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Christmas on Coronation Street: The perfect Christmas read
Maggie Sullivan


A wonderful Christmas read full of nostalgia and charm, perfect for fans of Coronation Street and readers who love Fiction set in Wartime.Elsie Grimshaw lives in one of the worst streets in Weatherfield and is desperate to escape from life at home with a brutal father and the drudgery of working at the local mill. Grabbing at the slim chances that come her way, Elsie emerges from the heartbreak of first love and her marriage to bad boy, Arnold Tanner at only sixteen years old, if not much older, then certainly wiser.Going under her married name of Elsie Tanner, she and Arnold move in to No.11 Coronation Street in 1939 as war breaks out. Her cheeky self-confidence immediately puts her at loggerheads with local busy-body Ena Sharples and Annie Walker, landlady of the Rovers Return.As Christmas approaches, the residents of Coronation Street must put their petty squabbles aside if they are to survive the worst that Hitler’s Luftwaffe can throw at them. And as the Manchester Blitz grips their home town of Weatherfield, the residents must pull together to make this a Christmas to remember – for all of the right reasons…






























Copyright (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)







Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

Coronation Street is an ITV Studios Production

Copyright © ITV Ventures Limited 2017

Archive photograph in end matter © ITV / REX / Shutterstock

Jacket photographs © Nils Jorgensen/REX/Shutterstock

(Coronation Street set); Topfoto.co.uk (http://Topfoto.co.uk) (children playing); John Topham/

Topfoto.co.uk (http://Topfoto.co.uk) (women chatting and van); © Ivan Cholakov/Alamy Stock

Photo (Flying Fortress).

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Maggie Sullivan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008256524

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: [eISBN] 9780008255138

Version: 2018-09-25




Dedication (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)


Mum, Dad and Bram, my everlasting inspiration.


Table of Contents

Cover (#u15a14294-1908-5ce3-8867-e030fed89454)

Title Page (#u09c846ea-1c69-5bbe-811c-3ec63a9fb122)

Copyright (#u138f9862-db35-5fd6-ada4-2bbb0105ff2f)

Dedication (#u4194b75e-1c17-57ca-807f-019335d29225)

December 1937 (#uf8f911c7-bd03-5bd1-9b57-1856774390bd)

Chapter 1 (#ucf3ff643-83ea-5c13-9e29-a1ed5c75f432)

Chapter 2 (#ufafa7d1f-00d4-5689-8311-97acf2ac1996)

Chapter 3 (#u3fe2bd5a-bdea-51b0-a380-a10270f4b6e0)

Chapter 4 (#u0aa47803-db89-5f39-82e9-ab6bf4d3ef4e)

Chapter 5 (#u3d61e943-8f0d-5019-ac3d-3de240333bb9)



Chapter 6 (#ue22a2a10-102f-5c9b-8059-a7cf2bf0516d)



Chapter 7 (#u09e064cf-2ba1-5f52-9fe2-56d991baa4ae)



Chapter 8 (#u25a46250-5ec8-51f8-a16b-35e4a86997e1)



Chapter 9 (#udf3070a9-2c39-51f0-9140-869f01812136)



Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)



Christmas 1938 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)



Coronation Street – Still the Nation’s Favourite (#litres_trial_promo)



Pat Phoenix – The Woman Who Made Elsie Tanner (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)



December 1937 (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)




Chapter 1 (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)


Elsie Grimshaw stopped and stared at the newsagent’s window, like she’d done every day since the small Christmas tree had appeared. The same as every year, it was draped in silvery tinsel and dotted with fluffy wads of cotton wool pretending to be snow. On the topmost branch was a fairy with a glittering wand. She shivered and wrapped her arms round her skinny body, trying to rub some feeling into them. It felt cold enough for real snow today though, and her arms were too puny and her coat too thin to offer any defence against the wind. Under the lower green branches of the tree, several gift-wrapped parcels were lying and she longed to pick them up. They were different shapes and sizes; all in fancy coloured paper, though much of it was faded. Some were strung with a ribbon that ended in a bow.

Must be some kind of chocolates, she had long ago decided as she gazed enviously at the packages. Seeing her own reflection in the newly cleaned glass, she was momentarily distracted and she stared at her outline. She pulled a funny face, laughed and then frowned, then stared straight ahead, a gradual smile coming to her lips. Her nose was all right, if a little pointed. She never had managed to scrub off the dusting of freckles. Her dark green eyes, which she knew were her best feature, looked huge against the paleness of her face. Lots of expression in those eyes, she was always being told. Nowt but bloody cheek and impudence, according to her dad. But it was her long eyelashes the girls at the factory envied. Much darker than the flame-red of her hair. She moved closer until they almost touched the glass. Everyone seemed to want long eyelashes. Not that she could see hers. Her fringe was too long. Long and lifeless, despite the curls, like the rest of the tangled mess that hung in different lengths around her shoulders. She’d tried to smooth it out but it wasn’t easy. Maybe she could get her sister Fay to have a go at it if they could cadge some scissors off one of the neighbours. Of course, it would look quite different if it was washed and cut properly. She thought of the women she saw regularly coming out of the hairdressers in some of the nicer streets of Weatherfield. Then she could look like her favourite film star. Fiery hair, fiery temper her mother always said. But Elsie didn’t mind, not if it made her like Maureen O’Hara. Maybe the hairdresser could make her look like that one day. Elsie peered again at her reflection and pulled another face, this time stretching her thin lips, then pouting. Nothing a spot of carmine couldn’t improve.

She rubbed her fingers over her cheekbones, which Fay reckoned stuck out like film stars’ bones. They stick out because I don’t get enough to eat, Elsie had thought. Not the kind of problem Hollywood film stars have to worry about. She pictured herself stretched out on a sofa like she had seen in the films, munching through the contents of the chocolate boxes, deliciously soft and sweet. She imagined licking the melting chocolate from her fingers, though it wasn’t chocolate that coated them now, stuck as they were with all the cotton fluff and grime from the machines at the factory. It never occurred to her the boxes might be dummies.

I’ll be fifteen next birthday, she thought. In March. Not that anyone else would remember. Fifteen, and I’ve never had a present in me life. One of these days I’m going to have one and it will be all wrapped up just like those. She sighed before adding: And not only for me birthday, but for Christmas as well.

Suddenly, through the thin fabric of her shabby coat, she felt the touch of a hand in the small of her back and she spun round, feeling foolish and hoping she hadn’t spoken her thoughts out loud.

‘Bobby Mirren!’ she squealed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Just being friendly.’ He tilted his head to one side and gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Thought maybe you’d like Christmas to come early this year. If you know what I mean.’ He winked. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

Elsie’s hand closed on the wage packet that filled her coat pocket when he said that. Not for the first time she thanked no god in particular that she had a steady job at the textile factory. At least it meant the family could eat – most days. So long as her mam was smart enough to grab something back off her dad before he drank it all away.

She gazed at Bobby for a second or two then beckoned towards the end of the street with her head. There was still some daylight left in the early wintry afternoon. He crooked his elbow and she slid her arm through his as they sauntered off down the road together. She could feel the envelope in her pocket as she walked, but she was thinking that an extra ha’penny or two would never go amiss.

It was completely dark by the time she got home and as she opened the front door to number 18 Back Gas Street it wasn’t much brighter inside. A dull glow was emitted by the small clump of coal that still smouldered in the hearth at the back of the room, but the single lightbulb that dangled from the low ceiling close to the room’s solitary window was not lit. She flicked the switch on the wall but nothing happened. In the gloom, she stumbled over the pile of filthy clothes that still lay unwashed from last week. She sighed. Her mother had promised to do them today.

‘Is that you, our Elsie?’ There was no mistaking the bloated shape of Alice Grimshaw as she emerged in the gloaming from the scullery that was curtained off from the room, behind the stairs at the back. The telltale bump of her stomach looked about ready to drop, even though Elsie knew her mother had a few months to go before yet another wailing mouth to be fed appeared. In her arms, twelve-month-old Jack, favourite teddy in hand, struggled to get down, for once he’d heard the voice of his favourite big sister he was in no doubt about where he wanted to be. He grinned at her. A ghoulish grin, for his front teeth were already black and decayed from constantly sucking on the bottle he had inherited from his three-year-old sister Polly. It was kept almost permanently topped up with sugared water to keep him quiet.

‘I managed to get us a yesterday’s loaf,’ Elsie said. ‘I bloody hope there’s some of that dripping left over what our Phyllis cadged off Mrs James next door.’ Jack had crawled over the cold flagstones to where Elsie was standing and clasped her knees, his arms appealing to her to pick him up. It was hard to resist him with his blue eyes and blond curly hair, even if his head was scabby with lice. From a distance, he looked a bit like the little cherub in the soap advert they had in town, but close to it was hard not to see that his poor little face was too gaunt and his arms and legs too much like those of a matchstick man to really look like such a pin-up. His legs were too thin even to support the grey rag of towelling that served as a nappy. It had been pinned haphazardly around his waist and it slipped each time he moved. Now it looked as if it was about to descend below his knees. Not that Elsie cared. He would always be her favourite. The only boy at the end of a long line of girls. Normally she would have picked him up. But for now she was distracted. She could see that her mother had neglected her duties as usual, for the small inadequate sink was piled up with every dish they possessed. Not that there were many, and what they had was either cracked or chipped, even the tin plates they’d got from the rag-and-bone man, and all the cups had broken handles. No wonder everything gets damaged Elsie thought crossly. This lot’s been lying here most of the week.

‘There’s a bit left for scraping,’ her mother said, absent-mindedly bending down to pick up her son again. She groaned and quickly dumped him at the foot of the bed he shared with her and Arthur. Jack protested loudly, banging his teddy against the bedpost, appealing once more for Elsie’s favours. But his sister still ignored him.

‘Bloody good job,’ Elsie said. ‘Mr Whitehead at the grocer’s up the passageway saved the bread for me special.’ Elsie looked at her mother, wondering what she would say if she knew what the bread had actually cost her eldest daughter from the ‘groping grocer’ who worked in the shop at the end of the courtyard. Alice obviously had no idea, for she just smiled.

‘Thanks, love. At least I’ve got summat for your dad’s tea now. Can you give us a tanner for the meter an’ all? Yer dad’s still out and there’s no one else to ask.’ She made it sound like her husband Arthur was the usual provider of their basic necessities.

Elsie clenched her fists at the lie, though she knew she should have been used to it by now. It was one that tripped so easily off her mother’s tongue, even though the old man hadn’t done much in the way of providing since he’d been laid off at the mill five years before. ‘Why does it always have to be me as feeds the lecky as well as feeding the whole bleeding lot of us?’ Elsie’s voice rose to a shout and she felt tears of anger scalding her lids. ‘Why can’t you get the little ’uns to run more errands for the neighbours so’s we can have summat regular for the meter for once?’

Alice stared at her, but all she said was, ‘You’re a good ’un,’ as the lightbulb sprang into life. Alice gave up then, abandoning the baby to the cold floor. She went back into the scullery, returning with a hastily washed plate with the last of the dripping and a knife for the bread. She banged it down on the table, which was surrounded by odd chairs in the middle of the room. ‘Yer dad’ll be back soon and you know how he likes summat to eat soon as he gets in.’

