‘Great, great!’ Wincey caught Charlotte’s outstretched hands and they hugged one another in triumph and delight.
‘She’ll huv ye goin’ too far, that yin,’ Granny said, meaning Wincey. ‘She’ll mean trouble tae us aw yet, you mark ma words. She’s gettin’ beyond hersel’ wi’ aw them grand ideas.’
‘Och, never mind Granny,’ Charlotte told Wincey. ‘If this succeeds and we get it going, I’ll make you my partner, Wincey. Would you like that?’
‘Thank you, Charlotte. That would be wonderful, and I just know we can make it succeed. I’ll work my fingers to the bone to make it succeed.’
Charlotte hastily washed her face and hands and brushed her hair. Wincey polished Charlotte’s shoes. She also loaned her her waterproof coat. Granny was persuaded to part with a pair of gloves she’d worn in better days when she was able to get out to attend the church and the Orange walks.
‘You mind them good gloves noo,’ Granny warned Charlotte. ‘If ye lose them good gloves, ye neednae show yer face back here again.’
‘Don’t worry, Granny. I’ll take good care of them, I promise.’
‘Aye well,’ Granny muttered. ‘Ye’d better.’
‘Do ye want yer daddy tae go wi’ ye, hen?’ Erchie asked. He was rubbing his hands together and almost dancing with excitement. More than any other member of the family, Erchie was full to overflowing with enthusiasm for every aspect of the business.
‘No thanks, Daddy. I’ll be fine. As well as working on the machines, me and Wincey are going to be in charge of organising and planning everything. You have to be in charge of the machines.’
‘Aye, right ye are, hen.’ Erchie gave her an exaggerated salute. ‘Ye’re the boss. You an’ wee Wincey. Ye’re a couple o’ wee stoaters.’
Soon Charlotte had returned from town and everything was signed, sealed and delivered.
‘I’ve just thought of something else,’ she told Wincey. ‘I wouldn’t be able to do all the cutting if we’re going to expand. Even both you and I couldn’t manage it, could we?’
‘It depends on what orders we get, and the size of them, I suppose,’ Wincey replied. ‘Anyway, no doubt we’ll be able to find unemployed cutters if we try.’
They had already found that married women who had been experienced workers in the clothing trade before their marriage and whose children were now more or less off their hands were the best bet. But they soon discovered a pool of younger women too. Mrs McGregor’s eldest was a trained cutter. ‘Wan o’ the very best,’ Mrs McGregor assured Charlotte and Wincey. ‘Cuts like a flash. Naebody tae beat her.’
They were all set—at least they’d scrubbed out the part of the warehouse they planned to use. The place now awaited more machines before they could go any further and recruit any more women workers. Erchie set to like a greyhound after a hare. He shot about everywhere—back courts, back gardens, the Corporation rubbish tip, the Barras market and Paddy’s market. He knocked at doors, asking for old machines. ‘Ah’ll take it oot yer road, hen,’ he’d say.
Eventually he had found and repaired seven machines and he’d picked up a couple of tables suitable for the cutting. And so, counting the ones from the house, they had eleven machines ready to start in what was now called the factory. While he’d been doing his bit, Charlotte and Wincey had been out searching for orders. To their delight, they had found a big one for shirts and it looked as if it would be a regular order.
‘They said if we made a good job of the first order, we’re in,’ Charlotte announced joyously. ‘And of course we will.’
They did, and they were.
But not without difficulties, setbacks and worries. One worry in particular Wincey had not foreseen and—much as she tried—could do nothing about.
1936
10
‘Noo ah’m no complainin’, hen,’ Erchie told Charlotte. ‘Ah’m just sayin’ that if ye could let me fix masel’ up wi’ a tradesman, or some sort o’ strong young fella, it wid be an awfae help tae me. Ah’m no’ as nippy as ah used tae be an’ these past couple of years, ah’ve been a jack o’ aw trades. It’s no’ just been the machines. It’s been mendin’ the lights, an’ the plumbin’, an’ God knows what else. But ah’m no’ complainin’, hen. Ye understand me.’
