Chapter 17: Coronation Day, 1937

Coronation Day painting by Tom Dodson. Reproduced with permission courtesy of Studio Arts, Lancaster

Crafty Prime Minister Baldwin had managed to rid the country of a king with fascist tendencies and a peculiar social life. The woman the king was intent on marrying was really weird. She had been followed by secret service agents and there was evidence of her having sex with a car salesman and fooling Edward. The king wanted her as his consort no matter what. It was all too much. It was decided that Authority would fool the people. A legend was born. It was widely believed the sole reason the king was abdicating was because he would not give up the woman he loved. But there was a lot more to it than that. They were a couple of Hitler lovers.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" was Jack Matthews's verdict.

There was going to be a Coronation in May. Some streets were going to have parties. Where to be involved? Relatives were scattered far-and wide around the area. There were few friends where the Watsons lived and the aunts weren't interested.

Margaret discussed it with Elsie.

"Not for me love. I'll be carrying on as usual. Royalty's never done anything for me. Not that I've anything against them. But I'll be staying here inside as usual."

Margaret Watson became determined that they would join the party which Nan was helping to organise in Marton Street. Nan had invited them and for once the two women were in agreement.

Margaret didn't think much of the alternative. That was to join with households at the far end of Edward Street, down towards Leonardgate. Her normally hostile feelings towards Nan were secondary to her determination not to be contaminated in the jovial company of the smelly Harrisons and their like. Wasn't Joe Harrison always up in court for being drunk and disorderly!

Nan agreed that their new family friends, the Matthews, and some of Margaret's relatives could come, so long as they paid their way. Gordon accepted the deal. Marton Street it would be!

Michael loved the leading-up to the day and everything connected with the day itself. The Saturday before the big event his Mam and Dad took him to Nan's and left him there in the care of Uncle Frank.

Until then, he had always been frightened of going near coal cellars. His Mam was fearful that he would open the door, the one under the stairs in their living-room, and fall down the stone steps in the darkness to the cobbled floor below. She scared him into never being tempted to go near the cellar. He stood well back when she or Dad opened the door and went down there to fetch a bucket of coal for their fire.

On the Saturday morning, tins of sweets had been delivered to Nan's. Frank was in charge of them and he was to see to it that all the kids had a tin each when the day came.

Uncle Frank was easy-going and he was the first to give Michael pocket-money. He could spend it on whatever he wanted. It was only a penny but you could buy a lollipop, a bag of sweets or sherbet for that and there was a shop on nearly every corner glad to have those pennies. He was spoiled for choice.

Anyway, it was Uncle Frank who coaxed Michael down into Nan's cellar, while Gordon and Margaret did some shopping. It was dark down there but Uncle had a candle, which he held up high. There in the corner of the cellar was treasure. Michael's eyes gleamed as he looked at the neatly-piled heap of tins. They were all bright colours, with pictures of flags and the King and Queen on them. They looked lovely and soon he'd have one for his own!

After that, he helped Frank decorate the front window with red, white and blue trimmings and crossed flags. A photo of his dead Granddad was carefully hung underneath the flags. Michael and Frank went outside and looked at the window.

"Beautiful!" said Frank. Michael had to agree.

"Yes, Uncle Frank, it's beautiful."

Later, on the way home, holding his mother's hand and helping her push the pram with Gwyn in it in addition to the shopping, he kept on shouting.

"Beautiful! Beautiful! Beautiful!"

During the next few days, Michael's excitement mounted. His mother was good at sewing and making things. Sheila bought suitable material and came to Edward Street and chatted to Margaret while she made Rob's Mickey Mouse outfit. Michael was entering the fancy dress competition as Robin Hood.

Both boys were becoming extremely boisterous as the great day of the party drew nearer.

"I'll be glad when it's over," moaned Margaret.

"Michael's nearly driving me crazy."

"You know you really enjoy every minute of it," said Gordon, giving her a hug.

Gwyn was lying on the rug, shaking her rattle. "Da!" she called. Gordon's eyes sparkled with delight.

"Did you hear that? She said 'Dad'."

He knelt beside her and looked into her eyes which were the same deep blue as his own.

She gurgled, shook the rattle and said it again.

"Da! Da!"

At last! She'd been a bit slow starting to talk but this was a start. It made Gordon and Margaret feel very happy.

Marton Street Coronation Party was a great success. Everyone enjoyed themselves, especially Uncle Frank, who had it away with a more than willing Joyce, on top of the coal, down in Nan's coal-cellar, with the light from a single candle to help him see what he was doing. It was the middle of the afternoon and everyone else was watching the kids' games and races.

"You would have thought she'd have had plenty to do at Morecambe on Coronation Day," said Gordon to Margaret, when he saw her arrive, a bit late in the day. But no, there she was, once again near him, greeting him and flashing her eyes at him.

