The Gourlay Girls

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  ‘How did you learn so much?’ Charlotte asked. ‘You even seem to know all about politics.’

  ‘Not really,’ Wincey laughed, secretly regretting offering an opinion when Erchie had been pontificating on the subject. So often, when she opened her mouth, she had given something away about herself. ‘I used to hear my father talking about what was going on in Parliament and he used to let me read his newspaper as well. I’m just good at remembering things, that’s all.’

  The truth was she had heard her mother and her mother’s friends talk more about politics than her father ever did. Also, she’d had a very good education, including a private tutor one evening a week after school hours, and twice a week during school holidays.

  Between them, she and Charlotte worked out a system of payment for everybody, including themselves. They kept proper books listing all income and expenses. Wincey had saved most of her money and was now able to start a Post Office savings book. Charlotte had opened a bank account for the business. Having a bank account had been unheard of in the family before.

  ‘You’ve brought us luck, dear,’ Teresa told Wincey. ‘Everything’s gone that well ever since you arrived. It’s a good job,’ Teresa cast a sly, triumphant look in Granny’s direction, ‘I didn’t listen to Granny. If she’d had her way, you would have been back out in the street.’

  Granny gave a loud snore that didn’t fool anyone. She was obviously just pretending to be asleep.

  One day the local Co-op couldn’t supply them with the particular shades of thread they needed and Charlotte asked Wincey to go into Copeland and Lye’s in Sauchiehall Street to buy a stock of the necessary colours. Copeland and Lye was one of her grandmother’s favourite stores. She often shopped there and had morning coffee or afternoon tea in their restaurant. Wincey refused to go for the threads, and Charlotte became annoyed. She was a mild natured girl, rather like Teresa, but on this occasion—partly, no doubt, because of the stress of the heavy workload she had taken on—she lost her temper with Wincey.

  ‘This is getting ridiculous, Wincey. You’re like a hermit. Why won’t you set foot anywhere out of Springburn? It’s not as if you even belong to the place. Where exactly was it you lived before?’

  This frightened Wincey. Nobody had quizzed her in detail about her origins. They’d taken it for granted, helped by the hints she’d given them, that she did indeed belong somewhere in the Springburn area. After all, it was in Springburn that Florence had found her. Charlotte though was smarter than the rest, despite her quiet and modest manner. It had obviously not escaped her that Wincey spoke with a different accent—the others had thought that she must have taken after the Highland mother she had told them about, but Charlotte, judging by other questions she’d asked, had also been wondering about her standard of education.

  To avoid answering any more questions Wincey said, ‘Oh, all right. I’ll go into town.’

  As she set out, she felt so tense and nervous that pains stiffened up the back of her neck and gripped her head like a vice. The town was busy with pre-Christmas shoppers, despite the wind and rain. Women were protected from the weather with long fur coats and little head-hugging hats. Brollies were being blown inside out by the wind. Wincey was wearing a raincoat she’d picked up at Paddy’s Market on her first journey outside of Springburn—she’d had no fear of meeting anyone from her other world among the ‘shawlies’ at the Market. Business men, lawyers, accountants, insurance brokers and bankers all wearing bowler hats were thronging into Langs Restaurants in Queen Street and St Vincent Street. Langs had been a favourite place of her grandfather’s, where self-service was de rigueur, the price of every item was clearly marked, and each customer simply announced his total to the cashier when leaving. Her grandfather said that this self—regulating system was rarely, if ever, abused. If anyone was spotted trying to abuse it, the regulars would be quick to point them out to the management. This would result in the offender being called into the manageress’s office, only to be freed after a generous contribution was made to a favourite charity.

  Wincey reached Sauchiehall Street, keeping her head down and her eyes furtively glued to the pavement. The worst ordeal was entering the old established and highly thought of Copeland and Lye’s. She made straight for the haberdashery department and the thread counter. Rows and rows of trays packed with reels of every shade of every colour were stacked against a wall behind the counter. Wincey showed the assistant the bundle of small fragments of cloth she carried. The assistant went to the trays and, with amazing speed and accuracy, picked from each an exactly matching shade for each cloth sample. Then she packed the whole order into a bag and Wincey handed over the correct money.

