Mother’s Day on Coronation Street

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Coronation Street is an ITV Studios Production

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Images (boy); © Stephen Searle/Alamy Stock Photo (Coronation Street).

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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.

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Source ISBN: 9780008256531

Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: [eISBN] 9780008255169

Version: 2018-01-10

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

March 1942

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Acknowledgements

Coronation Street – Still the Nation’s Favourite

Keep Reading…

Also by the Author

About the Author

About the Publisher

Dedication

To absent friends: Barbara Reid and Renée Byrne

Chapter 1

Annie Walker lay in the middle of the generous-sized bed, ready to close her eyes. It was a rare treat for the landlady of Coronation Street’s Rovers Return to enjoy the luxury of an afternoon doze, for the pub was the busiest and best in Weatherfield as far as she was concerned. The sunlight that was slanting through the sash window illuminated the dust on the dressing-table drawers and it was almost enough to make her get up and go in search of a duster – but she resisted. Her cold wasn’t completely cured yet.

Annie yawned and stretched, lazily grateful that she had been able to persuade her mother to come and look after the children for a few days while she took to her bed.

‘You won’t have to worry about serving in the pub,’ Annie had said when she’d asked for Florence’s help. She’d sensed her mother’s hesitation at the thought of having to pull pints behind the bar.

‘It’s not that, dear,’ Florence said, almost too quickly. ‘I was just wondering whether you might be better off going to the hospital. This flu that so many people are going down with can be very dangerous, you know, and you don’t want to take any chances, not with two little ones running around.’

Annie didn’t want to admit that it was probably the two little ones and their boundless energy that had led to her getting so run-down in the first place.

Thankfully, Florence had agreed to come and Annie had been able to indulge in what she considered to be a well-deserved rest. But enough was enough. Now Florence was beginning to irritate her and, grateful as she was for her mother’s help, Annie knew it was time for her to take back control of her own household.

Annie closed her eyes, about to drop off, when Florence made an unwanted appearance. She was brandishing the Weatherfield Gazette.

‘Have you seen what it says here?’ she said, waving the paper under Annie’s nose. ‘There’s going to be a special service for Mothering Sunday at the Mission of Glad Tidings.’

‘So?’ Annie’s eyes were already heavy with sleep.

‘So, I thought we might go.’ Florence began to hum ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. ‘It might be interesting.’

‘You can please yourself.’ Annie sounded cross. ‘But I shall go to Mount Zion Baptist Chapel where I always go. It’s where Jack and I were married and where, I believe, I shall be expected.’ So saying, she closed her eyes and turned on her side.

Yes, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, it would be timely to go to church and give thanks, if only for the fact that, although German bomber planes continued to fill the skies, the barrage balloons forced them to fly so high it had been some time since the Luftwaffe had managed to drop their bombs with any accuracy on Weatherfield.

After the horrors of the 1940 Christmas Blitz that had laid bare the centre of Manchester and flattened parts of residential Weatherfield, Annie had wondered whether there could be any more bombs left in the Germans’ arsenal to be dropped on Britain. But the Air Raid Precaution wardens had warned people to be vigilant because there could still be the occasional air raid even though the Blitz was over. Their advice was to flee to the shelters at the first signs of danger. Annie dreaded the thought of being woken up by the wail of air-raid sirens and having to rush to get dressed and make herself presentable. Regardless of the fact that they were encouraged to leave immediately the sirens sounded and not wait to gather any belongings, she certainly didn’t like being bullied by one of the ARPs or the fire wardens into having to seek cover without checking first whether she was decent enough to be seen in public. Annie was thankful she at least had her own cellar where she and any of the staff and customers could flee to whenever necessary. She could not imagine having to run with her two little ones down the street where she would be crammed together with all the neighbourhood hoi polloi who were seeking shelter in the basement of the Mission of Glad Tidings. Even the thought of having to rub shoulders, quite literally, with all those people was more than she could bear.

But, when she stopped to think about it, she was already doing so many things that in the past she would have thought were beyond endurance. Since war had been declared people everywhere, not only in Weatherfield, were suffering hardships and acting in ways they weren’t used to, doing things that, until the start of the war, they would not have dreamt of doing. And they had been doing them for so long now it was hard to remember things ever being any different. Not that Annie was a stranger to change and hardship. She had endured sudden loss and a dramatic change of life style when she was a young girl to such an extent that she would have thought it was enough for a lifetime. But even she had to admit that they were now living through some of the most challenging and troublesome times she could remember.