This time at the mention of her father Elsie quickly crossed the small dining-room-cum-kitchen that also served as a bedroom for her parents and Jack. She ignored Jack’s outstretched arms as he tried to grab her and ran up the steep wooden stairs to the small first-floor bedroom she and her sister Fay shared with Polly, Ethel and Connie – some of their other siblings. She hoped that as usual they’d be running wild somewhere on the streets with no thought of coming home yet, giving her some precious moments of privacy, though that was a distant dream. Her other sisters, Phyllis, Iris, Freda and Nancy had the other bedroom upstairs while their parents slept below with baby Jack squeezing in where he could; Elsie thought the house generally felt like Piccadilly Circus but without the bright lights and excitement. Pushing her back against the door to bar entry, she took her wage envelope out of her coat pocket and scrutinized the contents. She skimmed off several of the loose coins and added them to the couple already in her pocket, stuffing a grey cotton square that served as a handkerchief in with them to prevent any jangling noises giving her away. Then she resealed the envelope and went back downstairs.

She was only just in time, for her father was already rolling through the door and as soon as he saw her he stretched out his hand.

‘What you got for me, gal?’ he asked.

‘What makes you think I’ve got anything?’

‘Because it’s bloody payday, that’s why, so don’t get smart with me, lass.’

‘Well, I ain’t got nothing.’

Elsie stood arms akimbo and stared at him defiantly. For a moment he looked shocked but then before she had time to move he raised his arm and whacked her sharply on the side of her head.

‘Don’t you dare cheek me! How’s a man supposed to get a drink round here? Gimme tha money.’

Elsie was aware of Jack screaming, though she wasn’t sure where he was for the room was beginning to spin as she fell to one side. She didn’t lose her footing, however, for her father grabbed hold of her before she hit the floor and with his huge hands triumphantly ripped the envelope out of her pocket. She tried to reach out for it but he snatched it away. Above the baby’s shrieks she heard the loose change from her pocket spilling out on to the floorboards and knew she had lost everything.

‘What the bloody hell is this?’ Arthur shouted, stomping on two of the rolling pennies. ‘You’ve opened it already! Trying to do me, are you? Well, I’ll show you you can’t swindle Arthur Grimshaw. Pick ’em up.’ He pointed to the coins that had rolled under the chair.

Elsie glared at him for a moment then she spat on the money without moving.

‘Pick ’em up yourself,’ she snarled. But her defiance was short-lived. She was only to be rewarded by another clout, this time to the other side of her head. She heard as well as felt his knuckles make contact with her cheekbone and knew she would have a lump and a black eye by the morning.

‘Don’t you dare bloody cheek me!’ he yelled. ‘I’ll make you pay for this.’ Now her father grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulling her in front of him began to shake her violently. ‘Pick ’em up, I said,’ he shouted into her face. ‘Now!’ The cocktail of alcohol fumes, stale tobacco and the odours from his otherwise empty stomach, compounded with her spinning head, made her retch. Flinging her arms wide to fend him off, she raced out of the door and ran round the back of the house and across the tiny yard. She was heading for the midden they shared with four of their back-to-back neighbours, praying none of their snotty kids had noticed her plight and would deliberately block her way.




Chapter 2 (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)


Fay Grimshaw at the age of thirteen was still officially part of the Weatherfield school system, although not many of her teachers could attest to that fact for she played truant from her classes at every available opportunity. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to learn; she simply didn’t believe the teachers in her school had anything left to teach her. They never seemed to talk about anything that related to her life, they weren’t interested in understanding her problems and they certainly had no notion of her secret ambitions. If they had, they might have been impressed; for Fay wanted to better herself, to climb out of the Back Gas Street hellhole she and her eight siblings had been born into. But they never showed her any practical ways in which she could do this. They offered no help, gave her no guidance, so she saw no point in attending what she thought of as unnecessary and pointless lessons.

The fact that it was called a Church of England school and they regularly taught lots of religious studies was another mark against the teachers as far as Fay was concerned. No one in her family had anything to do with religion and she could only wonder that her parents had ever considered such a school appropriate. Elsie, her older sister whom she adored and looked up to, had certainly not been to any kind of religious school and she was now getting along very nicely in her working life without having owt to do with the church. Not that Fay had much to do with it herself. On the occasions when she and her classmates had been expected to go to a church service, she had managed to avoid it. And she would continue to avoid it. The only time she might consider entering a church was when she eventually got married. And then she would only agree to having a religious ceremony if her father promised not to attend and if she could guarantee her mother wouldn’t turn up pregnant – again. Even as it crossed her mind now, her face flushed at the thought of her mother having yet another baby tugging hopelessly at her shapeless breasts like there had been for the last several years. It was bad enough to think that in a few months’ time little Jack would no longer be the youngest member of the family. The thought of the same thing happening year after year put her off wanting babies of her own.

But the thought of her having a wedding at all made her smile. A big white wedding like she’d seen once or twice at St Mary’s in Weatherfield. For it was something she and Elsie talked about a lot, her big sister being adamant she wouldn’t set foot inside a church even for that. So maybe she should follow in Elsie’s footsteps. It wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it? Although, if she was honest, she would like to have a better job than her sister. It was true Elsie seemed happy enough in the textile factory, loading yarns on to the huge reels to be woven into different patterns of cotton fabric. But Fay had different ambitions. She was almost two years younger, she’d probably never be as big as Elsie, and she’d certainly never have Elsie’s striking looks, but then she would be happy working somewhere quietly on her own. She wanted to do a college course and become a secretary.

When she was about eight years old Fay had seen a Charlie Chaplin film at the local picture house about a bank secretary, and she had fallen in love with the idea of working in an office. As usual, she and Elsie had sneaked into the cinema through the door people usually came out of, after one of their mates had left the emergency bar on the latch for them. Near the end of the first showing of the main feature they had slid in and gone to sit in the cheapest seats so they wouldn’t be noticed while they waited until the film was shown again. She had eventually come out of the cinema, eyes blinking in the strong daylight, her mind full of the glamour of the important role the secretary had played within the bank and she had decided then that was what she wanted to do.

Fay liked the idea of working somewhere quiet and comfortably furnished, somewhere that was well organized and ordered. In the film and in offices she knew everything was neat and clean. The secretaries’ desks always looked so tidy and there was even room for a potted plant or two. She admired the stylish way all the girls she knew who worked in an office dressed, and the way they came out of work looking relaxed and unflustered. Most had a smart coat and a pert little hat. So different from the way Elsie and her workmates came pouring out of the hot, noisy and horribly smelly factories where they worked. They were swathed in overalls and shawls and had untidy headscarves covering their curlers. No, the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t wait to leave school, though she had no idea how she would manage to pay the fees to enrol into a secretarial college.

‘You don’t want to be fretting about that,’ Elsie had chided. ‘I’ll help you find a job so you can earn some money before you start.’

‘Could you?’ Fay was excited at the idea.

Elsie shrugged. Then she had suddenly looked serious. ‘Of course the old man mustn’t find out about it or you’ll end up with nowt. And our mam must think you’re still going to school, or she’ll make you turn your wages over to our dad like I have to do.’

‘Do you really think I could get away with it?’

‘You, young lady can do anything you set your mind to do. You’re pretty. You’re not too skinny and you’ve got all the best features our mam must have had when she was a lass.’

‘Do you really think so? Like what?’ Fay was surprised to hear her sister talk like that.

‘Well, for starters you’ve got our mam’s lovely brown eyes, but yours always seem to be smiling. And look at the way they match the colour of your hair.’ Elsie put a hand out to touch it. ‘And the way your hair curls without ever having to put it up in rags. I’m dead jealous. You don’t always have to drag it all back off your face, you know.’ She gave her sister’s ponytail a gentle tug.

‘I know but it keeps it out of the way.’

‘But there are lots of other things you could do to make yourself pretty. A bit of flesh on your bones, a spot of pink in your cheeks, rub some beetroot juice on to your lips and you’ll have all the lads chasing you before long.’

‘Nay, but I’m too small for anyone to want to bother.’

‘Don’t be so daft. You’ll grow. And soon. Though you wouldn’t really want to be as tall as me, now would you?’

‘One thing, I’ll never be as old as you,’ Fay retorted and both girls fell about laughing.

‘Seriously, Sis,’ Elsie said, you’re going to make something of yourself. I just know it.’ She smiled as she looked away into the distance. ‘The important thing is to hang on to the dream.’

Fay thought a lot about that dream and how she might be able to keep such a secret from her parents. She might even apply for the waitress job she had seen advertised in the café window in the centre of Weatherfield. As far as she knew, it wasn’t a place either of her parents frequented so she wasn’t likely to be found out. And though she had no idea what a waitress’s weekly wage might be, she began to picture piles of threepenny bits, sixpences, even shillings and the odd half-crown being added to the few pennies she already had in the biscuit tin that was hidden under the bed. She might even have some money left over to buy presents for her siblings: a pair of silk stockings for Elsie, a new toy car for Jack. Soon she’d be able to leave home and find a room to rent, like she’d read about in a book once at school. It all sounded so romantic and so grown-up; she couldn’t wait.

She was caught up in her dream while she was on her way to visit her best friend Valerie so she almost didn’t notice Elsie staring intently into the newsagent’s window on the other side of the road. But then she paused, wondering what her sister was doing. Fay was about to call out to Elsie to wait for her so they could walk home together, but before she could open her mouth she saw Bobby Mirren sidle up to her sister and cover Elsie’s backside with his large hand. Elsie looked startled and Fay’s instinct was to shout across to him to stop mithering and to leave her sister alone. But then she could see Elsie half turn and from the look on her face she seemed not to mind. Fay could only guess as to the exchange as she watched Elsie move Bobby’s hand away, but to her surprise the next thing she saw was the two of them sauntering off arm in arm.

Fay held back a little way but kept pace with them on the other side of the road, curious about where they might be heading. She was surprised when they stepped off the pavement and disappeared into some bushes behind the bus stop. Fay took the opportunity to cross the road. She kept herself out of sight and found a spot half hidden by the shrubbery where she could see them without being seen. They seemed to be kissing, which Fay found strange for she knew for a fact that Elsie didn’t particularly like Bobby. Hadn’t she told her so only the other day? Not only that, but she had been adamant that she preferred Eric Ross and would welcome the chance to let him know that she fancied him. But now, as Fay watched, it was Bobby who had his arms around Elsie and they seemed to be almost devouring each other with ever widening mouths. Even more surprising, Fay thought she saw Bobby’s hands slide inside Elsie’s coat as the two became more entangled and Fay wondered what Elsie could be thinking. Of course Fay understood about kissing, she’d even tried it once with Brian Morgan. But it had made her feel dirty and messy and it wasn’t something she was eager to try again. When she had told Elsie this, her big sister had laughed and told her not to worry about it for now. ‘Mebbe you’re a bit young yet. But you’ll be at it again one day before long, I promise you – and you’ll enjoy it too,’ Elsie had assured her. ‘But not before the time’s right, and the lad’s right too.’

Fay frowned. So did that mean Bobby Mirren was the right one for Elsie? Was she going to marry him? Suddenly Fay heard a shout, which she realized had come from her sister. She looked up to see Bobby pulling his hand out from under Elsie’s skirt. Elsie’s face was flushed as she patted down her clothing and rebuttoned her coat, but within a few moments they began kissing again, this time with even more energy. Feeling confused and not wanting to see any more, Fay crept away from her hiding place and started walking purposefully towards Valerie’s house. Maybe her best friend would be able to shed some light on it all. But in any case, she would talk to Elsie tonight. She’d have to tell her what she saw and she’d ask Elsie what it all meant.




Chapter 3 (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)


Elsie lay in bed on her back, her face throbbing, her eye and nose already puffy and swollen. It was too painful to lie on her side as she usually preferred to do. Fay was asleep when Elsie had finally come back home and crept upstairs, and now she was gently snoring, snuffling each time she turned over and trying to snuggle up close. Elsie was also aware of Polly, Ethel and Connie, who slept top to toe with them in the same bed, and she tried to push aside their feet which seemed as if they hadn’t seen soap or water for several weeks.