  Trying not to look around, she hastened out again by the side door, but she didn’t feel in the least relaxed until she had boarded the red tram car bound for Springburn and it was swaying and clanging its way back along Springburn Road. Only in the jungle of towering black tenements could she feel safe.

  ‘There you are,’ Charlotte greeted her. ‘I knew you could do it if you wanted to.’ She examined Wincey’s purchases. ‘We should really get all our threads from them. They have such a good selection.’

  Granny piped up then, ‘Wid ye listen tae her! She’s really gettin’ above hersel’ noo. What about the Co-op divvy? Many’s the time ye’ve been glad o’ that, the lot o’ you. The Co-op’s been good an’ loyal tae the workin’ man. The least we can dae is be loyal back.’

  ‘Och Granny,’ Teresa said, ‘we get everything else in the Co-op. You know fine we do. We’ve been loyal members all our days.’

  ‘Aye, well, ye’d better watch her. It’s that Wincey’s fault, if ye ask me. She’s too hoity-toity for ma likin’. It’s no’ natural.’

  ‘Nobody’s asking you Granny.’

  The twins came trailing through from the room.

  ‘Can we knock off now, Mammy? We’re tired.’

  ‘Me too.’ Florence followed them and slumped down onto a chair. ‘You’re gettin’ to be right slave drivers, so you are.’

  ‘Now, now, Florence. You’re glad enough of your wee wage at the end of the week. You can’t get out quick enough to spend it.’

  There was no hope of either Florence or the twins saving, it seemed, but they did work hard and still managed to do most of the scavenging for cheap food. Wincey thought they looked too thin and were probably anaemic, or worse. There were a great many people in the area going down with tuberculosis. Or consumption, as it was called. One of the women down the stairs had lost a son to the disease only a few weeks ago.

  ‘Yes,’ Teresa agreed, ‘you do look tired, right enough. Sit down and I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. I’ve no milk though.’

  The girls groaned. ‘Och Mammy, we cannae go for any noo. We huvnae any energy left.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Wincey offered. ‘I’m the one with the waterproof coat and it’s pouring with rain.’

  ‘Thanks, dear.’

  Teresa carefully examined what she had in her purse before handing over some coppers to Wincey. ‘See if the Co-op has any rolls left as well. That would be a nice treat for us. Either that or a wee pot of jam, I’ve still got half a loaf here.’

  Wincey nodded and struggled back into her coat. She liked to get out on her own to roam around the Springburn streets. The crowded room and kitchen could get so claustrophobic at times. Sometimes it felt as if it was suffocating her. However, on this occasion, she knew that she mustn’t waste time roaming about. They would all be waiting eagerly for the rolls or the pot of jam to enjoy with their tea.

  When she was on her way back, she met Erchie trundling the battered old pram he used to transport sewing machines. He had his latest find balanced on top of the pram.

  ‘Gosh, another one,’ Wincey gasped. ‘That’s great, Erchie. But where will we put it?’

  ‘Och, there’s surely a wee bit space left in the room. Ah picked it up in a rubbish dump. It must’ve come from a big house somewhere. It’s in quite good ni
ck. Believe me, it’ll be perfect after ah’ve had a go at it, hen.’

  ‘You’re soaked.’ Wincey stared worriedly at him as they passed under one of the street lamps. Rain was dripping off the skip of his flat bonnet and darkening his thin jacket.

  ‘Och, never mind, hen. Ah’ll soon dry off.’

  Once in their close, Erchie heaved and bumped the pram up the stairs while Wincey balanced it and tried to help lift it at the other end. They were both panting and out of breath by the time they reached the top landing. Wincey pulled the bell and the door was opened by Teresa.

  ‘My, my, another one, Erchie. I expect Charlotte will be pleased.’ She sighed. ‘But soon the place’ll be that full of sewing machines, there’ll be no room for any of us.’

  ‘Och well, never mind. We’ll manage somehow.’

  Erchie lifted the machine off the pram and staggered into the house with it.

