Steam billowed out from a newly arrived train as he entered the station. The smell of smoke and bad eggs caught the back of his throat. He was overtaken by a coughing fit and it took several minutes for him to recover, but he was pleased he hadn’t heard any shouting or the piping of police whistles. He headed for a dark corner where he could catch his breath. His lungs were heaving and it took some time before his breathing stilled and his heart stopped pounding. He was feeling faint but he knew he had to push on. It was important to catch a train tonight. Keeping close to the walls, his face turned away out of sight, he edged towards the ticket office.
He walked slowly so as not to attract attention and to his relief no one seemed to notice as he climbed aboard the train. He found an empty compartment and sat down. He was aware of his heart still beating faster than normal and he dropped his head into his hands. Then he pulled down the blinds. He reached into his pocket and took out the notes and slowly counted them, handling each one with care. He had never had so much money in all his life. He allowed himself a smile, picturing his mother’s face if he arrived in a black cab at the other end. He would tell her that the money was the spoils of war.
But his arrival was not the pleasant surprise he had hoped, although his mother was both shocked and excited to see him. For as he stumbled from the taxi cab he fell coughing into the front room, covering the threadbare carpet with his blood.
Chapter 17
Lily Walsh had seen enough death and disease in her time to know at once what was wrong with her son. She had seen the symptoms of tuberculosis first-hand when her own mother had died from it and she felt a chill of fear strike her heart as she helped her son into the one armchair in the back parlour. She immediately sent one of the neighbour’s children off to fetch her other son, Charlie, home from the pub.
‘What on earth shall we do, Charlie? She relied on him for everything. ‘We’ve no money put by for the doctor.’
‘We’ll have to get someone to come and see him, Mam. The local voluntary hospital have a doctor who’ll come for a penny.’
‘I don’t want to be going to no doctor,’ Stan gasped from the armchair. ‘There’s nowt to be done and they’ll want to put us all in quarantine or God knows what.’
‘It’s such a shock, finding you on the doorstep like that. It was the last thing I expected. And then all that blood.’ Lily began to cry.
‘Don’t take on so,’ said Charlie, though his own eyes were brimming with tears as he looked down at Stan, his gaunt features and sunken cheeks barely recognizable from the young man in ruddy health that had left Weatherfield just a matter of months ago. ‘Who’d have thought our Stan would be one to swan off to fight in a bloody foreign war.’
Lily sniffed. ‘Without so much as a by-your-leave.’
‘Do you need a hand getting him into bed, Mam?’
Lily nodded and together they helped Stan out of the armchair in the living room and up the steep stairs.
Stan knew he was dying. Charlie had discreetly put the word out and with a whip-round from the locals had pulled together enough funds for a visit from the local doctor. The army doctors had been right, after all; his condition had gone downhill rapidly.
‘If he could be treated in a sanatorium, there might be chance for him, Mrs Walsh, but I fear even now that would be too little, too late,’ the doctor told them as he packed up his case
His mother and Charlie cried bitter tears, knowing that there was no money for such expensive treatment, but Stan had at least made it home and that meant a lot to all of them, though the doctor had insisted that he be kept in strict isolation.
For Stan himself it was good to see his mother and brother again. They’d made him as comfortable as they could. Charlie had said he could have the bed all to himself, while he would take himself off to kip on the old couch downstairs.
There was only one thing Stan needed now. He would die a happy man if he could only see Elsie again.
‘I’m not sure as she’d come, love,’ Stan’s mother said sadly when he asked her the next day. ‘You know what folk think to TB. No one even wants to mention the word. They’re dead scared of getting it thyselves. Not that you can blame them …’
But Stan was insistent. ‘Maybe you could find a way to ask her. Give her a chance,’ he begged. ‘You know she has a mind of her own, that lass.’ He lay back on the pillow Lily had managed to find to prop him up on when the coughing got bad. ‘She’ll come – I’d take a bet on it. She’s not scared of what other folk think.’
Lily began to sniffle. ‘I’m only sorry we can’t afford to send you to a sanatorium.’
‘Nay. Pay no mind to that.’