Who would have dreamt that rationing would have become a central and essential part of their everyday lives? Nowadays ration books were crucial for daily living, and shortages and deprivation were the major topics of conversation on the street. Not only were certain foods scarce, but supplies of such basic commodities as clothing, coal, and soap were also becoming difficult to come by, even with the requisite number of coupons. There was little petrol available to fuel the few cars that were on the road, and the scarcity of goods was becoming more widespread each month as different items were added to the list of things that were unavailable or in limited supply. More things were being rationed and restricted items had become even more stringently regulated. Sometimes Elsie Foyle, who ran the corner shop, tipped off the registered customers who shopped with her regularly if she knew something was likely to become scarce, and Annie had been persuaded to buy a few extra tins of powdered eggs, sardines and pilchards before they disappeared altogether from the shelves. However, worrying that they might be considered to be black market items, she made a strict rule that she would never eat any of them herself but reasoned that she had the health of two young, growing children to consider.

Annie was also affected when stocks of the beer she had on tap were running low. She felt a blush creep to her cheeks as memories flashed through her mind of the dreadful and embarrassing time she had had shortly after Jack had gone away to fight for his country. For a brief period the pumps at the Rovers had run dry. She had learned to manage by cutting down on the opening hours from time to time, or even reducing the strength of the beer. On nights when they were not so busy she would call time early, in order to conserve her stocks, and on occasion would open a little later than usual. She had heard it was not uncommon for pubs to run dry all over the country, but Annie was determined to do everything she could to make sure she didn’t have to suffer the ignominy of running a public house that didn’t have enough beer for its regular customers.

In her thirty-two years Annie had learned how to handle whatever situations she was faced with in life and she had become nothing if not adaptable to her current circumstances. What she did worry about, however, was not about her life now, but about what life would be like for her two young children if they grew up knowing nothing but a state of siege and war. She feared for their future and she wasn’t the only one to think like that. One of the main topics of conversation at the bar each night was customers complaining about the difficulties of living with uncertainty; the uncertainty of not knowing what the future might hold.

Annie knew what that was like too. She could never forget the dreadful times that had followed the dramatic downturn of her family’s fortunes when she was young and how she had grown used to not knowing what might happen from one moment to the next. She tried hard not to look back, but sometimes it was impossible to avoid the vivid memories and the stinging feelings of humiliation they still evoked. Her life had turned out to be very different from what she had once imagined, and she was determined to do all in her power to ensure her children didn’t have to suffer the same plight.

When she woke, Annie lay still for a few moments, gathering her thoughts and unsuccessfully trying to catch hold of the remnants of a dream that was floating somewhere at the back of her mind. Gradually, as the ghost-like images disappeared, she became aware of the buzz of conversation that was wafting up from the public bar below. It sounded busy down there, as it had on previous nights, and yet thankfully they seemed to be managing without her. If they weren’t, no one had said so. She didn’t move and remained with her eyes closed for quite some time, content in the knowledge that the pub was in good hands. She smiled with satisfaction each time she heard the ping of the till drawer opening and closing.

Lottie Kemp, although several years younger than Annie, was one of her closest friends, and to Annie’s delight she had offered to lend a hand behind the bar in the evenings during Annie’s absence. As she might have expected, Lottie had proved to be a tower of strength and was totally trustworthy to look after the takings. Sally Todd, who lived on Coronation Street at number 9, could also be trusted as she had worked in the bar on and off for many years and when she offered to work a regular afternoon shift during the busy times, Annie was delighted. It was good to have such treasured and valued friends at times like this. It was just a shame that, before she took ill, the new barmaid she had hired had felt the need, after working in the bar for only a few months, to join her younger siblings who had been evacuated to the country. A replacement was something she would have to think about as soon as she was well.

Annie pulled the feathery eiderdown up to her chest, glad she had not been persuaded to change her warm winceyette nightdress for the pink lawn cotton one, even though it was prettier. The calendar might be registering that it was officially spring but there was still a definite chill in the March air.

‘Would you like me to plump the cushions for you so you can sit up and drink this?’ Lottie broke into her reveries when she suddenly appeared at the bedroom door, steam rising from the delicate china cup and saucer she was balancing in her hand.

