The Sunday Girls Read online

  He ducked under her hand as she went to give him a playful push but her face looked annoyed. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’ She moved towards the door, her face like thunder, with Danny tagging on behind.

  Granny, who had been slicing vegetables for her huge pot of soup and keeping out of the argument, sighed. ‘Now look what you’ve done, Ann – you’ve put your auntie into a huge huff.’

  I was mortified until she burst into laughter, loud guffaws that echoed around the small kitchen. She stopped stirring the soup and wiped her eyes dry with the corner of her apron. ‘Good for you, Ann. It’s about time somebody stood up to her grabbing ways. Of course, she’s just green with envy that you happen to be the same size as your employer. With Mrs Pringle being plump, it means that her cast-offs are far too big for our Hattie.’ She erupted into laughter again. ‘Otherwise she would make sure she fell heir to them. No, Ann, don’t you feel guilty. Just you enjoy wearing your bonny coat because it makes such a difference to your appearance. You look like a real rich toff.’

  The next afternoon found me at the entrance to D. M. Brown’s department store. Maddie appeared and walked right past me without recognising me in my new finery.

  ‘Hullo, Maddie,’ I called out to her retreating back

  She swung round with a look of puzzlement. ‘Ann, I didn’t see you. Where did you get that swanky coat?’

  I put my arm through hers. ‘I’ll tell you about it inside. Did you bring your patterns?’

  The dressmaking department, much to my surprise, was almost an entire floor given over to lovely fabrics. There were rolls and rolls of material in every colour under the sun – a colourful kaleidoscopic chamber with everything from the finest sheer silks to the heaviest of knobbly woven tweeds.

  Maddie was studying her patterns when an assistant appeared, dressed in a smart black frock with a white lacy collar demurely buttoned at her thin neck. Her glossy black hair, which looked as if it owed more to a Tonirinse than mere nature, was swept back in an enormous bun. She had a patient, fixed smile on her middle-aged face and this seemed to be a requisite of the job.

  Maddie was obviously well known in this treasure trove of home-dressmaking. ‘Miss Pringle, can I help you?’ She gave her a deferential smile and, much to my surprise, bestowed the same smile on me.

  It suddenly dawned on me that this was the result of the expensive coat. I was being treated like a valued customer. If I had come in with my old coat and scruffy shoes, would I have had this same service? Probably but the assistant would have summed me up as having no money to buy anything and she would have been correct.

  Maddie explained what she wanted, showing the pattern to the woman. To give her her due, she was a well-trained expert in her job because she guided us towards a display of materials in a selection of cotton, silk and crêpe de Chine.

  ‘What do you like, Ann?’ asked Maddie. ‘I thought we could make a frock for the summer.’ We gazed in awe at a dressmaker’s dummy that was draped in something green and expensive.

  ‘What? No camiknickers?’ I whispered. She laughed. ‘We’ll get the material for them today but we’ll make them later.’ She rummaged through her bundle and produced the relevant pattern.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the assistant in her cultured voice that somehow sounded far posher than Maddie’s, ‘they are very popular this year and I would recommend these fabrics.’

  We spent ages browsing around while the assistant floated away to attend to another potential customer. Maddie kept referring to which materials I liked and I was beginning to get worried.

  ‘Maddie, I can’t afford to buy anything just now. Just because I’ve got this posh coat doesn’t alter my financial state.

  She looked at me in dismay. ‘Oh, you’re not paying for the material, Ann, and neither am I. It’s mother’s treat and we can both use the sewing machine.’

  I was dumbfounded. ‘Maddie, I can’t let your mother buy things for me. No, just you buy what you want and I’ll save up for something later.’

  Much to my surprise, Maddie was firm – almost as firm as I had been with Hattie. She put on a frantic looking face. ‘It’s the only reason I’m getting to use the machine – if you help me.’

  I doubted that very much because what help could I give but I then had a mental image of Mrs Pringle and all her kindness so I relented and we spent a glorious hour choosing while the assistant appeared like magic to measure and cut our fabrics in her expert manner.

