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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.’
Hilda pursed her lips, not wanting to admit Stan had brought her here on several occasions when it was still called the Tripe Dresser’s Arms. ‘You don’t have to apologize,’ she said stiffly. ‘It doesn’t matter to me where you choose to drink. It’s the landlady up at the Rovers I feel sorry for. She’s the one who’ll be licking her wounds tonight.’
‘If I pays me money I can take me choice of where I sup,’ the man said, and he took a long drink from his pint. ‘Happen Annie Walker will have to look sharp if she wants to keep hold of all her regulars on a Saturday night.’
‘I, of course, have the privilege of working here,’ Hilda said, unable to keep the boastfulness out of her voice, ‘so I’ve come here tonight to offer my support.’ Her hands strayed to the nape of her neck where she detected several loosened strands of hair and she wound them nervously round her finger into a small roll. She gave a satisfied smile. ‘At least, that is, until my Stan gets back from Italy. He’s a prisoner of war over there, been there a while, but if the news is anything to go by, I reckon he could be coming home soon.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ the man said. ‘Haven’t you heard what’s been going on in Germany? Our boys have been involved in some kind of bombing raids over there, a place called Dresden. That could set things back a fair bit, so it’s not over yet.’ Before he could say more, Phyllis Bakewell had pushed her way through the crowd and had come to sit with them followed by an even larger lady with a strident voice who, it seemed, ran the corner shop where Phyllis was registered with her ration coupons. From their ongoing argument it seemed the two had had many a clash with Phyllis having strong words to say about the lack of availability of certain food items for the shop’s regular customers. She practically accused the shopkeeper of running a black market, but before the larger woman could reply, Phyllis suddenly changed tack and turned to Hilda.
‘So, you say your husband’s still overseas. Stan Ogden you said his name was? – how can you be sure they’ll let him come home soon?’ she said as she set down her Campari and soda on the little table between them and chortled as she tried to twist her outsized body in the chair so that she could face Hilda.
‘Of course they will, and don’t you be saying otherwise,’ Hilda said, shocked at the suggestion.
‘I’d be careful what you wish for,’ another voice said, ‘for you may not want him home if it’s the Stan Ogden I remember.’ Hilda looked up, horrified, particularly as she didn’t know the man who now joined the group, but it seemed it was Ron Bakewell, Phyllis’s husband, and that he’d known Stan as a young lad. Ron sat down. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I hope you’ve got a job that pays well, cos otherwise you’ll be hard put to keep his body and soul together as well as your own.’ There was a general titter of amusement among the group and Hilda bristled. She was about to respond with a sharp-tongued reply but Ron turned away from her as he pulled up a stool so that he could sit next to his wife.
‘If you’ve not, maybe he won’t want to come home after all,’ Phyllis said as he joined them. ‘It might dawn on him that he’d be better off staying where he is with guaranteed sunshine and regular meals.’
At that, everyone in the little group laughed and Hilda, uncertain at first, decided to join in, somehow managing to reassure herself that it was just a joke and that they meant no harm. Over the years she’d often been the butt of others’ jokes, but she had found that if she smiled and didn’t object, their playful banter would sometimes make her feel as if she was one of them, even if she wasn’t.
It had been like that with the kids she went to school with, when she’d tried so hard to be one of the gang. They’d teased her mercilessly, always picking on her faults and shortcomings, never seeing any good in her. They used to call her ‘two planks’. ‘Cos that’s what you’re as thick as,’ they’d chant when they were out in the schoolyard during playtime or racing off home at the end of the day. Then they would scamper away, leaving her on her own with no way to defend herself against any of the gangs from other schools and with no chance of running fast enough to catch up with them. How she’d hated those children then. Most of them were worse off than her family was, though it was hard for her to remember that when they tried to lord it over her pretending that they weren’t. But unlike many of the others, she and her two brothers at least had something to eat most days and they had clothes to wear, even if they didn’t always have shoes. She’d also consoled herself that her mother and father had shown her some love – when they weren’t drunk. But it wasn’t in her nature to call the other kids bad names, however poor or stupid they were.