  ‘My God,’ Granny howled. ‘No’ another yin. The noise o’ them’s sendin’ me aff ma heid. Ah’ll be endin’ up in Lennox Castle next.’

  Lennox Castle was the local mental asylum.

  ‘Now, now, Granny,’ Teresa winked at the others, ‘Lennox Castle isn’t such a bad place.’

  9

  Wincey enjoyed her late night walks. She was no longer afraid of the dark. In a way, it had become like a friend. It was good to escape from the cramped conditions of the Gourlays’ house and the constant whirr and clatter of sewing machines. Not that Springburn Road was quiet. There was the clanging of tram cars, and the hustle and bustle of people streaming out of the Prince’s Picture House, the Wellfield, and the Kinema. The latter was nicknamed ‘the Coffin’ because of its shape and its proximity to Sighthill Cemetery. This did not put anyone off visiting the Kinema, and Wincey had recently gone with Florence for a special treat after they’d finished an important order sooner than they had expected.

  On that occasion, they received praise as well as payment from their satisfied customer. It had been a Saturday afternoon and Florence had thoroughly enjoyed herself at the Kinema. Wincey had found the Flash Gordon serial more ridiculous than exciting. In one scene Flash had been blown up but, she was quick to notice, he came down with his hat still on. There were equally ridiculous cliff-hangers with heroines tied to railway tracks who somehow never got run over. Tom Mix was another hugely popular hero who failed to excite Wincey.

  Florence complained, ‘Och, ye take everythin’ far too serious, so ye do.’

  But life had become a serious business. Wincey did not want to lose the new home she had found, and felt anxiety whenever Charlotte asked her to run errands far from Springburn. Once, Charlotte had insisted she accompany her to deliver wedding outfits to customers over the other side of town. Each of the customers had two outfits made—bride and mother of the bride.

  ‘I’m not going to have any more of your nonsense,’ Charlotte said. ‘I can’t carry all this. You’ll just have to come with me, whether you like it or not!’

  Wincey had been terrified but after racking her brain, she couldn’t think of anyone who knew her, or her family, in the area where these particular customers lived. All the same, she felt sick at taking such a risk. Fortunately all had gone well, and she had remained in the kitchen while Charlotte and one of the maids carried the garments upstairs to the lady of the house.

  Coming back through the town to Springburn on the tram car, a drunk had got on. Like many Glasgow drunks in this situation, he had a burning desire to communicate and it was only a matter of time before the dreaded ‘Hey youse’ broke the silence. Then came the problem of deciding if he was the type who, if ignored, would keep demanding attention with self-fuelling indignation. Or would he take the opportunity to lapse into lengthy and maudlin reminiscences about his time serving in the HLI.

  Now, as Wincey and Florence made their way back, it was closing time and drunks were spilling out onto the pavement, many of their voices raised in song. Sometimes a prancing, staggering attempt at a dance accompanied their words.

  Just a wee doch an dorris,

  Just a wee yin that’s aw,

  Just a wee doch an dorris,

  Afore ye gang awa’.

  One man coming out of Quinn’s pub at the bottom of the Balgrayhill accosted Wincey, clutching at her arm and staggering against her.

  ‘Hello, hen. My, ye’re a bonny wee lassie, eh?’

  She flung his arm off and began to run, the man’s indignant words ringing in her ears, ‘Och, ah wis only tryin’ tae be friendly.’

  Probably he was, she thought, once she had reached a safe distance and had slowed down. But she still had an underlying fear and distrust of men. She managed to hide it, or to control it, most of the time. Sometimes she even convinced herself that she had lost it, that she had cured herself. Then, unexpectedly, it would return in a rush of panic. In her distress, she suddenly found that she had run off the main road and was in a dark cul-de-sac, at the end of which was a derelict looking warehouse. Propped in front of it was a sign which read To Let. Apply Belling & MacKay, followed by an address and telephone number.

  Wincey felt excited. It suddenly occurred to her that the next step in the business had to be getting premises in which all the sewing machines could be kept and worked. The women with machines of their own could continue working in their own houses if they wanted to. But the machines in the Gourlays’ house and any other machines Erchie or anyone else could find could be put in a place like this, and other women in dire need of a job could be engaged. There would be no shortage of willing workers, Wincey felt sure.

