Packards

by Patricia Burns

  But Thomas got in first. ‘You are indeed, my flower.’

  Winifred exploded. ‘Really, Father, what are you thinking of? How can a debutante possibly be seen to be playing at being a shopgirl? It’s absolutely unheard of. Who is going to send her invitations if that sort of thing got about?’

  Thomas gave one of his dangerously sweet smiles. ‘Well, my dear, if our Amelie’s breeding is as impeccable as Bertie here assures us, on his side of course, I’m sure she can have very little to be afraid of. You’ll have eligible young men beating a path to your door.’

  ‘I shall be a laughing stock!’

  Winifred had gone too far. At the head of the table, Thomas’s expression was pure ice. Edward moved to dissociate himself from her.

  ‘Steady on, Mother. Don’t exaggerate. This is the twentieth century now, remember. Young girls are doing all sorts of extraordinary things. I’m sure all your friends will think it quite original of Mel.’

  Amelie threw him a puzzled look, affording him passing amusement.

  Thomas took a long breath through his nose. He fixed Winifred with his penetrating blue eyes.

  ‘Anyone who considers it laughable to be concerned with honest work at Packards need not bother to sit at this table.’

  ‘I –’

  It was the first time Edward could remember ever having seen his mother lost for words. Come to that, it was the first time she had ever really let slip to Thomas how she felt about being connected with the store. She had made a very serious mistake, and she knew it. But while Edward was still considering whether it would benefit him to act as peacemaker, Amelie stepped in.

  ‘I’m sure Mama did not mean it like that, Grandpa. Did you, Mama? She was just thinking of what her silly friends might say, not saying what she thinks herself.’

  ‘Quite,’ Winifred managed to say.

  ‘As if the opinion of a bunch of overbred ne’er-do-wells mattered,’ Edward said, with feeling.

  He had suffered terribly when he first went to school from young sprigs of the aristocracy who looked down on one whose family fortune came from trade. He had retaliated with his fists, gradually silencing them by giving out more black eyes and bloody noses than he received. By the time he left, he had earned their grudging respect by becoming captain of both the rugger team and the cricket first eleven. But he had never ceased to resent them, the ones who were born to power and influence.

  ‘It matters to your mother, it seems,’ Thomas said.

  Winifred recovered a little of her self-control. ‘It matters if one is to move in their circles, and that is what Amelie is going to do if she is to come out properly and be presented at court,’ she said with admirable dignity.

  Amelie looked rebellious but had the sense to keep her mouth shut.

  ‘After all,’ Winifred went on, ‘to see her daughter marry well must be the proper concern of every mother. I’m sure you would agree with me, Mother.’ She smiled sweetly at Margaret, who indeed could only agree.

  ‘I’m sure we all want the best for Mel,’ Edward said.

  ‘Did anyone see that piece in the paper about Jerry Benson’s balloon?’ Perry enquired.

  Margaret took the hint and called for the dessert to be served. Silver dishes piled high with out-of-season fruits, bonbons, sugared almonds and petits fours were placed on the table, and a yellow sweet wine was poured. Conversation limped doggedly along the path Perry had opened, for everyone had something to say about the craze for ballooning.

  It was not until the very end of the evening that the subject of Amelie’s interest in the shop was raised again, and then only furtively. They were in the hall preparing to leave when Winifred grabbed Edward’s sleeve.

  ‘I thought you at least might have been on my side,’ she hissed.

  ‘No good ever comes of rubbing the old boy up the wrong way,’ Edward said, wishing he would listen to his own good advice at times. He patted his mother on the shoulder. ‘You concentrate on keeping her busy and I’ll see to it that it’s just a passing phase,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll soon get bored with it when she finds that it’s actually hard work. Then she’ll be only too glad to dress up and go to parties.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Winifred said.

  So did Edward. If Amelie didn’t give up of her own accord, then she would have to be persuaded.

  7

  ‘THIS IS GOING to be our part of the floor,’ Miss Packard said.