After being sick in the courtyard, Elsie hadn’t made it to the midden, she had fled the house and gone to seek refuge, as she usually did, with her best friend Aggie. She had stayed there most of the evening. As she had hoped, by the time she returned home both her parents seemed to be fast asleep downstairs, their bed pulled out from behind the front door, closer to the hearth, to make the most of the remains of any heat from the coal dust in the fireplace. Her father was on his back snoring loudly, as a result no doubt from having retrieved the money that had scattered from her pocket, and having spent it, as usual, down at the Three Hammers. Her mother had turned her face to the wall as she always did, so it was impossible to be sure that she was asleep, but from the irregularity of her breathing and the stiffness of her pose, Elsie guessed she was not.

She had crept up the stairs, anxious not to disturb anyone. It was a bitterly cold night and she slipped gratefully into her only nightgown, a winceyette passion-killer her mother had found in a jumble sale. Then she wrapped herself in an old woollen cardigan and climbed into bed. There was a fireplace in the room but as far as she knew it had never seen a fire, so she tried to snuggle more closely to Fay. She was congratulating herself on having avoided her father during the time he was at his most dangerous when she was aware of a noise on the stairs.

Elsie knew she was most at risk of further punishment within the first twenty-four hours after a supposed offence, and her father was more than capable of humiliating her with more than just his fists. Sometimes, when he’d had a skinful and if he caught her unawares … She knew what he did was wrong, and hated him all the more for it. He certainly hadn’t liked her behaviour tonight. She cursed under her breath. She had forgotten to wedge the old linen box against the door. She berated herself as she lay listening to the mounting footsteps. A hot wormy feeling crawled in the pit of her stomach as the sounds grew closer and she prayed that she would be able to hold down her meagre tea. She heard the final footfall stop outside the bedroom and then the groaning of the hinge on the rickety door. She closed her eyes, pretending that if she couldn’t see anyone then no one was there. But she could still sense a body had entered the room. And she could hear the harsh whisper, ‘Else.’ Her eyes flew open. ‘Else, are you all right?’ She couldn’t see her face but she could make out the silhouette in the moonless night against the sheet that acted as a makeshift curtain: it was Phyllis with her fists clenched.

Phyllis was shivering as she stepped inside the room and brought her face close to Elsie’s. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked again. ‘Only I heard you’d got batttered by the old man.’

‘Is that you, Phyllis?’ Elsie asked, relieved. ‘You frightened the life out of me. What the ’ell are you doing up at this hour?’

‘Sorry, but I couldn’t sleep. I was worried that he might come for you again.’ Phyllis paused, her pale and pinched features barely visible in the darkness of the shabby room. ‘I know what he’s like.’ Phyllis’s hand touched her swollen face and Elsie pulled back; the bruise was still tender.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here to help you,’ she said. ‘’Cos I would ’ave, you know.’

Elsie tried to smile, though it felt forced. Phyllis was one of the toughest kids in the family, maybe even as tough as Elsie herself, though she was barely into her teens.

‘Don’t worry, lass, I can look after meself. I’m all right and you’d best be getting back to bed before you catch your death.’

Phyllis lingered, and Elsie felt her sister’s cool hand clutch her own. ‘It’s not right, Elsie, what he does to us.’

‘No, it’s not, pet, but we look out for each other, don’t we?’

‘Aye,’ said Phyllis. ‘But I can’t take much more of it. I tell you, the first chance I get, I’m off.’

Elsie was shocked, ‘You’re talking daft. Where would you go at your age?’

Phyllis sounded defiant. ‘There’s plenty of places, places where Dad would never find us ’n’ all.’

‘Don’t do anything silly, Phyllis, promise me.’ Elsie squeezed Phyllis’s hand.

‘It won’t be silly – anything’s better than this miserable life. Anyway, so long as you’re OK, Else. G’night then. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Night, Phyllis. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’ As Phyllis crept across the bedroom and quietly clicked the door shut behind her, Elsie lay wide awake, mulling over what her sister had said.




Chapter 4 (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)


It took longer than usual for the swelling to go down, by which time Elsie had made up her mind. She needed money. A second job. One that offered more than a quick grope and a few pleasures behind the shrubberies. But it also had to be one where the old man couldn’t get his hands on a penny of what she earned. What was the use in finding extra work if the money was only going to be poured down his disgusting throat? She couldn’t go on like this, starving for lack of a regular daily meal, watching the kids being whittled down to scarecrows. But she had no idea what she could do, for she had no particular skills. It was a pity she couldn’t get an office job like Fay had set her heart on, but she needed to work different hours. She couldn’t work during the day while she hung on to her job at the factory. She needed extra hours. Some kind of evening shift work like in a hospital or a factory that never closed down. She would have to think of something.

The next day was bright but cold and by the time she came out of work and the sun had gone down, a frost had already begun to form. Elsie was still smarting from the run-in with her father and didn’t feel like going straight home. So she did what she often did when she felt one of her moods coming on and wanted to be left to herself; she went to the Field. It was a strip of waste ground that had not a blade of grass on it, a few minutes’ walk away from the factory; she always went there whenever she wanted to think. She would sit, head in hands, on the remains of an upturned barrel that lay among the debris in the far corner of the stony ground, and mull over whatever problems were uppermost in her mind. Sometimes her thoughts would be interrupted by someone walking by. If it was someone she knew, she’d often play a game. First, she would catch their eye, for the gas lamp on the corner where the Field met the main street usually gave her a clear view of their face. Then she would shout something saucy or rude in the hope of making them respond, and finally she would award herself a score according to the level of their response. She’d give herself five if she raised a little smile, seven for a laugh, ten if she could get them to halt their journey and engage in a few moments’ banter. She was good at that. People hardly ever failed to respond in some way, even if it was only to shout rude words and obscenities at her. She would set herself a target for a total evening’s score and she rarely missed her mark.

But tonight she’d seen no one and she was wondering how much longer she could remain before she became frozen to the spot. She was about to give up and move off when a young man walked past. She smiled at him and he tipped his cap to her – that was seven points for a start. But she was prepared to give him a few extra points because he had such a pleasant face. He wasn’t very tall but he seemed surprisingly muscular and his gait was forceful and determined. She thought he might be a few years older than she was, maybe seventeen or even eighteen, though a cowlick of hair darker than the rest flopped forward, giving him a sort of boyish charm.

‘Hello again,’ she called, realizing that although she didn’t know him, she had actually engaged in her game with him before. The thing she had liked most about him then was his broad, cheeky smile. As he drew level with her, she saw a flash of it again.

‘Sorry, can’t stop today – I’m already late,’ he called, and as he increased his pace she could see his face break into a broad grin. ‘And if I don’t get to the pub on time tonight the bloody landlord will have me guts for garters, ’cos they’ll be all out of clean glasses.’

‘Which pub is that then?’ Elsie shouted, though she was unsure if he was still within hearing distance. Not that it mattered. She’d already awarded herself a full ten points.

‘The Butcher’s Arms.’ She heard his reply only faintly and it set her a fair puzzle, for she had no idea where that was. She stared at his back as he slipped out of range of the lamplight and disappeared from view. There was one way to find out. She would follow him. Sliding from her perch she set off after the young man, running the first few steps till she got him back into view then slowing to walking pace, for she didn’t want to get too close else he might realize he was being followed.

They seemed to have walked quite a long way through parts of Weatherfield Elsie had never seen before and if she hadn’t come to a crossroads with a sign that pointed to Westerley Cross in one direction and Town Centre in another, she wouldn’t have known where she was. She might even have thought she was in a different town completely. The young man had disappeared by now, but she spotted a pub on the corner and to her relief found it was called the Butcher’s Arms. It was not a pub she knew, but the good news was that she had never heard her father speak of it either, so she wasn’t likely to bump into the old man. She stood for a few moments wondering, having come so far, what she should do now. If anyone had asked her, she couldn’t have explained what had made her come all this way.

As she stood dithering in the chilly night the bar door was suddenly flung open and two raucous men rolled out, laughing drunkenly. The door swung back, lighting up the pavement for a few seconds. As it closed, she saw a notice was pinned lopsidedly to the diamond-shaped stained-glass panel cut into the wood. She tilted her head following the direction of the piece of paper, which seemed to be hanging by a thread and read: Experienced barmaid wanted for late shift. Must be 18 or over. Elsie hesitated but only for the minute it took to pat down her hair, pinch her cheeks and bite some colour back into her chapped lips. Then she pulled open the swing doors and was sucked inside by the warmth of the bar.

It was brightly lit and noisy but her appearance caused a stir from the moment she entered. Most of the younger lads wolf-whistled while some of the older ones were positively leering, reaching over to touch her as she stepped in among them. Her response to this instant reaction was to exaggerate the sashaying movement of her hips, a movement she’d been practising a lot recently. She even winked and raised her eyebrows at those close by, like she’d seen the film stars do in the pictures. She pinned an immediate smile on to her face and she could almost feel the twinkle in her eyes as she glanced flirtatiously round the dimly lit room. There were several men who obviously hadn’t seen her, for they were standing by the bar rail shouting their orders and a few obscenities to the young redheaded man who was running backwards and forwards behind the bar. He seemed to be trying to serve at least six people at once but couldn’t make up his mind who he should serve first.

A quick glance confirmed to Elsie that she was the only woman in the crowded room and she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the attention. If it was anything like the pubs she’d been in with her father, there would be other female patrons tucked away in the ladies’ snug, which would be approached by its own separate entrance, but she wasn’t in a hurry to join them. As she moved closer to the bar, she caught a glimpse of the young man she’d trailed all the way from the Field. She was right: he was worth following. Not only was his face pleasant but he was kind-looking too. And she liked the way he stopped now and then to flip the lock of hair out of his eyes. He was gathering empty glasses, gripping them tightly between stubby fingers. He carried them behind the bar and placed them in a large sink. There a boy was washing them in what seemed from the blueness of his hands to be cold water. A large man with heavy jowls and a ruddy scowling face, doubtless the landlord, was ringing up a variety of prices into the cash register as the redheaded barman called out the amounts of money he had taken. The landlord handed back the change and the barman’s cash was emptied into the till. When Elsie appeared, the redhead stared at her for a moment then he nudged the older man, who peered at her over his glasses and frowned.

‘This bar’s not for the likes of you, even if you were old enough,’ he said, his voice surly. ‘So go on, ’oppit. Unaccompanied women, entrance round the corner.’ He indicated with his thumb.

‘I’m here about the job.’ Elsie jutted her chin out and spoke with as much confidence as she could muster, hoping she sounded stronger than she felt. ‘The one on the door.’ She indicated the glass panel where she had seen the advert. ‘Who do I need to see?’

The man took off his glasses and peered down at her. ‘You don’t look half old enough,’ he said.

‘Oh, but I am. It’s me birthday very soon. I’ll be eighteen,’ she put in for good measure, remembering what she had read on the poster. Thankfully, she had always been tall for her age – she would look even taller if only she had the money for a proper pair of shoes. But she was glad at least she had put her hair up that morning with some pins she’d found in the toilets at work. She only wished she had a bit of carmine to dab on her cheeks as she bit her lips again to redden them up. Unfortunately, the landlord was not impressed.

‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’

‘It’s true.’ The young man from the street stepped forward, his fingers gripping a couple of dirty drinking glasses. He had stopped by Elsie and moved closer to her as he spoke.