Suddenly Lily’s face brightened. ‘What about that money you brought back?’
‘No, I’ve told you, it’s not nearly enough. But it will do to get some decent food for the three of us.’ Stan’s voice was not strong but he was adamant.
Lily burst into fresh tears.
‘Mam, don’t go on so. It’s too late for me. There’s nowt much anyone can do anyway, you heard what the doc said.’
The effort of talking started another coughing fit. He signalled for her to give him a rag from the pile of torn-up sheeting beside the bed and then his head fell back against the pillow, his thoughts turning to Elsie again and his yearning to see her once more.
It was a few days later when a notice went up asking all Weatherfield residents to pick up their gas masks at the town hall. Elsie was taken aback when she saw it. There had been much talk in the factory about the possibilities of a German invasion, with some of the girls saying it could happen that summer, but Elsie hadn’t taken it seriously until now. She’d chosen to believe that, no matter what Mr Hitler might say and do, there wouldn’t actually be a war in Europe and certainly not in Weatherfield. Wasn’t that what poor Stan had gone over to Spain to ensure? But this made it sound like war really was on the cards, and soon.
Even so, she didn’t believe they had anything to worry about on Back Gas Street. Still, if free gas masks were on offer, then why shouldn’t her family have them? So, she joined the locals heading into the town centre, some of whom had survived the Great War of 1914 and knew all about the importance of gas masks. The young kids on the street were anxious to get their hands on the masks for a different reason: to them, it was all a great game. They thought gas masks would make terrific playthings and couldn’t wait to put them on and start scaring each other.
Elsie had told her mother she would pick up masks for the whole family, taking Jack with her so that she could be sure they gave her one to fit his small face. Her mother’s response had been: ‘I don’t know what you’re bothering for. I’ll certainly never wear one of them things and I doubt anyone else in this family will either.’
Now Elsie was making her way back from the town hall, having let Jack run on ahead. At the sound of a voice calling ‘Hey, you!’ she turned to see an older woman waving at her. The woman was enveloped in a clean print overall and had a scarf covering her headful of curlers like a turban.
Though she couldn’t recall ever having seen the woman before, Elsie stopped to let her catch up. Moments later she found herself staring into a lined face with the saddest brown eyes she had ever seen. She wondered what such an old woman could want with her.
‘I’m told you’re Elsie Grimshaw. Is that right?’ the woman said.
Elsie raised her eyebrows. ‘Depends who wants to know.’
Lily hated backchat and was ready with a putdown for this cheeky young redhead but then remembered Stan’s face as he had begged her to find Elsie and thought better of it. ‘My name’s Lily Walsh,’ she said firmly. Elsie looked surprised. ‘I’m Stan Walsh’s mam.’
‘Oh yes?’ Elsie said. Memories of Stan and the way he’d abandoned her came flooding back as she realized that Lily’s sad eyes reminded her of him. ‘And have you heard from him lately? I suppose you know by now where he went to when he disappeared all them months back?’
‘
Yes, I know. And I’ve not only heard from him, I’ve seen him. He’s at home with me and our Charlie right now.’
Elsie was shocked. ‘What? You mean he’s back?’ She wasn’t sure whether to believe her. ‘Has he been wounded?’ she asked cautiously.
‘In a manner of speaking. You can come and see him for yourself, if you’ve a mind.’
This was not what Elsie had expected to hear and she was thrown into confusion, unsure how to answer. She’d long since regretted her harsh words when Stan had come to say goodbye and had often thought about what she might say if ever she saw him again. But she didn’t want to appear too eager. She’d thought of writing to him, if she’d known where to write. But now it seemed she was being offered a chance to make her apology to his face and yet here she was, dithering. Was it Stan that really wanted to see her, or was it just the wishful thinking of his mam?
She emerged from her thoughts to discover that the old woman was still talking.
‘I’ve got to warn you, though: you mustn’t tell anyone that I’ve asked you. And you can’t tell anyone if you decide to come.’
‘Whyever not?’ Elsie didn’t know what to make of the strange request.