  With a sweep of the arm, she indicated the space that had been cleared in the far corner of Ladies’ Outerwear. Already her individual touch was clear. She had had the area partially fenced off with two rows of the standard Packard drawer units that faced inwards into the new department, with an archway of garden trellis constructed between them, making a distinctive entrance. This was going to be very much her own kingdom.

  ‘I am going to have tennis racquets and golf clubs and croquet mallets fixed to the arch,’ she explained, ‘and a wax figure on either side, each wearing one of our outfits. Then all along the top of the drawers here we can display hats and small items of clothing.’

  Daisy, Isobel and the rest of the staff of the new department nodded and made small noises of admiration. This was Miss Packard’s project. It was not their place to comment. Daisy was still living in a state of constant wonder at being part of this Aladdin’s cave. After the stuffy, crowded little premises in Poplar with its limited range of inferior goods, this was a palace. She loved handling the beautiful things and dealing with all the amazing variety of people who came into the store. She and Isobel had done two weeks in Mantles and Underwear respectively, learning the ropes. They now knew how to speak to customers, wrap purchases, and work the overhead wires that sent money to and from the central counting house. They were ready to help Miss Packard set up Ladies’ Sportswear.

  ‘Now, we have plenty to do before we open on Thursday,’ Miss Packard said. ‘But before we start, I want to talk to you all.’

  She led the way under the arch. The space inside looked sad and dull. The counters were bare, the ranks of glass-fronted drawers empty. Packing cases of clothing and equipment were piled in the middle of the floor. A heap of wire body forms lay jumbled in a corner. But Miss Packard was glowing with enthusiasm.

  ‘This is going to be the most successful department in the store. I expect you have heard others saying that it’s sure to fail. It’s certainly been said to me. But please take no notice. I am convinced that it is a good idea. We have been given a window on Oxford Street and I have placed advertisements in the papers and ladies’ journals. Now I am asking you people to help me make it a success. We are going to show the doubting Thomases that they are wrong. We have lots of stock, we are going to have very pretty displays and it is the right time of year now to start, when everyone is looking forward to summer. So – are you all with me?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Daisy cried.

  The others turned to look at her. Daisy flushed with embarrassment, but Miss Packard smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Phipps. And what about the rest of you?’

  Isobel, the two other girls, Maisie and Dot, and Miss Higgs, the senior saleswoman, all nodded and murmured.

  Miss Packard turned to the nearest counter and opened a box which was lying there.

  ‘So that we are just a little different, and a little better than everyone else, I have had badges made for you all to wear. I hope you like them.’

  Daisy looked at the silver brooch that Miss Packard handed her. It was shaped like a tennis racquet lying at an angle with the distinctive P for Packards across it. She smoothed it with her thumb. It was quite the nicest thing that anyone had ever given her. She could tell just by the weight of it in her hand that it was a quality item. But more than that, it made her feel as if she really belonged in her new world. Miss Packard had given it to her, so she must think she was good enough. She pinned it onto her white blouse.

  ‘Now, we are all in this together,’ Miss Packard declared, patting
her own brooch. ‘Let’s start making this look like the best department in the store. Miss Higgs, if I tell you where I want everything to go, then you can direct the girls.’

  Miss Higgs nodded. She was a tall, rawboned woman in her early thirties who had been with Packards for fourteen years. The grapevine had it that she was an excellent saleswoman who had been overlooked for promotion up till now because she did not get on with the floorwalkers and buyers who were, without exception, men.

  Daisy and Dot were told to start unpacking a box of gloves, Isobel and Maisie some underwear. But then Miss Packard had another idea. Isobel was to write the labels that slipped into the brass holders on the front of each dark oak drawer.

  ‘Miss Brand has a very clear hand. I remember it from her application form,’ said Miss Packard. ‘I think perhaps she should write all our labels for us.’

  Daisy happened to be looking at Miss Higgs as this was said. The senior saleswoman’s mouth compressed into a hard line. She was not happy. After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke up.