‘Of course, Daddy,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been treating you like a slave, expecting you to do so much. You’re right, we definitely need another man to take over some of the workload. Will I advertise, or do you know somebody?’
‘Aye, ah know a few good lads who served their apprenticeships an’ now cannae find work. Just leave it tae me, hen. Ah’ll send a fella tae ye, an’ ye can tell him what ye’ll pay him. Ye’re the boss.’
‘Fine. Do it right away, Daddy. I feel terrible about this. I’ve been so caught up with the women’s work. You look dead beat—I’m so sorry.’
‘Och, be quiet. Ah’m aw right. Just a bit tired.’
‘Come to think of it, Daddy. Now that we’ve got over twenty machines and opened up another couple of areas, we could do with two extra men. There’s the new office to paint and fit out—it’s a right dump at the moment.’
‘Well, we’ll see how it goes, hen. Ah’ll talk tae wan or two fellas first.’
The first result of Erchie’s intervention was the appearance at the factory of Malcy McArthur. Wincey suspected right away that he could mean trouble. But she was suspicious of all men. That was just how she was. Unlike most local unemployed men, Malcy was not thin and pale and emaciated. He boasted a hard muscular body, a head of fair curly hair and light blue eyes. He had done some boxing, kept himself fit by regularly working out at the boxing club, and often went running or hill climbing out at Campsie Glen. He was a Glaswegian born and bred, but had the cheek of the Irish and sounded at times as if he’d kissed the Blarney Stone. He had tried his best to charm Wincey, without success. She ignored his compliments and returned them with cold stares.
Once, in the course of trying to tease her, he put his arm around her. She had furiously shaken him off and ordered him to go about his business and not waste time. If he continued to waste time, he’d end up without a job. She’d see to it. And she could, now she was a legal partner in the business.
The trouble was that it wasn’t long before Malcy had turned his full attention on Charlotte, and he was far more successful in charming her. More than a few times Wincey had seen Charlotte go all giggly and blush when Malcy was speaking to her in the factory. Wincey tried to warn Charlotte against him.
‘Charlotte, he’s a right rascal and out for all he can get.’
‘Nonsense,’ Charlotte laughed. Wincey had never seen her look so happy. ‘He’s a marvellous worker. We couldn’t do without him now. He can turn his hand to anything, and he’s always so cheerful and willing.’
‘Oh, he’s willing, all right,’ Wincey said sarcastically.
Charlotte shook her head. ‘What on earth has made you such a man-hater, Wincey? Other girls of your age are courting. You’ve never even looked kindly at a boy. I appreciate all the time and dedication you give to the business, but now it’s so established, Wincey, there’s no need to devote every hour of the day and night to it.’
‘I enjoy the work.’
‘But it doesn’t seem natural, all work and no play—you know the saying. You need some fun in your life.’
‘It’s natural for me, Charlotte. There’s no need to worry about me. It’s you I’m worried about.’
‘Why, for pity’s sake? I’m perfectly fit and happy. I’ve never felt so happy in my life.’
Wincey groaned to herself. Charlotte had obviously fallen in love with Malcy.
‘For one thing, he’s too old for you.’
‘Who?’
‘Charlotte, don’t act daft. You know perfectly well who.’
Charlotte giggled. ‘For goodness’ sake, Wincey. He’s only been joking and having a bit of a laugh with me. He’s good fun. And anyway, what’s a few years between friends.’
‘Ten years to be exact. And he’s not your friend, he’s your employee.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a snob. And a man should be older and more mature than a woman. My daddy’s a few years older than my mammy, and it’s never bothered them.’
Wincey felt a real stab of fear. Surely Charlotte had not already got marriage on her mind? But if she was really honest with herself, Wincey knew that it was the business more than Charlotte she was worried about. If Charlotte loved the man—mistaken though it was in her opinion—that love would probably keep Charlotte happy enough. Wincey was concerned that it was much more likely to be the business that was in danger. Malcy McArthur was on the make, she felt sure of it.