  As she wrapped our purchases, she enquired, ‘Shall I put these on your mother’s account, Miss Pringle?’

  Once again I marvelled at how the other half lived.

  We emerged from the store with our paper parcels all tied up with tape that had the store’s name running along its narrow width.

  Maddie took my arm as we hurried along the busy street. ‘We must celebrate your new outfit so let’s go to Draffen’s for afternoon tea.’

  I had never been inside this grand shop before, this haven of Mrs Barrie and her friends. I found myself being propelled to the back of the ground floor towards the lifts.

  Smart looking assistants hovered at all the counters and I stopped in wide-eyed fascination at the hosiery counter. The young assistant slipped an elegant hand inside a silk stocking then drew her hand up the entire length, much to the approval of a well-dressed customer. I marvelled at the girl’s smooth hands. If I had tried to do this, my roughened hands would surely have snagged the delicate stocking.

  ‘I’ll take three pairs of those stockings in that colour, size nine and half please,’ said the customer and the assistant smiled as she placed the stocking back in its cellophane packet.

  I almost collapsed when the price was mentioned. It would have kept us for a couple of weeks at least. Maddie tugged at my arm, urging me away from this new experience – this insight into a totally alien lifestyle.

  ‘Coffee lounge, please,’ said Maddie to the smartly uniformed man who operated the buttons on the lift.

  We glided upwards with three other like-minded women. At that point, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find myself in heaven but the coffee lounge was noisily down to earth and packed with customers, men and women all laughing and gossiping together while the waitresses darted between the tables as if to escape from the noisy conversational babble. They carried large trays with silver tea- and coffee pots while large, unwieldy-looking, three-tiered cake-stands were placed beside each table.

  The air was a mixture of heady expensive perfume and cigarette smoke with just the merest trace of the more homely aroma of baking. We found an empty table and sat down, placing our parcels at our feet.

  ‘Let’s have Russian tea, Ann,’ said Maddie. When I looked puzzled, she winked and placed the order.

  This Russian tea arrived in tall tumblers that were encased in silver filigree holders. There was no milk but a slice of lemon floated on the surface of the anaemic looking brew. Granny would have thrown this concoction straight down the sink. She liked her tea strong, even slightly stewed, with the addition of a dollop of condensed milk and two spoonfuls of sugar. Mind you, I had no intention of telling this to Maddie so I sipped my tea and ate a tiny but very delicious scone. It was not as good as Jean’s baking but not far off it.

  Once again I couldn’t get over how some people lived. It was a real eye-opener. I thought about Rita, Nellie and the Ryan family plus the thousands like them who lived every day under the spectre of poverty and the never-ending struggle with money.

  With the dreaded transitional benefit or parish money now paying the paltry sum of only £1 7s 3d a week for a family with two children, there was no room and even less inclination for a Russian tea or a pair of silk stockings. This weekly amount was less than half of what two adults and two children would need just to subsist.

  Now, thanks to my super – albeit hand-me-down – coat, shoes and handbag, I had, for the moment at least, entered this privileged world. What made matters w
orse was the guilty feeling that I was enjoying it immensely.

  ‘Want to know something, Maddie?’ I said, glancing around the noisy lounge. My eye finally rested on a very elegant woman who was smoking a black cigarette which was perched on the end of long black holder. ‘This is just like having a birthday. First the coat then the pushchair and now the lovely dress material and this tea – everything given by other people.’

  She leaned over. ‘Well, Ann, they do say everything comes in threes.’ She fiddled with her teaspoon. ‘Talking about birthdays, Mum was planning to have a small party for Joy and she was wondering if you would like to come with Lily – also your dad and grandparents and Danny’s relations at Lochee.’

  I almost choked on a crumb. ‘Oh, Maddie, your mum will have enough to do with your own relations without having us as well.’

  She shook her head. ‘It won’t be any bother. My mother says also to ask Kit and her sisters and their husbands if they want to come. It’ll be held on a Sunday in July. I’ll let you know later.’