  ‘With respect, Miss Packard, don’t you think it would be best if we get everything packed away first, then write the labels. We are sure to change things around before we get it just how we want it, so it will be a waste of time to do it now.’

  Miss Packard considered this, frowning. Then she smiled. ‘Yes, you’re right, Miss Higgs. I might well change my mind about exactly how things should be arranged. Please carry on.’

  The senior saleswoman was satisfied. But the smooth running of the operation was hard to achieve with Miss Packard around. She kept swooping on the girls as they worked.

  ‘Now, just look at these golfing gloves. Do you see how they are made? A flexible leather back so that the hands can move easily, a nice warm lining for cold days, and this knitted underside to give a good grip. This is the sort of thing you need to be able to make clear to our customers . . . Oh, you have the cycling knickers. These are very practical. They’re made of cashmere so they are very light to wear, and there are these in the grey mixture or black thin ones for summer, and these heavier ones in fancy mixtures for winter. Or if you have a lady who wants ankle length rather than knee length, then we have these home-knit ones in black. Very cosy on a chilly day. These would be suitable for golf as well. And of course they all come in four sizes.’

  Daisy was charmed by her. Apart from the customers she had been allowed to serve since she came to the store, she had never before been in contact with a member of the upper classes. Everything about Miss Packard was fascinating, her accent, her beautiful clothes, her elaborately styled hair. Isobel was different enough, but Miss Packard had something more. Isobel was timid and self-effacing, whereas Miss Packard exuded confidence. When the floorwalkers or buyers gave orders, you could always hear the command in their voices. Miss Packard did not need to sound bossy. She just knew that when she asked for something to be done, then it would be done. On top of all that, there was her enthusiasm. It was irresistible. By the end of the morning even Dot, who had been sulking about being moved from the frothy delights of Millinery, could see something to admire in a lightweight corset.

  ‘Do look at everything carefully before you fold it up,’ Miss Packard kept telling them. ‘It’s very important that you know all about everything in our department. When ladies come in here to buy, I want them to feel that they are talking to staff who can really give them good advice. Of course, this applies to you especially, Miss Higgs, and I know you understand that, but I want you to see that the girls know what they are doing as well. If you are already serving a customer, they won’t be able to refer to you immediately.’

  By dinner time, Daisy felt as if her head were overflowing with new information. Prices, qualities, special functions – it was like being at school, but very much more interesting. Miss Higgs sent Maisie and Dot off for first sitting in the staff dining room and the remaining four continued unpacking the boxes.

  ‘Oh, here are my new tennis blouses,’ Miss Packard exclaimed, cutting the string on a large case and diving in. She took out the first garment and held it up for Miss Higgs, Isobel and Daisy to admire. At first sight it was just a pretty blouse, made of fine lawn with tucks down the front and a ruffle at the neck, but then Miss Packard displayed its unique feature.

  ‘You see this long tail here at the back? This goes right underneath the body and does up at the bottom of the front of the blouse with these two buttons, so that when you take a smash at the ball, the blouse does not ride up out of the skirt, but stays neatly tucked in. And as well as the tail, they are all cut full across the back, with pleats or gathers along the yoke, to allow for ease of movement. They will be a real boon to anyone who wants to really play hard. A lot of people just want to play pat-ball, of course, but for those who are very keen on tennis, and want to play winning shots without looking like a hoyden, these blouses are the answer. There are lots of styles – see – neat plain shirt collars that you could wear with a bow or a tie, or fancy ones with broderie anglaise yokes, or insertion work down the sleeves. The women who wear these can enjoy tennis and still look feminine.’

  To Daisy’s surprise, Isobel actually ventured an opinion.

  ‘That is such a good idea. I’m sure they will be very popular.’

