Snow on the Cobbles

Chapter 2

The refurbishment of the old pub, now to be called the Pride of Weatherfield, had almost been completed, and according to Bob he was preparing to open the doors to much razzmatazz on 14 February, St Valentine’s day.

‘After that,’ he said, ‘there’ll be live shows every Saturday night with a variety of up-and-coming cabaret artists and me, of course, giving them the benefit of my old magic act in between.’

There was no doubt the builders had done a good job on the refurbishment and Lizzie liked what she saw when Bob gave her and Hilda a brief tour of the premises. He didn’t seem concerned that she had no actual bar experience. ‘I’m sure you’re a fast learner,’ he said with a wink. So, despite any reservations she may have had about his somewhat over-familiar behaviour, she couldn’t afford to refuse when he put his arm around her shoulders and offered her the job as a full-time barmaid.

‘Play your cards right and pretty soon you could find that you’re in charge,’ he said. ‘I need someone I can rely on and you look like that kind of someone.’ But before Lizzie could respond he’d moved on to Hilda, officially hiring her as the Pride’s new cleaner.

‘I have to say, this year’s starting out a lot better than the last one. Don’t you think?’ Hilda interrupted Lizzie’s thoughts as they left the pub together after their successful interviews. ‘I call that a good morning’s work.’ She swiped one hand across the other several times in quick succession to indicate her satisfaction.

Lizzie nodded; she didn’t want to dampen Hilda’s enthusiasm voicing her reservations. She was just thankful that she had a job, and that at least it wasn’t in a munitions factory.

‘What with the war ending and all the soldiers coming home, the future’s looking right exciting, isn’t it?’ Hilda continued to bubble as she stared ahead dreamily, but Lizzie was too bound up with her own thoughts to answer. Suddenly Hilda giggled. ‘Fancy, live shows with singers and comicals in Weatherfield every Saturday night, whatever next? I think I’m going to like working there,’ she said. ‘What about you, Lizzie? You’re very quiet. What do you think?’

‘Hmm,’ Lizzie said, ‘I was thinking about what it might feel like actually pulling pints. But at least I shan’t have to worry about putting food on the table at home for the next little while.’

Bob organized a meeting for the newly hired staff the day before the Pride officially opened its doors and it seemed fitting that he addressed them from the stage, for he had a showman’s air about him in everything he did. And Lizzie could see from the start that he was not a man to be challenged.

‘I’ve already started developing a weekly entertainment programme as you can see from the flyers I’ve left on the tables,’ Bob informed them all. Then he gave a brief introductory welcome to Lizzie and Hilda, Pat Evans and several other young women who he’d hired as part-time barmaids, and a couple of shifty-looking older men who were helping out on a casual basis in the cellar. ‘And for our first night I’ve booked a local singer who’s recently returned from a tour abroad where she’s been one of the star acts entertaining the troops.’ Lizzie looked with interest at the leaflets that were being passed round, but was disappointed to find she’d never heard of the singer despite the build-up. She whispered as much to Hilda.

‘Me neither,’ Hilda responded. Her voice was well above a whisper and she received a glowering look from Bob.

‘On show nights, I’ll be acting as compere,’ Bob continued, expanding his chest as he tucked his thumbs under his braces and strode back and forth across the stage. ‘So, I’ll introduce the acts, tell a few jokes and perform the odd magic trick or two like I used to in the good old days in Blackpool.’ He was beaming now.

‘The one thing I’m asking everyone else to do, as you can see from the leaflets, is to wear something special for opening night,’ he said. ‘I would say wear your Sunday best, but that might be very dull.’ There was a titter from the floor. ‘So, let’s see if we can find a way to brighten things up and really let our hair down.’ He gave a lurid wink. ‘If you know what I mean. I’m offering a prize for the brightest and best so let’s see what you can do.’

‘Does that mean I’ll have to take my curlers out?’ Hilda chuckled. ‘Only he didn’t say anything about hairdos,’ she said and Lizzie had to stifle a yelp as she felt Hilda’s elbow in her ribs.