When she arrived, some of the events had already taken place but there was plenty of food and cups of tea left on the tables outside. She had a good appetite and tucked in. Then she went inside Nan's to be alone with Frank who wasn't involved with organising the children.

During the competitions for the kids, Nan saw to it that all of the children won something. She was a good organiser. Time went quickly and soon it was late afternoon. Most of the men, but not Gordon, were looking forward to some booze as soon as the party was over.

Margaret was teetotal and disapproved of the drink, because of how her father had carried on, putting the pub and his friends before his family during her childhood. But Gordon had always liked a drop of alcohol and was a regular drinker. Until he got married!

"Under the thumb!" his brother Frank called it.

Frank had not forgotten this and shortly after his brother arrived, he said to him, "If you fancy a snifter, I've left a bottle for us in the cellar, under the stairs. Help yourself if you feel like one."

Jack Matthews had come to the event with his family. He made a beeline for Gordon, who expressed surprise at seeing him there.

"I thought you were anti-royalist. I didn't expect to see you."

"I wasn't going to come. But you know what wives are like. She kept on about me being anti-social so I've come, to keep the peace."

"Fancy a drop of booze?" asked Gordon.

"Wouldn't mind!"

"Come this way!"

Gordon opened the cellar door, went down a step or two and then saw Frank, his trousers pulled down. Joyce was lying on her back with him on top of her. Joyce just grinned up at Gordon and at Jack who was peering over his shoulder.

When Gordon called, "What the hell are you two up to?" she was the first to reply.

"What does it look like? You selling tickets or something?"

Frank called out, "Close that door our Gordon, you're causing a hell of a draught."

Then, to Gordon's horror, he heard Michael, in the living-room, behind him, calling.

"Dad! Dad! Where are you? I want to show you my prize."

Luckily, Jack was in the way so Michael's view was blocked and he did not see what Frank and Joyce were doing. Jack ushered Michael back outside with, "Children are supposed to be outside. Your dad will be with you in a sec."

"You might at least have locked the door, our kid!" Gordon stormed. 

"There isn't a lock is there, stupid! If you've seen all you want to see, leave us in peace will you!"

Gordon slammed the cellar door shut and went to find Michael. Michael was overjoyed because he'd won an extra tin of sweets.

Coronation Day was in the middle of May, and though it was still broad daylight, it was soon well past Michael's bedtime and Gwyn was already fast asleep in Margaret's arms. All of the children's events were finished . A few people had already gone, some home, some to the pub on the corner of Penny Street. Gordon told his mother that it was time for his family to be off home.

The day had been a success. Michael had really enjoyed being with his cousins and Rob. He was proud of winning that prize in the fancy dress parade. Now, he clutched his two tins of toffees, a balloon atached to a stick and a special commemoration mug. He gave his Nan and Grandad a hug and was ready to go but not before Uncle Frank had given him sixpence.

"For being a grand lad!"

Fond farewells all round and they left, Margaret carrying Gwyn and Michael holding Gordon's hand.

The Matthews went with them and intended walking as far as Edward Street before continuing the steep climb up to their rented dwelling. It was a comfortable grouping. The men together and talking intensely a yard or two behind the wives and children. All of the family were becoming firm friends as a result of the two men's meeting.

They were halfway to Dalton Square when Joyce caught up with them. She sort of crept up and suddenly. Michael was swept up into the air and swung around by Joyce.

"Hasn't it been a lovely day?" she enthused.

That was generally agreed but Gordon just grunted.

Joyce didn't go any further than Dalton Square, where she was going to catch her bus home. The rest hung around, Margaret chatting to Joyce. When the bus came, she gave Margaret and Michael a hug, Gwyn a butterfly kiss and then threw her arms round Gordon and gave him a smacker right on the lips.

Both she and Margaret laughed. Jack and Sheila thought it was hilarious but Gordon just frowned. Jack sidled up to him.

"She'll be after you next," he whispered, "Keeping it in the family!" Jack didn't know the past history of Gordon and Joyce.

Gordon didn't say anything.

Then they were off home. Joyce was on her bus and waving back to them.

Margaret offered a cup of tea to the Matthews. This was declined by Sheila.

"No it's too late for the children. I'll see you Monday, about two o'clock. Okay?"

"Right," agreed Margaret, "I'll look forward to that."

"Bye Rob!"

"Ta-ra, Aunty Margaret," said Rob. He just put his thumbs up and smiled at Michael.

"And I'll see you Tuesday night. Okay Gordon?" Jack queried.

Gordon looked at Margaret. Her lips pursed involuntarily. He ignored the implied admonishment. Sometimes, Gordon was out three times a week now. If there was a council election on it would be nearly every night and most of his weekends.

"Right, thanks! Same time seven thirty?" asked Gordon.

