swelling up where she had obviously been punched.

  Fay rolled her eyes. None of them could ever escape the old man. Except her mother, it seemed. For today at least she was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding in one of the neighbours’ houses while they were left to his wrath.

  The scene was not unusual in the Grimshaw house and as Fay came into the room and took it all in, her first instinct was to ignore it and duck right out again. She could go back next door till it was all over. But when she caught sight of a stranger standing near the table, she stopped and looked again, not sure what was going on. He was standing with his cap and a small bag in his right hand, his left hand supported by a grubby-looking sling. He was staring down at the sawdusted floorboards as though trying to pretend he had no part in it all, but when she entered he looked up and for a moment she met his steady gaze. She had never seen such pale blue eyes before. And he seemed equally taken with hers, which she knew were by contrast the darkest of brown. His face had a boyish look though his skin was tough and weathered; she put him at about nineteen. There was a keenness and earnestness to his expression that set him apart from the usual reprobates and chancers that her father hung around with. He gave her a smile of crooked chipped teeth, but before she could smile back she was distracted by a sudden movement. She turned to see that her father now had his belt off and was binding his fist with it, leaving the buckle dangling like the sizable weapon it was. Usually whenever he took his belt to any of the older girls there wouldn’t be a peep from them, except maybe some swearing under their breath. But tonight the younger one, Nancy, was crying.

  ‘I don’t want to share our bed with him,’ Nancy wailed. ‘He smells.’ Her voice was surprisingly strong and she jerked her thumb in the direction of the stranger. ‘There’s hardly enough room for the four of us as it is. If he comes, it’ll be a right squash – and him with a bad arm an’ all.’

  ‘Where’s your sense, lass?’ her father snapped. ‘You’ll not be sharing with him. You’ll be moving downstairs to muck in with your sisters.’

  At this, both girls looked astonished. ‘What, all nine of us? We can’t all be sharing one bed.’

  ‘You’ll share with who I says you’ll share with, my lass, and there’s an end on it.’ Her father took a step towards her and Nancy backed away.

  Phyllis scowled and rubbed her distending eye with her grubby fingers, which only made the swelling worse, but she said nothing.

  Arthur Grimshaw glanced at the stranger, then turned to Fay. ‘See this young man here …’ he began to say. He didn’t get any further. Fay doubted he would for she could already hear the slur in his words. ‘See this young man … he’s our new lodger.’ He tried again and this time he turned to face the stranger. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘’arry. ’arry Wilton,’ the young man said modestly as he fidgeted with his cap.

  ‘Yes, well,’ Arthur said, looking back at Fay. ‘It seems young ’arry Wilton has fallen on hard times and is in urgent need of some decent lodgings. I seed him down at the Three Hammers. And do you know what I thought? I thought, it’s the least we can do, to offer him somewhere to sleep for a while.’

  Fay stared first at her father then again at Harry. It seemed unbelievable, but she knew she had better believe it. For a lodger, in her father’s book, meant money. And Arthur Grimshaw was never far away when there was a bit of cash up for grabs. She would have liked to know how much this poor man was being stung for, for the privilege of sleeping in a damp bed on the second floor in a filthy bedroom. She couldn’t help wondering whether he knew just how many of them there’d be in the bed downstairs so that he could be accommodated.

  ‘My lass here, Fay, will be pleased to give you a bite of bread and cheese, I’ve no doubt.’ Arthur seemed to have got the hang of talking again even if he didn’t always manage to keep control of his tongue. ‘Though that will be extra, of course.’ He gave a toothless grin. The belt had slipped off his hand and he seemed to have forgotten it for a moment when he put his arm round Fay’s thin shoulders. Instinctively she shook him off and without looking at Harry again she went straight into the back scullery, thinking she couldn’t remember the last time they’d had any cheese in the house and hoping to salvage some scraps.

  ‘What the hell’s going on ’ere, then?’ Elsie wanted to know when she finally climbed into bed alongside Fay later that night. There were more little girls than usual and they were all asleep, if the level of snoring was anything to go by. She and Fay could barely make themselves heard as they were whispering, snuggled up close. ‘Ain’t we got enough mouths to feed? What’s the old bugger thinking of, taking in someone from the streets?’ Elsie wanted to know.

  ‘A couple of extra bob to chuck down his throat, that’s what he’s thinking of,’ Fay said. ‘Must have seen a row of pint pots in his dreams.’

  ‘But who is this … what can I call him?’

  ‘I believe the fancy word is lodger, but scruffy tramp is more like.’