  On that worrying note, my magical day ended. Back at the Ferry, life went on as normal. Miss Hood still threw her weight around but, for some reason, it didn’t bother me as much as in the early days. In the end, she simply ran out of jobs to give me and I settled down to a weekly routine that was extremely happy on her time off but a bit more difficult when she was skulking around.

  The garden, much to my delight, soon exploded into a riot of colour. Even the dark, gaunt trees at the back of the house burst forth with wonderful green foliage that cast shady spots on the grass.

  As the weeks passed, Mrs Barrie and I spent a great deal of time sitting under these shady trees with her favourite detective novels. On two days a week, an old gardener appeared and pushed an ancient, squeaking mower over the lawns. He looked about eighty years old, with skin the same colour and texture as Granny’s chamois leather which she kept for washing the windows.

  He was also a man of few words. ‘Roses need dead-heading, missus,’ he said as he pushed the protesting mower around our haven under the trees.

  As charming as usual, Mrs Barrie replied, ‘Of course, Mr Potter. I leave the garden in your very capable hands.’

  Mr Potter’s mouth moved fractionally into a semblance of a smile. ‘Aye, just so, just so,’ he said, without lifting his head.

  As he passed by our chairs, Mrs Barrie held up her hand. ‘Do tell me, Mr Potter, why don’t you use the brand new mower I purchased? It’s the very latest model.’

  He did a quick side-step, his face screwing up in disgust. ‘No, I’ve never liked anything new fangled, Mrs Barrie, no, never.’

  Mrs Barrie smiled at me. ‘Well, I must get Miss Hood to go out to the shed with the oilcan because that squeaking is driving me crazy.’

  On my time off, I still paraded around in my gorgeous coat. In spite of the warmer weather, Hattie’s envy was still evident although she pretended not to be interested.

  Granny assured me it was all an act. ‘I’m telling you, Ann, she’s wild. She can’t see green cheese but she’s got to have a bit.’

  Meanwhile Maddie and I spent hours in her mother’s sewing room, a tiny but very pretty room right under the eaves. Every Sunday evening after all my chores were finished at home, we sewed, snipped, cut and planned. In spite of what she said in the store, Maddie changed her mind and started on the camiknickers before the frocks. I would have preferred it the other way round but I kept quiet.

  As it turned out, they were a huge success. Maddie kept chirping on and on about them as if this was the only garment she owned. ‘Look how lovely they are,’ she said for the umpteenth time. She held the finished garment aloft where the evening light caught the subtle sheen of the pale blue crêpe de Chine.

  My plan was to keep my camiknickers aside until I made the frock but I had the sneaking suspicion that Maddie was hoping to be wearing hers when some dramatic event happened outside Lipton’s shop door – something just eventful enough for Danny to catch an admiring glimpse or, even better, an entire eyeful. The ideal situation would be a sneaky, blustery breeze, swirling perhaps in gusts at the shop door – not too strong a wind but one sufficiently playful to lift her cotton frock into the air. In her fantasy dreamworld, Danny would immediately be struck dumb with admiration at the sight of frills and lace, not to mention her needlewoman’s skill.

  But, as it turned out, the real world can be so cruel. When this did in fact happen a few weeks later, her sole audience was three old men standing outside the Swan tavern. They were venting their outrage at the demolition of the Town House but their simmering anger seemed to be directed at a meeting in Bonnethill church hall the previous February, a meeting organised to abolish the means test.

  ‘Bloody disgrace,’ said one old man, shaking his head so hard that his jowls wobbled. ‘Imagine just the one head-bummer, that Baillie Fraser, having the gumption to appear.’

  ‘Aye, it’s always the same with the poor jobless folk – the toffs and head-bummers don’t want to know. Just shunt the workless off to the street corners and let us do our moaning there,’ said his pal.

  Suddenly, in the middle of this soiree, a breeze, sharpened by the funnelled shape of the side street, swept down on the men and Maddie, who was passing at the time. The wind tugged at the hem of her frock and sent it flying upwards. The men fell silent, their moans about the means test dying on their thin, bloodless lips as Maddie tried furiously to gather her dignity together.

