Wartime on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  There was a telephone box on the corner of the street where he lived with his parents. It was well-used and often vandalized by the street’s youngsters when they were bored and had nothing else to do, so that several of the window panes in the door and on the side were cracked or smashed completely, but tonight the phone itself seemed to be in working order and he went armed with enough coins to make more than one call if necessary. There was a dank, musty smell as he pulled open the door but before he got cold feet he dialled the number. It rang several times and he was about to hang up when a voice said a gruff, ‘Hello,’ and he pressed button A to connect. When he explained who he was a young-sounding woman cut into his planned speech and told him to ring back at eight o’clock when Dolly would be available to speak. When he returned an hour later, Dolly answered the phone and they slipped into an easy conversation. At least it was easy listening from his point of view, for once he had pressed Button A it was like throwing an ‘on’ switch. Dolly began talking and there was nothing that could stop her.

  Bob lost track of how long they had been talking until a young lad banged on one of the window panes of the phone box that was still intact and mouthed angry-looking words. He kept pointing to his wrist and shouting at Bob to finish his conversation, until Bob thought he had better heed his words.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Dolly, other people need the phone,’ Bob cut across her, ‘so how about we arrange to meet up? We could go to one of the cinemas in town?’ he suggested, anxious now to bring the conversation to a close.

  Bob was no longer sure he wanted to see her at all but he needed to do something that would get the rest of the gang off his back. Besides, he kept thinking of the promise there had been in the provocative look she had given him before they had parted on the night of the dance. A tantalizing look that had made him dream of what might be on offer in the dark anonymity of the cinema; a town cinema as far away as possible from Weatherfield so that there could be no danger of being seen by someone he knew.

  They met outside the Paramount cinema on Oxford Street and Bob thought he would impress Dolly by suggesting they sit in the more expensive seats. He was cautious about offering to buy any sweets or drinks to take with them, but before he could say anything she had made her way to the kiosk in the foyer. She picked out a box of Black Magic chocolates which she claimed were her favourites and a carton of Kia-Ora orange juice and then she stood aside, waiting for him to pay once more. Bob had hoped he might guide her into the back row but she said she wanted to be nearer to where the organist was playing and she led the way to the front row of the dearer seats.

  Bob sat with his coat in his lap and, as soon as the lights dimmed for the Pathé Newsreel before the second feature began, he slid his hand under it and reached for her leg. Without saying anything she shook him off and returned his hand back to his lap. After a few minutes, without turning his face in her direction, he put his hand onto her thigh once more, making a valiant attempt to slide it upwards. When she once again removed it and placed it firmly back in his lap he began to regret the extra money he had paid for the seats and he had to accept that he had misread her signs.

  When the lights came up at the end of the second feature, she once more gave him a sexy smile and tried to peer at him from under half-hooded lids. But he was no longer fooled, for he had come to the conclusion that she was nothing more than a silly little tease. He felt so cross he didn’t suggest buying ice creams in the interval, but she did, and he was fuming as he joined the queue to the usherette’s tray.

  Bob sat for a few moments after the film had ended, trying to read the cast list while the credits were still rolling before the lights went up. But Dolly began to talk the moment the words The End appeared on the screen and despite his ignoring her she didn’t shut up. By the time the auditorium was fully lit, most of the audience had already left.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed that,’ Bob muttered as he got up to leave, though he knew the sarcasm in his voice would be lost on her.

  ‘I did, thank you,’ Dolly said, beaming at him. She glanced up at the clock on the back wall. ‘And I’ve still got lots of time till my next bus.’

  Resigned to the fact that he would be forced to wait with her, Bob suggested that they went for a drink and he guided her into a pub at the back of the town hall, thankful that the noise level of conversation drowned out much of Dolly’s inane chatter.