Seeing him more than once in a nearby close making bets with the local bookmaker did nothing to help her peace of mind. A gambler was an untrustworthy person to have near money, and Wincey began to keep a closer eye on Malcy’s activities. She discovered he was not just an occasional, but a frequent visitor to whatever close the bookie was using for business. She’d pass along the street and see the crowd of men making their bets, and the runner hovering about outside, watching for the police and ready to shout the warning cry of ‘Edge up’. Hearing it, everyone would scatter. Malcy was a gambler all right.
One day she caught sight of Erchie handing over money to Malcy. Later she questioned Erchie about this.
‘Och, it’s all right, hen. Ah was just givin’ Malcy a wee loan until pay day. He had a wee bit o’ bad luck on the horses.’
‘Gambling, you mean?’
‘Och, now, there’s nae harm in a fella havin’ a wee flutter now an’ again. He deserves a wee bit pleasure. He’s a hard workin’ fella, ye can’t deny that.’
She couldn’t say any more on the subject, either to Erchie or Charlotte, or even to Malcy. The retort would be that what Malcy did in his own time, or how he spent his hard earned wages, was Malcy’s business. She tried to tell herself that this was true and there was nothing more to it, but in her heart of hearts, she knew perfectly well that there was much more to it. Or at least there would be in the future, if something wasn’t done to stop him. She believed he was taking advantage of Charlotte’s love and trust, and she couldn’t help being reminded of how a man had once taken advantage of her. It was a very different situation, but nevertheless Malcy McArthur was taking advantage of Charlotte. Wincey had seen him flirt with other women. Not in the factory—oh no, he was too clever for that. She had seen him, however, at street corners laughing and carrying on with girls.
Even Charlotte had caught him on one occasion. It had been at a hen party at Green’s Playhouse. A neighbour’s daughter, Mary Purdie, was getting married. Mrs Purdie had been a good friend and neighbour to Teresa for years and all the Gourlay girls and Wincey had been invited to a fish and chip tea in a local chippie and then a noisy ride in a tram into town to the famous Green’s Playhouse.
Green’s Playhouse had the reputation of being the largest picture house in Europe, and high up at the top of the building was a dance hall that always had the best bands.
Wincey hadn’t wanted to go but both Charlotte and Teresa more or less bullied her into it—or as near to bullying as their natures allowed. Charlotte especially was a gentle soul.
Teresa said, ‘Now, now, Wincey, Mrs Purdie has been good to me and it’ll really upset me if you insult her daughter by refusing this invitation.’
‘Yes, you’ve no reason not to go,’ Charlotte said. ‘You’re just being difficult for no reason at all, Wincey.’
And so she’d gone.
Once safely inside the building, Wincey began to relax. Out on the streets in the centre of the city, there was always the chance of someone recognising her. Her mother, or grandmother, or some of their friends, might well be out shopping. But no-one had recognised her, and certainly there would be no danger of anyone of her mother and grandmother’s generations cavorting about up in the dance hall in the skies.
The ladies’ room was like a bird sanctuary. It was crammed with loudly chattering girls. There was a crush at the mirror, as a whole crowd of them strained to check their hair or rub powder puffs over shiny noses. Dresses rustled and made a rainbow of bright colours.
Charlotte was wearing a short-sleeved plum-coloured silk dress with a demure little collar and a flared skirt. Wincey favoured a long-sleeved dress in dark green wool with a spotted bow tie under a flat collar.
The crowd of Gourlay girls and their pals and Wincey burst from the ladies’ room on a wave of giggles. Wincey had been joining in the banter and laughter. Until, that is, she saw all the couples locked in each other’s arms on the dance floor. She hadn’t realised how most of the dances meant full frontal contact. Waltzes, foxtrots, quicksteps, tangos—it was all the same, it seemed. Along one wall stood a row of girls and across the moving throng of dancers, a line of young men stood nonchalantly smoking cigarettes.
Occasionally one of them would nip the lighted end of his cigarette and tuck it into his pocket. Then he’d swagger across to the line of girls and put out an inviting hand. In a second, he’d be clutching her against him and they’d be circling the floor.