"Seven-thirty it is!"

The Matthews left and the Watsons went indoors. Margaret hissed at Gordon.

"You make me sick. All he has to do is curl his little finger and you go running.Yes sir! No sir! Three bags full!"

"What about you and Sheila? I never complain about her coming here."

"Huh!" Margaret responded.

"Huh!" murmured little Gwyn. And they all laughed.

As Michael was about to go upstairs to bed, with Dad following him, to tuck him up as usual and to read him a story, Mam said, "Gordon, don't forget to rub the lipstick off!"

He rubbed his wrist across his mouth and all red stuff came off onto it. That did make Michael laugh.

Later, Gordon told Margaret about Frank and Joyce in the cellar.

"I wouldn't have cared but our Frank used my waterproof cape to lie on."

"Why worry love?" said Margaret, "He cleaned it up for you afterwards. It's not dirty is it?"

It was like that with Margaret and Gordon. It was hard to forecast who and what she was for and what against, what was deemed acceptable and what was not. Joyce seemed able to break all Margaret's rules and still be her best friend.

"Why," Gordon wondered, "am I expected to be perfect?"

He was quite determined to spend as much time as he wanted with Jack and his other new friends who all shared the same interests. Margaret couldn't complain about him wasting any money on them. All they did was talk, lend each other books or go canvassing for local candidates. She expected too much of him that was the trouble. Everything had to be for the home. He felt that his best would never be good enough for her.

Related Links

• Read an extract from The Daily Worker, describing how Hitler "celebrated" Coronation Day with a massive bombing raid in Spain: Go

• Coronation Day painting by Tom Dodson. Reproduced with permission courtesy of Studio Arts, Lancaster

Chapter 16: Class Distinctions

One evening, Gordon returned home from one of his meetings quite late, very excited. Taking off his coat, he stood in front of the fire, warming his hands and his backside.
"I know that I said I'd be home early tonight," he told Margaret, "but I met the most amazing bloke at the meeting and we went for a drink together afterwards -- Jack Matthews. He's a teacher at the Grammar School and he's a Socialist."

"Well that's funny, in fact quite a coincidence," said Margaret, "Sheila, Rob's mother's name is Matthews. I don't know much about him except that he's a teacher. We never discuss politics. It could be him you've met. I doubt it though, because I get the impression he's not very friendly with people. If it is him, he must be an anti-social sort of Socialist!"

Gordon Watson considered himself to be working-class through and through. And proud of it. After he joined the Labour Party, he dare not advertise it at work, nor did he tell his mother, when he still lived at home. His mother was an active Liberal supporter and very grateful that Gordon had been given a good apprenticeship at Liberal Lord Ashton's factory. Now that Gordon was married and independent he was more open about his politics. He was helping to form a trades union branch in his department at work..

He had really enjoyed the chat with Jack Matthews, who had liked hearing Gordon speak at the meeting about the opposition to trades unions at Williamsons.

"The trouble is," Gordon had said, " There are so many people frightened of their own shadows. It's hard to get support. They're frightened of the bosses. We're not asking for the moon. Most are frightened of asking for anything."

Jack had invited him to have a pint in a pub in Moor Lane, after they'd walked that way together on their way home.

"I live up by the Park," he told Gordon, so neither of us will be going out of our way." Gordon had already told him he lived in Edward Street.

Jack was a bloke who liked the sound of his own voice. He was a little man, with a head of blonde hair and a short bristly moustache of the same colour. He spoke with a southern, educated accent. Once you got him onto politics, there was no stopping him. He tended to lecture rather than converse. Gordon didn't mind because he agreed with everything he said.

"The trouble is, we're so divided amongst ourselves," he told Gordon, after he'd taken a swig at his pint.

In his view, the subtleties of class division in Lancaster were multifarious. They were being exacerbated by the breaking up of old communities, by slum clearances, by the aspirations of higher-paid workers to better themselves. Then there was unemployment and the apathy of others. There was much irritation, stress and envy amongst the workers -- often stronger than between master and employee!

Although a harsh boss could make life very difficult, there was often a pathetic meek acceptance of the 'Them' and 'Us' in factory and mill. Most in work, remembering hard times, were glad of a job. They did not want to rock the boat. Worst of all were those promoted to minor positions over the rest: they often gave their former mates a hard time. Brian Howson, Gordon's best friend and workmate said, "Working-class corporals! Give them a couple of stripes and they think they're generals! Some of them are power mad and only on a few more bob than the rest of us!"

Jack told Gordon about local factory history. It didn't occur to him that Gordon might already know it backwards. It was typical of a newcomer to the area that he thought he knew more than the natives, thought Gordon, but he didn't mind. It was marvellous to be talking to someone who had had a good education and could put stuff across better than him.