‘Oh yes, and how do you know that?’ the landlord asked.

‘’Cos I knows her. We’re mates. Ain’t that so, Else?’

Elsie tried not to show her astonishment, not only that he knew her name when she hadn’t a clue about his, but that he dared to shorten it in such a familiar way. But she wasn’t about to contradict him. ‘Yes, that’s right, mister.’ She looked back at the heavy-set older man and fluttered her eyelids like she had seen Mae West do in the cinema. When the landlord began to smile, she hoped she hadn’t overdone it.

But he did seem to be taking her more seriously now. ‘Have you worked in a bar before?’ he asked.

Elsie thought back to the time a few years ago when her father had taken her with him into the Three Hammers at the top end of Back Gas Street. She was so young the innkeeper had declared her, ‘The youngest child that ever set foot in my pub!’ Since there were no customers about at the time, he had lifted her on to his knee and let her pull a pint. She recalled the way he’d instructed her to tilt the glass so that there was just enough of a head on it rather than a glassful of frothy foam. After giving her a sip, he’d downed it himself in a few long gulps.

‘Yes, I know how to pull a pint,’ Elsie said, crossing her fingers behind her back in the hope that she wouldn’t be caught out in the lie. ‘Any road up,’ she thought she’d better add, ‘I’m a fast learner.’ She winked at him. ‘If you know what I mean.’

Elsie caught his astonished gaze and was aware of his sudden scrutiny. She willed herself not to look away, knowing that if she wanted to get anywhere she was going to have to brazen it out. Just then there was an icy blast as both the double doors were pulled open sharply from the outside and a crowd of men rushed in. They were a mixed bunch. Some were young, some middle-aged, one or two were positively old, but they were all jostling for the honour of being first through the door like it was the most important thing in the world.

‘Now then, gents. Easy does it. Slow down a bit, will you,’ the man at the till called out, his attention diverted from Elsie. ‘We’ve room for you all, so what the hell’s the rush?’

There were several shouts of, ‘We’re thirsty,’ which for some reason made everyone laugh.

Then someone called from within the crowd, ‘Aye, aye, landlord,’ and he raised his arm in an exaggerated mock salute.

‘He thinks he’s in the bloody army already,’ his mate shouted, elbowing his friend in the ribs, to much general laughter.

‘I’m as good as,’ the first man said.

‘That’s right. Going to be shipped off to Spain to fight in the bleeding Civil War,’ one of the old men explained proudly.

‘I suppose they can do with all the help they can get out there,’ another agreed.

‘They must be bloody desperate to want him, is all I can say,’ a young lad muttered.

‘Can anyone sign up?’ Her new ‘friend’ the bar helper was trying to pass through the mob with more dirty glasses between his fingers. The crowd fell silent for a moment when he spoke; Elsie was taken aback by how serious he looked.

‘Of course. It’s a bloody fiasco out there.’ It was the newly enlisted man who replied.

‘They say Madrid’s under siege and things are going to get worse,’ the old man who could have been his father went on.

‘Well, I’ve signed up,’ the soldier said, trying to lighten the mood, ‘and I’m off in the morning. So this will be my last drink on English soil for quite some time. Let’s make the most of it, eh lads?’ He turned to look at them all. ‘Are you ready, fellas?’

The helper put his head down now and scurried back to drop off the glasses to be washed. Elsie stood uncertainly in the centre of the sawdust-covered floor. She was completely surrounded by the excited group of men until one of them moved away to go and stand at the end of the bar. He banged his fist on the countertop that was already swilling in ale and shouted, ‘Landlord, let’s be having some pints over here,’ and a loud cheer erupted from the crowd.

Elsie still didn’t move. She was mesmerized by the scene that had so suddenly changed with the arrival of the newcomers. War, war, war seemed to be all men wanted to talk about these days. Even her father had been moaning about Hitler invading half of Europe. Only this morning he’d told her mother, ‘It won’t be long before we’re dragged into a bleeding dogfight.’

Elsie had tried to shut her ears. She avoided looking at headlines about a possible war although there were often newspapers lying around at the factory. She didn’t want to talk about it, even though some of the older girls could talk of nothing else. What if Britain did get involved in a major war in Europe? What if their sweethearts were called up for active duty? They seemed to be proud and excited, but afraid at the same time. Elsie couldn’t make sense of it. Weren’t we already supposed to have had the war to end all wars? She was thankful her only brother was far too young to be called up into any army; as she had no proper sweetheart yet she refused to think about what war would mean for her. Not that she could avoid it completely. Even their Phyllis at almost thirteen years old was earning a few coppers shouting out the headlines about the latest German invasions from the Weatherfield Gazette stand. Let’s face it, she thought. No one could be sure what was going to happen.

Elsie was far more interested in the Royal fairy tale that continued to fill the newspapers than the chances of Britain getting embroiled in another war. To her the story of the abdicated King and his stylish American wife was worth talking about any day of the week. During the summer months, she had eagerly looked for discarded newspapers with that story in the headlines. She had been captivated the day the front page of the Weatherfield Gazette had been devoted to their magical wedding in France; she had even cut a picture of the happy couple from a copy of the paper she had found several weeks after the event.

Now she took in the room full of chattering men and smiled. None of them were talking about love stories with fairy-tale endings. Men never seemed interested in things like that. They were so engrossed in their talk of war that they seemed to have forgotten all about her.

Unsure what she should do, Elsie hesistated. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene, so perhaps she might as well go home. The landlord was rushed off his feet, helping the redheaded barman to serve the new customers who were now standing two and three deep at the bar, waving their money and shouting their orders. The young man she had followed had disappeared completely, probably taking another batch of glasses to be washed in the sink.

The whole group had moved away from the entrance and Elsie noticed that the advert that had first drawn her in had fallen to the floor and been trampled underfoot. As she reached the door, she bent to pick it up. Suddenly the landlord called out, ‘Hey, you – Else or whatever your name is. Get your coat off and give Stan a hand collecting them glasses or we’ll never get this lot served tonight.’

Elsie turned in surprise. ‘You mean me?’

‘Well, I don’t see anyone else, you daft ha’porth.’

She turned and walked back.

‘I reckon the customers will welcome a fresh face, so long as I don’t hear you squawking if someone takes a fancy to pinching your bum now and then.’

A huge cheer went up among the crowd as he said that and as she made her way over to the bar she had to dodge the hands that were eagerly trying to take him at his word. But she didn’t have to be asked twice.

‘How much?’ she said as she ducked under the counter to join him behind the bar.

‘How much what?’

‘Me wages,’ she said, trying to look him straight in the eye.

‘I can’t afford to pay you no set wages,’ he said, averting his gaze. ‘But you can keep all your tips. Be nice to the customers, keep them well-oiled and don’t keep them waiting, and you can do well here, particularly on payday. I’ll give you a bonus if the takings are good. And if someone buys you a drink, you put the money in the till and save it till home time which is nine thirty most nights and later on Fridays and Saturdays. I don’t want to see you drinking on the job.’

Elsie was disappointed. She had hoped to get some kind of regular wage. She had no idea what tips might amount to at the end of the day, or how she would know whether or not the takings had been good, but she couldn’t afford to turn it down. Beggars can’t be choosers, as her mam was fond of saying, and she wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. ‘OK,’ she said, and was about to add something but he gave her no chance.

‘Right, come and help me deal with this lot,’ he said, tossing her coat like a bundle of rags over a stool behind the bar. ‘And when things quieten down you can give a hand to young Ray there, washing the glasses.’ He went away to serve a customer leaving her wondering what she should do. But very soon she was pulling pints like she had been born to it and passing the money along for Mr Tony Harehill – he pronounced it like Arial – to put in the till, which he made very clear she was not allowed to touch.

‘Me and Phil there,’ he indicated the redhead, ‘are the only ones to handle the cash,’ the landlord explained when she had taken her first order. You don’t go near that thing – get it?’ He nodded towards the cash register.

‘Got it,’ Elsie agreed.

She was nearly on her knees when ‘time’ was finally called, though the satisfying clink of all the pennies, threepenny bits and even sixpences in her pocket more than made up for her aching legs. What she hadn’t decided was where to stash her new earnings so that they would be safely hidden from any prying eyes. Whatever I do, she thought, I must be careful not to let on at home that I have even one extra penny.

She wouldn’t even tell Fay, she decided; it wasn’t fair to burden her young sister with her secrets. At least, not yet. She would give no sign to anyone about her new job. Elsie wondered how she would explain her absence every evening. Thinking on it, she thought she could get away with saying that she was working nights at the factory. The place often operated around the clock at busy times of the year and the factory had been much busier than usual of late. Word had it that it was in case there was a war. Anyway, Elsie knew her lackadaisical parents were unlikely to check. The others would just have to do more of the housework now – as the eldest, she’d more than done her bit.

‘It’s gonna get busier than this before Christmas is over,’ Mr Harehill told her as he prepared to lock up for the night. ‘And I’ll expect you to work a full shift over the holidays.’

She readily agreed. The young man she had followed, who had spoken up for her at just the right moment, the one that the landlord had called Stan, seemed to have disappeared by the time she was ready to go home. She felt strangely disappointed that she hadn’t been able to thank him for the part he’d played in securing her the job, though she was sure she would be seeing a lot more of him now they were both working at the Butcher’s Arms.




Chapter 5 (#u8f0a9d97-61b1-5747-862d-3be2faefa517)


Stan had intended to see Elsie safely home after her first successful night in the pub. Apart from anything, he fancied her and thought he might be in with a chance, as he’d been so helpful and actually found her the job. But instead, when the noisy crowd of young lads and men who had invaded the pub were preparing to leave, he grabbed his jacket and slipped out with them. He was keen to latch on to the newly enlisted soldier. The lad said he’d come to say goodbye to his family as he was off to war the next day and Stan, who’d been thinking of joining up himself, desperately wanted to grab the opportunity to find out more.

‘Which way are you walking?’ he asked. When the lad told him, Stan suggested they walk together since he was going that way too. In truth, his home was in the opposite direction, but he had endless questions to ask and the lad seemed only too eager to answer them. They walked for quite some time, but Stan was too busy chatting to pay any attention to where they were going. So engrossed was he in the stories the young soldier had to tell about his recent experiences, they’d reached the lad’s house without Stan realizing how far out of his way he had gone. He didn’t want to admit how long it would take him to walk home, so he waved goodbye and waited for the lad to let himself into the house before turning around and walking home. But he didn’t mind the walk, even though it turned out to be several miles. It enabled him to clear his head, mull things over and consider again the decision he had made almost as soon as he had first met the young soldier.

By the time he was back in Weatherfield, Stan was certain he knew exactly what he was going to do. He too was going to volunteer to fight in the Spanish Civil War. This wasn’t the first time he had heard about it, but it was the first time he had met someone who had actually enlisted. The previous year a mate had persuaded him to go to a summer camp run by the Labour League of Youth. He knew it was something his dad would have approved of if he’d still been alive as he’d been a keen supporter of the Labour Party. So, Stan hadn’t taken much persuading. And he’d been pleased with his decision. All the lads he met there were working class like him and they turned out to be a great bunch. Mostly, it had been a good laugh, but things had turned serious when they got to talking about the latest war in Europe. It seemed that in Spain the democratically elected Republicans were being threatened by Francisco Franco and his gang of fascists. With Adolf Hitler supporting Franco, the Republicans needed as much help as they could get to stop the fascists taking over. The International Brigade was recruiting soldiers from all over the world and although the English government was against young Brits signing up, many of the lads at the camp were determined to go. The stories Stan had heard there were enough to convince him it was the right thing to do. Besides, it sounded exciting, a chance to make his mark on the world. What’s more, he reckoned he could make far more money fighting for a good cause than he could ever earn collecting dead glasses in a crummy bar in Weatherfield.