  ‘You’re not far wrong there. Where on earth did Dad pick him up?’ Elsie demanded.

  ‘In the pub of course. Apparently, he’s not long back from Spain. Got shot there in the war – or so he says.’

  ‘Not sure I’d believe a word he says. He’s got those shifty-looking eyes.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think they’re shifty – he looks interested, that’s all,’ Fay said coyly, then she grinned. ‘Though they were following me all round the room.’

  Elsie laughed when Fay said this. ‘Oh aye. Or so you’d like to think. Is that what you mean by “interested”?’

  ‘Why not?’ Fay sighed. ‘Thinking costs nowt.’

  ‘It’s the only bleeding thing that doesn’t.’ Elsie shifted position though it was almost impossible to get comfortable. ‘Do you think he might have seen Stan in Spain?’ Elsie said, for she had already confided in Fay about Stan’s disappearance and whereabouts.

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. But Spain’s
a big place, isn’t it?’

  ‘Bigger than England?

  ‘It certainly looked that way on the globe we used to have at school.’

  ‘So why didn’t this Harry bloke go home once he got back to England?’ Elsie changed the subject. ‘He’s not from these parts, is he?’

  ‘Stockport way, so he says. According to him, when he got back he found he had no home to go to. Someone else was living in his house and both his parents had been sent to one of those Public Assistance Institution places while he was away.’

  ‘What’s one of them when it’s at home?’

  ‘You know, they’re like the old workhouse. Same thing really; it’s for folks on their uppers with no one to look after them – mostly old codgers and vagrants. Unless he wanted to go in there too, seems he had nowhere to go.’

  ‘That is, until he met Mr Muggins in the pub who saw pounds, shillings and pence signs flash in front of his eyes.’ Elsie sounded sceptical.

  ‘Summat like that. He’s supposed to be looking for work in one or other of the factories, so maybe he’ll be able to earn a bob or two soon enough.’

  ‘And till then? All I can say is, I wish him luck. Not much in this neighbourhood for a one-armed pirate.’ That made Fay laugh. ‘Seems we’re stuck with him for the time being.’

  ‘I can tell you, the little ’uns aren’t happy about it,’ Fay said.

  ‘Me neither,’ Elsie agreed, aware of little Freda’s elbow digging into her back. ‘But they’ll have to put up or shut up, like the rest of us.’

  Chapter 12

  Alice Grimshaw went into labour at ten o’clock on a Friday night at the beginning of April. Elsie had just returned home from a long shift at the pub which followed on from a full day’s work at the textile factory. All she wanted to do at the end of the day was crawl into bed. But as soon as she entered the house and saw her mother doubled up on the bed behind the door she knew she was in for a long night. Her father wasn’t home yet and she had no idea what time he might arrive, if at all as he’d probably got a lock-in at one of the local pubs. So the first thing she was obliged to do was to wake Nancy and Phyllis and send them to forage for bits of wood and coal scraps, and to bring in a fresh bucket of water from the pump in the courtyard so that she could put the pot on to heat on what was left of the embers in the hearth. Phyllis prided herself on being more responsible than all her siblings and Elsie knew she could trust her to come back with enough fuel to keep the fire going for most of the night and into the next day.

  ‘You’d best get the little ’uns to alert the neighbours now. I think it’s me time. They’re old enough to know what’s what.’ Alice gasped her instructions in between the waves of pain that were wracking her body. Elsie sighed. She hated seeing her mother like this year after year, but there was nothing she could do about it except to do as she was asked. Although they were only five and six years of age, Ethel and Freda had indeed been through this before so Elsie packed them off to fetch Vera Clegg from next door and was dismayed when they returned on their own a few minutes later to announce that Vera had gone down with ’flu only that morning and was in no fit state to come and oversee a birthing. Alice looked panic-stricken when they made their announcement and she turned her face to the wall, her body shaking with sobs.

  ‘Don’t fret, Mam, I’ll find someone to help us.’ Elsie tried her best to comfort her mother, afraid that if there was no one else available the task would inevitably fall to her. So she set about touring the neighbourhood, trying to find someone who would be able to come immediately to act as midwife. Eventually, to Elsie’s great relief, Doris Wiggins from down the street agreed she would come. She was very experienced, having over the course of the years delivered more than half the babies in their street alone and Elsie knew that if Doris was involved everything would be all right.

  ‘I won’t leave you to struggle on your own, lass,’ she assured Elsie as she gathered up the essentials in her little bag. ‘And we can stop off on the way and ask young Molly Fletcher from across the yard if she could come an’ all.’