Lily didn’t answer immediately, then seemed to make up her mind saying in a low voice, ‘He’s got TB, so it’s up to you to decide whether you want to see him.’
Elsie felt sick at the dreaded words. ‘Is he bad?’ She hardly dared to ask.
Lilly snuffled and pulled a rag from her pocket to wipe her running nose. ‘Yes, he’s bad. You might not have the stomach for it – he’s a shadow of the lad you’ll remember.’
Now Elsie’s only thought was to be there for Stan. ‘But are you sure he wants me there? We didn’t part on the best of terms,’ she admitted. ‘Though I want to come, very much,’ she added with feeling.
Lily smiled sadly through her tears. ‘I was hoping you’d say that, lass. He so wants to see you, but I didn’t want to pressure you.’ She linked arms with Elsie then and told her where and when to come.
‘Elsie, is that you?’ Stan wondered if he was hallucinating again, like he had done in Spain. He could see this vision at the bedroom door that looked like Elsie in a print dress, her flame-red hair brushed back off her face and a posy of flowers in her hand. But he couldn’t be sure it was real.
The young girl stepped into the room. ‘Yes, it’s really me,’ said the voice he knew so well. ‘I wanted to bring you summat, but I didn’t know what to bring.’
‘You’ve brought you. That’s enough,’ Stan said, still not entirely convinced she wasn’t an illusion. ‘And it’s good to see you. But don’t come too close.’
‘Why not? I want to see you proper, like.’ Elsie was prepared with a hanky to cover her mouth, but all she could do was squeeze it tightly as she took in the sight of the invalid in the bed. She could barely believe that the Stan Walsh in front of her was the same person. His once-strapping frame was painfully thin and the bedshirt he wore hung loosely from his drooping shoulders. There was a bead of sweat across his brow and he seemed to be struggling for each breath. She sat down on the corner of the bed, put the daisies down and clutched his clammy hand in her own. ‘Oh, Stan, I’m so sorry for what I said. I just wish I could take it all back.’ She paused. ‘I was sorry even then, but didn’t get the chance to tell you.’
‘You don’t have to fret about that now.’ Stan smiled. ‘I don’t. Not any more.’
‘If I’d said sorry and we’d made up, I could have persuaded you not to go and then you wouldn’t be ill now.’
‘Wild horses couldn’t have stopped me going, Elsie. And even after everything that’s happened, I’m still not sorry I went. We didn’t win, but at least I tried. I did my bit.’
Elsie regarded Stan with fresh eyes. She’d always known that he was a man of high ideals, but only now could she see how much they meant to him. She was overwhelmed at his bravery and sacrifice. ‘All you should be worried about is getting better now, Stan.’
‘I’ll not be doing that, lass, let’s be honest. We both know that. I bet you’ve seen better haunting a house.’ He tried to laugh at his own joke, but all he could manage was a cough.
For once Elsie was at a loss for words. She pushed the daisies towards him. ‘Here, I brought you these. Sorry I couldn’t wrap them up.’
He picked one up and put it to his nose. ‘No matter. They’re right lovely. Thanks.’
She smiled, then started talking about anything she could think of. Soon she had him laughing with her stories about the little ’uns and their latest antics. She told him that when he was better they would borrow Charlie’s bike again and ride out together on to the moors. ‘We’ll take our sarnies and maybe a bar of chocolate and—’
Stan was smiling as he cut in, shaking his head: ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do that on your own.’
‘Tell me,’ Elsie asked, desperate to change the subject, ‘did Charlie ever find out about the bike?’
‘He did ask me how the paint got scraped, so I think he guessed. But promise me you’ll not stop riding a bike. In fact, you can have mine. I’ll tell me mam I said so. And then all you’ll have to do will be to find someone else to ride with.’
Elsie stared at him. ‘There’ll never be anyone like you, Stan.’ She had been struggling to hold back the tears, but now she lost her battle and they began to flow in earnest. ‘I wish I was going to marry you, Stan,’ she sobbed. ‘I’d be so proud to be your wife.’