  He ordered a small beer for himself and she asked for a port and lemon with the kind of confidence that made him assume she was used to drinking. It all seemed to go all right until she asked him to get her another one after sinking her first drink rather quickly. As if that wasn’t enough of a cheek, he thought to himself, it only took a few sips of the second port and lemon to prove him wrong about his theory that she was used to the effects of alcohol. The drink seemed to go straight to her head, for she suddenly began to laugh loudly at everything he said, while she talked in a high-pitched, shrill voice several decibels higher than necessary. It was not the kind of behaviour he was used to, except in someone who was very drunk, and it made him appreciate Vera, who rarely drank much when they went to the Rovers Return.

  Dolly was already slurring her words and her behaviour was fast becoming embarrassing. Bob was glad that he was a long way from home but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to end the evening. He looked up at the large clock on the wall.

  ‘I think it must be time for me to walk you to your bus,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Not yet, I’ve not finished my drink,’ she said and he was sorry he’d mentioned it for she suddenly began to gulp it down far too quickly, her behaviour worsening with each mouthful. He wished he could walk out and leave her there.

  ‘OK,’ she said with an enormous hiccup, when the glass was empty, ‘if we go now we’ll have enough time to get some fish and chips at Carole’s.’ She tried to stand up but she had to quickly sit down again. ‘Oops!’ she said. ‘Try again.’

  Bob’s eyes opened wide; he was anxious to be gone, but there was obviously no point in trying to rush her.

  Dolly giggled. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said. ‘I always have fish and chips from Carole’s whenever I’m in St Peter’s Square.’

  Bob continued to stare.

  ‘You must know Carole’s?’ she said. ‘They do the best cod in town, not to mention the mushy peas.’

  The whining tone that had crept into her voice was really irritating him and he didn’t want to think about how much money he had already spent on her. But he would gladly buy her fish and chips if it would only shut her up for five minutes. She hadn’t stopped talking since they had left the cinema. Bob silently counted to ten as he always did in difficult situations, then he grabbed hold of Dolly’s arm and firmly escorted her out of the pub, hardly noticing that it was beginning to rain.

  ‘Ooee! We must do this again some time, it’s been such fun!’ Dolly’s voice could only be described as a high-pitched squeal as she wove her way along the pavement. She barely avoided the other pedestrians as she ate her chips from the bag that was tucked inside a large newspaper. She had tried to link her arm through Bob’s until she realized she couldn’t eat and walk like that at the same time. But she didn’t seem to notice that Bob was trying to distance himself as she kept burping out the most enormous hiccups.

  Bob had to admit that the fish and chips were good, but by the time they reached Dolly’s bus stop he was feeling slightly nauseous and he threw away what was left in his bag. He started to reckon up in his head how much the day had cost him and he was sorry that he had. Vera had never been so expensive, nor had she ever been so much trouble; how could he have thought of replacing her? He had been led astray by his mates and he now wondered what he had ever seen in Dolly. He was sorry that he had let her think he was made of money. He had learned a rather expensive lesson, only a part of which he might have to tell his friends, but he was thankful at least that Vera would never have to find out.

  It began to rain even harder
at the bus stop and Bob made one last attempt to salvage his pride. As they stood aside to allow the alighting passengers to get off the bus, he put his arms round Dolly and, squeezing her to him, gave her as long and lingering a kiss as he could bear. He was concentrating so hard that he took no real satisfaction from it and he didn’t notice the first couple to step down from the platform onto the pavement, so he didn’t see Martha Longhurst, her arm linked through that of her long-suffering husband Percy, staring at him in disbelief.

  Chapter 30

  ‘How the heck should I know Ena Sharples’ daughter’s intended? Ena’s your friend not mine,’ Percy Longhurst said crossly. ‘And what difference would it make anyway?’ They were making their way towards Deansgate where they could catch a direct bus to Weatherfield, heads down against the driving rain that must have started while they’d been in the Regal cinema on Oxford Road. Martha let out an exasperated sigh.

  ‘The difference is that you’d understand what I’m saying for once!’ Martha snapped. ‘Here’s poor Vera thinking she’s going to get married and yet, while she’s away serving her country, here’s Bob Lomax necking, snogging or whatever it is they call it these days, kissing like there’s no tomorrow, with another girl! And not a Weatherfield one. It’s no wonder Ena never liked him. She took against him right from the start. She always said she could see right through him, I’ll give her that. Wait till I tell her this.’ Martha giggled. ‘I’ll tell her she can get that Eric out of mothballs like she’s been itching to do for a while since. Let’s see what Vera makes of that.’

