Mother’s Day on Coronation Street. Maggie Sullivan

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