Stan had always considered himself a bit of a warrior and a chancer, though in fact his biggest adventure to date had been a day trip to Glossop. But fighting in a foreign country, even for a cause he didn’t fully understand, sounded thrilling. From the first moment, he was enchanted by the notion of going to Spain. He was already imagining the stories he would be able to tell when he eventually came home a hero, and the thought of impressing Elsie wasn’t far from his mind either. It didn’t trouble him in the slightest that he wasn’t sure how to get down to London, where the soldier had said he would find the recruiting office for volunteers.

Elsie saw Stan again sooner than she’d expected. Early the next morning as she came out of the front door ready to go to work, she was surprised to find him leaning against the wall, one foot flat against the brickwork. The window beside him was so grimy it was impossible to see in or out. Casting an anxious glance over her shoulder, Elsie was relieved to see that she was the first one up and out of the house as usual. If for once her father had been up and about, he would have had a mouthful to say about a lad sniffing around at that hour of the morning.

‘What are you doing here so early?’ she said. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’ She treated him to one of her teasing smiles. ‘Nice of you to want to walk me to work, but it’s only just down the road, you know. By the time you’ve said, “How do you do?” we’ll be there.’

Stan grinned. ‘I know.’ He lifted his cap to flick the straying lock of hair underneath it, then jammed it back down again. ‘I wanted to see you.’

‘You’ll be seeing me soon enough at the pub tonight. Can’t it wait?’

‘No, it can’t. But don’t fret. It won’t take a minute. Shall we just nip down the side so no one can see us?’

At this Elsie giggled. ‘Why? What are you planning on doing? Isn’t it a bit early in the morning for that?’ She was surprised to see him blush.

‘It’s nothing like that. I want to tell you summat, and it’s a secret.’

‘Well, that’s all very flattering. Thank you very much. But I daren’t be late for clocking on or they’ll be docking me wages. They use any excuse they can get, you must know that.’

‘Aye, I do. They’re all the piggin’ same, the bosses.’

They scurried to the end of the James’s house next door at number 20, and Elsie leaned up against the wall in what she thought was a provocative pose. But he didn’t seem to notice.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘I’m waiting.’ She was aware of the minutes ticking by. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Can you keep a secret?’ Stan looked suddenly agitated and Elsie felt a tingle down her spine. What was this about?

‘Of course I can,’ she said. ‘What kind of secret is it anyway?’

He hesitated before blurting out, ‘I’m going off to war.’

Elsie was puzzled. ‘But there is no war. Not yet, at any road. And there may not—’

‘Not that war,’ he cut in. ‘The civil war in Spain.’

‘Oh.’ Not wanting to admit she wasn’t sure of the difference, she nodded as if she knew all about it and then said, ‘Why?’

‘Because we have to stop the bloody fascists from taking over the country.’

‘I see,’ she said, though she wasn’t sure she did. ‘But why do you have to go? Spain’s a heck of a long way. Haven’t they got enough men in their own army?’

‘No. Not now that people like Hitler have muscled in. They need help or the next thing we know those fascist buggers will be running all over the shop here, too.’

‘It doesn’t sound right that you have to go all that way to fight someone else’s war.’

‘Actually, there’s men going to fight from all over the world.’

Elsie was flummoxed. She was only just getting to know Stan Walsh as she’d heard one of the regulars call him. So far she liked what she saw. She certainly didn’t like the idea of him buggering off to Spain to fight in some war. Who knew what might happen. He might never come back. ‘So what does your mam have to say about all this?’ she said.

‘I haven’t said owt to her. I told you: it’s a secret.’

Elsie frowned. ‘Don’t you think we’ve got enough problems here in Weatherfield, without the likes of you waltzing off to Spain.’

‘But it’s important that Franco is stopped.’ Stan was adamant.

‘Well, that’s all very well. But why do you need to get involved? And what if Hitler takes a fancy to coming on to us? Don’t you think you’ll be needed here?’

Stan looked thoughtful. ‘I can see what you mean, but …’ He looked uncertain.

Elsie moved away from the wall, preparing to leave. ‘Look, I haven’t got time to stand here arguing the toss. I’ve got to get to work.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Stan took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I just wanted you to know what I was thinking, that’s all.’ Stan lowered his eyes. ‘I shan’t be telling anyone else.’

‘I see.’ Elsie didn’t know what to say. ‘Well, thanks for telling me.’

‘So, I’ll see you at the pub tonight?’ His voice was eager.

Elsie liked that. She nodded. ‘Right.’

‘And you won’t tell anyone what we talked about?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Only I don’t want Mr Harehill to know what I’m planning.’

‘You’ve no need to worry. He won’t hear it from me,’ she said. She started to walk away but Stan caught hold of her by the shoulders. He leaned forward with pouted lips, but Elsie had turned her head so he ended up pecking her on the cheek.

‘Thanks, Else. I’ll see you tonight then.’ He turned to go. ‘And don’t forget: mum’s the word.’ He put his finger to his lips and disappeared while Elsie had to run all the way down the road to reach the factory gates on time.




Chapter 6 (#ulink_12fe9d47-8633-5a8c-8bba-b3d782fe1766)


It was exhausting being rushed off her feet at the Butcher’s Arms, particularly after a long shift at the factory, but Elsie enjoyed working alongside Stan. As Mr Harehill had predicted, Christmas was a particularly busy time, but it was also a time when customers were more generous than usual with their tips. In the privacy of the bedroom, when she was sure none of the other occupants were around, Elsie was gratified to see her small stash of money was steadily mounting as she carefully checked it on a Saturday night. She shared knowledge of the contents of the old biscuit tin with nobody. Not even Fay. And she made certain never to touch it if any of her sisters were around. She was looking forward to the day when she would have enough to buy her first present for herself. It would have to be something new. That would make it very special and it would be her very own. She dreamed of having her first proper lipstick.

Although she saw Stan every day, they never had time for more than a bit of playful banter as they were flying about clearing and refilling the glasses. Mr Harehill didn’t encourage what he called ‘chattering’ among the staff, and most nights she left before Stan did, so he couldn’t even walk her home. But there was something comforting about him just being there that gave her a warm glowing feeling inside. She was considering hanging around after her shift now and again so they could have the chance for a chat, but before she had a chance to act on it, she was surprised one night, a few days before her birthday, to find Stan had come in search of her.

Elsie and the other workers at the factory came out of work late that day as they’d been asked to put in an extra shift. Things were changing in the factory and rumour had it they would all be expected to do different kinds of work soon, though nobody knew quite what that meant. It was as if, despite all the optimism that was in the air, the country was still preparing for war.

As always, Elsie came out arm and arm with her friend Aggie and they said goodbye at the gate. Then as she turned to head for home, she felt someone tug at her sleeve.

‘Stop messing about, will you – let go of me,’ she snapped, thinking it was one of the ragamuffins who hung around the factory gates. They loved to plague the life out of the young workers, waiting with their hands out and pleading for spare change in their pitiful, whining voices. She turned round testily, ready to give the little so-and-so a telling off, for she was tired and ready to go home. But to her surprise, she came face to face with Stan.

‘Hello,’ he said, touching his cap as she’d seen him do before.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Waiting for you,’ he said. ‘I assumed you still worked here. I thought I’d come and look for you.’

‘Well, you didn’t have to look far.’ Elsie grinned. She was pleased to see him, but then began to worry that something might be wrong. ‘Is anything up?’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Nowt much.’ He paused. ‘I wanted to tell you I got a promotion.’

‘What, at the Butcher’s?’

He nodded.

Elsie’s jaw dropped. ‘When was that then?’

‘This dinner time.’

‘How did you manage to get that stingy bugger to agree?’

‘Fancy a bit of a walk? Come with me and I’ll tell you.’

Twilight had given way to darkness as they’d been standing and everyone else had suddenly disappeared. Only the nightwatchman was left, and he was busy fixing a sturdy padlock on to the factory’s wrought-iron gates.

‘Which way?’ Elsie asked.

‘How about we go to the Field?’

‘All right.’ Elsie was sure Fay would cover for her at teatime. She felt him fumble in the darkness for her hand. He put it with his into his coat pocket. It gave her quite a thrill and made her think twice about commenting on the hole she could feel in the pocket lining.

‘What’s your promotion then?’ Elsie asked.

‘I’ll be taking over Phil’s job.’

‘Wow! How did that happen?’

‘Till was a bob short. Old Hairy accused him of pinching. There was the heck of a row, then he told him to go. Straight up. No explanations. No second chance.’

‘Had he really nicked owt?’ Elsie wanted to know. ‘I didn’t think Phil was like that.’

‘No, I don’t think he is. Kept swearing he hadn’t touched anything, but Hairy didn’t give him a chance. You know what he’s like about that cash register.’

‘He’d take it to bed with him if he could.’ Elsie giggled. ‘Don’t tell me the mean bugger’s going to trust you to use the till.’

‘Not yet. He said I’d have to prove myself first. But that’s OK. I don’t want ever to be accused of anything. He can have it all to himself, for all I care. Less work for me. But he has agreed to upping me wages.’

‘Well done. That’s great. Did you have to beg?’

‘No more than usual.’

‘Then he must like you, is all I can say,’ she teased.

They had come to the flickering gas light at the end of the row of the houses. Beyond was the wasteland they knew as the Field. Elsie’s favourite upturned bucket seemed to have disappeared and there was nowhere for either of them to sit. Stan propped himself up against the end wall of the terrace and pulled Elsie towards him.

‘I first met you here, didn’t I?’ he said.

She nodded. ‘And then you saw me here the second time, the night I followed you to the pub.’

‘I remember,’ he said. ‘You shouted something to me, but I was in such a hurry I didn’t even realize you were following me.’

‘It was thanks to you I got that job. He never would have believed I was eighteen if it hadn’t been for you. But I’ve always wondered: how did you know my name?’

Stan’s lips twisted into a smile and he tapped the side of his nose with his finger.

‘Ah, that’s not fair,’ she complained. ‘Go on, tell me, I really want to know.’

‘No big mystery. After seeing you the first time, I asked one of your mates from the factory who you were. They told me your name.’

Elsie laughed. ‘Simple as that!’ But she did feel flattered. Her instincts about this lad were serving her well. She didn’t have long to dwell on the thought, though, because Stan put his hand up behind her head and pulled her face towards his. Then he kissed her full on the lips. At first, Elsie was surprised. Then she relaxed as she felt his mouth, fleshy and warm against hers. She responded to the stiffness of his tongue as he explored her mouth. This felt different from most of the boys she had kissed before. This felt really grown-up. They stood for a few minutes, holding each other, gently kissing. Then the light drizzle that had begun as soon as they started walking turned into a heavy downpour. Elsie pulled her thin coat tightly around her, but her hair began to drip into her eyes and she couldn’t stop shivering.

‘Bugger!’ Stan said. ‘What a bloody nuisance. I suppose we can’t just stand here and get wet.’

‘Too late,’ Elsie said, putting her hand to her already bedraggled hair. ‘I reckon I’d best get on home.’

‘I’ll walk you back,’ Stan offered. ‘Maybe it’ll stop.’

‘Yes, and pigs might fly!’ Elsie laughed, as they set off at a brisk pace.

Stan reached for her hand and held it in his, although this time he didn’t try to put it into his pocket. ‘Do you fancy going out on Sunday?’ he asked.

‘Out? What, like together?’