Jack had hardly touched the rest of his drink by the time Gordon's glass was nearly empty. He just went on and on about how at the turn of the century, there had been some demonstrations organised by the Trades Council. Meetings, he said, were held in the Co-operative Hall. He'd heard there was a thriving Independent Labour Party.

He described how just before the Great War, disgruntled Jimmy Williamson had cleared off to St. Anne's to get away from the town he'd come to hate. It was mainly because of what he considered to be ingratitude and unnatural opposition to himself personally and politically. A radical Mr Wall was a specific target for his hatred.

"A good lad, that Wallie. He must have had real guts!" Jack tried desperately to broaden his accent and use words that he would not use in the classroom. His aim was to try and identify with the workers and be one of the lads.

It was a bit phoney. Gordon didn't mind. Jack seemed to be a well-meaning, decent man.
Gordon had finished his pint. At last, Jack noticed and went to buy his round.

"Mustn't let you think I'm a temperance man!" he said.

When he came back with the pints, he started on about how Lancaster's drinkers and abstainers had often been very hostile towards each other. Once, there was a confrontation between the Temperance Society members outside the Temperance Hotel and several pro-drinkers were arrested.

"That isn't all!" he laughed. "You can dream up any feeble excuse and some folk will have a go at those who should be their comrades!" Jack liked using words like'comrades' and 'brothers' when he spoke about workers.

According to Jack, a slight difference in accent would have you labelled as 'common' or 'snooty'. The Co-op 'divi', and shopping at 'cheapo' Woolworths was sniffed at by some aspirant working-class wives. Marks-and-Spencer's was acceptable. Regular soldiers, Irish labourers, tramps and Roman Catholics were viewed with suspicion or downright hostility. Did you go barefoot, wear clogs or Wellingtons, pumps, boots or shoes? Did you have any socks on? It all counted!

Gordon was still mainly silent as Jack became serious again and went on about how manifestations of real poverty could invite ridicule.

There were the slum clearances, from China Lane and Bridge Street, for example, and social-engineering in the placing of 'respectables' and 'disreputables' as neighbours on the new council estates at Ryelands, Hareruns and Beaumont. It was causing a lot of ill-feeling.
Accusations of snobbishness or snootiness carried on into the schools amongst the kids. As for those who were starting to move out of town and into private houses on pub-free Scale Hall, Morecambe Road, Cross Hill and Torrisholme Road, they might as well have gone to a foreign country.

At last, Jack seemed to have exhausted his pet themes. He finished by saying, "Sorry Gordon, once I get started, I don't know when to stop."

"That's fine by me. I've really enjoyed listening to you."

They drank up and left the pub.

"Goodnight lads!" called the landlord, "See you again!"
"Goodnight all!" Jack shouted back.

It was not far to Edward Street. They paused on the corner and shook hands. Then Jack said,
"Would you like to come to a meeting at my place tomorrow night? If you like discussions, about what's really going on in this world, you'll enjoy it."

On the spur of the moment, his head dizzy with words and a couple of pints, Gordon agreed. Jack told him where he lived, near Christ Church, up Wyresdale Road. The two men shook hands again and departed for their separate homes.

Margaret was not over-impressed by Gordon's recounting of the evening's events. She was positively displeased to hear that Gordon would be out again the next evening.

"That's a bit much," she protested, "two evenings on the trot!"

When Gordon told her where Jack lived, she was convinced he must be Sheila's husband. She wondered what Sheila would think about the two men meeting.

She was a bit uneasy. She and Gordon were leading quite tranquil lives, all things considered. She saw no reason to complicate things. She did not like his increasing interest in trades unions and politics. Politics were all right up to a point. So long as you didn't start taking them too seriously. Politics, like religion, could lead to trouble if you weren't careful.

Margaret considered herself to be rising quite quickly from amongst the 'disreputables' into the ranks of the 'respectables'. It was a case of helping yourself to get on, she thought. She knew that Gordon took a different view and that he was in the business of trying to be helpful to others as well as looking after himself. Not that they were going to fall out about party politics because Margaret voted Labour too. But you didn't have to spend all of your spare time thinking about how to change the world. There was still plenty to do nearer at home!

Gordon went to bed happy. He thought he had met someone who saw things the same way as himself, someone who liked people in general and thought they were all okay, unless they went out of their way to prove otherwise. He'd enjoyed the absence of small talk and gossip. It was no good judging the quality of a coat by its colour! Wear it for a while and see if it fits properly. He was really looking forward to going to Jack's place the next evening.

Comparing notes with his wife, after he arrived back, it was obvious her friend Sheila was Jack's wife. Gordon confirmed that the house he had visited for the meeting was the one Margaret had been denied entry to even when it rained.

That never happened again. The men, women and children became family friends and met at each other's houses quite frequently.