‘And I’d be the luckiest man in the world to be your husband, Elsie. But luck isn’t on our side this time.’
‘Oh, Stan.’ Elsie gripped his hand and tried to control her emotions. She could see he was flagging, his face was grey and his eyes sunk back into their sockets. She didn’t want to tire him out. ‘I tell you what,’ she said, clutching his hand, ‘I’ll come again tomorrow and I’ll come again every day, every day until …’ she hesitated, aware of what her words would mean.
‘Until I don’t need you any more, Elsie.’ Stan held her gaze and Elsie knew she would never love anyone the way she loved Stan in that moment.
‘That’s right, Stan.’ Leaning over the bed, Elsie planted a tender kiss on his forehead, not caring about the TB or anything else. He managed to give her a nod, then his fingers fluttered and the daisy he’d been holding fell back on to the grey blanket.
‘Goodbye, Stan,’ Elsie whispered. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’
‘Goodbye.’ His voice was merely a whisper.
The following day, Lily Walsh sent word to Elsie at the factory that Stan was dead. That whispered goodbye was the last word she would ever hear him say.
Elsie shed her tears for Stan in private. She felt as if her heart was breaking and cried like she had never done before. How was she ever going to replace him? Her first love had come to a cruel and tragic end and Elsie wondered if something in her had died along with him.
Christmas 1938
Chapter 18
Elsie stared at the newsagent’s window, finding it difficult to believe it would soon be Christmas again. It was cold and damp as there had been lots of rain, though there had been no sign of any snow yet. Elsie usually liked Christmas time. Regardless of the miserable conditions outside, people on the whole seemed more jolly and friendly at that time of year. But this year was different. People were scurrying about with anxious looks on their faces, for no one was sure whether or not there was going to be a war. Only a couple of months ago the prime minister had come back from a meeting with Mr Hitler and had talked about ‘peace in our time’. Elsie had been relieved to hear he had signed a special agreement so there couldn’t possibly be a war now.
‘They’ve found a way to settle things,’ she’d assured her little sisters. ‘So there’s no need to worry. We already had the war to end all wars before you and I were born.’
But then the other week, when she and Fay had sneaked into the cinema, she’d seen the Pathé News showing trains filled with children leaving Germany for En
gland. They were waving goodbye to their parents. Everyone was crying and jostling as soldiers with rifles were herding little ones with tiny suitcases and badges with their names on their coats on to the trains. The newsman said they were escaping the war that was waging in Europe. Was that true? And if so, was it really coming to Britain? Some said that even if things were all right now, by Christmas next year it could be very different, with England being overrun with Germans. Elsie no longer knew what to believe.
She turned her attention back to the window. In the corner, as always, stood the Christmas tree. But it was looking tired and old now. Its branches were no longer green, and the fairy with the wand that used to look like she was flying from the topmost branch had disappeared. Some tinsel still hung across the branches but it didn’t seem to glitter any more and the cotton-wool puffs of pretend snow were grey instead of white. None of the other decorations had changed much from last year and all the years before. There were washed-out paper chains and what seemed to be the same boxes of chocolates in their faded wrappings. She dreaded to think what the chocolate inside would be like by now. That made her think of her own precious bar of chocolate that Stan had given her for her birthday and an unexpected tear ran down her cheek. She left it unchecked as she closed her eyes. She could see Stan as he was walking by the Field. Stopping to chat. Her first boyfriend. The first person apart from Fay and little Jack who had shown her any real affection. He had been her first love and it was hard to accept he had been gone for three months already.
She opened her eyes and stepped closer to the glass, trying to see her reflection. She still looked the same as she had last year when she stopped to admire the Christmas tree. Her pale and sickly face hadn’t changed much in the last twelve months. She never had been able to get hold of any make-up after that dreadful business at Woolies, and she had no beetroot juice so there was no way to brighten up her lips. She sighed. The only thing that had changed was that Fay had hacked at her hair recently when they came across an old pair of scissors in the Field. But the blades had been almost blunt and Fay had not been able to do much with her fringe. It was still uneven and the flyaway bits that reached down to her shoulders were all different lengths too.
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