‘Yes, of course together.’

‘Where to?’

‘I dunno. I could meet you by the factory gate after dinner. We can go for a walk. I’ll think of somewhere to go by then.’

Elsie hesitated, then she said quietly, ‘It’s me birthday on Sunday. I’ve never been out on me birthday before.’ She wasn’t sure why she had told him that.

‘Well, in that case you can’t say no.’

Overcome by a sudden shyness, Elsie smiled.

‘Tell you what – can you ride a bike?’ Stan asked.

‘A bike? I don’t know as I’ve ever tried. But I’ve not got one anyway, so it makes no difference.’

‘No, but I’ve got one and I can lend you me brother Charlie’s. I bet I could soon teach you to ride.’

Elsie frowned, not sure if he was being serious. Riding a bike wasn’t something she’d ever thought of doing. Not recently, at any rate; she had longed to have a go when she was a kid. Fay had once found a tricycle on the tip. It didn’t have a seat and the handlebars were a bit wonky, but they had taken turns to ride it standing up while desperately trying to steer. She had ended up with the bike on top of her when it had tipped over as she tried to turn a corner, and that was the end of it. Since then, she had never attempted to ride again. She certainly had never tried on a real bike that only had two wheels.

‘We could go out on to the moors,’ Stan said.

Elsie hesitated, considering his suggestion, but he was persistent. ‘Tell you what, if you want to meet me tomorrow I could teach you to ride in no time. I’ll keep hold of the seat till you get the hang of it. It won’t take long, I’m sure.’

Elsie wasn’t at all sure, but she was willing to give it a go. It would be exciting to do something special for her birthday.

‘Do you know Coronation Street?’ Stan asked.

Elsie did know it. Coronation Street wasn’t that far from Back Gas Street, but they might as well have been on opposite poles they were so different. Coronation Street was a tidy row of neat terraces that had been built to house the workers from the old Hardcastle mill, which had long since shut and was now the raincoat factory. The residents who lived there now were ordinary working folk, just like she was, but Coronation Street had a proud air about it, everyone seeming to sense they were lucky to live there. It was very different from the squalid slums that were all she knew.

‘Of course, why?’

‘Because it’s got a good stretch of fairly flat cobbles. And that lot are so houseproud they always clear up the horse dung after the milkman’s been, so it’s never too slippery. You’ll be able to learn right quick there. And there’s a good straight run from one end of the street to the other.’

‘I don’t know—’ Elsie began, but Stan wasn’t listening.

‘There’s a slight slope that you’ll have to pedal up, but on the way down all you have to do is steer. Tell you what – why don’t I meet you at the factory gates, like I said, and I’ll bring the bike. We can walk to Coronation Street from there.’

Elsie wasn’t at all convinced she would be able to do it. To her, it sounded a crazy idea, but Stan was so enthusiastic she didn’t want to be a spoilsport and say no.

‘If I learn how to do it, can we really go out for my birthday?’ she asked, spurred on by the thought of such a treat.

‘Like I said, it could be fun. And me brother need never know I’ve borrowed his bike.’

Elsie for once was speechless. No one had ever done anything special for her birthday before. So that made her more determined than ever that by Sunday she would learn how to ride a bike.




Chapter 7 (#ulink_1e56b29d-f7cc-5a3e-920d-4c7354d487c4)


By Sunday morning the rain had stopped. Elsie couldn’t see out clearly through the grime on their bedroom window, but when she made her way downstairs she couldn’t hear any rain pattering against the glass pane. She was up even earlier than usual, wanting to make the day stretch out as long as possible even though nobody else in the house would be stirring for another couple of hours. She was determined to enjoy every minute of her birthday. Others down at the factory were forever talking about the things they had done to celebrate their birthdays; now, for the first time in her life, she wanted to be able to experience what it was to feel pampered and special. She wanted to go back to work on Monday morning and talk about what she had done and how much she had enjoyed herself on her big day. And Stan Walsh was going to make sure she did.

As she cautiously descended the stairs, however, she felt as if the day was already less than perfect. It might be her birthday, but she still had to do her early morning chores. Collect the water from the pump in the courtyard. Set up the cauldron. Rake out the ashes and get a new fire going in the grate. She needed to get through as much as she could and be gone from the house before anyone else was awake.

As she got dressed, she wished she could have worn something different. But that of course was impossible. She was by far the tallest in the family so she couldn’t even pinch anything from one of her siblings. At least today she didn’t have to cover up her dress with her work overalls or wear a wretched headscarf. The flowered print of her cotton dress had once been quite pretty, she thought as she smoothed her hands over the tight-fitting bodice and gathered skirt, but that was before all the flowers had faded. The only thing she could find to wear that made her feel different was a pair of fine lawn knickers that she pinched from her mother’s drawer. Alice had shown them to her once and said she’d only worn them on very special occasions. What kind of occasions her mother would have needed such pretty delicate underwear for, Elsie really couldn’t imagine. Not that Alice could fit into them at the moment, so Elsie was sure her mother wouldn’t miss them. They felt really light and special as she ran her hands over the fine gauze material. The knickers were still pretty even though they were no longer white. Just the thing to comfort her aching sit-upon.

The chill of the early morning was likely to remain throughout the day, so Elsie would need to wrap up warm. But when she had worn her coat last night for the trial run on the bike, it had flapped annoyingly around the chain, getting in the way, so today she put her cardigan on instead. She fastened all the buttons against the wind, but even so she found herself wishing she had darned some of the larger holes.

Elsie was still excited by the fact that she had learned to ride a bike last night. It hadn’t been easy, but she had conquered her fear and maintained her balance and by the time Stan had said they should call it a day, she’d been riding up and down the street in triumph. She’d never have believed it could be so exhilarating, riding the length and breadth of Coronation Street without anyone holding on to the saddle, and when she wobbled off a couple of times it had cost her nothing more than her dignity. But now she realized she was paying the full price for Stan’s tuition, for this morning her legs ached when she tried to walk, and sitting down was so painful she didn’t know how she was going to get back on to the bike.

They had taken a chance and hidden Charlie’s bike overnight under some old rags in the courtyard, and when she went out to use the privy she was relieved to find the bike was still there. She wheeled it to the factory gates where she was to meet Stan, hoping that by walking slowly alongside it she would be conserving her energy for today’s ride. She had no idea how far they would be going, Stan was keeping that a secret, but it was bound to be a fair way.

He was already at the factory and was leaning on his bike as it stood propped up against the iron gates. He was wearing his cap as usual, but today he had tied the bottom of each of his wide trouser legs with a band of string. Elsie thought he looked very dapper and dashing, smoking a cigarette while leaning casually on the gates, and she had to pinch herself it was so hard to believe that a man was taking her out specially for her birthday.

As always, Stan doffed his cap when he caught sight of her. ‘At your service, madam,’ he said as she drew near, giving a slight bow and making Elsie giggle. ‘And some little bird has told me it’s your birthday today,’ he said. From behind his back he whipped out a small package covered in pretty paper.

Elsie turned away to brush her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘No one’s ever given me a present on me birthday before. Is this really for me?’ she asked, overwhelmed at the gesture.

‘Really.’ He laughed as she began feeling the package, trying to guess what might be inside. ‘You’d better open it or you won’t be able to see what it is.’

It was just like one of the packages under the newsagent’s Christmas tree. She unwrapped the paper carefully, so as not to tear it. Inside, as she had suspected, was a bar of dark brown Bournville chocolate. A lump rose in her throat. ‘Thank you – thank you very much, Stan. I shall treasure it.’ She wanted to hang on to her precious present but realized she had no pockets to put it into.

At that Stan laughed again. ‘I was rather hoping you’d eat it. And you can give me a bit an’ all. But for now you can put it in me saddlebag.’ He indicated the small leather pouch on the back of his bike. She handed the chocolate over reluctantly. It did make more sense to put it away for the time being. And afterwards she would keep the paper he had wrapped it in. This was her first-ever present, and that was something she would never forget.

‘We can have it when we gets to the moors,’ he said.

‘The moors?’

‘Aye, I thought it would be nice to get out into the country. It’s not far, not now that you can ride.’

She nodded. She couldn’t tell him she was too sore to get on a bike today. Not when he’d gone to so much trouble. And after all the effort he’d put into teaching her to ride last night. She remembered how pleased he had been and knew she really couldn’t let him down.

‘Look, I brought this too.’ He brandished another package, this time in a brown paper bag. ‘It’s a sandwich, in case we get hungry at dinner time.’ He leaned towards her and kissed her lightly but tenderly on the lips.

A bar of chocolate and a sandwich! Elsie’s stomach fizzed with excitement; she felt really special now.

‘So, let’s go,’ Stan said, turning his bike. ‘You can follow me, I know the way. I’ve been up on to the moors loads of times.’

Elsie was afraid that he would see how difficult it was for her to lift her leg over the crossbar of Charlie’s bike, but as it turned out it she didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t watching; in fact, he was already halfway down the street. She wobbled along behind him for a short way then gripped the handlebars tightly while she tried to shut her mind to the pain.

‘I’m going to have a lovely time,’ she repeated over and over, trying madly to convince herself. ‘I’m not in pain and I’m going to have a very nice day.’ She lifted her head and felt the breeze in her hair. She thought of the sandwich and the chocolate bar in Stan’s saddlebag and like a miracle the pain seemed to drift away.

They were well out into the country and seemed to have been pedalling for ages when Stan signalled for her to stop. Elsie was some way behind him and it took a few minutes for her to catch up. But as there was no one else on the narrow ribbon of road, apart from the occasional car, she had never actually lost sight of him. When they stopped, the view was amazing. The choking fog and grime of the city were still within sight, yet she had never been here before. High up here on the moors she had a bird’s-eye view of Weatherfield; the rows and rows of brick terraces looked like one of those paintings you could see in the library and it seemed hardly possible that the houses were teeming with noisy and chaotic life, so peaceful and calm did it seem from this distance. And up here, amongst the soft, springy turf and the heather, was another world. There was so much space, almost no people, with only the occasional sheep. Stan had laid his bike down in the short stubby grass and was crouching beside it when Elsie eventually came to a halt. At that moment she wished she had been riding a girl’s bike. But somehow she managed to swing her leg back over the crossbar. She flopped on to the grass next to him and lay for a moment, spread-eagled, enjoying the silence, mesmerized by the hugeness of the sky. It was mostly grey with clouds that looked low enough to touch and only occasional pockets of blue. She’d never really looked at the sky before. At home it was difficult to see any of it between the buildings.

‘Not sure you should do that. It’ll be wet down there.’ Stan was watching her. ‘You’ll get yourself all muddy, if you’re not careful. People come up here with their dogs.’

Elsie sat up. Her dress was already mucky so it didn’t matter much. But she didn’t want to be the one to say that. Thankfully, she had just avoided a puddle.

‘You’re doing well for a beginner,’ he said, and smiled. ‘You OK?’

Elsie nodded but didn’t say anything.

‘I thought we’d go on just a bit further.’ He pointed ahead. ‘Over that next hill there’s a terrific view of the Pennines.’

She wasn’t sure how much further she could go, even if the view was better from the other side. It was all uphill from here, as far as she could see. In the far distance there was snow on the higher peaks. She trusted they weren’t headed there. The only thought she could console herself with was that there must be some bit where it was all downhill.

When they set off again, she slowed down considerably and at times lost sight of Stan altogether. But she kept doggedly at it and gritted her teeth until eventually she rounded a rocky outcrop and found him lying on an old newspaper in a grassy hollow. He was smoking, looking very relaxed.