Now she’s dressed sensibly for working behind a bar, Annie thought. She liked her staff to look neat and Lottie was wearing a plaid pinafore dress and a fine wool jumper, with her dark hair scraped back into a tidy French pleat.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be up,’ Lottie said, beaming, her rounded cheeks spotted pink, ‘but I thought you might like this.’ She crossed the room to the other side of the bed so that she could put the tea down on the bedside table by the window but she didn’t get that far; all of a sudden there was a clatter and a bang and the bedroom door was thrust back on its hinges. Annie lifted her head in alarm, uncertain what had happened. For a moment she couldn’t see anybody as she struggled to sit up, only Lottie ineffectually trying to mop up the spilled tea from the satin eiderdown cover with her pocket handkerchief. Then Annie sighed with relief.

‘Gosh, darling, you gave Mummy such a fright,’ she said, realizing it was three-year-old Billy who had crashed into the room. His fair hair was standing up in spikes and he looked like he had just crawled out of bed.

‘Where’s Joanie?’ he demanded. ‘I can’t find her.’ He ran his hands in exasperation over his hair with the gesture of an adult and Annie couldn’t help smiling.

‘Have you lost her? Or is she hiding?’ Annie asked, humouring him.

‘She’s hiding, but where is she? Doesn’t she know she can’t escape?’ He threw open the wardrobe doors and the doors of the tallboy, not bothering to close them again. He even pulled out the dressing-table drawers and left them half on the floor. Then he knocked over the wicker chair, heedless of the clothes that had been neatly folded on the seat, and finally he bent down to peer under the bed, flinging Annie’s slippers and a pair of shoes out across the landing. And all the time he was shouting, ‘Where are you, silly sister? You’ll be sorry, Joanie Pony, if you don’t tell me where you are. And when Daddy comes home I’ll make him send you back to wherever it was you came from.’

Annie laughed when he said that. ‘You’re the silly Billy,’ she said fondly. ‘She is only two years old after all, and you do know, darling, that the whole point of hide-and-seek is for you to go and look for her? There’s not much point in her telling you where she is. Where’s the fun in that?’

One of the things Annie did worry about was how much her mother pandered to the children, especially Billy, unlike Annie who tried to be firm but fair. He was reaching an age when he would really benefit from a more disciplined hand. If she was honest, he needed his father.

Billy turned to Annie and stuck out his tongue, then he pulled a grotesque face aimed towards Lottie who was standing frozen near the window, still holding the cup and saucer. ‘I wonder what I’ve done to deserve that,’ Lottie sighed while Annie gave a little chuckle and smiled indulgently. Billy stared at her without smiling back, then suddenly said, ‘I want that tea, Mam,’ and made a lunge for the half-filled cup in Lottie’s hand.

Annie sighed. ‘How many times have I to tell you not to call me that, Billy? Remember what I said? It’s Mother or Mummy. Mam’s so common.’

Billy paid her no heed. It was as if she hadn’t spoken as he grabbed the cup and gulped down some of the remaining tea, spilling what was left over his short grey flannel trousers. Lottie made a tapping gesture to indicate he should replace the cup on the saucer but instead he threw it across the room where it hit the doorjamb and smashed into several pieces.

‘Oh darling, look what you’ve done. There was no need for that, you know,’ Annie said sympathetically. ‘Now poor Lottie is going to have to clean that up. If you’re thirsty, why don’t you go downstairs and ask Grandma if you can have a proper cup of tea, then you can sit down and drink it nicely. And if you’re very good she might even find a biscuit for you.’

‘No she won’t,’ Billy said scornfully, ‘because I’ve eaten them all.’ He scuffed his feet over the carpet as he walked towards the door. ‘And I didn’t let Joanie have any.’

‘Oh, and be a love before you go,’ Annie called after him. ‘Shut the wardrobe doors will you, for Mummy, please.’

Billy looked up and aimed a kick at the wardrobe before jumping over the shattered cup. Suddenly Joanie appeared on the landing from the direction of one of the bedrooms, but Billy just pushed her out of the way, almost knocking her down the stairs as he raced ahead of her shouting, ‘Grammy, I’m hungry. I want my tea and Joanie’s been naughty so she can’t have any. Mummy says so.’

Annie didn’t hear her mother’s reply, though she could hear the clanging of pots coming from the kitchen. She turned to Lottie apologetically. ‘Boys will be boys,’ she said. ‘He didn’t mean any harm. He just doesn’t know his own strength.’ And she laughed.

Lottie’s only response was a deep sigh. She was still holding the saucer that was intact but, ignoring the smashed china, she scooped up Joanie, who was sitting on the landing trying to pair up the stray shoes and slippers, and without a word carried her downstairs.