  Miss Packard gave one of her dazzling smiles. ‘I do hope you are right. Oh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it? Look at how much we have done this morning. It’s already beginning to look like a proper shop in here. How I wish I could stay here all day working with you. I want to start selecting things to put out on display – these blouses for a start – but I have to go home. My mother insists that I go with her to a tea party this afternoon. It’s sure to be deadly dull. Nothing but tedious small talk. But I shall make use of my time away from here, and tell everyone about our new department and make sure they tell their friends, and then they will all wonder what it is about and come and buy something on opening day.’

  Dot and Maisie arrived back promptly at half-past twelve, and Daisy and Isobel were sent for their dinner. They clattered up the service stairs to the fifth floor, hurrying to get a good place in the queue.

  ‘That Miss Packard, she’s corker, ain’t she? I never known nobody like her.’

  ‘She’s certainly very original,’ Isobel agreed. ‘But I must admit I don’t understand her at all. She has every advantage of fortune and family, she is to be presented at court, and yet she chooses to work! It is very odd.’

  ‘Must be lovely not to work, if you got the money for it. I wonder what you do all day?’ Daisy said.

  She had always worked, ever since she was old enough to mind a baby or run an errand. While she was still at school, there were chores to be done morning and evening for her mother, and the day she was twelve she had been sent to labour six days a week at a grocer’s shop. The idea of having endless time on her hands simply to enjoy herself was totally alien.

  ‘You’d be surprised how the days fill up. There are visits that have to be paid, and shopping to do, and charitable works to perform. It is all so pleasant.’

  There was longing in Isobel’s voice. Daisy still wasn’t used to the fact that what had been a huge step up for her was an even larger step down for her roommate. It was difficult to understand that Isobel might not appreciate how amazing it was to have three solid meals every day and a clean bed to go to each night.

  They arrived at the huge staff dining room to be met by a wall of steamy heat and the inevitable queue. The dining room performed wonders every day, providing hot dinners for three thousand staff in three sittings, but it was still a problem to get in, find a seat, eat and get out again all in half an hour. Daisy ran an eye down the line. Already she was beginning to find out the best way of organising the time.

  ‘Look, why don’t you go to the lav while I queue, then you can keep my seat for me while I go?’ she suggested.

  Isobel looked relieved. ‘Oh yes, that’s a good idea.’

  Daisy waited, grateful for the chance to l
ean on the polished rail while she did so. The morning’s work had not been as tiring as serving behind the counter, but still she had been on the go without a break since half-past eight. The girl in front of her struck up a conversation and Daisy answered carefully. She had realised early on that most of the shopgirls had two accents, their own and a heavily genteel one used for customers, but though they were all working class like herself, her particular brand of East End was considered common. The only person she had met who spoke correctly, apart from Miss Packard, was Isobel, and she sounded so attractive that it was her accent and grammar that Daisy was trying to pick up. It was a difficult task to break herself of the speech habits of a lifetime, and she knew that at the moment she just sounded odd, or worse, pretentious.

  ‘Oo, ’ark at you!’ some of the girls had mocked. ‘Trying to sound like Lady Muck, are we?’

  She got to the head of the queue. As it was Monday, it was sausage, mash and cabbage followed by syrup pudding. The dinners followed a strict rota of menus that never varied, summer or winter. Tuesday was steak and kidney pudding and plum crumble; Wednesday, shepherd’s pie and rice pudding; Thursday, Irish stew and apple pie; Friday, baked fish and spotted dick; Saturday, bacon roll and bread-and-butter pudding. It was all steaming hot and plenty of it. Daisy relished every crumb. There had been many times in her life when she had known real hunger, and now she was making up for all those lost and inadequate meals.

  Isobel appeared at her side and they took a loaded plate in each hand, picked up their cutlery and surveyed the crowded long tables for two seats together. The dining room was divided into two unequal areas by a barrier of wrought iron. Men occupied the larger part while the women, still the smaller part of the workforce, stayed in the other. Fraternisation between the sexes was frowned upon by the management, which of course made the young people all the more eager to get to know each other. The most popular places in the room were naturally those adjoining the barrier, and it was there that Daisy spotted two girls about to leave.