In the end she’d had the last laugh over those she considered to be ‘uppity’, because here she was now, a married woman with an important job in a new pub. A job that paid her enough to rent two rooms in the heart of Weatherfield. Sadly, so many of the young lads had been killed or injured in the war, while most of the girls she knew had made disastrous marriages that usually involved a trail of children, even at their young age. ‘I wasn’t too thick to recognize a good ’un when I met my Stan,’ she reminded herself whenever she thought back to those difficult school years. ‘I spotted him as the man for me right from the start, and even if he didn’t exactly match up to Clark Gable, he was smart enough to live out most of the war in a prisoner-of-war camp in the sun.’
Suddenly a loud voice was calling for hush and Hilda, remembering where she was, saw that her new boss, Bob Bennett, was banging on an empty pint mug with a spoon. He had come on stage wearing a top hat that looked as old as his master-of-ceremonies outfit and was perched uncomfortably on the top of his head, but as he began to speak he took the hat off and stood it upside down on a chair by the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could take a few minutes of your time,’ Bob began. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to shout while they’re still playing about with the electrics back there, so I hope you can all hear me.’
There were shouts of, ‘Get on with it before the lights go out,’ and ‘Anyone got a spare bob for the meter?’ but Bob was not a stranger to projecting his voice.
‘It might seem strange to be celebrating the reopening of our lovely new pub on a Wednesday night,’ Bob continued, ‘but then as you know this is no ordinary Wednesday night.’ He paused while he scanned the room, taking in the large crowd. Then he lifted the tankard and shouted, ‘This is Valentine’s night.’
‘I’ll drink to that!’ someone called out.
‘Indeed!’ said Bob, raising his pint pot in the air once more. ‘So let’s have a toast to all our brave soldiers, especially to our absent loved ones to let them know we’re missing them and waiting for them to come safely home.’ Then he turned his head in different directions as he mouthed the words, ‘and we’re keeping the bed warm’ with an exaggerated wink, and several individual cheers went up. ‘And let’s have another toast,’ Bob went on, ‘to all those who’ve made it here today, on this very special, romantic night. Let’s raise our glasses to Saint Valentine.’ He turned towards Lizzie as he lifted his glass.
‘To Saint Valentine!’ everyone in the room responded.
‘To the end of the war!’ someone else called out and a rousing cheer went up again. As the room quietened, Hilda could hear Ron Bakewell muttering to his wife about possible delays to the war ending because of Dresden and the RAF bombers and Phyllis passed the news on like the Chinese whispers game they used to play in school. But Hilda had set her mind on the thought that the war was ending and that Stan would be home soon and she didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary, so she stood up and began edging her way towards the other end of the counter where she could see Lizzie was still swapping vouchers for free drinks.
‘All we want now,’ Bob was speaking again, ‘is for the war to end sooner than they’ve been forecasting recently.’
For a moment Hilda paused as people cheered and banged their fists on the tables.
‘For when that happens, an even greater celebration will be in order,’ he said.
‘How about a free jar every night of the week?’ a voice called out, and it took some time for the ripples of laughter to die down.
Bob raised his hand for silence. ‘I can’t promise free booze, but I can guarantee that having fun is what this pub is all about.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘And that’s what makes it different from any other pub in the area. So just make sure you don’t get them confused. “Any excuse for a knees-up” is our motto, because you must admit fun has been in rather short supply of late.’
Hilda had finally reached Lizzie and she leaned over the counter. ‘From where I’m standing, Bob Bennett looks like’s never been short of having a bit of fun,’ she said quietly, then she pursed her lips.
‘I’m sure that’s true,’ Lizzie said with a grin.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Hilda said. ‘Every time I look at him he seems to have his hand on someone’s backside. And I’m just making sure it isn’t mine.’
Lizzie raised her eyebrows.
‘And he never gets within spitting distance of you that he isn’t putting his arm round you and giving you a quick squeeze. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ Hilda added wagging her finger at Lizzie.
Now Lizzie laughed. ‘I can’t say as I’ve noticed, Hilda, honestly, I’ve been that busy, but I’m sure he means no harm.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Hilda said, ‘though I’m not surprised tonight when you’ve got that really pretty frock on. It’s far too nice for work. But I can tell you now I’ll have something to say if he lays one finger on me.’