‘What kept you?’ he said, his face creased into a grin. He patted a big sheet of newspaper that he’d placed beside him. Elsie was panting from the spurt she’d had to put in for the final hill and didn’t answer right away. But then she dismounted and sat down beside him to catch her breath. She nudged her elbow into his ribs.

‘You’re a cheeky sod. Do you know that?’ she said. ‘Pretending you’re so much better than me. Here, give us a puff of that.’ She grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers and took a long drag. But she dropped it as quickly as she had picked it up when she began to cough and choke. Stan rescued the remains of his home-rolled fag from the heathery stubble. ‘What did you do that for, you daft cow. Trying to be clever? I bet you’ve never smoked before, have you?’

Elsie shook her head, unable to speak. She got up and ran away as quickly as she could from where they were sitting. She needed to throw up.

Stan tutted. ‘I can see I’ll have to teach you a lot more than just how to ride a bike,’ he said.

The coughing fit slowly subsided and Elsie came and sat down beside him.

‘’Ere, let me make it better,’ he said, pulling her towards him. He put his arm round her and she let herself be comforted as he stroked her back.

Now that her breathing was almost back to normal, she could feel the cold striking up from the sodden grass.

‘Damn!’ she said. The back of her dress was wet. The wind had also picked up and it didn’t take long before she was chilled to the bone. But it felt so nice being there, just the two of them, that she didn’t want to spoil the moment.

It was Stan who jumped up, realizing he too had been getting his backside wet. ‘Fancy a sarnie?’ he said.

‘Oo, that sounds good.’

‘You’ve got a choice. Jam or jam?’ he laughed as he proffered the bag. Elsie stood up too. She realized when she peered into the packet that she was hungry and didn’t wait before she sank her teeth into two of the thickest chunks of bread she’d ever seen. There was a thin smear of red jam in between and it tasted good. Stan demolished his half of the sandwich equally quickly.

‘What’s for afters?’ he said.

Elsie raised her eyebrows.

‘As if I didn’t know,’ Stan said. He pulled out her present, still in its gift wrap, and handed it to her. Elsie broke it up into squares. She took a large one before passing the rest to Stan. She put the whole piece into her mouth and sucked on it. It tasted delicious. It didn’t take long before they’d finished the entire bar. She had eaten so quickly that for a moment she thought she might be sick again, but she was determined not to let her birthday present go to waste. She took a deep breath and neatly folded the coloured paper. I’m going to keep this, she thought, and tucked it into her cardigan sleeve.

‘We can go for a walk,’ Stan suggested. ‘Might help to warm us up a bit.’

‘Good idea,’ Elsie said. She was trying not to think of the long journey home, however much of it would be downhill. ‘I wonder who lives over there?’ she said, pointing to what looked more like an unlived-in old cottage than somebody’s current home.

‘Let’s go see,’ Stan said. ‘I’m sure our bikes will be all right here for a bit.’ And he reached out to take her hand.

As they had thought, the cottage was abandoned. Inside, the roof sagged ominously, but they crept through the door into the shelter of the ruin. As soon as they were hidden from view, Stan pulled Elsie towards him and kissed her. His breath was warm and sweet, and as his tongue probed her own gently, she felt a ripple of desire shoot through her. She responded eagerly, but at the sound of masonry dislodging itself above them, they pulled apart. It looked as if the roof might collapse at any moment.

‘We’d best get out of here before there’s an accident,’ Stan said, taking her hand as they picked their way out of the ramshackle building and down the path into what might have once been the garden. In the centre there were the remains of some small trees, and where flowers may once have grown there were now tall upright stones and boulders. At the end of the garden was a signpost but the names on the two arms had long since worn away.

‘Here.’ Stan’s voice was thick as he pointed to a clump of several rocks. They formed a dry platform with a back wall that would shelter them from the wind.

Elsie followed him out and they sat down together against the largest of the rocks. It was warm and dry, and as she made herself comfortable Elsie was aware of him looking at her with raw desire. Next thing she knew, they were wrapped around each other in a passionate clinch. This was even better than the last time. There’s something different about Stan, she thought as his hand worked its way up the back of her dress to unclasp her bra. There was something that set him apart from the boys who hung around the courtyard. Clearly he was older than she was. Not so much a boy, more of a young man. She could feel her nipples standing erect as his assured touch lingered over them and she knew that this time it really was special, for her body clearly wanted more. Shocked at her own reaction, she made no attempt to stop his hand when it slid effortlessly under her skirt. His fingers dipped inside her soft cotton knickers and she was glad that she had put them on. She almost wished she could display them. Suddenly it was as if Stan had read her thoughts, for he pulled them off – tearing them in the process.

‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’ she gasped. She was about to add that he should take care as they weren’t hers, but fortunately she stopped herself in time, realizing how stupid it would sound.

‘Well, we’ve got them out of the way,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘Now it’s back to the serious business.’ His beaming smile made him look anything but serious. But when she felt his hand between her legs again she realized what he had meant. Elsie had let some of the local boys have a grope and feel before, but for the first time in her life she was transported, carried on a rush of longing that flooded her whole body. Elsie wasn’t sure what to expect but when Stan pulled down his own trousers and she felt him enter her, she gasped in surprise as the pain and the pleasure entwined deliciously around each other inside her body.

Afterwards he took off his jacket and wrapped it round her as they sat together on the boulder. But then she remembered something.

‘Where’s me drawers?’ They looked around them, and saw that the wind had caught the flimsy strips of cotton and carried them as far as the nearest small tree, where they’d caught on one of the branches and now hung flapping precariously. Elsie could only laugh. And she could see that Stan was laughing too.

Once her knickers were reinstated, Stan offered her a cigarette. When she hesitated, he showed her how to hold it between her fingers and to breathe in gently. She remembered how Deanna Durbin had done it on the screen and did the same. She felt very grown-up and sophisticated. And so she should. For hadn’t she now got her first boyfriend. A special someone who bought her presents and made her feel like a real woman and not just young Elsie Grimshaw from Back Gas Street.




Chapter 8 (#ulink_c50a0d75-e11a-5940-b223-56d117683147)


Elsie spent the next few days almost dancing, feeling as if her feet were not touching the ground. I have a proper boyfriend, she kept saying to herself over and over, and no one can take him away. She was fifteen years old and she had at last found the kind of boyfriend who bought her presents. The kind who would stick around for a very long time. Stan had proved that, hadn’t he, when he’d asked her to go out with him again the following week. And hadn’t they been seeing each other whenever they could ever since. He must like her. And she certainly liked him.

After that first time they went back to the moors on Sunday afternoons whenever the weather held. Sometimes they rode together over to the other side of Weatherfield, up and down some of the hillier streets, to help her improve her skills. Elsie was quite proud of herself. Not only was she able to ride more smoothly as time wore on, but it wasn’t long before she was able to negotiate the narrow, unevenly cobbled streets and alleyways on the outskirts of the town without falling off. And she was no longer feeling sore whenever she mounted the saddle. She loved the freedom of getting out into the country, the feel of the wind in her hair, and she was happy to take any opportunity to get away from the foul air and grimy streets of her home town. Stan taught her how to control the bike properly and how to use the brakes to stop instead of dragging her feet along the ground.

‘Keep doing that and you’ll soon have no shoes left at all,’ he warned. Elsie tucked her feet away behind the pedals when he said that, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that there wasn’t much left of her shoes as it was, without them having to act as bicycle brakes.

She was so grateful for all his teaching, she thought she should offer him something in return. So she showed him how she and her sister often sneaked into the cinema for free of an evening.

‘I’m surprised you and your mates don’t know about it already. It’s somewhere to go when the weather’s bad.’

‘I’ve never been mithered to go to the cinema,’ he said. ‘Me mam took me a few times when I was little. But she only wanted to see soppy love stories. You know the sort. Lots of mushy kissing.’

Elsie stared at him, her mouth open. He looked a little sheepish as he grinned. ‘It’s one thing doing it, quite another having to watch others at it. So I stopped going.’

But once Elsie had introduced him to the likes of Billy the Kid and Roy Rogers, he changed his mind. Randolph Scott became his particular hero and after that he was happy to go with her to see pretty much any action film.

Whilst it wasn’t easy for them to find time to go out together, they did see each other every night at the Butcher’s Arms. Whenever she could, Elsie waited for him so they could stroll home together. If it wasn’t too cold, they would sit out on the Field for a while, smoking one of Stan’s roll-ups between them. One evening they came to the waste ground to find it looking quite different. Two or three small mounds had appeared that definitely hadn’t been there before.

‘What the hell’s this?’ Elsie asked, poking at one of them. Although it was sticking up quite a way out of the ground, when they peered inside it was possible to see from the light of the nearby gas lamp that it had been dug out of the mud so that part of it sloped down underground. It was dark inside and smelt of freshly dug earth.

‘It looks like it could be used as some sort of shelter in case there is actually going to be a war. They say the Germans have bombs that they would drop on us, if they can. I’ve read about it in the papers,’ Stan said.

Elsie was sceptical. ‘You bloody men, that’s all you ever think about. Why can’t you get it into your thick heads that there’s not going to be a war?’

Stan shrugged. ‘I dunno. We can’t be sure, Else. There still might be one. Then we’d all need one of these.’

‘If there was a war, I can tell you I wouldn’t fancy being holed up in one of them for very long,’ Elsie said. ‘You can’t fit many people in there, for a start. You’d need one for each of us or a bloody great big one for everybody in the street.’

‘I suppose each family could have their own.’

‘Oh yes, and where the hell would they put it?’

‘In the back garden.’

‘And who the hell’s got one of them?’ Elsie wanted to know. She was thinking of Back Gas Street and wondering where all the residents would go. In the midden off the courtyard?

‘That’s true,’ Stan said. ‘Not many folk in these parts have got that much room.’

‘Never mind that. The blooming thing itself is scary. It would make me feel like one of those animals that you see in books. Don’t they live in little tunnels like this? What do you call them? Is it badgers or something?’

‘It wouldn’t matter what it made you feel like, let me tell you if the bloody Germans did start dropping bombs on us we’d be glad of having one, even if we had to crawl into it.’

‘Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if someone bombed our house,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s about the best thing that could happen to it. It’s no better than a mudhole right now.’

‘Yeah,’ Stan said with a rueful snigger, ‘I know what you mean. It’s true of a lot of places round here.’

Elsie smiled. ‘Can you imagine – the kids would be like pigs in clover if these things started popping up all over the show! They’d want to be playing hide and seek in them all the time.’

‘True, and you couldn’t blame them.’ Stan went to investigate the little tunnel more closely. He ducked into the entrance. ‘You can just about stand up in it.’ He chuckled. ‘I can think of better uses than kids’ games.’ He stepped further inside, but not before he had grabbed hold of Elsie’s hand to take her with him. Then he pulled the tin door over the entrance.

Elsie was stunned into silence for a moment as they were plunged into pitch darkness. Before she could say anything, Stan covered her mouth with his own. She giggled as she sensed his hand groping under her skirt. Feeling him hard against her, she immediately began fumbling with his buttons.

It was over very quickly. Elsie hardly had time to catch her breath. It felt so amazingly daring; although the door was closed and no one could see them, they were practically standing in the street. Elsie started to laugh but it turned into a coughing fit and she lunged for the entrance and fresh air, with Stan hurriedly trying to straighten her clothing as she emerged into the yellowy gas light. She was still choking but Stan was right behind her, slapping her on the back. Then he fastened his own buttons before putting his arms round her.

‘Our secret,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘This is only between you and me.’

