Mother’s Day on Coronation Street. Maggie Sullivan

that munitions work was not for her. But she wasn’t sure what she should say to her new friend who had been so kind in trying to help her get the job. She was grateful that the noise of the machinery drowned out the possibility of any private conversations on the shop floor while they were working and it was too sensitive a topic to explain by the mouthing or sign language they had to resort to if they needed to communicate. Gracie waited till the two of them were sitting down for dinner together, with their chunks of bread and slivers of cheese to be washed down by thick mugs of watery-looking tea in a quieter corner of the canteen.

      ‘It’s not that I’m not grateful, Lottie,’ she broached the subject tentatively. ‘I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me; I want you to know that. Honestly, I was so pleased when you told me about the factory in the first place, but the problem is, I really can’t stand it. It’s worse than I thought it would be. I need a job badly and I can’t afford just to give it up but I’m going to have to look for something else.’

      ‘What’s the problem?’ Lottie asked. ‘I know it’s repetitive and boring as hell, but I reckon that describes most jobs on offer at the moment for the likes of you and me. I don’t know any job that isn’t tough. It’s going to be hard work wherever you go right now.’

      ‘I understand that. It’s not the hard work I’m afraid of, it’s just that …’ She wasn’t sure how to say it, so she plunged in. ‘I hate the idea that we’re making guns that are actually going to kill people,’ she said.

      ‘But we’re not making the guns. The floor manager’s always been very clear about that.’

      ‘No, I know. I’ve heard him say that many times an’ all. But the truth is that we’re making bits of guns and it doesn’t really matter that it’s other people who are going to assemble them.’

      ‘But they’re not the guns that are killing our boys,’ Lottie argued, though it was obvious Gracie had made up her mind. ‘The guns we’re making parts for are going to help to kill the Jerries and the Japs.’

      Gracie hung her head and dropped her voice as low as she could while still being heard. It felt important to get her side of the argument across. ‘The point is, these past few days, I’ve realized that I don’t care who these particular guns are killing. I don’t give a monkey’s if they’re only killing our sworn enemies. The fact is, they’re killing people and I don’t like that one bit. It’s got so’s I can’t sleep at night. All I can see is the cogs clicking into gear and me pulling the lever that brings the cutter down. And you know what pops out each time I do that?’

      ‘Of course I do. We’re on the same bench, remember.’

      ‘Exactly. So it’s something we both know is the part of the gun that holds the ammunition. And honestly, Lottie, it turns my stomach. It makes me feel physically sick. When you first told me about the job I jumped at the chance. I thought it would be like any other work. I thought I could close my mind to what I was doing. The fact is, I thought I could handle it and I actually find that I can’t.’

      Lottie shrugged. ‘Someone’s got to do it. And if it means we can rest easier in our beds knowing the Jerries are being taken care of by our lads then I’m prepared to be one of them. Frankly, I think it’s a small price to pay.’ She sighed. ‘And as far as I’m concerned it pays my share of the rent.’

      ‘Maybe you’d feel better if we were making holsters, or bren vests,’ a stranger’s voice suddenly piped up.

      ‘It’s a bleeding sight better than filling shells and having your whole body turning bloody yellow, I can tell you,’ sniggered her mate.

      Gracie looked up angrily. She hadn’t realized that two girls had come to their table and had parked their trays close by. She had been so involved in her explanation she hadn’t noticed that not only were they sitting within hearing distance, but they were avidly listening in to her conversation. She felt her face flush and knew her cheeks must be scarlet.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ the first speaker said, standing up from the wooden bench where she’d been sitting next to Gracie. ‘There’s a part of me agrees with you, so I shan’t be saying owt to nobody. And we’ve got to be getting back now, any road. Come on, Luce.’

      The two girls took their trays over to the serving hatch. Lottie looked bemused.

      ‘You must do whatever you think is right,’ she said, but Gracie didn’t say any more. She didn’t like confrontation at the best of times and she certainly didn’t want to fall out with Lottie who had done her best to help. But she’d made a mistake. She should never have taken the job in the first place. She hadn’t realized how strong her feelings were. The fact of the matter was she didn’t like armed conflict, and certainly not wars of any kind, but she had been sucked into wanting to do her bit for the war effort and for her country. She had realized too late that she would have been better with a job that supported the allied soldiers in a different way; one that had nothing to do directly with all the killing. It was a subject they never discussed at home. There was no need. She knew how they all felt. Her father had become embroiled in the war by signing up early on and being assigned to a big ship that had been sent off to the Pacific shortly after the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. There, he’d ended up fighting an unseen enemy so he didn’t think much about it, though he did blame the Americans for his plight when his ship took a hit. She knew that her mother would have joined one of the armed forces too, like a shot, if she could. She often said that if she’d have been younger and didn’t have children she’d have gone to fight given half a chance. So would Gracie’s brothers. Thankfully, neither of them was old enough to be called up into the services yet, though she knew that didn’t please them and she was afraid that if the war continued much longer both Paul and Greg would run off to join up and lie about their age as so many young men had already done.

      ‘I know you don’t like war,’ Lottie said after a while in a placatory tone. ‘No one does, truth be told. But there’s lots of men from round here felt they had to fight. There’s dozens from this street, Rosamund Street, Mawdsley Street and Coronation Street alone who signed up right from the start, like you said your dad did. And I bet not many of them really wanted to go off and fight if there would have been any other way to defeat bloody Hitler. So I feel I want to try to help them in any way I can.’

      Gracie nodded. ‘I can understand that, and I realize I have to do my bit now that we are in the war. None of us have any choice, really. I just wish there was a different way I could serve my country than making the actual guns, that’s all.’

      ‘Would pulling pints in a pub be more to your taste, then? How would that suit you?’ Lottie sounded as if she was joking and Gracie was glad that the tension of the moment had eased, but then she realized Lottie was serious.

      ‘Down to the ground, I’d say. That sounds like my dream job.’ Gracie was not sure how to gauge the sudden switch in the conversation so she added in a jocular fashion, ‘In my opinion, it ought to be a protected occupation.’ She was surprised when Lottie continued to look serious. Gracie frowned. ‘Why are you asking?’ she asked. ‘Is there a job going? Or are you just teasing?’

      ‘No, straight up, there is a job going. Why? Would you fancy it?’

      ‘Course I would. Where is it? Is it local?’

      ‘It’s at the pub where I’ve been working these past few nights. The Rovers Return in Coronation Street.’

      ‘Really? How come you never mentioned it before?’

      ‘I never thought of it before. Probably because I know the factory pays better. But Annie Walker, the landlady at the Rovers, is a friend of mine and I know she’s been looking for a barmaid for some time. She’s been trying to get someone permanent ever since her husband went into the army.’

      ‘I’d have thought lots of girls would have jumped at the chance to work in a place like that.’

      ‘Someone did, very quickly. A nice young lass called Becky. She was doing all right, but then she suddenly flitted