‘I don’t know how he’s resisted that tonight, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. Hilda turned to look at her sharply, not sure what to make of the remark. ‘In fact, you’ll have to look out for all the men. No, I mean it,’ Lizzie said when Hilda protested. ‘I’ve not seen you dressed up like that before and I’ve been wanting to tell you since you first came in, that you look lovely. I love the way you’ve brushed out your hair too,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s very in vogue, and it really suits you. It’s good to see what’s been hidden underneath your headscarf all this time. I can see I’ll have to persuade you to leave off with your curlers more often.’
Hilda smiled coyly now. ‘Ta very much.’ She chuckled, her face suffused bright pink, and she had to turn her head away so that Lizzie wouldn’t see her eyes glistening. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘Though it won’t be me as wins the prize tonight.’
Bob’s welcome speech was going down well, for everyone was smiling now and seemed in cheerful mood. Hilda kept hearing grunts of ‘hear, hear’ and saw nods of agreement all around as Bob continued speaking.
‘So, are we ready for the fun and entertainment that’s about to begin right here and right now?’ Bob leaned forward. He cupped his hand behind one ear and waited until the crowd had shouted, ‘Yes!’
‘OK, then first things first,’ Bob said. ‘As you may have noticed, our staff have made a special effort to dress up for you tonight and don’t they all look splendid?’ He paused while a cheer went up and there was a round of applause. ‘Well, we promised a prize for the best dressed and I’m sure you’ll all agree that that prize must go to our terrific barmaid – Miss Lizzie Doyle! A round of applause ladies and gentlemen, please.’
Lizzie was surprised and pleased when her name was called and there were approving shouts and wolf whistles from the crowd as Bob pulled her up onto the stage and then handed her a bottle of gin.
‘Congratulations and well done to Lizzie,’ Bob said, putting his arm round her shoulders and pulling her towards him in a flamboyant embrace. ‘I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone here when I say that we look forward to seeing you dressed up every night,’ he said, then he gave her a clumsy embrace and Lizzie was aware once more that she would need to keep her eye on him as he held on to her for several moments longer than was necessary while his hands slid down her dress to cup her backside and give it a pinch. She turned her head sharply when she realized he was going to kiss her, and his lips landed on her cheek but he recovered quickly and didn’t let his smile drop. He patted Lizzie playfully. ‘Now, please enjoy the rest of the evening,’ Bob said. ‘The first drink, as you all know, is on the house.’
‘Been watering down the beer already?’ some wag shouted and everyone laughed again, more loudly this time.
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ was Bob’s response when he could make himself heard once more, and his tone was still jocular.
Hilda frowned. ‘There’s many a truth in jest, as my mother used to say, so I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for that one,’ she muttered, though no one heard her for Bob was still talking.
‘All I can say is that the Rovers Return must be deserted tonight,’ Bob said with a broad grin. ‘And that’s how I hope it’ll remain every night from now on. Remember, Saturday nights are cabaret nights and only the best will do for the Pride of Weatherfield. We’ll be providing you with top-class singers and the funniest comics this side of the Pennines. And of course, at any time there could be the odd bit of magic thrown in.’ As he said that, he turned over the top hat that he’d parked on the chair and shook it vigorously before showing it to the crowd. People leaned forward, straining to see what was inside, and they looked disappointed when they saw nothing more than a black lining. So a genuine gasp went up when Bob reached inside and, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, began producing a seemingly endless stream of brightly coloured silk scarves. When the flow of fresh scarves had stopped and he had dropped them all on to the stage, he stooped to pick them up and began knotting them together, giving one end of the string to a member of the audience to hold and stretching out the whole string for everyone to see. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the spontaneous rumble of applause.
‘Thank you, ladies and gents,’ he said. ‘Now – let the evening’s entertainment begin!’ He was about to make a grand gesture to herald the entrance of their first guest when there was a shout of, ‘Three cheers for the Pride of Weatherfield!’ and, with a chinking of glasses, a chorus of assorted voices bellowed, ‘Hip, hip, hurray!’ several times.
Bob looked delighted, then looked up at the clock on the wall. He took a moment to check that the microphone was working and then yelled, ‘Now, will you please put your hands together in the traditional way, and give a warm welcome to our own Weatherfield nightingale, Miss Jenny Farrington!’