‘If we show the punters on the first night that this pub is really something out of the ordinary, then the whole neighbourhood will want to come to see what’s going on. And once they’re through those doors,’ he pointed, ‘all we have to do is to make sure to keep the beer flowing. In one night we’ll become more than the Pride of Weatherfield – we’ll be the talk of bloomin’ Weatherfield and we’ll knock our rivals, as the saying goes, into a cocked hat.’ This time he winked in Lizzie’s direction and she felt the blood rise to her cheeks.

‘Good luck, everyone!’ He raised both his arms high over his head in a sort of triumphal wave. ‘See you on Wednesday.’

Lizzie grumbled to her mother about the idea of dressing up for the opening. ‘What do I want to waste time and money getting dressed up for? It’s not as though I’m trying to get a new boyfriend or anything,’ she said. ‘Who’d want me anyway?’ she added.

‘Lizzie, you’ve got to stop talking like that. You can’t keep hiding away,’ Cora said, trying not to show her exasperation. ‘You’re young. What’s wrong with dressing up once in a while? You’ve got to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past.’

‘It’s not as simple as that, as well you know.’ A tear trickled down Lizzie’s face. ‘I won’t ever be able to let go of the past.’ She wiped the end of her nose with her handkerchief. ‘Besides, it’s not as if we’ve got enough money or sufficient clothing coupons to buy any new material, so what am I going to do, even if I wanted to go along with it? I’ve not even got anything I could alter.’

Lizzie pulled her only smart dress off the clothes rail in the bedroom they shared and held it against her while she peered down, trying to gauge its appropriateness. She shook her head. ‘I can’t wear this. It’s far too old-fashioned, too big, and the grey looks so dull.’ Her voice was close to tears again as she threw it down on the bed, then she shut her eyes quickly as she remembered the last time she had worn it. She had to breathe deeply before she could risk opening her eyes. Then she saw Cora had picked it up and was scrutinizing it.

‘It’s not as though there’s enough material in it to be able to turn it into something different,’ Cora said as she hung it back on the rail. ‘But I tell you what, why don’t you try on that green taffeta dress of mine? There’s lots of material to play with in that.’

‘You mean the one you hired for that big dance you went to with Daddy before the war?’ Lizzie turned to her mother.

Cora laughed. ‘You make it sound like I stole it, which I never did.’

‘I know. The shop closed down before you could return it after the do.’

‘Well, it’s true,’ Cora said. ‘So what was I supposed to do with it? Besides, it was well worn by the time I got it. But you’re welcome to have it if you’d like, so you are. Let’s see what we can do with it.’ Cora was already standing on a chair and, lifting down one of the boxes from the shelf above the clothes rail, she set it on the bed. There was a rustle of tissue paper as she removed the lid and a strong smell of camphor rose from inside. The anti-moth crystals had evaporated and all that remained were the slender chains of lavender-coloured thread. She carefully unpacked the emerald-green, shot-taffeta gown, standing back to admire it while Lizzie looked at it critically.

‘I suppose I could take out one of the panels in the skirt, nip it in at the waist on either side, and then shorten it. That would make it quite stylish,’ she said. ‘Providing Gran’s sewing machine still works, of course.’

Cora laughed. ‘It better had, or else we’ve been carting it about with us like a dead donkey. I was hoping to run up some curtains if I can find enough bits of material at the charity shop.’

Lizzie pulled the dress against her and tried to look at her reflection in the broken fragment of mirror her mother held up for her.

‘It’s a bit worn under the arms, but I could take a tuck there to get rid of the faded bits, if you really wouldn’t mind. I’d hate to spoil it by playing about with it too much.’ Lizzie sounded uncertain now as she looked to her mother for approval.

‘It really doesn’t matter what you do with it,’ Cora said. ‘I think there might even be some beads in the sewing box. You could dress it up a bit and it’d look really pretty, so it would.’

Lizzie turned to her mother and smiled. ‘If you’re sure?’ Then she leaned forward and, grabbing her by the shoulders, kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Ma,’ she said.