Annie shook her head and folded her arms across her chest, a wry smile on her lips. ‘Children!’ she clucked softly. ‘They can be such a tonic and a torture all at the same time. I really should be thankful for what I’ve got. I’m very lucky to have two healthy children living safely with me. All of us together in our own home.’ It put her in mind of what her mother had said about Mothering Sunday. She would make it her business to go to church on that day, but the Baptist church not the Mission. And she would make sure she said an extra special prayer of thanks, for she was truly blessed. Not everyone, particularly in Weatherfield, was so privileged.

Her thoughts turned for a moment to the unfortunate children who, for one reason or another, had been separated from their mothers by the war and she felt an unusual prickling sensation behind her eyes. She remembered those who had been sent away when the war had only just got underway. Some, she had heard, had even been sent as far away as Canada and Australia, but most had been evacuated to the English countryside which was deemed to be safer than the industrial cities. She had watched, distressed, from her own doorstep as large numbers of local children from Bessie Street School were rounded up like sheep. Each carried a small suitcase as if they were going on their holidays but she knew that wasn’t the case. They had name badges pinned to their coats and they looked lost and bewildered as they were marched off, hand in hand, by their teacher Ada Hayes. Annie would never have let her Billy go away like that, or Joanie. Who knew where they might have ended up? She’d heard some terrible tales and some of the children actually had to come back, their billets were so dreadful. And yet some of those who hadn’t sent their children away had undergone dreadful difficulties too, in different ways.

Yes, Annie sighed. She had much to be thankful for. Manchester had suffered terrible damage as a result of the bombing raids during the 1940 Christmas Blitz and some parts of Weatherfield had been particularly badly hit. Whole streets had been destroyed and some unfortunate families had been cruelly split apart, parents or children missing presumed dead, their homes destroyed, the remaining family members left in dire distress. Fortunately, most of Coronation Street had withstood the onslaught and many lives had been saved thanks to people diving into cellars like the one underneath the Rovers or the air-raid shelter below the Mission. But the Blitz was like a wake-up call to the residents who remained, a reminder of the serious implications of the country being at war. People realized they needed to pull together and the residents of Weatherfield wanted to get involved in any way they could.

Most of the young able-bodied men, including her own beloved Jack, had signed up for the forces as soon as war was declared. Even men like Elsie Tanner’s bully-boy husband, Arnold, had joined the navy before he needed to, before any serious battles were underway, even though it meant leaving his pregnant bride to manage as best she could. The local factories that had once been the financial centre to the cotton industry had switched their production skills to war work, employing all the local women who were now being conscripted to work. Instead of being at the heart of the cotton trade manufacturing the fine cotton goods they once had, they now produced uniforms, tank and gun parts and other much needed armaments and munitions.

At the same time, those men who were not eligible to be called up into the forces, or were deemed to be medically unfit to fight, took on other war time responsibilities. Some became fire wardens who issued warnings about incendiary bombs, while others, like Albert Tatlock from number 1 Coronation Street and Ena Sharples from the Mission, became ARP wardens. Their main duties were to watch with a careful eye that no one contravened the blackout laws and to round up residents and help them to reach the shelters in time during air raids. As food became scarcer, and imported goods such as fruit and sugar disappeared completely from the shelves, those who had a patch of spare ground at the backs of their houses, no matter how small, began to create victory gardens where they grew as many of their own vegetables as they had space for. Neighbouring, which had once been a feature of life for those living in the crowded neighbourhoods with back-to-back terraced housing, began again in earnest, as people keenly looked out for their neighbours and frequently popped in and out of each other’s houses. After the Blitz, everyone in Weatherfield, from Coronation Street and beyond, began to pull together like never before. No pint of milk was left on the doorstep for long without someone enquiring about why it hadn’t been taken in. Annie herself had good reason to be thankful to her neighbours, Albert and Bessie Tatlock at number 1, whenever the sirens sounded for she needed help dressing her two little ones in their siren suits while trying to hurry them down into the cellar.

Annie had never had much time for Elsie Tanner who lived at number 11, dismissing her as common and ungodly, but even she had joined in when the whole street had rallied to help poor Elsie deal with the horrific loss of almost all her family. That event had allowed the swelling number of congregants at the Mission of Glad Tidings to catch an astonishing glimpse of Ena Sharples’ softer side and afterwards, when two of Elsie’s sisters were found alive, the singing from the Mission could be heard from one end of the street to the other. Sometimes all people could offer was nothing more than a small gesture of kindness, or a shoulder to cry on, but that didn’t make their contribution any less valued. The camaraderie and unlikely friendships that were struck during that time helped to bond the whole community. That was when Annie Walker realized, for the first time, that not only her clientele but the Rovers Return itself was at the heart of that community.