Lizzie was run off her feet for the rest of the evening once the show had begun. She was pulling pints, mostly for the men, and mixing port with lemon, and gin with tonic for most of the ladies once the singer had begun her act. She couldn’t help thinking about the Rovers Return, and feeling sorry for the landlady of the pub that Bob saw as his main rival. Could there possibly be enough people in the neighbourhood to fill both pubs, she wondered, now that all the GIs had shipped out?
Lizzie knew Elsie Tanner often drank in the Rovers, but not tonight, she thought, seeing her neighbour making her way to the bar.
‘My, don’t you look posh,’ Elsie said, peering over the counter to admire the full effect of Lizzie’s dress. ‘No wonder I heard him say you’d won the prize. That really is gorgeous, and the colour suits you. You’re very talented, you know.’
‘I didn’t make it from scratch,’ Lizzie protested.
‘As good as, from what I saw. I can’t believe it’s the same old dress you showed me. I tell you something, you can make me one the next time I get married.’
Lizzie laughed.
‘I’m serious,’ Elsie said, ‘but in the meantime I’ll have a G & T when you’ve got a minute.’ Elsie brandished her voucher. ‘So who’s in tonight to appreciate this work of art? Though I don’t suppose you’re familiar with enough of the locals to know who’s who.’
‘Afraid not.’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Though right now I’m too tired to notice anyone. I feel done in already. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not used to these kinds of hours. I’ve been run off my feet since I got here and the night’s only halfway through!’
‘I think it’s busier than anyone thought it was going to be,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s made quite an impact. Most of the Rovers seem to be here tonight. Here, this might help.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and offered one to Lizzie.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘I’m sure it won’t always be like this,’ she said, ‘but once word got out that we had a free round of drinks on offer it wasn’t surprising the crowds came out.’
‘’ark at you with the we,’ Elsie laughed. ‘You’ve not been here five minutes.’
Lizzie blushed. ‘I know, but I do feel right at home. Anyway, I’d rather be kept busy, no time to think.’
‘The devil makes work for idle hands, eh?’ Elsie said. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’
Lizzie felt the warmth rush to her cheeks. ‘Oh, thanks very much!’ she said and laughed.
‘It’s one of the favourite sayings of the Rovers’ very own Ena Sharples,’ Elsie said. ‘She’s the one I was telling you about who can bring two walls together any day of the week.’
‘Is she here tonight?’ Lizzie said. ‘Maybe I’ll get to see her in the flesh.’
Elsie looked around. ‘She is indeed, with her two cronies as ever.’
‘So, which one is she? Or can I guess?’
‘Look over there and I’m sure you can tell me,’ Elsie said and she pointed across the smoke-filled room. Lizzie’s first gaze was drawn to a table where a young man was sitting alone, nursing a pint as he scanned the room. There was something about his face and she found it hard to look away. His dark hair was cut very short as though he was in the services, but what caught her attention was his fine moustache. For a moment he looked so familiar that Lizzie almost cried ‘Joe!’ and she made an involuntary movement towards him.
‘Are you all right?’ Elsie asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ Lizzie said. ‘It was nothing, really.’ She closed her eyes for a few moments and took some deep breaths. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.’ She forced her eyes open. ‘Now, show me again, where’s this Ena Sharples.’
Elsie pointed and this time Lizzie concentrated on searching for a table with three older women as she peered into the haze. They seemed to have placed themselves as far away as they could from the stage but Lizzie recognized Ena now from Elsie’s description. She paused for a moment to steady her breathing.
‘I’d say she’s the one on that far table,’ Lizzie said eventually. ‘The woman with the hat and coat and the miserable face.’ As she watched, the woman she’d decided must be Ena took off her hat, revealing a hairnet that completely covered her mousey-coloured hair. She had a glowering look on her face and she was sitting with her arms firmly folded across her ample chest.
‘Spot on.’ Elsie clapped her hands. ‘That’s our Ena, as usual with her two guardian angels, Minnie and Martha, though who looks after who there I’m not sure.’
‘Do you think they might change their allegiance, then?’ Lizzie said. ‘Drinking in here from now on instead of the Rovers?’