  She began to run again, this time happily, eagerly. She could hardly wait to tell Charlotte. Along the gas-lit road she flew, in the close and up the stairs two at a time. The older girl was collapsed into the hole-in-the-wall room bed and half asleep when Wincey reached the top floor house.

  ‘Charlotte, Charlotte,’ Wincey cried out. ‘I’ve just had a wonderful idea.’

  The twins stirred beside Charlotte.

  ‘For pity’s sake, shut up, Wincey,’ one of them groaned.

  ‘Aye,’ Florence agreed from her hurly bed on the floor, ‘we’ve aw had a hell o’ a hard day an’ need our sleep.’

  But Charlotte was too good a business woman to miss any opportunity, no matter how exhausted she felt. She propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Never mind them. What is it, Wincey?’

  Wincey told her about the warehouse to let and what she thought could be done with it.

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re right. But it would depend on the rent, wouldn’t it? And then we’d need more machines and more work to keep us going.’

  ‘It looks pretty run down. I shouldn’t think the rent would be too much, and maybe we wouldn’t need to stick to just private customers. Maybe we could ask about supplying shops, or wholesalers, or something. I mean, who makes all the shirts for men’s shops and departments? They’ve got to be made somewhere. They must come from somewhere.’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ Charlotte said. ‘We could inquire about the rent first and if that was something we could afford, then we could try and find out about other kinds of work. Oh, Wincey, I’m so excited now. I’ll never be able to sleep a wink.’

  Teresa had appeared at the room door, her shawl wrapped over her nightie, her thin hair loosened from its bun and straggling down to her shoulders. ‘What’s going on. Granny’s complaining like mad through there. She’s cursing me for giving you a door key, Wincey. This is a bit late to be coming in. You know we’re all up early for work in the morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Wincey said. ‘I’ll be as quiet as a mouse after this if I come in late. But something exciting has just happened and I had to tell Charlotte.’

  ‘What’s that, dear?’

  Charlotte answered her mother before Wincey had the chance. Teresa was impressed but worried. ‘Do you think you can do it, dear? It’s all right Wincey coming out with these grand ideas but it’s not so easy to put them into practice. A lot could go wrong, couldn’t it
?’

  Wincey said, ‘We’d never get anywhere if we didn’t take any risks. What’s the good of just staying as we are. I suppose we could stay as we are for the rest of our lives. Is that what we want? Is that what you want for the family?’

  ‘Well, dear, we’ve got a lot better life now than we had. I mind the days when we couldn’t even afford a loaf of bread.’

  ‘You see, we can afford lots more now. That’s because we moved on. We took a risk with the extra machines, and we took another by starting to employ more people.’

  ‘Yes, Mammy,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Wincey’s right. We’ve at least got to try to do this. We might not even manage to get the warehouse in the first place but we’ve got to try.’

  Teresa sighed. ‘I expect you’re right, dear, but right now we all need our rest.’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ Wincey suddenly remembered. ‘Maybe the office will be shut. The one on the To Let notice.’

  ‘No, no,’ Teresa said. ‘They’ll be working, same as us. Everybody’s got to make a living.’

  Charlotte lay back on her pillow. ‘I’ll go round there first thing in the morning, Wincey. I can hardly wait.’

  Teresa sighed again as she turned away. ‘Try and get some sleep.’

  Wincey couldn’t go out with Charlotte next morning because it was her turn at the machine. She didn’t stop working but her mind was waiting in an agony of suspense for Charlotte to return. Right away, she knew that it was all right. She had only to look at Charlotte’s bright eyes and flushed face.

  ‘It’s a giveaway price,’ Charlotte sang out. ‘It’s been lying empty for so long, apparently. It’s an awful big place. They sent someone from the office to show me over it. Far more space than we’ll need. But we can just shut some bits off. They offered to sell it to me but that would be stretching things a bit far just now. I said I’d consider that in due course, though. Meantime I’ve to go back tomorrow to confirm everything.’