THE MIRACLE WORKER
by Charmian Coates

"Can I have a cornet, Dad?" asked the fair-haired boy seeing a Smith's Ice Cream cart appear.

"I suppose so, son. We are on our holidays, but a ha'penny is a good sum and I'm not made of brass." He raised his hand, and the clip-clopping horse halted.

It was May Day 1938, and at 11.00am, already warm. It was the first time that miner, Frederick Salter, his skin grey-tinged from days spent underground had had a weeks holiday with pay. To celebrate he'd brought his family to Blackpool to stay at the Beachview Guest House.

Fred smiled as Johnny's blue eyes grew round as they watched the straw-boatered, striped-aproned vendor scoop ice cream from a tub and into the cornet.

"There you are, lad," said the man.

A coin changed hands.

Johnny licked his ice cream as slowly as he could. "Snow never tasted as sweet as this, Dad."

Fred laughed.

They strolled along Ibbison Street.

"Look at that, Dad." Johnny pointed towards a maypole, around which giggling girls danced. Dressed in colourful frocks and holding ribbons, they'd soon got the ribbons and themselves into a tangle.

Fred indicated boys dressed as chimney sweeps. "You'd think they'd been down the pit."

The May Queen's procession trooped passed them. The queen, a pretty teenager, having a piece of net curtain for a veil.

They left the May revellers behind.

Johnny spotted a shop selling hot peas. "Ma would like them, they're her favourite."

Nodding, Dad put his hand in his pocket. "Go on then, get her some, and a 2d bag of bananas."

They sat on the beach, washing their lunch down with tea bought from a cafe. After which, Johnny and his little brother, Sammy, ran about, their pale skins becoming rosy, as they made sand castles and collected seashells.

Fred, his head covered by a knotted handkerchief and Myrtle, or Ma, basked in the sunshine. He, surreptitiously eyeing a well-built girl in a woollen bathing suit which had shrunk in the sea water. She, feeling a new woman at the unaccustomed change.

That evening when Johnny and Sammy were asleep, tired out after paddling and donkey-riding, Fred took Myrtle for a drink, motherly Mary Coppock, the landlady of their digs, keeping an ear open for the children.

The pub nearest to the Beachview was the George. All brass and spittoons with sawdust on the floor. There they sat, Fred with his pint, and Myrtle with her lemonade, watching the comings and goings of locals and holidaymakers.

Myrtle patted her fair curls as an admiring glance came her way.

"You're the prettiest girl here, I reckon," said Fred suddenly.

"Get away with you, and me with two kids."

The door opened and an elderly man on crutches came in. He had been in the bar every night so far. Usually he would leave the worse for drink - people feeling sorry for him and buying him pints.

On this particular evening he had just downed his tenth and was smiling glassily, when a local tough appeared. Sleeves rolled to his elbow, his brawny arms were heavily tattooed. Beneath his shirt something jumped.

"What on earth has that chap got there?" whispered Myrtle.
After several drinks, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out a ferret - letting it run along the bar.

"Arrrrr!" screeched the sipping port-and-lemon ladies, jumping onto their chairs - holding their skirts tightly around their knees. "Get it out of here!"

The tough tried to catch it - but it sprang from his hand knocking bottles and glasses down like ninepins.

The ferret wriggled up a trouser leg - causing the man to have a fit - the animal reappearing from the other leg.

Next it climbed up the curtains and crawled along the top of the brass curtain-pole.

Suddenly, it took a fancy to the old fellow and leapt upon him.
To everyone's surprise, face purpling, and with a gurgled cry, he upped and dashed out - leaving his crutches behind.

Fred looked through the window, spying him speeding down the street as if OLD NICK was after him. "I reckon he must have been pretending to need sticks so he could get people's sympathy and free drinks."

"Well, he'd better not show his face in here again," summed up a regular.

Next morning, Fred and Myrtle told Mrs Coppock about the uproar at the George.

Wielding her teapot, she looked thoughtful. "Reckon I know who you mean - he used to keep a shop near here. I'm sure he's not like you think."

That evening, as they were eating their high tea of tripe and onions, Mrs Coppock appeared. "I found out about that man. He wasn't swinging it, you know. He really has been unable to walk without crutches for years."

"If that's true, I'm sorry I misjudged him."

"It's true all right, Mr Salter. That ferret has done what the hospital and the church's laying-on-of-hands couldn't do. Fear has somehow set old Alf Bligh's muscles working again."

This story is © 2002 . Please contact the writer if you wish to use it in publication.