Cora laughed. ‘You might as well enjoy it. I’ll certainly not have any use for it again.’ She stroked her hand gently over the material and it seemed to change colour as she touched it. Tears were in her voice as she spoke and Lizzie put her arms round her, holding her close for a moment.

‘Oh Ma, don’t say that.’

‘Why not? It’s true. I’m not likely to need it again, now am I? When will I go dancing? Besides which, I’d never be able to fit into it; and if I did, it would only make me look like mutton dressed as lamb.’ She laughed ironically then immediately became serious again. ‘No, my love, you’ve still got your whole life in front of you and it’s important you remember that. I know it’s hard, because of – well, because of everything that’s happened, but you mustn’t hide yourself away.’

‘Ma! I hate when you talk like that when you know that I can’t—’

‘Yes, I know that it still hurts but it doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun sometimes. Your life can’t stop because of … because of what happened. So, you wear it and enjoy it.’ To her relief, Lizzie began to peel off her clothes and prepared to try the dress on.

Lizzie was pleased with her sewing efforts and on the afternoon of the opening night paraded her new dress for Cora’s approval.

‘It looks far better on you than it ever did on me,’ Cora said, generously.

Lizzie secretly agreed and she had to admit that the new outfit made her feel more light-hearted than she had done for a long time. ‘It looks very posh, doesn’t it?’ Lizzie chuckled. ‘Though it feels very strange getting dressed up in an outfit like this only to go to work.’

‘I’m sure it does, but maybe that means you’re ready to have some fun. It’s put a real smile on your face.’

‘You know you don’t have to worry about me, Ma,’ Lizzie said, with an optimism she didn’t really feel. ‘I’ll get through somehow, even though it’s not easy right now.’

‘But I do worry. You’re too young to—’

‘Oh, no, not tonight, Ma, please. It’s going to be hard enough on the first night in a new job and all that.’

‘I know, love, and I’ll be thinking of you.’ Cora stood on tiptoe and, taking Lizzie’s face between her two hands, kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Safe home. That’s all I’ll say. I look forward to hearing all about it.’

Lizzie arrived at the Pride well before opening time and she had to ring the bell in order to get in.

‘Now there’s a corker if ever I saw one!’ It was Bob who opened the door, an admiring look on his face when Lizzie’s coat fell open as she stepped inside. He gave a long, loud whistle and Lizzie blushed. Normally she would have reciprocated the compliment without thinking, but when she glanced up at Bob it was all she could do not to laugh because he looked like he’d stepped out of a circus ring. His red master-of-ceremonies jacket had seen better days and it was obviously some time since he’d been able to fasten together its gold braided edges.

‘Staff coats this way,’ Bob said, indicating the passageway between the bar and the kitchen, and Lizzie did her best to squeeze past without touching him. As she stepped into the bar she was impressed by the amount of work that had obviously gone into the decoration, even if it did look rather gaudy, for the whole room was festooned with streamers and balloons and cut-out red hearts.

‘I only hope the punters appreciate the effort we’ve put into all this,’ Bob said behind her.

‘I’m sure they will,’ Lizzie said.

‘Well, you’d best get settled in behind the bar, then,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford to open late on our first night.’

Hilda, too, made an effort with her appearance for the opening-night celebrations, although in her position as cleaner and general charlady she didn’t imagine anyone would expect her to come dressed in anything too fancy. She chuckled at the thought. Just as well, for she didn’t possess anything fancy!

The only smart thing she had in her wardrobe was the pale-green serge suit with its pencil slim skirt and nipped in jacket that Stan’s mother had given her for her wedding two years before. She’d worn it then with a plain white cotton blouse that she’d tucked in at the waist and she saw no reason not to wear the same blouse now. She abandoned the headscarf that she normally wrapped round her hair like a turban and discarded the curlers that were usually hidden underneath. Instead, she brushed out her fair curls and styled them into a victory roll that she tucked in and pinned like a pie crust around her head. She had suggested that she and Lizzie might walk down to the Pride together but Lizzie had persuaded her otherwise.

‘It won’t be necessary for you to be there so early, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’d wait till things warm up, if I were you. You’re not on duty, so if you time it right you can make an entrance like a lady.’