  One old man tried to whistle through toothless gums but failed. He winked at his cronies. ‘Yon’s the best sight I’ve seen in years and years, lass,’ he called after her indignant, retreating figure.

  With their jesting comments still fresh in her ears, a red-faced Maddie made her escape, lamenting her bad luck that the incident hadn’t taken place a few hundred yards further down the road in front of Lipton’s shop.

  As Lily’s birthday approached, we were filled with a great sadness as it was the anniversary of Mum’s death. Dad was absent for most of this time although he had been told about the coming party for Lily and Joy.

  Fortunately, out of deference to this sad time, Mrs Pringle held the event a couple of weeks before the actual date. That way, we could all be cheery for Lily’s sake. She was now at the crawling stage and forever moving across the floor in her search to explore her new world. The coal bucket was her favourite spot. Her dark hair, although not thick, lay in soft curls against a pink scalp and was forever getting washed, as were her chubby arms and legs.

  This grubby situation was viewed by Hattie with a look of distaste. ‘She’s always getting dirty, is she not? My Danny didn’t crawl around like this and he was always clean.’

  ‘Och, away you go, Hattie,’ said Granny with annoyance. ‘You’re just looking at Danny’s infancy through rose-coloured specs. I mind fine when he was a lot dirtier than Lily.’

  Hattie ignored her mother and produced a parcel from her fashionable bag like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. ‘This is another frock and shoes from Mrs Pringle. She wonders if they’re any use to Lily as Joy has never worn them. It seems such a shame not to get any wear out of them,’ she added ruefully.

  We studied the gifts and, lovely as they undoubtedly were, it was obvious that Lily was almost twice the size of Joy. Granny shook her head. ‘That’s the second time Joy’s cast-offs haven’t fitted. It must be grand to have such pretty things and never need to wear them. Our problem is keeping everything patched and mended till they’re almost falling off our backs.’

  Although I hadn’t said anything at the time, I had bought a summery cotton frock for my sister to wear at her party but, compared to the gossamer quality of Joy’s frock, it suddenly looked cheap and tawdry. The middle-aged owner of the small clothes shop in the Ferry had been very helpful, pointing out that the dress had the added bonus of a pair of matching knickers but now the material had a coarse and shoddy look.

  Hattie reluctantly parcelled them up again when it was evident
that even the little shoes wouldn’t fit. Not that she hadn’t tried – tugging them on to the feet of a now loudly protesting Lily, like Cinderella’s slipper on one of the ugly sisters.

  Then the day of the party dawned hot and sunny, almost like a carbon copy of the day when Lily and Joy were both born. Most of the Pringle relations were already gathered on the grassy lawn. They were facing the river and sipping sherry from crystal glasses.

  Granny was dressed in her best brown wool frock and, although it was not really suitable for the hot weather, it was, nevertheless, smart enough to wear when mixing with the toffs, as Bella kept referring to the Pringles.

  Grandad had decided right from the start not to appear because he felt he didn’t own anything good enough to wear. Rosie had offered to find him a suit from the Salvation Army’s charity box but he was mortified by the suggestion – as was Hattie. ‘No, I’ll just stay here and you women go and enjoy yourselves,’ he said before planting a kiss on Lily’s head. ‘Now, you go and have a great birthday, my wee lass.’

  Rosie had put a score or more Dinky curlers in Granny’s hair the night before and she was now combing it out. As a final touch, she pinned it into a topknot which gave her the appearance of a dowager, a look that pleased Grandad. ‘Aye, you look real regal, Nan.’

  Granny had tried to keep the party a secret from Bella but, with her unerring nose for gossip, she soon cottoned on. ‘I suppose I’m not on the invitation list?’ she said peevishly.

  ‘Well, no, Bella, it’s just the close family,’ said Granny.

  How Bella found out about Grandad’s planned absence was one of life’s little mysteries but she was in like a rocket with her offer to act as a substitute. The upshot was that we all set off for the Perth Road with Bella wearing something striped and voluminous, an unfortunate choice because she resembled a Bedouin tent.

  ‘Here come the pirates,’ said Danny jokingly as we were ushered on to the lawn.