Maggie Sullivan - Christmas on Coronation Street - The perfect Christmas read

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.

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.