  ‘Eric? Bob? I don’t know,’ Percy said. ‘I can’t keep up with our Lily’s shenanigans, let alone Vera’s. How am I supposed to know who any of these people are?’

  ‘It might be nice if you took an interest in other folk from time to time, then you’d know what I was talking about. I hope you would care if it was our Lily’s intended.’

  ‘But it isn’t, is it? She’s a long way away and not trapped in any long engagement nonsense with someone nobody approves of, so don’t talk such rubbish.’

  Martha stopped and turned to stare at him.

  ‘She’s no further away than Vera.’ Martha sounded incredulous. ‘In fact, she’s probably with Vera at this very minute.’

  ‘I wonder what they’re getting up to then?’ Percy muttered. ‘Nothing good, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Irritated, Martha shook her arm free as they walked across Albert Square in silence.

  ‘I tell you what,’ Percy said with a tolerant smile, looping her arm through his again, ‘when we get home why don’t you go round to the Rovers and then you can gossip about these people to your heart’s content?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will,’ Martha shot back. ‘I’m sure Ena will be very interested in what I’ve got to say, even if you aren’t.’

  Martha was disappointed that neither Ena nor Minnie was there when she arrived at the Rovers Return but it wasn’t long before Ena came in, waving the letter she’d received that day from Vera.

  ‘I hope she’s having a good time,’ Martha said, a rather smug expression on her face.

  ‘She most certainly is. They had some fancy party at the weekend up at the big house she’s always banging on about,’ Ena said not without pride.

  ‘Good. I’m glad to hear it,’ Martha said, trying desperately to get the most out of an element of surprise, ‘because that so-called fiancé of hers is certainly enjoying himself in her absence.’

  Martha sat back as she delivered the news. She tried to hold Ena’s gaze as she laid down her trump card but she had to look away as she saw her friend’s brows come together, her eyes clouding with anger.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Ena’s voice was strained. ‘What’s he been up to then?’

  Martha related what she had seen with a few embellishments and without explaining that the whole scene had only taken a matter of seconds. ‘All I can say is, you should have seen them.’ She had to look away for a moment as she was feeling intimidated by the strength of Ena’s anger but that didn’t stop her trying to make the most of her few minutes of glory. ‘All over each other they were,’ she said. ‘Like two ferrets in a sack. He couldn’t get enough of her.’ She took a sup from her glass while she let the news sink in, though she did become a little concerned when she saw Ena’s face actually turn from red to puce.

  ‘What did I always say?’ Ena barked out eventually. ‘You can’t deny it. I said no good would ever come of it and I’ve been proved right.’

  ‘What are you going to do, Ena?’ Martha’s voice sounded soft, almost timid compared to her friend’s.

  ‘Do?’ Ena said. She pitched her voice low now and that made it actually sound more dangerous. ‘I shall challenge that little worm, that’s what I’ll do. Find out what he thinks he’s doing, playing fast and loose with my daughter’s feelings. But even before that I shall be round at the Bowmans, suggesting that now might be a good time for Eric to write to Vera again.’

  ‘Oh, Ena! Do you really think he can?’ Martha giggled behind her hand and the words were out before she could stop them.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course he can. He went to school, didn’t he?’

  ‘Well I suppose he must have,’ Martha said apologetically, ‘but from what I’ve heard …’

  ‘What have you heard?’ Ena snapped. ‘A load of idle gossip put about by them as are jealous?’

  ‘Jealous of what?’ Martha felt she had to interrupt.

  ‘Jealous of the fact that Eric Bowman, possibly an heir to a sizeable fortune, doesn’t fancy their daughters.’ Ena sat back with some satisfaction, gratified by the reaction to her revelation. ‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded her head, unconcerned about what she might be doing to her own reputation. ‘He’s worth a bob or two, you know, is Eric Bowman.’ She gave an enigmatic smile. ‘When his father goes …’

  ‘Oh, Ena, he’s not that old!’ Martha looked aghast.