The last thing Wincey wanted was to be clutched in any man’s arms for any reason. However, she didn’t want to appear a spoilsport and so she joined the line of girls along with Charlotte and the others.
As luck would have it—bad luck as far as she was concerned—she was the first to be lifted. He was a tall thin man wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. His body was hot against hers.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, his feet making fast, complicated movements that Wincey was having to concentrate on in an effort to keep up with him.
‘Wincey.’
‘That’s a funny name. What’s it mean?’
‘Short for Winsome. I was christened Winsome. Don’t ask me why.’
‘I love your red hair.’ Next he’d be telling her he loved her freckles. ‘My name’s Ian, by the way.’
She made no comment.
‘Is anybody seein’ you home?’
‘I’ve only just got here.’
‘Later on, I mean.’
‘I’m with friends. I’ll be going home with them.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Couldn’t you—’
‘No,’ she interrupted.
‘Oh well, if that’s how you feel,’ he said huffily.
Before the music had finished, he’d begun leading her back to where they’d started. Fortunately, the music had stopped by the time they’d reached the others and so Wincey was saved from making any explanations.
It was then that she noticed Malcy leading a girl back just a few yards from where they were standing. He had his arm around the girl’s waist and was laughing down at her. He kept his arm around her as they stood for a few minutes and then, as soon as the band struck up again, he began a smoochy dance with her.
‘Look at that,’ Wincey said. ‘What did I tell you, Charlotte.’
Charlotte looked upset but she tried to put a brave face on by saying lightly, ‘For goodness’ sake, Wincey. He’s not married to me or anything. We haven’t even been walking out together.’
‘But he has asked you, hasn’t he?’
‘The fact remains, we still haven’t been out together. Between you and me, I was a bit worried about what would happen. I mean, about discipline in the factory, if the girls found out. You might think I don’t care as much as you do about the success of the business, Wincey, but I do.’
‘Of course you do. I know that. I just worry about you sometimes, Charlotte.’
Charlotte gave an unhappy smile. ‘There’s no need. Oh dear, I think he’s seen us.’
Malcy, dancing cheek to cheek with his partner, was passing quite near to them now. As soon as he saw them, he immediately held his partner at arm’s length. Then after the dance, he made his way over to Charlotte.
‘Charlotte! Now the whole evening’s turned to magic because I’ve the chance to dance with you.
’ He held out his arms invitingly, his eyes soft and loving. Wincey had to admit to herself that he did have a most attractive smile, and who could resist that look? She could, but she feared that Charlotte could not.
11
During the Glasgow Fair holiday in July, the Gourlays and Wincey decided to go ‘doon the watter’. They planned to stay for a whole week in Dunoon. It was the first holiday the family had had in years and everybody was looking forward to it. They had booked a two-room and kitchen. They were used to a two-room and kitchen house now since some of the profits from the business had gone into the removal and renting of a bottom flat in the same close in Springburn Road. Money had also been spent on a wheelchair for Granny which meant that she could now get out and about, and even come on holiday with them. Although it was hard work pushing the chair, especially up the gangplank of the ship.
The factory had closed for the fair fortnight but after the week’s holiday, all the family—and the family now included Wincey—were going back to the factory to catch up with some odd jobs that needed to be done. Somehow there wasn’t usually much time for any extra jobs, especially if they’d a big order in. Joe, the odd job man, couldn’t be at the factory during the holiday week because he was going to Rothesay with his family for the whole fair fortnight.
Teresa had her hands full all the time attending to the domestic chores, the shopping, and looking after Granny. She had had plenty of practice pushing the wheelchair to the shops for the ‘messages’, which she piled onto Granny’s lap—not without some complaints from the older woman.
Malcy had volunteered to help out in the factory during the second week of the holiday. Another volunteer was the latest cutter they’d got, a man called Bert Brownlee. He was in charge of the new electric cutting machine. A woman would spread out the pattern on top of layers of cloth. Then Bert used the huge upright thin blade attached to an electric belt from above. Twisting and turning the blade, he could slice through over twenty layers of material without any difficulty.
The Gourlay Girls Page 7