The idea of having such a secret with someone as special as Stan thrilled Elsie. Which was why she was so upset to discover that it didn’t remain a secret very long.

One night after work a few days later she went home with her friend Aggie. It was something they liked to do when Aggie’s family were all out and they had the place to themselves. They would sit together on the couch in the front room swapping stories and feeling proper grown-up. Elsie had told her friend lots about her new boyfriend and Aggie had been thrilled to share in Elsie’s excitement about her birthday present and the trip to the moors. But tonight when they sat down in front of the fire, Aggie wasn’t her usual smiling self. In fact she had a frighteningly serious look on her face.

‘Is summat up, Aggs?’ Elsie asked. ‘You know you can tell me, whatever it is. By the look on your face, anyone’d think the dog ate your dinner.’ Elsie nudged her friend, trying to chivvy her into a smile.

But Aggie didn’t smile. Her forehead puckered into a frown. She didn’t answer immediately and when she did, she refused to look directly at Elsie. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you,’ she began, as if Elsie hadn’t spoken. ‘It’s about Stan, and I think you should know.’

‘Why, what’s up wi’ ’im?’ Elsie was beginning to feel anxious now.

‘I mean, I know you two have been doing a spot of courting,’ Aggie said hesitantly.

‘I don’t know as I would say we were courting.’ Elsie relaxed a little and grinned. ‘Not yet awhile.’

‘No, well, you know what I mean. You have been sort of “stepping out”.’

‘Good God, Aggie, that makes it sound dead posh. It’s just me and him … like. Well, we work together at night in the pub. He walks me home afterwards. You know …’

‘No, that’s just it. That’s the point. I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know what? Now you’re talking in bloody riddles.’

Aggie hesitated, then said, ‘I suppose what I’m really asking is, do you know him well enough to trust him?’

‘Course I do. I don’t know about courting, but he is me boyfriend, isn’t he? He bought me a birthday present an’ all.’ Elsie jutted her chin out defiantly.

‘I know about that and you’ve said nice things about him.’

‘Well, I like him, why shouldn’t I? It’s only natural.’

‘It’s just, what I’m trying to say is …’ She hesitated again, then blurted, ‘He’s not saying such nice things about you.’ She stopped when she had said that and looked anxiously at Elsie.

Elsie frowned. ‘How do you mean? What kind of things is he saying?’

The colour had risen in Aggie’s face and there were two rosy spots on her cheeks. ‘I don’t know if I should. I—’

‘Course you should. You’re my mate, aren’t you?’

Aggie remained silent, avoiding her gaze. Instead she looked down at her hands, which she was clasping and unclasping in her lap.

Elsie didn’t know what to think. ‘C’mon, spit it out,’ she said. ‘I want to know what he’s been saying.’

Aggie took a deep breath. ‘He’s saying …’ She had been unwilling to tell her friend the awful stories Stan was spreading about her, but now it felt as though she had opened the floodgates. Aggie sat forward and Elsie looked at her in anticipation, but her friend only sagged back into the chair. The rosy spots had disappeared and her face now looked drained.

‘For crying out loud!’ Elsie was torn between irritation and alarm. ‘You can’t stop in the middle like that.’

Aggie spoke again and this time the words came out in a rush, although her voice was barely above a whisper.

‘It’s about that day on the moors. Your birthday. And you finding that old house and …’

Elsie felt the blood drain from her face. Knowing what must be coming, she wasn’t sure now that she wanted to hear it, but Aggie was still speaking softly. ‘You kissed him? Right?’

‘Yeah, I bloody kissed him. Isn’t that what people do when they have a boyfriend? Don’t you and Danny …?’

‘I’m not talking about me.’ Aggie dismissed the question sharply. ‘Did you …? You know … did you go any further?’

Elsie felt the blood rush to her face. The girls at the factory giggled about what they got up to with their boyfriends, but it was all very ‘nudge nudge, wink wink’ and no one talked in any real detail about what went on between a man and a woman – not to girls of her age, at any rate. Elsie knew that she wasn’t like most of the other girls and she was starting to realize that doing things your own way could attract the wrong sort of attention.

‘He’s my boyfriend, I told you,’ Elsie said, as convincingly as she could. But then she stopped. No longer so sure of anything. A cold shiver ran down her spine. ‘What’s he been saying?’ Elsie demanded. ‘I’ve got a right to know.’

‘Stan’s been boasting. About what you two got up to – not just on the moors, but on the Field as well.’

Elsie felt the gorge rise in her throat. She was so angry, she couldn’t speak. The toad. For that’s all he was. A snitching toad. And all the while she’d thought they’d had something special.

‘I hope I did the right thing, telling you.’ Aggie’s voice was tentative. ‘Only, I was mithered about what other people might be saying. Some of the girls at the factory … well, they’ve not been saying kind things about you. Calling you a slut and rotten stuff like that.’

Elsie gave her friend a doleful smile. ‘Ah well, you should know me well enough by now to know I don’t give a bugger what other people might say. What I do or don’t do isn’t any of their bloody business.’ She sighed. ‘Isn’t life hard enough as it is, without having to fight for me sodding reputation.’

‘Oh, Elsie, are you a slut?’ Aggie had such a worried look that Elsie couldn’t take it seriously. To her friend’s astonishment, she burst out laughing.

‘I don’t know whether I am or not. What’s more, I don’t care. All I know is the way Stan makes me feel – or he did, at any rate. Stop looking so worried, Aggs.’

‘But aren’t you worried about getting … you know … in the family way?’

Elsie cocked her head to one side. ‘Stan said he was careful, whatever that means.’

Aggie threw her arms round her. ‘Elsie Grimshaw, you’re a one and no mistake. What am I going to do with you?’

‘Still be my friend, I should hope.’

Aggie nodded. ‘Of course, I’ll always be that.’

‘It’s that bloody Stan,’ said Elsie, still fuming. ‘He’s the one needs pulling down a peg or two. He swore on his life not to tell another living soul. Wait till I get my hands on him!’




Chapter 9 (#ulink_e3a4324b-2034-5231-b6a5-729efd3d56b5)


Elsie left Aggie’s house in such a fury it was all she could do to contain herself. Somehow she was going to have to keep a lid on her emotions until closing time at the Butcher’s. With old Hairy watching like a hawk, she would have to be civil to Stan during the course of the evening shift; she daren’t let her anger spill over and risk upsetting her boss. In the event, all she could manage was short, curt responses whenever he spoke to her. The first time she did it, he looked at her surprised for he had no inkling of what was going on. She quite relished the fact that he would have to remain puzzled, for there was no opportunity to talk once they had set to work.

Fortunately, she had no time to think about it after pulling the first pint, for it was the stag night of one of their regulars who was getting married the next day. As she watched the men in the party became more and more drunk, Elsie thought with pity about the poor bride-to-be. The young groom must have spent the whole of his wage packet standing drinks for everyone at the bar, even sending some through for the ladies in the snug. Elsie was pleased with her own pickings, for she did well in tips by the end of the evening. And she could have been flat-out drunk too, if she had taken up all the free drinks every time they were offered. She did sneak a couple of shorts at the end of the evening when she knew everyone had been served. Not that she needed Dutch courage, but when she saw Stan slip himself a Scotch or two she thought it wouldn’t do any harm to be well fortified for what she knew was to come.

When she and Stan finally quit the pub, the rowdy mob from the pre-wedding party had left before them, nursing their already sore heads. Stan was in a mellow mood. Before they’d gone as far as the top of the lane that led to the main road, he was feeling for her hand. Elsie snatched it away and folded her arms firmly across her chest. Stan stopped walking. He was laughing as he stood in front of her, imitating her posture.

‘Blimey, Else, you look fierce tonight,’ he said. ‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were mad at me for summat. You’ve been snippy all evening.’

‘You do know me well enough, Stan Walsh,’ she said, moving her hands to her hips and planting her feet firmly apart. ‘The way I hear it, you’ve been telling the world just how well you know me.’

At that Stan laughed and looked relieved. ‘Oh, is that what this is all about? Me showing you off as my girlfriend? If a bloke can’t boast around the place about his woman, then the world is a sorry place.’

‘Is that what it was, boasting? Boasting about your easy conquest, more like.’ Elsie felt as if every nerve ending was fired and ready to explode. No doubt this was how her father felt when he came home sozzled and let fly at her or one of the kids. The booze definitely gave her that extra edge. But she didn’t need any more alcohol to finish this fight, thank you very much. Her anger was already well fuelled.

‘Of course. I wanted to share my good fortune. Tell everyone I’m the happiest man there is.’

‘What about it being “our secret”? “Just between the two of us”, like you said.’

‘Yes, well, doesn’t everybody say that? But it doesn’t mean you have to stick to it totally.’

Elsie opened her mouth to contradict but was so flabbergasted she couldn’t find the words. She didn’t have to worry though, because now that he had started, Stan kept going. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I should have thought you’d be pleased. I want everyone to know I’ve got the best girl in the world. C’mon, Elsie, don’t be cross. You know I think you’re a smasher. I’d never say nowt bad about you. It’s those jealous old bags at the factory that have twisted it.’

It was the whisky talking. Elsie knew that. But Stan’s words seemed to be having the desired effect and she could feel her temper starting to lessen, ‘Do you mean it?’ No one had ever said such a nice thing to her before.

He nodded.

She was horrified when she felt the prickle of tears and she brushed them away hastily with the palms of her hands before they could plop on her cheeks and embarrass her. ‘Gerroff with you!’ was all she managed to say.

‘Surely you didn’t think I meant to hurt you, did you?’ Stan stepped closer and wrapped her in his arms. ‘I wanted to shout it from the rooftops!’ At that he ran off to the nearest lamppost chanting, ‘I’ve got the best girl, Elsie Grimshaw!’ as he swung himself round. When he ran to the next lamppost, still singing out of tune, Elsie yelled, ‘Shut up, you daft sod! You’ll wake the neighbours.’

‘Good. That’s the idea.’

His grin was so cheeky, Elsie found herself grinning too. It was impossible to stay mad at him.

He came back to stand in front of her again and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Do you forgive me?’ he said, and this time he looked so apologetic she had to laugh. He might have given the spiteful gossips at the factory more grist to the mill, but could she really withhold her forgiveness?

At that moment a thought crossed her mind and she stared up at him, determined to meet his gaze. As she locked eyes with him, she thought: Bloody hell, I love him! And I think he loves me. I’ve seen enough films to know.

‘Yes, I forgive you,’ she said, and she put her hands up to his face. He kissed her eagerly and she felt herself melting as if he were Errol Flynn. It was worthwhile getting angry once in a while if the making up was always as rewarding as this.

‘What did you think to the stag do tonight?’ Stan’s voice brought her back to the street and the fine drizzle that was hanging in the chilly night air. They were strolling hand in hand now and it was as if the previous few minutes had never happened.

‘I’ve not been rushed off me feet like that since Christmas,’ Elsie replied.

‘They enjoyed themselves.’ Stan seemed deep in thought for a moment but his voice was casual when he said, ‘Shame I won’t be able to have my do there. But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to spend the night watching me and my mates getting pie-eyed.’

‘Your do?’ Elsie queried. She was not sure she had heard right, though she could feel her heart beginning to pound. ‘Have I missed something?’

‘You don’t have to worry. I’m not about to tie the knot yet. But you know we will one of these days, don’t you? I reckon we shouldn’t leave it too long to get wed.’

Elsie was choked. ‘The two of us, getting wed?’

He nodded. ‘Why not? I’ve told me mam about you and she thinks it’s a good idea. She’d like to meet you. I reckon we should think about it as soon as I get back.’

‘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.’




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