‘Ooh, just imagine,’ Hilda said, ‘someone announcing: “The Right Honourable Hilda Ogden”,’ She put on a high-pitched voice which was how she imagined a posh voice might sound. ‘But I suppose you’re right, there’s not much point, and I will have to be there bright and early the next morning.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Not in your best togs! I’d rather not think about what the place might be like by then.’

By the time Hilda arrived, the newly decorated lounge bar was filled with people from the surrounding neighbourhood and it took her several minutes to push her way through to the bar to claim her free drink with the voucher she’d been handed at the door. She saw Lizzie manning the pumps at the far end of the counter while Pat Evans was serving at the other. Both girls seemed to be rushed off their feet so she could do no more than wave at her friend and find a place in the queue. It was Pat who eventually exchanged Hilda’s voucher for a port and lemon, though Lizzie did look up long enough to point to Hilda’s hair and give her the thumbs-up sign of approval. Bob was nowhere to be seen. Hilda bumped into Phyllis Bakewell, an old work colleague who she’d shared a bench with in the munitions factory, and she smiled at her and said hello. Phyllis didn’t seem to recognize her at first and Hilda didn’t know whether to feel pleased or offended.

‘It’s Hilda. Hilda Ogden,’ Hilda said.

‘Of course!’ Phyllis said, after staring for several moments. ‘Sorry, you must have wondered why I was ignoring you, only you look so – so different.’

Hilda patted her hair as if to indicate what the difference might be and was pleased to feel that not one curl had moved out of place.

‘I’d never have known it was you until you opened your mouth, and then I’d have known that voice anywhere,’ Phyllis said.

When Phyllis added her own inimitable loud cackle of a laugh, Hilda was taken aback. ‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ she said, not really knowing what else to say.

‘I meant, I’m only used to seeing you in your work clothes. You look quite different dressed up like that and without your headscarf.’ Phyllis tried to make amends. ‘You look very smart, if I might say so.’

‘Ta very much,’ Hilda said. She decided Phyllis had meant it kindly and managed a smile. ‘I always like to get dressed up for my Stan,’ she added.

‘Is he here? I didn’t know any local lads had arrived back yet.’ Phyllis’s gaze surveyed the room. ‘Thankfully my Ron never went away.’

‘No, no. He was still in the prisoner-of-war camp in Italy, last I heard. But hopefully it’ll not be long now.’ Hilda gave a dreamy smile. ‘He likes to see me dressed up, does my husband – and he’s especially fond of this costume,’ she went on, not wanting to admit that she had only worn it on the one previous occasion. ‘So I thought I’d give it an airing before he actually gets here.’ With that, Hilda pressed her lips tightly together, made a slight humming sound, and moved away to one of the chairs that seemed to be vacant. She found she was sitting next to a glum-looking man she reckoned must be one of Lizzie’s neighbours in Coronation Street. Hilda had seen him before, she recognized him from his days as a volunteer air-raid warden, though he didn’t seem to know her. She remembered that in those days she’d thought of him as ‘a proper gent’ and he had taken his job very seriously. He was always shouting at people about the blackout and he’d never smiled much. She was surprised to see him at the new pub, for as far as she knew he was one of the regulars at the other pub in the area, the Rovers Return. But tonight he was nursing his free pint at the Pride, waiting for the entertainment to begin.

‘I don’t think you’re the only one deserting the Rovers tonight,’ Hilda said with a mischievous smile.

The man stared at her blankly as she sat down. ‘I remember you with your tin hat when you was a warden,’ she said. ‘I was the one you were always shouting at for being the last to clear off the street when the sirens went.’ She giggled. ‘I always seemed to be forgetting something when the doodlebugs were practically overhead.’ He still showed no signs of recognition, so Hilda said, ‘There’s quite a few others as I recognize from the shelters here tonight, folks who said they drank at the Rovers,’ and he finally nodded. ‘Happen like me they’ve come to check out what all the fuss is about, now they’ve done this place up. I wanted to see what they’ve made of it, because I remember when it still had the reputation of not being a place you could take a lady.’