  Elsie was impressed how quickly the neighbours gathered to help the family out and readily agreed to Molly’s suggestion that some of the young Grimshaw girls should go to her house for the night to mind her youngest babe, as her husband was working nights. Elsie agreed that it was a good idea, so long as they could take young Jack with them as well and Phyllis and Nancy jumped at the chance. They skipped off eagerly to Molly’s with Jack and his beloved teddy in tow. They knew from previous visits that there would be bits of food lying around that they could pinch, not to mention the warm blankets they could all wrap up in on the couch in the living room, which was just the thing on a chilly night such as this.

  Elsie had known for a long time how babies arrived into the world, having some memories of her horror and fascination from as far back as when some of her sisters were born after her mother had spent the night screaming with pain. She remembered she had been shocked at seeing so much blood. Then she remembered her mother squeezing her hand painfully during a short labour when Freda – now a gangling six-year-old – had made a rather sudden appearance. And then there was Jack. She was especially proud of the more important role she had played, actually helping Vera Clegg clean up the baby when he was born. A son, finally, after the long line of girls. Her mother had been really poorly on that occasion and Elsie had been the first to hold him. It was teatime and she had shooed out all the younger children while the ladies from the neighbourhood had gathered solemnly at the foot of Alice’s bed. They had all looked so grave and one had even told Elsie her mother’s life was in danger, she had lost so much blood. Then they had finally agreed to call out the doctor, who had sent Alice into the hospital. Elsie never understood where the money had come from to pay for the few days Alice spent there, but she was mightily relieved when her mother finally came back home, the baby glued to her breast. Not that she had enough milk to give him. Jack had spent the first few months of his life wailing with hunger. But Martha Jones, who lived across the street, had had a baby the same day as Jack was born and she came by each morning with her baby suckling on one breast, letting the youngest Grimshaw suckle on the other until eventually he had begun to settle.

  Elsie bustled round the living room now, following Doris’s instructions, confident she had a clear notion of what was to come. It was only when dawn arrived and she found herself drowsing on a hard stool by the bed, her mother grey and exhausted and no sign of the new child, that she understood what she had been told on several occasions: every birth was different and you never really knew what to expect.

  Fay spent the night sleeping on the stairs, unsure whether she really wanted to be part of this process. She didn’t wake until a brood of her sisters clattered downstairs when it was time for school.

  ‘Hush, your mam’s exhausted,’ Doris Wiggins warned.

  ‘Where’s the new babby, then?’ four-year-old Connie wanted to know.

  ‘Not ready to come out just yet,’ Doris answered, trying not to show her concern. She wiped Alice’s brow with a strip of old sheeting and then wiped her own as well. ‘Now you’d all better be getting off to school. The baby will no doubt be here by the time you get home tonight.’

  ‘I don’t go to school any more.’ Fay was now fully awake. ‘So I’m here to help me mam.’

  ‘And what about Elsie?’ Doris asked.

  ‘She needs to be getting off to work,’ Fay said, and she roused her sister, who had fallen asleep on the stool.

  Elsie stretched herself awake from the uncomfortable crouched position. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and ran her fingers through the curly mess of her hair. ‘What’s happened?’ she said, trying hard to focus her eyes.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ Fay said. ‘But don’t worry. You can get off to work. I’ll help Mrs Wiggins when the baby actually comes.’ She announced the words now with a feeling of pride that she would be the responsible one at home today. Once Elsie had reluctantl
y gone off to the factory, Fay looked around to check what she might do.

  Doris Wiggins and Molly Fletcher had been whispering together at the foot of the bed but Fay was aware of a sudden silence. She looked at her mother, her eyes had sunk into her grey face. Then she looked from Doris to Molly and back to her mother, who seemed to have exhausted her strength. Both of the other women had a defeated look too.

  ‘Remember last time,’ Doris said with a sigh.

  ‘Aye, lass, I do,’ Molly agreed and they both turned to look at Fay.

  ‘I think you need to run and fetch the doctor,’ the older woman said.

  By the time Elsie got home from the factory, everything had been cleared away and there was no evidence a child had ever been expected. Elsie quickly took in the unexpected scene. It was Jack, arms wrapped about his teddy, who was stretched out next to his mother and both were thankfully asleep. But there was no sign of a new baby. Alice looked gaunt and ill and for a moment Elsie was afraid to ask what had happened. She put her hand out to touch Jack, and when he stirred but continued sleeping she smiled down at him. At least he seemed to be all right.