  ‘No, well, I’m not saying that he is, what I’m trying to tell you is that there’s no shame in rag-and-bone. In fact, there’s money in it.’ And she buried her face in her glass.

  ‘So are you going to tell Vera then?’ Martha tried once more to reclaim the limelight. ‘About Bob.’

  ‘I can’t write to her fast enough, Martha, believe you me!’

  ‘Here, let me get you another drink,’ Martha said with a satisfied smile and she took their empty glasses back to the bar.

  Minnie Caldwell had just arrived and was buying her own drink and Martha took the opportunity to bring their friend up to date. Indeed, as the landlady, Annie Walker, saw to the drinks, Martha took pleasure in relating the story again in fine detail. She hadn’t noticed that Elsie Tanner was sitting in one of the recesses at the other end of the bar …

  Elsie stepped forward out of the shadows as Martha and Minnie disappeared into the snug and for once the pub’s landlady gave her a smile. Elsie tapped the side of her nose and grinned back.

  ‘Sounds like Mrs Sharple’s is going to have her hands full with one very upset daughter when she finally comes home,’ Annie said and Elsie looked at her in surprise. It was more words than the landlady had spoken to her for a long time but she was not one to miss an opportunity for some gossip.

  ‘Do you know this Bob Lomax, then?’ Annie asked.

  ‘I’ve met him once or twice,’ Elsie said. ‘He’s been in here. He’s a good enough lad, and I know for a fact that Vera’s really sweet on him.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Annie nodded her head. ‘Then I reckon they’re both in for a shock.’

  ‘I wonder if he knows? Happen I should warn him that he’s been rumbled,’ Elsie said, more to herself than to Annie.

  ‘You could be doing everyone a favour,’ Annie said.

  Chapter 31

  Vera lay back on the hay in the corner of the barn and thought, not for the first time, how much she missed her Italian friend. She had grown used to his company during the long working days if they were assigned to the same task. She most enjoye
d their talks when they relaxed at the end of the day and she needed a chance to unwind before going in for supper. She would tell him about any problems that had arisen between the girls, any worries about her work. They would talk things through and somehow he would make her see them from a different point of view. After a chat with Pietro, things never seemed quite so bad.

  Today the work had been even harder than usual and her hands were blistered. She was tired and feeling miserable, but this time she had no one to talk to. It had been a particularly heavy morning, with the horses hard at work in the fields when one of the team had gone lame and she had had to quickly harness up a replacement.

  She had then been ordered to the fields where there were beets and turnips to be gathered and she had worked until she felt as if her back would bend no more. It was getting colder as the winter was drawing in and it was more difficult to use her freezing fingers to gather in the sprouts or to keep the circulation going in her feet. But she was at least thankful that the ever-earlier darkness meant that much of the outdoor work came to a halt early. She’d completed the jobs required in the dairy, having to crack the ice in the washing bowls before she could clean out the storage jars and, once she had rehoused the chickens for the night and checked the food supplies and water levels for all the other animals, she slipped away to the barn where she was now determined to grab a quiet moment before the evening meal.

  There was no one else there and she didn’t have the energy to climb the ladder to her mattress. Instead, she threw herself down onto the comforting pile of hay in the corner. She took the two letters Mrs Temple had given her that morning out of her pocket and peered at them in the dim light, then, sitting up, she pulled out her torch. Two in one day; that was unusual and she wondered who they were from. The first one she could easily see was from her mother and she put it to one side; but the other was from someone whose childlike scrawl she didn’t recognize. She slit the top open cautiously and turned immediately to the end of the single page to read the signature. The name ERIC BOWDON was written in the same childish capital letters she remembered from last time and Vera looked at it in disgust. What was he doing, writing to her again? This had to be her mother’s doing. Furious, she tore the letter up without reading it. Was she never going to be free of her mother’s interfering?